Good parents only in AZ (part 3)
More of the same:
Rise in child deaths reveals CPS' plight
Nearly half had prior contact with state agency
Karina Bland
The Arizona Republic
Jan. 12, 2003 12:00 AM
Two-year-old Emily Smith was shot by her mother. Jerrad Neal, 3, was beaten to death. And 5-year-old Alecia Putrow was raped and drowned in a bathtub.
The children are among 28 in the past five years who had prior cases with state Child Protective Services but died of abuse or neglect anyway.
In all, 74 Arizona children died of mistreatment. Of those, 38 percent had some sort of contact with CPS, more than double the 2000 national figure of 15 percent.
Dead children with CPS files are piling up, worse now than ever.
In each of the past two years, CPS knew half of the children who died of abuse or neglect, compared with just 15 percent in 1998.
And the agency charged with protecting children sits at a crossroads, chewed up in the headlines and facing budget cuts that could strip it bare.
Gov. Janet Napolitano this week promised a complete review of CPS.
Maricopa County Attorney Rick Romley is so fed up that, in one 1999 CPS case, he even considered charging the caseworkers with negligence. "We just can't allow this to continue," he said.
Relatives of children hurt or killed on the state's watch have accused the agency of negligence in civil lawsuits, 13 since 1998. Of those, five have been dismissed or settled, with settlements totaling nearly $2.4 million.
Arizona could find itself in even bigger legal trouble.
Children's Rights of New York, a non-profit group that uses litigation to force change in child welfare systems, has 27 states under some sort of federal court order for violating children's rights.
"I think we could make a convincing case that children in Arizona have had their due process rights denied," said Richard Gelles, part of Children's Rights and author of The Book of David: How Preserving Families Can Cost Children's Lives.
Gelles said such a lawsuit against Arizona could cost as much as $50 million.
Dr. Mary Rimsza, head of the Child Fatality Review Team, which reviews all child deaths in Arizona, says putting additional pressure on CPS caseworkers won't prevent deaths.
She points to the larger number of children who die without having had contact with CPS. She blames relatives, teachers, neighbors and even doctors who often know about the mistreatment yet do nothing.
But the family of Liana Sandoval, 20 months old, did report the bruises and missing clumps of hair to CPS. A caseworker closed the case as unsubstantiated on Sept. 27, 2001, the same day the girl's body was found in a canal. She had been beaten to death by her mother's boyfriend.
"We called CPS, asking for their help, wanting to do the right thing," said Liana's father, Anthony Sandoval. "I thought they would protect my daughter."
CPS 'severely understaffed'
For every dead child, there's an explanation for what went wrong. In some cases, CPS did what it was supposed to do, and the child still died. In others, the agency might have done more.
In interviews with social workers, police, judges, prosecutors and child advocates, one indisputable problem arises: not enough caseworkers.
"That's an understatement," said Cindi Nannetti, chief of the sex crimes bureau in the Maricopa County Attorney's Office. "They are severely understaffed."
Caseworkers investigating abuse and neglect carry an average of 15 cases a month, compared with the 12 recommended by the Washington, D.C.-based Child Welfare League of America. Each case involves an average of 2.7 kids.
Ongoing caseworkers, those who deal with kids in the state's care, including foster care and group homes, average 30 children each, compared with the national standard of 23 set by the welfare league.
With 671 caseworkers, CPS would need an additional 80 to meet league standards. Making things worse, 70 of the 671 caseworker jobs are vacant. The agency is short 16 supervisors and 24 clerical staff. The job is stressful - the annual turnover rate is 20 percent - and doesn't pay well. A caseworker with a master's degree starts at $26,526.
"We're asking people to go into some pretty horrendous situations for not a lot of pay," said Russ Huber, director of the Childhelp Children's Center in Phoenix.
CPS has never been fully staffed, but the shortage of caseworkers is having deadly repercussions. Since 2001, there has been a 21 percent rise in cases and a 5 percent increase in workers.
"What this really means is that people don't have enough time to do a thorough job," said Anna Arnold, retiring head of the state Division for Children, Youth and Families, which includes CPS.
And, sometimes, children end up dead.
Anndreah Robertson died 10 days after she was born to a crack-addicted mother. At the time, CPS was investigating charges that the mother and grandmother smoked crack cocaine at the family's Phoenix apartment.
On the day Anndreah was released from the hospital, caseworker Caroline Stott was at a school with a little girl who had been sexually abused, trying to finish an investigation before school let out.
