Breaking Barriers and Reclaiming Narratives

When it comes to leaning into the story of what it is to be Black, I hope, as you read these stories, that you’ll feel a growing sense of discomfort—one that moves you not only to sit but to stand (with us), and having taken a stand, to want to walk an extra mile in the shoes of others who are not like you. I am a child of the ’60s.? We grew up with a delightful show called Listen with Mother.? It began with the calming phrase "Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin"; so allow me to borrow from Daphne Oxenford and Julia Lang - “Are you sitting uncomfortably? Then I’ll begin.”

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As Black History Month draws to a close, I wanted to add a postscript about some of the Black stories that are seldom, if ever, told. ?I want to give voice to the voiceless. ?It is one thing to be part of a Black family raised in this country; it is altogether something else to be Black and raised by a White family through the care system.

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This edition is dedicated to stories centered on living in care while Black. I was raised in care. If there was one place where one might reasonably—if naively—assume equity would exist, it would be an orphanage or the care system. After all, aren’t we all outcasts together? Wrong. Some, it seems, come out smelling, if not of roses, then at least a bit rosier.

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In my late forties, in a forlorn attempt to trace my birth parents, I visited the offices of the Crusade of Rescue (as it was known to me) and was granted access to a heavily redacted file. I sat in a sparse room that hadn’t been updated since I was last there in 1977. A crucifix and a picture of Pope Benedict XVI hung slightly off-centre on the wall. The slantedness of the picture bothered me more than it should have. The door opened, and in came the senior social worker, clutching a fading olive-green file. We exchanged pleasantries, and she sat down, still holding the file.

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The interview room was drab, lacking care, much like many of us processed through it over the years. It had potential but needed a bit of TLC.

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The preamble over, the social worker said, “Okay, this is your file. I suggest I sit with you while you read it.”

“That’s kind of you, but that won’t be necessary—I’m good.”

“I’ll stay,” she said, a bit more assertively.

“No need,” I replied, now desperate to snatch the file from her hands. I’m not always the best at reading the room—this wasn’t a request; it was a condition couched as one.

“I’ve read your file, so I know what’s in it—you may find some of the content distressing.”

“Okay, sure; if you think so…”

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My mother had completed the admission sheet in a green ink, with what looked like an unpracticed hand. I smiled—our first connection. For years, I, too, only wrote in green ink.

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Even before I turned the first page, I could feel a groundswell of tears, as though they’d been saving themselves for this exact moment. I could hear the refrain from a song from my school days: “Be quiet, be quiet. Big boys don’t cry.”

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But there, in front of me, was the irrefutable truth. It was a triggering and deeply traumatic read. I won’t burden you with all the details, save one jaw-dropping entry (one of many): a social worker’s margin notes reading, “Mother does not want to visit” and “Child is coloured—not suitable for adoption.”

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Reflecting on that day, countless questions arise. That was 1960; things must have changed, surely. ?How many other files lie unread in those and a thousands of similar filing cabinets? How many narratives need reclaiming? To answer the first question, as recently as last year, Barnardo’s published a report titled Double Discrimination: Black Care-Experienced Young Adults Navigating the Criminal Justice System. It is a sobering read, highlighting systemic barriers and the redress required to achieve true inclusion and belonging for Black care-experienced children.?? That report and others add up to a grim reality for Black care experienced people like me. ?Here are just a handful of example of the barriers we face and some suggestions as to how we can overcome them:

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1. Over-Representation in Care and Criminal Justice Systems

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Barrier: Black children are over-represented in the care system and face higher rates of criminalisation. Nearly 1 in 10 Black care-experienced children receive a custodial sentence before the age of 18—much higher than their non-Black peers. This reflects systemic racism, adultification, and over-policing, making true inclusion and belonging elusive.

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Breaking the Barrier: To foster inclusion, we must stop viewing Black children through a criminal lens. Reforming systems that disproportionately criminalise Black care-experienced children, addressing policing biases, and prioritising rehabilitative care will help integrate these children into society without the weight of double discrimination.

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2. Low Adoption Rates for Black Children

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Barrier: Black children are less likely to be adopted than White children. In 2020, only 2% of adoptions were of Black children, with many left in long-term care. The steep decline in adoption rates (down 47% between 2015 and 2020) underscores systemic barriers.

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Breaking the Barrier: Full inclusion and belonging require addressing the adoption gap by recruiting diverse foster and adoptive families and making the adoption process culturally sensitive. Countering the misconception that Black children are “hard to place” is vital to creating supportive environments.

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3. Educational Disparities

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Barrier: Black care-experienced children face educational challenges due to placement instability and inconsistent support. Though some studies show they perform better academically than White peers, their overall academic attainment is lower than the general population, hindering their societal participation.

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Breaking the Barrier: Targeted, stable support in education systems is essential. This includes mentorship, emotional support, and resources specifically for Black care-experienced children, ensuring equitable access to education and societal integration.

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4. Mental Health Disparities

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Barrier: Black children in care often struggle with mental health, with 46% experiencing diagnosable issues. Yet, culturally sensitive care is lacking, exacerbating exclusion.

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Breaking the Barrier: Culturally competent mental health services are crucial to foster inclusion, recognising the trauma of care and racial discrimination.

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5. Placement Stability and Cultural Mismatch

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Barrier: Black children in care often experience placement instability and cultural mismatches, impacting their emotional and social outcomes.

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Breaking the Barrier: Creating stable placements that honour their cultural background is vital. Targeted recruitment of Black foster carers and training for all carers will help Black children develop a strong sense of belonging.

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Overall Narrative to Redress: Achieving True Inclusion and Belonging

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The idea that Black care-experienced children are inherently challenging or less capable of integration must be dismantled. Addressing systemic racism and biases in care, education, and justice systems is essential to breaking down barriers. Only by fostering environments where Black care-experienced children feel valued, understood, and supported can we help them thrive and belong.

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Telling the stories – I thought I would share with you a passion project that I am working on with a dear friend and fellow ‘looked after kid’ the author Paolo Hewitt ?- last week we recorded our first episode of our new podcast But We All Shine On.

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But We All Shine On is a podcast that shines a guiding light on people, often high-profile individuals, who have not just survived the care system but found a way to thrive. They share their inspiring stories, illuminating pathways through adversity and proving what is possible. The podcast’s aim is to change the narrative around young people leaving care, offering uplifting stories, asking probing questions of the care system, and inspiring current, former, and future care leavers with proof that setbacks can be outpaced, trauma rebuilt from, and adversity overcome.

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We need to reclaim our stories, speaking for all of us, the Queen of Ska, the care experienced Pauline Black from the iconic band The Selecter noted, in her book Black by Design A 2-Tone Memoir, “It never occurred to her that having your history erased and replaced by somebody else’s version of it was a dubious kind of luck.? Adoption is like having a total blood transfusion; it may save your life in the short-term, but if it’s not a perfect match, rejection issues may appear much later.”?

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?Pauline will be a guest on the podcast her story will be the subject of episode two. ?So stay tuned for news on But We All Shine On. For a preview, click the link to our flip book teaser.

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https://online.flippingbook.com/view/668677604/