I have two young children. One is three years old and the other is one. Before I leave for work in the morning, I make sure to play with them and give them a hug or a kiss.
One of the worst things the government could do to me and my wife, or to any parent, grandparent or guardian, is to take children away. It’s not something that I regularly think about. We’ve never had a social worker in our house or had anyone raise concern over our care for our kids.
However, for the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about it much more than I’d like for reasons that have nothing to do with my personal life.
As a journalist, the stories that I can’t tell – where there is an allegation of serious wrongdoing – tend to eat away at me. In almost all cases, I can’t tell the story because there’s not enough evidence.
A few times over the past three and a half years, I’ve had parents come with complaints involving children unjustly being taken or, conversely, not being given enough protection. It’s pretty much always open and shut; there’s not enough evidence to write anything. Without proper documentation, there’s no way to verify any of it.
What generally doesn’t happen is that someone comes to me with official documents acknowledging the government’s mistakes, only for me to still have to tell them, “Sorry nothing I can do.”
However, that is exactly what can happen with the Ministry of Children and Family Development. The government could wrongly take my children or, if there is cause, wrongly refuse to give them to extended family, and put them in foster care instead.
And, even if I were to file a complaint, and the ministry was to find it valid, I would still be prevented from sharing that finding.
The Child, Family and Community Service Act, which governs child welfare, states that “a person must not disclose information obtained under this act,” except under a number of specific circumstances. Essentially, even a complainant can’t make a ruling on their own case public – not even if it’s the child in the case.
According to the ministry, this is “in order to protect the privacy of children and youth in care, their caregivers or families.”
That decision should be mine as the parent or guardian, particularly if a ministry review finds me to be trustworthy enough to fill that role. Of course, this “privacy protection” also conveniently protects the ministry from scrutiny.
I spoke to the ministry on this matter, and the spokesperson told me I could still report on a case as long as I don’t share the actual review or information in the review.
Journalists have a responsibility to verify stories, which is very difficult when the documentation is off the table. Plus, with the entire case discussed in the review, how could a journalist possibly report on it without sharing information contained in the review?
More to the point, the privacy factor seems to be irrelevant as long as ministry documents or information they contain aren’t revealed.
If you think “this doesn’t happen in Canada” or “this is very rare because I would have heard about it,” that’s precisely the point; you wouldn’t have. Journalists across B.C. are muzzled on this kind of reporting.
Furthermore, the ministry’s history isn’t something to boast about. In 1995, the Gove Inquiry found that in over half the cases they reviewed “social workers breached ministry policy and procedures respecting investigations and risk assessments.”
The situation has improved since with the creation of the Office Representative of Children and Youth, but obviously, issues remain.
This is a ministry working primarily with the most vulnerable in our society, and still doing so in the shadows, with parents, guardians and even youth themselves compelled to silence.