She told hospital staff to give the baby to her mother. A week later, Anndreah was dead, her intestines destroyed by exposure to crack cocaine.
A dozen caseworkers resigned after Anndreah's death, fearful they would find themselves in the headlines.
"We have a lot of inexperienced people out there who are without social work backgrounds and new to the job," said Beth Rosenberg of the Children's Action Alliance, a Phoenix non-profit advocacy group.
Caseworkers inexperienced
CPS is asking the Department of Administration to raise the minimum criteria for caseworkers. "We should have people with degrees in social work and counseling," Rosenberg said, "not art history."
So Anndreah Robertson's name was added to the list of the 74 dead, a finding of abuse or neglect made after they were buried. Most were shaken to death. Others were beaten. Some were even shot.
Three other crack babies are on the list, but none lived a day. A Tucson baby born this year was buried alive.
A finding of neglect is made when a caretakers' action, or inaction, contributes to a death. Abuse findings are easier to make, with obvious physical injuries or a pattern of abuse.
If a child had prior CPS contact, it means there was a report that may or may not have been found valid.
For the past five years, caseworkers have investigated reports involving 450,000 children. There is no way to measure how many children weren't hurt because of CPS, spokeswoman Karin Kline said.
Judge Maurice Portley of Maricopa County Superior Court said CPS can't be blamed for an abuse death if the reason the agency was called wasn't directly connected to what killed the child.
"We need to know how they died, if that death was in any way attributable to the reason CPS went out there in the first place," he said.
A former presiding Juvenile Court judge, Portley asks tough questions: Can CPS guard against a mother's poor choice in boyfriends? Should drug-using parents lose their kids, even if there are no signs of abuse or neglect? Does an empty refrigerator mean a child will die?
"How are you supposed to predict that without your classic crystal ball?" Portley asked.
Rosenberg said caseworkers could make better predictions, even without a crystal ball, if they got more information: criminal and employment histories, drug and alcohol use and domestic violence.
"They should look at risk factors in the family," she said, "not just 'Did the child get hit in the face?' "
More ammunition for agency
Caseworkers are testing a new safety assessment, much more comprehensive than the one they used to use.
That should help, Nannetti and Huber agree, along with better use of the state's 11 advocacy centers, where caseworkers work with police, prosecutors, doctors, forensic interviewers and counselors.
"You're talking about the life of a child," said Nannetti, a 20-year veteran prosecutor. "Caseworkers should not have to make these decisions alone."
Then-state Republican Rep. Laura Knaperek introduced legislation in 1998 that would have had police investigate the worst abuse cases.
The bill never made it to the floor for a vote. Law enforcement officers say it would have overwhelmed police, as it has CPS caseworkers. Police investigate all child sexual abuse cases now and are hard pressed to accomplish that.
Arizona is typical. Child welfare agencies across the country are struggling with the same issue: Remove children to protect them or keep families together?
Gelles said leaving them at home means some will die.
"This is one of the more visible results ... of the ongoing bias of child protection systems to support families rather than protect children," he said.
Family preservation became law in 1980, along with federal funding for prevention efforts, and required "reasonable efforts" to keep families together.
The law was rewritten in 1997 to say those efforts, including counseling, parenting classes, drug rehabilitation, should be made only if the home can be made safe. But big state agencies don't change quickly, and some laws, as in Arizona, still require reunification efforts.
At every troubled child welfare agency, there's talk of reorganization, more money, more caseworkers and training. Gelles said it's not enough.
Napolitano wants new focus
"You have to change the culture of the system. At every step of the system, the rights of the parents prevail," Gelles said. "We are not the family support agency. We're not a counseling agency, a welfare agency, a drug rehab center. We're a child protection agency."
On Thursday, Napolitano made it clear (for the first time in years, CPS officials say) that their job is to protect children.
Before, CPS received a muddled message from state lawmakers who control its budget, Judge Portley said. Leave a kid at home and risk he'll be hurt or even killed. Remove a child and face an appeal hearing and the wrath of lawmakers called in by angry parents.
"You have a system where, at least in the last few years, the Legislature has been pushing parental rights," he said.
A few years ago, the news stories were of too many children being taken from their parents by CPS. Now, in the wake of little Anndreah's death, it's too few.
Napolitano has given aide Noreen Sharp six months to come up with ways to improve CPS. Romley wants CPS to be a separate agency, pulled from the massive Department of Economic Security.
In the meantime, Napolitano told caseworkers to use their training, common sense and the best information available to decide whether to remove children, and she will back their efforts.
"Err on the side of protecting the child," she said, "and we'll sort it out later."
