From trauma to change: Centering Black families in coverage of child welfare reform

Adam Mann was just 5 years old when he was beaten to death by his mother in New York in 1990 for eating a piece of cake without permission. The subject of two PBS documentaries, the story of his severe abuse and a system’s failure to protect him has resonated with me for decades.

Having served as the senior staff writer for The Sacramento Observer for more than a quarter of a century, reporting on the trials and triumphs of the Black community of the greater Sacramento region, I’ve long been aware of the disproportionate number of African American children in the child welfare system. As I began to explore the impact of “the system,” Adam Mann came to mind. I considered his story, along with those of countless other children who, despite not making headlines or attracting documentary filmmakers, are profoundly scarred by childhood traumas and involvement in the system. 

I also thought back to neighborhood friends of mine who were taken by child protective services (CPS) after their parents’ apartment was raided by police. We never saw our playmates again after that day, but I’ve long wondered what happened to them and where they ended up. What were their lives like?

My series — “Systemic: A Look At Child Welfare In The Black Community” — aims to provide a historical overview of the child welfare system and its impact on Black families, exploring the roots of current disparities in past policies and practices. It includes data on the disproportionate number of Black children in the system, focusing on healing from trauma. The series was supported by a grant from the Center for Health Journalism’s 2025 Child Welfare Impact Reporting Fund.

Black children are significantly overrepresented in foster care, comprising 23% of foster care children despite making up 14% of the U.S. youth population. This is rooted in a history of systemic racism and inequality: Black families are more likely to have CPS called on them, and Black children are more likely to be removed and spend longer in foster care. This disparity is also shaped by historical practices of family separation, including movements like the “orphan trains” that often excluded Black children, and the enduring notion that some parents, particularly Black people, are undeserving of their children.

Across my reporting, from county officials to mothers who regained custody, there was universal acknowledgement of the flaws in today’s system. One key aims was to highlight individuals and initiatives addressing these deficiencies. I was particularly struck by how many people who had lost children to CPS were themselves former foster youth or had system-involved relatives, showcasing the impact of generational trauma. It is uplifting to see some turning their pain into purpose, using their experiences to help others and inform system change. I intentionally incorporated diverse viewpoints, including system administrators, community advocates, social workers, former foster youth, clinical therapists, adoptive parents, caregivers and legal experts.

A recurring challenge was finding ways to center the voices of impacted families, as system involvement remains a taboo subject, making it difficult for many individuals to openly discuss CPS intervention or child removal. Although my progress was slow at first, perseverance proved beneficial, and by building relationships and clarifying my intentions for the stories, I gained the trust of community advocates, who then felt comfortable connecting me with the families they support. In order to shed light on the complexities of the issue, reporters need impacted families to share their truths.

While there were common threads of drug addiction and instability, every mother who shared her experience had a different story as to how they became involved in the system. They didn’t sugarcoat their experiences or culpability, but they also maintained that race played a factor in how they fared in the system. 

The “Systemic” series also sought to showcase effective community-based solutions, such as Sacramento County’s Cultural Broker program. This initiative has significantly prevented system involvement and aided reunification by bridging the gap between families and social workers — 96% of 499 families served had their emergency referrals closed without court intervention. Additionally, nearly 47% of children were reunified with biological parents, and 33% achieved permanency through adoption or guardianship, primarily with family.

However, such vital programs are now in jeopardy. Federal grant cuts, linked to the current administration’s stance on diversity, equity, and inclusion, are endangering programs designed to address disparities for specific ethnic groups. For instance, the National CASA program lost $49 million in April, a loss that directly impacts local CASA programs and the children they serve.

While the negative impact of the child welfare system on the Black community is not new, recent incidents locally and nationally underscore the urgent need to restart conversations for meaningful change. Efforts to regain custody aren’t always successful. Sometimes a foster home or kinship placement is the best option, so there has to be a better system in place.

As we continue to deepen our coverage of the child welfare system, The Observer hopes to inspire families, caregivers, former foster youth, and lawmakers to champion new approaches and drive systemic change.