IRS or CPS: Which is More Outrageous?

As the newest political firestorm surrounding the IRS unfolded, something much more horrific was unfolding also. As Tea Party-affiliated groups demanded investigation into IRS practices, desperate grandparents and a devoted teacher begged for an investigation into multiple, ongoing bruises covering an eight-year-old little boy. As President Obama took the national stage and declared the actions of the IRS ‘outrageous’, the painful sobs of a helpless child echoed in vain.

In addressing the behavior of the IRS unfairly targeting Tea Party-affiliated groups, Obama insisted, “I have no patience for it. I will not tolerate it.” Meanwhile, another child died of torture and abuse, all under the nose of children’s protective services (CPS), the government agency charged with protecting children.

Why do we have patience for that? Why do we tolerate that?

Eight-year-old Gabriel died last week after suffering from multiple injuries including broken ribs, a skull fracture, and burns. His mother and her boyfriend have been arrested in conjunction with his death. His grandparents who had previously raised him before he was returned to the custody of his mother tried in vain to get authorities to heed their concerns regarding his safety.  His teacher made calls to Los Angeles County Department of Children and Family Services after he came to school with bruises on his face and told her his mother shot him with a BB gun.
The responsibility for his death rests squarely on the shoulders of those who inflicted harm. However, the responsibility to protect him when his mother failed him belongs to the government.

Which government agency needs more scrutiny and more transparency with the ultimate goal of providing better services: the IRS or CPS systems nationwide? Where should we direct our outrage and intolerance of failure? You could ask children like Marcus Fiesel, Gabriel Myers, Vyctoria Sandoval, Isaac Lethbridge, Summer Phelps, Damarcus Jackson, Alize Vick, and Neveah Gallegos. Oh wait. You can’t ask them. They’re all dead. Utter failure on the part of the child protective and/or family court systems cost these children their lives. Their numbers measure in the hundreds across the nation.

The Tea Party-affiliated groups may have been subject to invasive questioning. Were they subject to torture, starvation, broken bones, and burns as these children had been?  These groups may have had their right to freedom of association violated.  These children had a right to safety and freedom from abuse but suffered brutal deaths on the government’s watch.  Which is more outrageous?

Unfortunately these children don’t have a political voice, an ability to organize, or financial resources to impact change. They are chattel, property of their parents even if their parents allow them to be tortured and killed. Why else would Gabriel’s dead body sit in the coroner’s office because his mom is in jail but refuses to allow it to be released to next of kin? Even in death, Gabriel is not free from the heinous, long arm of his mother.

The time has come to channel our outrage and intolerance effectively to improve the child welfare system and laws designed to protect children. Too often, our government makes a lousy parent and a lousy protector. That will not change until we all get involved and use our voice to speak for abused and neglected kids. Our collective voice is the most powerful one these children have. We must strengthen and use it.

We need to see our president or political leaders on a national stage demanding transformation of a system charged with our most important task: protecting vulnerable children and families. Then the rest of us need to roll up our sleeves and do what we can to help.

Anything less than that is outrageous.

Visit www.invisiblekidsthebook.com to learn how you can help.

 

 

Nicole and Nina Part 1 of 5

I arrived at juvenile court on a snowy November morning to sign in as Guardian Ad Litem (GAL) for the first court hearing held regarding Nicole and Nina*, three-and-two-year-old sisters who had been placed in foster care one week earlier. Their mother had voluntarily signed custody of the girls over to children’s services and walked away. 

I approached the security guard and exchanged pleasantries while he handed me the court complaint. I shrugged off my coat and began reading it while juggling my briefcase, purse, and gloves, never once taking my eyes off the paperwork in my hands. It was a window into these two little precious, vulnerable lives, and I wanted to catch every glimpse I could.

Nicole and Nina’s biological mom was allegedly living her boyfriend who was a convicted, registered sex offender. She had refused to make him leave knowing this choice would force the girls to leave instead. She also allegedly was addicted to prescription painkillers and had a history of untreated bi-polar disorder. A man named Jason* was listed as the biological father with address unknown. No other family members or significant others were identified.

The security guard leaned across his desk and told me someone had signed in for the hearing. I scanned the courthouse waiting area as the guard pointed to a petite man with dirty jeans two sizes too big and long, gray hair pulled back into a greasy ponytail. Somehow Jason had made his way to court. That almost never happens.

Jason was seated on a hard metal chair beneath florescent lights. He held a battered pad of paper in his wrinkled fingers and an old, frayed backpack on his lap. I walked over and shook his bony hand as I introduced myself as the girls’ court appointed Guardian Ad Litem.  I couldn’t help but notice gentleness behind his tired, worn blue eyes. He was 41 years old going on 70 after living a hard life of alcohol and nicotine addiction. He coughed incessantly courtesy of emphysema. He had started drinking at age nine with his father and never stopped.

Jason lived under a bridge near the river. He was forever hopelessly in love with the girls’ biological mother whom he met at an AA meeting years before when both were trying to get clean for a minute. He learned of the girls’ placement in foster care when he called the mom the week before.

Attempting to build respectful relationships with biological parents is the single most important step in moving a case swiftly through the court process. As professionals we are not here to judge. We are here to work toward solutions. The first meeting is critical.

The first meeting is also a pivotal moment to gain as much information about the history of children in case such relationships later head south. Sometimes against our best efforts cases languish for years and by the time court moves toward adoption the biological family is long gone, taking with them important information such as family medical history and which hospital houses birth records.

Jason and I sat together for twenty minutes while I collected as much information as he was willing to give me. In return I answered his questions about what comes next. He had yet to meet his public defender who was caught in another hearing down the hall.

“Case of Nicole and Nina Moore.”* Hearing the names of the girls called out in the large waiting room was our cue that the magistrate was ready. As Jason leaned forward to stand, his backpack fell to the floor and piles of crinkled paper spilled out in every direction. They were covered with scratchy handwriting and dirt stains. He looked almost apologetic as I bent down to help him retrieve them.

“I like to write,” he said. I was surprised. I’d never met a homeless alcoholic with tired, kind blue eyes and a backpack filled with writing. He had no way of knowing that I did too and was stealing every spare minute I could to write Invisible Kids, a book I wrote in snatches of time like lunch breaks during day-long trials. 

We headed into the courtroom and took our seats at separate tables while the hearing was called to order. I pulled out my own yellow legal pad of paper and flipped to a crisp new page, ready to write down every detail disclosed during the hearing. Being charged with representing Nicole and Nina’s best interests in court, having a say in their lives and how their futures would unfold was one of the most powerful, important tasks a professional could ever have. It would never be just a job to me. It was sacred.

On that snowy, November day I had no idea what course the case would take. I could only do my very best to advocate for two traumatized little girls I had yet to meet. On my fourth page of notes I wrote their names one more time. Nicole. Nina. Then I ran my finger over the ink and silently said one word. Promise. 

Part 2 Next Week: Meeting Nicole and Nina in their foster home.

 

*Names have been changed to protect identity.