Dante’s Unwritten Circle
The Revisiting of My Childhood Trauma Unveiled The Cyclical Nature of Child Welfare
Demons of the Past Resurface
About 20 years after I was returned to my mother from foster care, I testified for the public hearing on The Child Welfare System and the Mandatory Reporting of Child Abuse and Maltreatment in New York State. I revealed how my family was harmed by mandated reporting and the extreme abuse my siblings and I endured during our ten years in foster care. The hearing was canceled twice before and the built-up anticipation I had leading up to this was indescribable.
I appointed myself as the spokesperson for my family because I wanted to unburden ourselves from a past, we didn’t ask for. I yearn to live in a society where the most marginalized of families aren’t surveilled and traumatized. I had the harsh wake-up call that the room I entered for the hearing, wasn’t a venue that centered abuse survivors or traumatized parents.
Before the impacted parents and I was allowed to testify, we had to listen to Suzanne Miles-Gustave and Jess Dannhauser spew their propaganda for over an hour. Suzanne Miles-Gustave is the Interim Commissioner of the NYS Office of Children and Family Services, OCFS for short. Jess Dannhauser is the Commissioner of the New York City Administration for Children’s Services, or ACS. To add further insult, these two didn’t stick around to listen to our perspective on issues that were the focal point of the hearing.
I felt mentally suffocated while listening to the brave testimonies of impacted parents. I gasped in horror when I discovered Ronald Ritcher, the CEO of JCCA, was also testifying. I mentioned I was abused by this agency in my testimony. I was a trapped foster child again. I felt an eerie sensation of familiarity. This diabolic déjà vu had validity. I unpacked this underlying negativity with my mother.
My mother is a former impacted parent who laid the foundation to get the now-defunct Child Welfare Organizing Project, off the ground. This organization was the first of its kind and revolutionized child welfare advocacy for parents. She revealed what I experienced was nothing new to her, or as she put it, “business as usual”.
Brick by Brick
My mother frantically tried to get us out of foster care. MercyFirst, formally St. Mary’s Children and Family Services, weaponized the family court system to stonewall my mother. In June of 1995, my mother received a newsletter from the Controller’s Office of New York City about the first meeting of the Child Welfare Organizing Project, or CWOP.
She quickly found herself doing volunteer work with CWOP at Hunter College School of Social Work. At first, she answered calls from parents who were just as lost as she was and her volunteer duties expanded within a year. Not too long after my mother was connected to CWOP, she was joined by a young Black woman named Nakea Walker. Her mother was imprisoned and her younger siblings were placed into foster care as a result. She was fighting to get custody. My mother and Nakea Walker bonded and formed a camaraderie over their shared experiences with battling the foster care system.
In 1996, the executive director of CWOP, Mabel Paulino, went on leave to the Dominican Republic for a few months. My mother took on her duties while she was away — not as an employee but as a volunteer. CWOP was still severely understaffed. It was up to my mother and Nakea Walker to keep CWOP going. My mother could barely afford to buy a new pair of pantyhose, as she became CWOP’s policy writer and held other vital roles. My mother and Nakea Walker worked tirelessly on a volunteer basis.
More parents impacted by the child welfare system came along for the ride, as CWOP gained more recognition. My mother forged meaningful relationships with other parents. My mother looks back with a smile as she remembers their gutsy demonstrations in front of Nicholas Scoppetta’s apartment building on Thanksgiving Day and another in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, on Christmas.
Nakea Walker’s mother was released from prison and joined the fight against child welfare. Not long after, her mother died suddenly. My mother attended the funeral. To this day, my mother sheds a few tears when she recalls the pain Nakea Walker and her family endured. The heartbreak took a toll on Nakea Walker. She left CWOP for good. My mother was devastated but understood her reasons for leaving.
In the fall of 1997, Mabel Paulino asked my mother to be on the board of directors. Again, this was on a voluntary basis. My mother had supervised biweekly visits with us on Long Island, attended family court hearings, was employed by the New York City Department of Education, and fulfilled her volunteer board of directors role with CWOP.
My mother had it in her mind that all of her hard work, patience, and faith would clear a path to reuniting with us. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
Same Game, Different Players.
After a deep conversation with my mother about the hearing I attended, I learned about similar child welfare hearings and meetings of the past. My mother’s first hearing with other CWOP parents took place in 1996, with the Interim Commissioner for Special Services for Children, Kathryn Croft. She was equipped with an agenda and her form of dismissive intimidation. My mother tearfully recalled how disrespectful she was to her and the other parents — even answered her cell phone multiple times during the hearing. Her contemptuous behavior toward the parents resulted in their hostile reception of her — rightfully so!
