I Speak For This Child: True Stories of a Child Advocate (2 page)

Acknowledgments

 

Due to my vows of confidentiality, I cannot thank by name everyone who has helped me with this book.

However, I cannot leave out some of the experts and mentors and assistants who have contributed mightily to the project, including Jolene Cazzola, Betty Duermeier, Kathleen Cossey, Wayne Black, Ph.D., Pat Barton, Bradford Bobbitt, Esq., Elsie Weisman, Robin Madden, M.D., Ph.D., Mary Alisi, Debbie Rector, Mary Ann Boline, and Mary Wanke.

Donald Cutler, my perceptive agent, and Erica Marcus at Crown Publishing, all had faith in the value of speaking out for a child even before children’s rights became a popular national issue.

The injustice done to an individual is sometimes of service to the public.

—
JUNIUS

In this little world where children have their existence, whosoever brings them up, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt, as injustice.

—
CHARLES DICKENS

The solution of adult problems tomorrow depends in large measure upon the way our children grow up today. There is no greater insight into the future than recognizing when we save our children, we save ourselves.

—
MARGARET MEAD

For these are all our children. … We will all profit by, or pay for whatever they become.

—
JAMES BALDWIN

P
refac
e
Children Are Waiting

Many things we need can wait, the child cannot. Now is the time his bones are being formed, his blood is being made, his mind is being developed. To him we cannot say tomorrow, his name is today.

—
GABRIELA MISTRAL

T
HE COVER STORY OF THE JULY
31, 1988, edition of
Parade,
“Who Speaks for the Lost Children?” caught my eye. By the time I finished it, I was incensed that foster care had become a dumping ground for American children who never found their way back to their original families or were not adopted into permanent homes. The article indicated that there were ways to improve the system and that individuals on citizen review boards or working as volunteer advocates could benefit these children. Now that is something I could do, I thought, and clipped the story, even highlighting the reference to the nationwide Court Appointed Special Advocate (CASA) program, which uses volunteers to speak out for the best interests of foster children in court. After a few days, though, I placed it in a file.

For a long time I had been looking for a way to contribute to our community. Ever since my teen years, when I worked with the American Friends Service Committee in a migrant workers village in California and in a gang violence reduction project in East Harlem, I wanted to be useful. At Antioch College in the 1960s there were frequent opportunities not only to demonstrate against injustice, but also to participate in socially beneficial works. For a long time I used my career as a filmmaker and a writer to propagandize for issues in which I believed. To this end my film director husband, Philip, and I produced documentary and educational films championing natural childbirth, parent-infant bonding, breastfeeding, early childhood education for disadvantaged children in urban and rural locations, and environmental concerns. We made commercials to help political candidates win elections or to keep worthy endeavors funded. My novels also explored social themes, but I was no longer active in community service.

Shortly after reading the article in
Parade,
our elder son, Blake, entered Groton School in Massachusetts. Soon he became active in community service projects there and told me the school’s motto was
Cui Servire Est Regnare,
putting service above all. I was reminded again of how I was neglecting direct work in our locale, yet my forays into parent-teacher organizations, volunteering in the schools, and similar committee activities had been unsatisfying.

Even before reading the article, though, I had voiced strong opinions about children and legal issues, which had come to a head during the Baby M. surrogate mother case. Most everyone I knew felt the father, William Stern, who had contracted for the baby born in 1985, had every right to claim her, while Mary Beth Whitehead, the birth mother, had lost her chance to change her mind by agreeing to the conception. I knew that the mother-infant bond had a physical and hormonal basis that often superseded a logical one, and that a contract signed in early pregnancy before this attachment took place should not be enforced. In fact, when I read the published details on the contract, I became convinced that the surrogate mother’s rights had been horridly compromised, if only because she had not received legal representation before she signed the highly questionable, and one-sided, document. To me, if it was illegal to sell a baby after it was born, it should be illegal to sell it before it was born. And yes, while Baby M. had bonded to her adoptive family, she had been yanked from her mother’s breast under protest. At last the interests of Baby M. were considered when a Guardian ad Litem, an attorney, was appointed by the court. In discussing the case informally, I had argued for some sort of joint custody quite similar to the final outcome after an appeal. Of course this was theoretical. At that time I never thought that the opinion of someone without a law degree would matter—let alone make a difference—in these situations. The idea that a nonprofessional volunteer could champion a child had intrigued me, but like so many others, I lacked the time and motivation to actually become involved.