Rise in child deaths reveals CPS' plight
Nearly half had prior contact with state agency
Karina Bland
The Arizona Republic
Jan. 12, 2003 12:00 AM
Two-year-old Emily Smith was shot by her mother. Jerrad Neal, 3, was beaten to death. And 5-year-old Alecia Putrow was raped and drowned in a bathtub.
The children are among 28 in the past five years who had prior cases with state Child Protective Services but died of abuse or neglect anyway.
In all, 74 Arizona children died of mistreatment. Of those, 38 percent had some sort of contact with CPS, more than double the 2000 national figure of 15 percent.
Dead children with CPS files are piling up, worse now than ever.
In each of the past two years, CPS knew half of the children who died of abuse or neglect, compared with just 15 percent in 1998.
And the agency charged with protecting children sits at a crossroads, chewed up in the headlines and facing budget cuts that could strip it bare.
Gov. Janet Napolitano this week promised a complete review of CPS.
Maricopa County Attorney Rick Romley is so fed up that, in one 1999 CPS case, he even considered charging the caseworkers with negligence. "We just can't allow this to continue," he said.
Relatives of children hurt or killed on the state's watch have accused the agency of negligence in civil lawsuits, 13 since 1998. Of those, five have been dismissed or settled, with settlements totaling nearly $2.4 million.
Arizona could find itself in even bigger legal trouble.
Children's Rights of New York, a non-profit group that uses litigation to force change in child welfare systems, has 27 states under some sort of federal court order for violating children's rights.
"I think we could make a convincing case that children in Arizona have had their due process rights denied," said Richard Gelles, part of Children's Rights and author of The Book of David: How Preserving Families Can Cost Children's Lives.
Gelles said such a lawsuit against Arizona could cost as much as $50 million.
Dr. Mary Rimsza, head of the Child Fatality Review Team, which reviews all child deaths in Arizona, says putting additional pressure on CPS caseworkers won't prevent deaths.
She points to the larger number of children who die without having had contact with CPS. She blames relatives, teachers, neighbors and even doctors who often know about the mistreatment yet do nothing.
But the family of Liana Sandoval, 20 months old, did report the bruises and missing clumps of hair to CPS. A caseworker closed the case as unsubstantiated on Sept. 27, 2001, the same day the girl's body was found in a canal. She had been beaten to death by her mother's boyfriend.
"We called CPS, asking for their help, wanting to do the right thing," said Liana's father, Anthony Sandoval. "I thought they would protect my daughter."
CPS 'severely understaffed'
For every dead child, there's an explanation for what went wrong. In some cases, CPS did what it was supposed to do, and the child still died. In others, the agency might have done more.
In interviews with social workers, police, judges, prosecutors and child advocates, one indisputable problem arises: not enough caseworkers.
"That's an understatement," said Cindi Nannetti, chief of the sex crimes bureau in the Maricopa County Attorney's Office. "They are severely understaffed."
Caseworkers investigating abuse and neglect carry an average of 15 cases a month, compared with the 12 recommended by the Washington, D.C.-based Child Welfare League of America. Each case involves an average of 2.7 kids.
Ongoing caseworkers, those who deal with kids in the state's care, including foster care and group homes, average 30 children each, compared with the national standard of 23 set by the welfare league.
With 671 caseworkers, CPS would need an additional 80 to meet league standards. Making things worse, 70 of the 671 caseworker jobs are vacant. The agency is short 16 supervisors and 24 clerical staff. The job is stressful - the annual turnover rate is 20 percent - and doesn't pay well. A caseworker with a master's degree starts at $26,526.
"We're asking people to go into some pretty horrendous situations for not a lot of pay," said Russ Huber, director of the Childhelp Children's Center in Phoenix.
CPS has never been fully staffed, but the shortage of caseworkers is having deadly repercussions. Since 2001, there has been a 21 percent rise in cases and a 5 percent increase in workers.
"What this really means is that people don't have enough time to do a thorough job," said Anna Arnold, retiring head of the state Division for Children, Youth and Families, which includes CPS.
And, sometimes, children end up dead.
Anndreah Robertson died 10 days after she was born to a crack-addicted mother. At the time, CPS was investigating charges that the mother and grandmother smoked crack cocaine at the family's Phoenix apartment.
On the day Anndreah was released from the hospital, caseworker Caroline Stott was at a school with a little girl who had been sexually abused, trying to finish an investigation before school let out.
She told hospital staff to give the baby to her mother. A week later, Anndreah was dead, her intestines destroyed by exposure to crack cocaine.
