By VIOLET RITTENHOUR

Four years ago I joined the Child Welfare Organizing Project (CWOP), a group of parents that advocate for change in the foster care system. At the time, my children had just come home from a year in care, where they’d been physically and emotionally abused.

When I asked my daughter how I could make things right for her and for my son, she said, “Make sure it never happens to another kid. Help other people.”

Turning Pain into a Positive

I knew about CWOP because I had been a parent advocate at a foster care agency in Brooklyn before my children were taken, and I had sent parents to CWOP’s support group. This time, I was on the other side. I needed support myself. I felt like a failure. I felt it was my fault my kids were abused in care. My pain was eating me alive.

I began coming to group and telling what had happened to my family. Other parents helped me to make peace with my pain and turn it into a positive.

Now I am a parent organizer at CWOP. I am a part of the Commissioner’s Parent Work Group. I am a board member for Legal Services of New York.

I was nominated to the City Council’s newly formed parent board, and received the Golden Heart Award from the commissioner. I have pictures on my wall of myself with ACS commissioners Scoppetta, Bell and Mattingly.

Committed to Change

Through my work, I have seen how committed much of the ACS leadership is to improving the system for parents and kids. I have seen the system go from treating parents like we are the problem to engaging us in policy making.

I have seen the number of children in foster care drop from about 30,000 10 years ago to just 16,000 today. I have seen the growth of “preventive services”—the supports offered to struggling families so their children don’t end up in care. Now 30,000 families get support from preventive services each year.
Yet I have been investigated for child abuse three more times since my kids came home.

Power Is Not in Our Hands

There is no good reason that I’ve been investigated. I suppose it’s because I am black, was a single mother living in Harlem, had kids in foster care once already and decided to home school my children when they returned from care.

I have a degree in early childhood education from Columbia University, so I felt confident that I could give them a good foundation. I filled out all of the correct paperwork. Even so, I was investigated for educational neglect because of paperwork mix-ups between the Department of Education and ACS.

Despite how much ACS’s leadership has changed, so much of the system’s power rests in the hands of individual caseworkers. And we parents still have very little power if someone from ACS knocks on our doors.

Surprising a Caseworker

The first time I was investigated, I got a letter addressed to my son’s foster mother, saying he hadn’t been in school in the Bronx for two years. Of course he hadn’t! He was home with me, where he belonged.

I called the caseworker to correct the error. Instead of closing the case, she simply told me I’d be investigated and said she wanted to come to my home right away.

Luckily, I kept my composure and asked her if I could visit her at her office. The next day I showed her all the paperwork: a letter from District 5 saying I was in compliance with home schooling rules, all my kids’ work and the list of materials and books I use. She was so surprised.

Back Again

Then she said, “Can I ask you something?” She told me she didn’t quite understand why my kids were taken in 2001. I was relieved to hear her say that.

Our conversation changed her life and mine. As I explained what happened, I helped her realize that parents are sometimes treated unfairly by the system, and I learned that not all ACS workers are out there to remove kids. Soon after, my case was declared unfounded and was closed.

But ACS came back again two more times.

An Advocate by My Side

When they heard that knock on our door at 11 p.m., my kids had a look of fright on their faces. They asked, “Is that ACS?” It’s amazing how a hard bang on the door can only mean one of two things in certain neighborhoods—police or ACS. I told my children not to worry.

I’ve learned a lot about how to handle these cases. Instead of answering the door and letting strangers enter my home, look in my cabinets and frighten my children, I stayed silent and waited for the note to be slipped under the door.

Then I called the Center for Family Representation, which puts a lawyer and social worker on every case. Social workers can attend certain meetings that lawyers can’t go to. Their presence can keep a case from escalating.

I know my rights as a parent, but I also know how the system really works—you often need someone powerful by your side if you want ACS to respect your rights. Otherwise, being too insistent can just get you into trouble.

Politely Refusing to Go

At one meeting, an ACS caseworker kept asking about orders of protection I had filed in family court years ago against my son’s father, who was abusive. She had no right to bring that up. I told her calmly, “I will not comment on an old case, but you can ask anything you want about the current allegation.”

Another time ACS wanted to refer me to domestic abuse counseling. Now I am married to a good man and haven’t seen hell or high water from son’s father in nine years. I need domestic abuse counseling? I wanted to walk right out that door. I can’t tell you how I reached down deep in myself to make my backside stay in the seat. I politely refused to go.

I Keep on Fighting

In those meetings, I’m reminded of how far the system still needs to go if it’s truly going to respect the parents it’s supposed to be helping.

Even though every allegation turns up unfounded, these investigations have put fear into my family and me. I worry at night that I’ll hear a knock on my door. I cry in the privacy of my bathroom.

I get fed up that the system hasn’t changed as much as it needs to. But I am still fighting. I speak on panels, meet with the ACS leadership, and train other parents to speak up, too. I am speaking out for all the children like my children, the Roberts and La’Queshas of the world.