If you’re interested in sharing your opinion on any cultural, political or personal topic, create an account here and check out our how-to post to learn more.

Opinions are the writer’s own and not those of Blavity's.

____

“The racism that characterizes American society has had tragic effects upon Black children. It has given the Black child a history, a situation and a set of problems that are qualitatively different from those of the white child. In a narrower context, American racism has placed Black children in an especially disadvantaged position in relation to American institutions, including the institution of child welfare.”

— Children of the Storm: Black Children and Child Welfare, by Andrew Billingsley

More than 20 years ago, fresh out of law school, I began my work as a child advocate. Initially, I represented children in Brooklyn Family Court and eventually managed the New York City foster care system when I worked for the Administration for Children’s Services. The tender interactions with so many children through the years have been rewarding. And nothing touches you like a child’s smile — smiles that reveal a level of trust and vulnerability. Smiles that offer affirmation that one’s efforts to ease life’s challenges for a child give me joy.

Ma’Khia Bryant, a 16-year-old girl from Columbus, Ohio, was shot and killed by a police officer in April amid the Chauvin deliberations. Immediately, images of her bright face flooded social media along with snippets about her life’s aspirations. Her smile invited you to imagine the dreams that bubbled in her mind. I don’t want her smile or story to fade into a blur of court records and case notes because I’m sure these things don’t reconstruct her life in a way that holds society accountable for her tragic and avoidable death.

Ma’Khia and I have Midwest origins. And like her, if I sensed danger I would have called my family to rally around as well as protect me. I suspect that this instinct is grounded in the community norms that Black folks carried with them from the South during the Great Migration. Many migrants — including my grandparents — found jobs in the auto factories, started families as well as solidified social ties in their new communities. Undaunted by Northern racism and discriminatory practices, they developed their own hospitals, churches, schools and social organizations.

Each touchpoint of support was critical to stabilizing individual families and bolstering communal survival. Rooted in cultural practices, mutual aid was key because Black families had little or no access to public resources and services. Moreover, many Black families were justifiably skeptical of seeking government assistance. This skepticism was especially true of the child welfare system because at its inception white children benefited from services and supports that offered a pathway out of poverty — while Black children were steered toward indentured servitude and later reformatories.

When the number of white families involved in the system began to decline, and in response to pressure from the Black community, public and private agencies began to target Black families. Unfortunately, the services offered were not geared toward keeping families intact and often misaligned to the needs of Black children. This misalignment persists and reflects evolving federal policies that prioritize foster care and adoption over family preservation.

The Child Abuse and Prevention Act in 1974 pivoted the system's focus on providing social services to investigating allegations of child abuse. About 20 years later, as poor Black families attempted to make a herculean effort to break free from poverty, the Clinton Administration dealt two critical legislative blows. Against the backdrop of high rates of unemployment, drug trafficking and violence that decimated the Black community during the Reagan years and thereafter, the Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF) and Adoption and Safe Families Act (ASFA) were consequential signals to poor Black women and children in particular that they would not be afforded the grace and protection of public policy or resources.

Pursuant to TANF mandates, recipients may only receive cash benefits for 60 months during their lifetime and comply with work and educational requirements. As a complement, ASFA accelerated the termination of parental rights and incentivized foster care placements and adoption. The combined impact has resulted in countless poor Black women and children trapped in poverty and navigating the child welfare system that has taken on a more central role in defining how and even when families should interact.

So by the time Ma’Khia’s mother, and later her paternal grandmother, sought support and direction from the system, the only solution provided was foster care. Without missing a beat, the system functioned in the way that it was designed, and for children like Ma’Khia and countless others who become entangled in a bureaucracy, there are limited pathways toward wholeness. Oftentimes, the children caught in this bureaucratic web “age out” with little or no support. Like many children in care, she and her sister experienced multiple placements, school changes and disrupted familial bonds. The family’s reportedly strained interactions coupled with housing challenges were perceived barriers used to justify placement but had nothing to do with child safety, especially for teen girls who expressed a desire to be with their family.

The disruption of familial bonds in a society that places a high value on such ties but fails to support low-income Black families is shameful. This failure is consistent with white resistance to expand programs that would relieve barriers to decent housing, good educational options and adequate employment as well as political participation for Black people. For poor Black mothers, there is a belief that their challenges are self-inflicted as opposed to resulting from a lack of resources, gaps in opportunity and bone-deep weariness.

Ma'Khia deserved so much more from the world. Her smile should have been celebrated and her dreams should have been nurtured. Everything about what happened to her family should ignite a call to action in the Black community to fortify our networks and advocate for new ideas and structures to support the needs of our most vulnerable families.

Benita R. Miller

Writing since February 2022 · 1 story contributed