A dozen caseworkers resigned after Anndreah's death, fearful they would find themselves in the headlines.
"We have a lot of inexperienced people out there who are without social work backgrounds and new to the job," said Beth Rosenberg of the Children's Action Alliance, a Phoenix non-profit advocacy group.
Caseworkers inexperienced
CPS is asking the Department of Administration to raise the minimum criteria for caseworkers. "We should have people with degrees in social work and counseling," Rosenberg said, "not art history."
So Anndreah Robertson's name was added to the list of the 74 dead, a finding of abuse or neglect made after they were buried. Most were shaken to death. Others were beaten. Some were even shot.
Three other crack babies are on the list, but none lived a day. A Tucson baby born this year was buried alive.
A finding of neglect is made when a caretakers' action, or inaction, contributes to a death. Abuse findings are easier to make, with obvious physical injuries or a pattern of abuse.
If a child had prior CPS contact, it means there was a report that may or may not have been found valid.
For the past five years, caseworkers have investigated reports involving 450,000 children. There is no way to measure how many children weren't hurt because of CPS, spokeswoman Karin Kline said.
Judge Maurice Portley of Maricopa County Superior Court said CPS can't be blamed for an abuse death if the reason the agency was called wasn't directly connected to what killed the child.
"We need to know how they died, if that death was in any way attributable to the reason CPS went out there in the first place," he said.
A former presiding Juvenile Court judge, Portley asks tough questions: Can CPS guard against a mother's poor choice in boyfriends? Should drug-using parents lose their kids, even if there are no signs of abuse or neglect? Does an empty refrigerator mean a child will die?
"How are you supposed to predict that without your classic crystal ball?" Portley asked.
Rosenberg said caseworkers could make better predictions, even without a crystal ball, if they got more information: criminal and employment histories, drug and alcohol use and domestic violence.
"They should look at risk factors in the family," she said, "not just 'Did the child get hit in the face?' "
More ammunition for agency
Caseworkers are testing a new safety assessment, much more comprehensive than the one they used to use.
That should help, Nannetti and Huber agree, along with better use of the state's 11 advocacy centers, where caseworkers work with police, prosecutors, doctors, forensic interviewers and counselors.
"You're talking about the life of a child," said Nannetti, a 20-year veteran prosecutor. "Caseworkers should not have to make these decisions alone."
Then-state Republican Rep. Laura Knaperek introduced legislation in 1998 that would have had police investigate the worst abuse cases.
The bill never made it to the floor for a vote. Law enforcement officers say it would have overwhelmed police, as it has CPS caseworkers. Police investigate all child sexual abuse cases now and are hard pressed to accomplish that.
Arizona is typical. Child welfare agencies across the country are struggling with the same issue: Remove children to protect them or keep families together?
Gelles said leaving them at home means some will die.
"This is one of the more visible results ... of the ongoing bias of child protection systems to support families rather than protect children," he said.
Family preservation became law in 1980, along with federal funding for prevention efforts, and required "reasonable efforts" to keep families together.
The law was rewritten in 1997 to say those efforts, including counseling, parenting classes, drug rehabilitation, should be made only if the home can be made safe. But big state agencies don't change quickly, and some laws, as in Arizona, still require reunification efforts.
At every troubled child welfare agency, there's talk of reorganization, more money, more caseworkers and training. Gelles said it's not enough.
Napolitano wants new focus
"You have to change the culture of the system. At every step of the system, the rights of the parents prevail," Gelles said. "We are not the family support agency. We're not a counseling agency, a welfare agency, a drug rehab center. We're a child protection agency."
On Thursday, Napolitano made it clear (for the first time in years, CPS officials say) that their job is to protect children.
Before, CPS received a muddled message from state lawmakers who control its budget, Judge Portley said. Leave a kid at home and risk he'll be hurt or even killed. Remove a child and face an appeal hearing and the wrath of lawmakers called in by angry parents.
"You have a system where, at least in the last few years, the Legislature has been pushing parental rights," he said.
A few years ago, the news stories were of too many children being taken from their parents by CPS. Now, in the wake of little Anndreah's death, it's too few.
Napolitano has given aide Noreen Sharp six months to come up with ways to improve CPS. Romley wants CPS to be a separate agency, pulled from the massive Department of Economic Security.
In the meantime, Napolitano told caseworkers to use their training, common sense and the best information available to decide whether to remove children, and she will back their efforts.
"Err on the side of protecting the child," she said, "and we'll sort it out later."
posted by Jenn @ 09:22
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