This memory was triggered after I mentioned the statements made by Suzanne Miles-Gustave, Interim Director for OCFS. She fiercely defended the need for anonymous mandated reporting and referred to child welfare work as “noble”. She offered initiatives that wouldn’t change the current system or even solve problems on a superficial level. What I was forced to listen to mirrored what my mother and other impacted parents had to endure over twenty-five years ago when Kathryn Croft boldly declared, “We’re cutting back to our core mission of doing good investigations and placing children in foster care.”
Jess Dannhauser, Commissioner of ACS, postured himself as a supporter of the much-needed change in the current child welfare system in New York City. He rattled on about initiatives for families and placed blame on generations-old child welfare laws for the current dysfunctional system in place. His demeanor came off as performatively clueless, albeit better in comparison than Nicholas Scoppetta — the former ACS Commissioner my mother had the displeasure of interacting with.
After the formation of ACS, Nicholas Scoppetta had a meeting with the impacted parents of CWOP, at his office. My mother and the other parents explained in detail how ACS was destroying their lives. It was made clear that surveillance of marginalized families and child removal wasn’t effective in protecting children.
Instead of responding with an empathetic approach, he gaslit and turned a cold ear to a conference room full of traumatized parents with children in foster care. And to think, this man has a building named after him.
Jess Dannhauser’s mention of initiatives and ACS intentions isn’t anything new or groundbreaking. New commissioners came and went. Announcements of plans to make the system better were publicized on local news stations and government websites, but the systemic change never seemed to materialize.
The Abuser to Advocate Segue
I could never forget about my time at Pleasantville Cottage School. Even if it slips my mind temporarily, I’m forcefully reminded of the trauma it inflicted on me by the nightmares I still have as an adult. Like the other foster care placements I lived through, I was stripped of my humanity and subjected to abuse.
On February 7th, 2002, I was a witness to an attempted murder of a night staff. I remember hearing the staff pleading for her life and the smell of her burning flesh when she was set on fire. I had an out-of-body experience when I balled myself in the fetal position as I covered my ears and sobbed while hiding in a bathroom stall upstairs. This event received nationwide news coverage and was written about in the New York Times. It left me traumatized. I received nothing adequate from administrators at Pleasantville Cottage School or JCCA to address it.
Outrageous acts of criminality at Pleasantville Cottage School and administration silencing were exposed when it was publicized that months prior the institution hired an ex-strip club security guard to work intimately with girls. He went on to groom underage girls and took them off-grounds to sexually abuse them.
Administrators ignored my pleas to be moved to another cottage because I didn’t want to live at a crime scene. I was wrongly diagnosed with bipolar disorder to discredit my traumatic experience. I was overly medicated as well. I was constantly put in the isolation room above the infirmary. It was a room with a mattress on the ground. Sometimes, I wouldn’t be fed.
The staff picked on me with verbal abuse — unprovoked. Anytime I stood up for myself, a group of burly men — JCCA’s Respite Unit— came to the cottage and physically abused me. Once, I was body-slammed to the ground and when I tried adjusting myself one of the men kicked me hard in the stomach and bellowed: “Lay your ass right there!”
I confided to my therapist about these abusive situations. She said I was lying. When it was time to go back after a weekend-long home visit, I locked myself in my room and begged my mother not to send me back. Through the other side of the door, I told her what was happening to me. I had already been abused in other foster care placements, so she was concerned. She brought it up with my therapist and her supervisor. According to them, I was a sociopath and my mother shouldn’t believe what I was saying.
My last night at Pleasantville Cottage School was disturbingly eventful. I was lured out of the cottage by a staff member. She locked me out in the cold. I called out to a girl whom I was close to, to go into my hiding places and get my money. She tossed my money out the window in a sock, along with my winter coat. She was scared about what was happening to me.
It was dark as I was making my way off-grounds heading to the train station. The Respite Unit van sped up to me with its headlights blaring. The driver tried to run me over. I diverted into the dark woods. I ran back to campus heading towards another way out. Out of nowhere, the van cut me off. The Respite Unit jumped out. I was beaten, stomped, and violently thrown into the van.
The next day I was given a police escort from the Respite Unit to Westchester Medical Center’s Psychiatric Emergency Room. A kind older Black male nurse saw me with the police officers. He waited until they left to approach me. He spotted bruises and scratches all over me. He asked me where was my mother. I told him I was a “foster kid”. He offered his cell phone so I could call her. She was lost for words because JCCA or Pleasantville Cottage School administrators never notified her of what happened. She came the next day to photograph my injuries.
I spent almost two months at Westchester Medical Center, as my mother worked out logistics to get me back. Potentially administrators were afraid of possible ligation and more bad press, so there was no protest on their end when my mother initiated the process for my return. JCCA informed my mother my transcripts were being faxed to the New York City Office for High Schools on 24th Street.