The catalyst that finally pushed me to act was the news reports about Bradley McGee, a two-year-old child living in foster care in Lakeland, Florida, who was murdered by his stepfather. The product of a rape, little Bradley was living with his teenage mother and her boyfriend. The mother had abandoned Bradley at a mall at the age of four months. After a placement with a relative didn’t work out, he was moved to the Kirklands’ foster home. His mother had not contacted him for six months, but when the Kirklands offered to adopt him, his mother reappeared, signed up for parenting classes, and received visitation rights. Even though Bradley’s mother did not always comply with her agreements, the caseworkers wrote positive reports about the toddler’s adjustment when he was with her. The foster parents, though, noticed that Bradley seemed traumatized by the visits and pleaded with the judge not to return the child to his mother. On July 25, 1989, the judge extended Bradley’s stay with his mother and her new husband. Three days later he was dead from a brain hemorrhage after his stepfather dunked him repeatedly headfirst in a toilet as punishment for soiling his pants. Subsequent articles on the sensational case mentioned that ever since Bradley had come to the attention of the social service agency as an infant, he had been waiting to be assigned a Guardian ad Litem. Because of a shortage of advocates, there was nobody to convey the problems the foster parents saw to the judge. If only I had become a guardian a year earlier …

That did it. I got on the phone. Eight connections later Lillian Elliott, the Guardian ad Litem case coordinator, explained that our area was served by a very active program. Training began in September. Ten weeks after Bradley McGee’s murder, I was assigned my first case. Since then, I have advocated for more than a dozen children and have sat in courtrooms with my heart beating rapidly as I awaited a judge’s life-changing decision. Will an abusive parent regain custody of a frightened child? Will a family be split up? Will a mother who made a mistake be given a second chance? Will a sexual pervert be jailed? I am not merely a bystander but an active participant in the process. What I say carries weight because I have personally investigated the case and speak for the children involved.

Intr
odu
ction
License to Care

Success is to laugh often and much;
to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics; to endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded.

—
RALPH WALDO EMERSON

M
Y LIFE CHANGES THE MOMENT I OPEN THE ENVELOPE
. It all begins with an official document appointing me to the case. The paper heralds its importance by its eight-and-a-half-by-fourteen-inch legal size. It arrives in an official envelope from the judicial circuit court. “In the interest of …” followed by the name and birth date of a child is typed at the top of the page. The first paragraph states: “I, Gay Courter, a duly qualified volunteer of the State of Florida Guardian ad Litem Program have been nominated by the program and hereby give notice that I will accept appointment as a Guardian ad Litem in this cause.” This notice of acceptance of the Guardian ad Litem is attached to the order appointing the Guardian ad Litem program to represent the best interests of this particular child, who is involved in a court proceeding, usually because that child is a victim of abuse or neglect.

Even though I already may have been told the general history of the case and have given my tentative approval to accept the assignment before these orders are sent, everything changes the moment I read the name of the child one line above my own. A few minutes earlier this child was a stranger living his life in another time and place than mine. Intellectually I realize there are millions of children who live in poverty, suffer serious health problems, are victims of crimes, neglect, and abuse. I see their images in the newspapers and on television. I read articles about their plight. I can rail against the societal woes that have given the rich and powerful democratic United States appalling statistics about the health and welfare of our children. I can pontificate and quote. Yet this is the abstract. Anytime I want I can turn the page, change the topic, switch the channel. Anytime, that is, until the papers arrive.

As I stare at the document a former nonentity metamorphoses into a person with a name, a birth date, a beating heart, and blinking eyes. This is a living breathing child, who has been assigned to me. I am not an attorney or caseworker. I have no higher education in psychology or law or social science. I am a writer and filmmaker who has volunteered to be this child’s voice in court.

