Rethinking Foster Care

My first client as a family defense lawyer was a black mother who left her 13-year old in charge of 8- and 6-year old siblings while she went to the dry cleaners. In suburban America, we call this babysitting. In a predominately black, public housing complex in Washington, D.C., this constituted neglect. I still remember the terror in my client’s voice. “They are coming to take my babies.”  “They” weren’t the police. They were child protective services—an agency every bit as powerful and as susceptible to racism as the police. But we have yet to face up to the racism that destroys thousands of families of color every year. Partly that’s because unlike police, many of whom are visibly patrolling neighborhoods, the child welfare systems operate in near total secrecy. But it’s also because, if anything, the stereotypes about minority parents run even deeper than the stereotypes about those caught in the criminal justice system. Even people skeptical of the cops assume that if CPS h

During a recent training, a judge showed us a glimpse of his future courtroom and what awaits us when juvenile courts reopen. A plexiglass shield will separate the judge from the litigants. Attorneys will spread out across the courtroom. Parents and children will be seated apart from their own attorneys. Everyone will be wearing masks.  What I saw frightened me. This can’t be our new normal in child welfare. Even before the pandemic hit, many of my clients – children, foster parents and parents – feared going to court. Attending court hearings created fear, stress and anxiety. In part, these feelings were invoked by what courts symbolized to them. It was the place you went before you were locked up. Or lost your home. Or got your kids taken from you. Why would anyone possibly want to go somewhere where they could face those consequences?    Additionally, attending court hearings meant taking a day off of work, when a parent really needed the wages. It meant missing a day of sc