The New York City Office for High Schools claimed no one from JCCA faxed my transcripts. My mother called Pleasantville Cottage School multiple times and finally, someone returned her call. She was told to go back downtown because my transcripts had already been faxed. We were told again that Pleasantville Cottage School didn’t fax anything. My mother kept calling JCCA administrators to no avail. She went to Pleasantville Cottage School numerous times and was given the runaround. She missed so many days of work, her employer began to dock her pay.
We were left gobsmacked after discovering that JCCA and ACS colluded to railroad my mother with educational neglect charges. She filed for an impartial hearing through the New York City Department of Education. After JCCA and ACS were notified about the filing, my transcripts were magically located. This act of retaliation against my mother sabotaged my education. I was out of school for months and held back a grade.
In 2021, I confronted my former therapist who helped cover up the abuse I endured at Pleasantville Cottage School in a Facebook message. I reminded her of the harm she caused when she convinced my mother I was lying about my abuse. Instead of taking accountability, my former therapist resorted to her old tricks. She denied everything and used therapy-speak to gaslight me. My mother was horrified when she read our messages.
I was retraumatized when I noticed Ronald Ritcher’s name on the witness list for the hearing. A foster care agency that abused me and countless others is rebranding itself as a foster care reform advocate. In what universe does this make sense? In my opinion, JCCA is attempting to distract the public from sexual abuse lawsuits and the decades-long criticism of its ability to care for emotionally disturbed youth, or any youth for that matter.
Before I testified, I relayed my concerns that I was about to name Pleasantville Cottage School as one of my abusers. Assemblyman Andrew Hevesi claimed the hearing was a “safe space”. After I testified, I was approached by a reporter for The Imprint. She gave me her business card and took down my contact information. She told me that I would be contacted later that evening. I was never contacted. The Imprint decided to give the CEO of JCCA, Ronald Ritcher, a soundbite. A man who oversees an institution with abuse allegations spanning over decades was prioritized.
I refuse to normalize that one of my abusers in foster care is being platformed by local politicians, bureaucrats, and child welfare publications. I shouldn’t have to anticipate being ousted or iced out because I’m truthful about what happened to me and the brazen hypocrisy I witnessed at the hearing. It’s an injustice that I’m being forcibly compelled to perform my foster care trauma, in an attempt to extract a drop of empathy.
The Truth No One Wants to Admit
I was the child my mother was fighting to bring home, and now I’m an adult forging my own path to becoming a foster care advocate. It’s troubling that the horrors of the child welfare system remain unchanged since I narrowly escaped the foster care system. My escape was merely physical. Like many former foster care youth, I’m haunted by the memories and feel the damage every day.
Herbert J. Gans wrote a controversial essay titled, The Positive Functions of Poverty. One of the points he made was, “…is that poverty also makes possible the existence of ‘respectable’ professions and occupations, for example, penology, criminology, social work, and public health. More recently, the poor have provided jobs for professional and paraprofessional ‘poverty warriors’, as well as journalists and social scientists”.
This passage jumped out at me because it’s very relevant to the cyclical nature of child welfare advocacy and the entities that manufacture family separation and surveillance. ACS has people at the top earning six figures annually. There are caseworkers, social workers, and other child welfare employees who need family separations and the current system to continue in order to stay employed. Without the dysfunction, inequity, structural racism, and unchecked biases, that fuel the foster care system, non-profit organizations, publications, and advocacy groups wouldn’t have anything to write about or fight against.
I’m learning from the mistakes of my mother. I’m not slighting her hard work, but it was disconcerting to realize she gave life to CWOP and it left her feeling unappreciated, disillusioned, and burnt out. I want to move within child welfare advocacy spaces on my own terms. I don’t want to feel constrained by respectability politics or unspoken expectations of a non-profit organization. I need to figure out how to be of use, without retraumatizing myself or being exposed to unnecessary stress. We need tangible solutions that lead to dismantling foster care, not more self-serving platforms.
Children in foster care are walking dollar signs. As soon as we lose value, we’re tossed into the streets. Many former foster care youth I knew are now struggling, homeless, incarcerated, addicted to drugs, and/or dead. It’s an unbearable pain to know someone as a child, and the next time you see them again, they’re a homeless adult digging in a garbage can on a street corner. I’m fed up.
The time for talk is over. Our psychological trauma isn’t necessary for society to function. People won’t openly admit that this is the secret attitude of the so-called respectable society. Dante himself couldn’t write a circle of hell as dark and terrifying as what my family and others have experienced.
People may not like it, but I’m still standing. I’m coming.