If I sign this document, I am agreeing to perform the responsibilities of the Guardian ad Litem until termination of the jurisdiction of the court or discharge or release by the court or circuit director of the program. My involvement might be for several months only, but more likely it is a commitment that will span years. I also pledge to maintain any information received as confidential and will disclose the same only to parties to the cause or their counsel.

Before I consent, I peruse whatever has arrived in the file, although none of those documents—no matter how pathetic or sensational—has ever deterred me. For, from the moment I see my name below the child’s, I know we are inexorably bound to travel a twisting road together—hand in hand, heart to heart—striving to win victories: some slight, others stupendous. No matter what happens I will champion that child’s cause until he has a safe, stable place to live; until he is given the legal, psychological, educational, and medical services he deserves to have; until justice is served and the child is settled and better off than he would have been without my intervention.

While I may ignore the anonymous, I cannot circumvent this assignment.

For this is my License to Care.

Guardian ad Litem, sometimes abbreviated as GAL, is the legal title for a child advocate in the state of Florida. Other systems refer to their counterparts as court appointed special advocates (CASAs) as well as other, similar names. Also, different districts confer upon their advocates a varying range of powers and responsibilities. My experience rests entirely on the laws of Florida, which mandate in both legislative and administrative orders that there is a need for independent advocacy for children in abuse and neglect judicial proceedings. Chapter 415 of the Florida statutes—as well as the Rules of Juvenile Procedure of the Supreme Court of Florida, Rule 8.215—requires appointment of a Guardian ad Litem in any of these proceedings, and the state has appropriated funds for the Guardian ad Litem program to be administered through the state court system. Because of this legal mandate, guardians have party status in courtroom proceedings.
Party,
in legal parlance, refers to those by or against whom a legal suit is brought. Why, though, is there a need for a nonprofessional, unpaid person to become involved in a complicated court process when there are many other qualified specialists working on an abuse case?

At first it was thought that a child’s interest was safeguarded during the judicial process. A neutral judge supervised the proceedings and attorneys represented the parents, the social services agencies, and the state. But are those assumptions true? Usually the person making the formal complaint of abuse and neglect is the local social services department. In Florida, this entity is called the Department of Health and Rehabilitative Services (HRS). HRS files a petition on behalf of the child and is represented by either the state attorney’s office, if it is a criminal case, or an HRS staff lawyer, if it is a child abuse case. At first glance it would seem that this attorney would act in the child’s best interests. Not necessarily so. The attorney’s primary concern is to establish whether or not the child was harmed by the alleged perpetrator. But the child has needs that transcend merely proving the abuse occurred.

Then what about the respondent’s attorney? In an abuse case, the respondent is often the child’s parent. Because they have a client-attorney relationship, the lawyer is obligated to represent ardently the wishes of the parent. If this means tearing apart the prosecutor’s case due to weak evidence or faulty procedure, he will do so, despite the fact that the parent may have actually abused the child. Even worse, protecting a parent-client sometimes means challenging a child’s credibility. Thus the parent’s interests and the child’s interests can be in direct conflict because defending the client means denying the charges. Yet, if the parent is exonerated, he is free to abuse the child again.

How about the judge? Can he advocate for the rights of the child while remaining impartial during the adversarial process? No, he must listen to each side and hand down a fair decision based on the merits of the case, not what he believes is right for an individual.

What are social workers for if not professionally to represent the best interests of the child? The caseworkers do much of the direct contact work with the family and try to offer services to the injured child, but even in the finest department, heavy caseloads and cumbersome regulations created to manage standards and conduct make it difficult to spend the amount of time necessary to thoroughly handle each case. Also, these employees of large agencies have to weigh an individual’s needs against management policy and budgeted resources. If there are six children vying for a single psychiatric bed or other prime placement, five will lose out, and only one will have his needs met. Who decides which child gets chosen?

Just as every child ideally has a parent who goes to bat for her own offspring, every child in the throes of a court dispute deserves an independent advocate who does not care about rules or policy or budgets or beds for the population in general, but only how she might best serve the child assigned to her. If your own child desperately needed a rare medication, you would not concern yourself with those who would be denied it so yours might recover. Likewise, a Guardian ad Litem will try to insure that her guardian child is first on the list for whatever he needs.

One by one, advocate by advocate, this program stretches across the United States, making a difference daily in the lives of thousands of children. Most of the guardians are volunteers. Most are not lawyers. And yet they have official clout to change a child’s life. The fact that the child advocate model was conceived, exists, and thrives in a legal system so hidebound by procedures and traditions is remarkable.

Court appointed advocates for children, such as Guardians ad Litem, are relatively new in American justice. The idea is an innovative and controversial way to keep children from falling through the cracks. Even though there are now programs in every state, only about twenty-five percent of children in the court process are assigned guardians because there are not enough to go around. Some are paid, professional guardians, while others are attorneys who either receive fees or donate their time. More and more they are volunteers. They range in age from eighteen to eighty and many are professionals who take time out from their busy schedules to work with these children. In our area we have a dynamic group of retired guardians. About twenty percent are men.

How it works, why it works, and my involvement in the system is what this book is about. I am one volunteer and I speak from my personal experience. Until I had my first case, I had only been in a courtroom once and had never even observed a trial. My expectations when I started were far different from what they are now. My idealism remains but is filtered by my experiences, and so the choices and decisions I make today are not necessarily done in the order, manner, or style that I might have employed several years ago. More than ever, though, I understand that when I accept a case, I have nothing to lose. It cannot directly affect my career, my finances, or my family. I have nothing to gain either, at least nothing that can be quantified, although I know that I receive far more from each child than I expend.

My mission is pure: to make something that has gone terribly wrong a little better, phone call by phone call, visit by visit, meeting by meeting, court appearance by court appearance, report by report. I don’t have to worry about my personal needs or those of the other adults: parents, agency workers, attorneys. Whenever there is a question or problem or decision, I weigh the alternatives and ask: what is in this child’s best interests? The answer is not always simple, but it is made easier if the fog of confusion, paperwork, and hysteria surrounding the case is blown away and the child alone is the focus.

Confidentiality is the main covenant of trust between a guardian and her children. To enable the advocate to assess the factors in a child’s life, almost unparalleled access is given to obtain records, including files from social services and economic services; child support enforcement; aging, adult, and Medicaid services; child-caring and public health facilities; medical and other health professionals from doctors to nurses, psychologists, psychiatrists, and counselors; educational institutions; law enforcement agencies and the Department of Corrections. Without further consent of the child or parents or authorities, the court order authorizes the guardian to inspect and copy any records relating to the child (including those pertaining to the parents, relatives, siblings, suspected perpetrators and their household members or any other adults involved with the child) with the proviso that the information received will not be disclosed except in reports to the court and other parties to the cause. Thus, as a Guardian ad Litem, I have been able to access records that are legally unavailable to police, lawyers, social service agencies, schools, and the families themselves. Information helps an advocate develop a picture of what is going on that is far more inclusive than the viewpoints of many others involved in a case.

For instance, I learned about a murder that a father committed, which had not been previously known to anyone else involved with the case; I discovered arrest records (but not convictions) for rape; medical reports on previous victims and stepchildren assaulted by a father accused of incest; psychological records on a sex offender showing a pattern to his crimes; and a wide variety of privileged papers that have greatly influenced my recommendations to the court. This aspect of a guardian’s power is often the most shocking to people who have been led to believe that certain documents—such as psychiatric reports—are utterly confidential and can never be used against them. When it comes to the protection of a child, though, there are exceptions. I have had difficulty obtaining some files, but a doctor could be in contempt of court for not revealing them to me. A physician would not have to give me his notes, but he would be required to release the results of testing, historical information, his diagnosis, and opinions. I cannot show these to anyone except the judge, and they become a part of the permanent judicial record. Also they cannot be used to indict or convict the alleged perpetrator. But I can—and have—said to the court in a hearing to decide where a child should be placed, “According to the psychological records that I have reviewed, this man should not have custody of this child.” This is an influential statement, one not made lightly, and one that holds much weight with the court, but it is an example of how a child can be protected without having to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the child should not live somewhere that could be dangerous.