Patrick Parkinson AM
The tragic death of five-year-old Kumanjayi Little Baby has led to vigorous debate about whether our policy settings are right in terms of protection of Aboriginal children. The NT government wants to amend the legislation. Prof. Megan Davis, an eminent Indigenous leader, and William Tilmouth, have responded in this newspaper by saying the real problem lies with government and the bureaucracy.
In my current work, writing expert reports in court cases concerning failures of the child protection system, I have to disagree. Yes, there are problems in the child protection system in every state and territory, and sometimes demonstrable failures; but there are also issues about the levels of violence and child abuse in Aboriginal communities that, for the sake of these children, we cannot ignore.
By all means, have another inquiry into the child protection system in the Northern Territory and see how it can be improved. Trial new, Aboriginal-led approaches as Mr Tilmouth argues. There may be issues specific to the Northern Territory, or to towns like Alice Springs, that require different methods of protecting children from grave harm.
But in the effort to blame governments for inadequacies in child protection training, or resourcing for family support services, let us not avoid an unpalatable fact. Rates of domestic violence, physical and sexual abuse of children and other family dysfunction are disproportionately high in families with at least one parent of Aboriginal heritage. Report after report has shown this. By and large, children are not removed from these parents due to racism, or poor training, or because workers confuse poverty with neglect. Children are typically removed because it is the only way to give the child a future in situations where their very survival depends on it. In other cases, they are removed to try to prevent further psychological harm which could blight the rest of their lives.
We can debate the reasons why so many Aboriginal children need to be removed. We can point to the continuing effects of colonisation and dispossession, or discuss the conditions in the town camps around Alice Springs; but we should not avoid the unpalatable facts on the ground concerning rates of violence and abuse in Aboriginal communities. We cannot just blame ‘the system’ which has to find ways of responding to this very high level of need.
When children of Aboriginal heritage have to be removed from the care of a parent, as so many do, the question arises how best we can keep them connected with their culture and community. For more than forty years now, child protection practice has been guided by the Aboriginal Child Placement Principle. It creates a hierarchy of preferred placements. In NSW, for example, the law requires that first consideration be given to placing the child in the care of a member of the child’s extended family. If that is not practicable, or it would not be in the child’s best interests, then the second option is being placed with another member of the Aboriginal community to which the child belongs. If that is not practicable or in the child’s best interests, then another Aboriginal family in the vicinity of the child’s place of residence should be found. If none of those options are viable, then the child may be placed outside of the Aboriginal community after consultation with Aboriginal people.
The Principle is often misunderstood. The law does not require that preference be given to any Aboriginal placement over a non-Aboriginal placement. The Principle is about preserving the child’s connection with their family and local community. Furthermore, in NSW at least, the Principle applies only where both parents are Aboriginal. If one parent is not Aboriginal, then the hierarchy of placements does not apply.
Properly understood, it is largely common sense. In all child protection work, if it is possible to place the child in a safe, stable and nurturing home with grandparents, aunts, uncles or other extended family, that option is likely to be chosen. Continuity of relationships is very often good for children. No-one wants to repeat the experience of the Stolen Generation when it comes to the placement of an Aboriginal child.
All that said, it is increasingly difficult to find suitable Aboriginal placements. The numbers tell a sobering story. Aboriginal children are 12 times more likely than non-Aboriginal children to be in out-of-home care. The situation is getting rapidly worse. In 2013, a little more than a decade ago, Aboriginal children were only 8 times as likely as non-Aboriginal children to be in out-of-home care. There has been a fivefold increase in the proportion of Aboriginal children (per 1,000 population) in out-of-home care over the last three decades. We are not closing the gap. On the contrary, it is widening every decade.
Finding appropriate Aboriginal placements was challenging even thirty years ago. Now, with five times as many Aboriginal children requiring placement, the pool of suitable Indigenous carers has not expanded proportionately. The result is predictable: nationally, only 63% of Aboriginal children are placed in one of the three preferred placement options under the Principle. It is remarkable that it is that many, given the number of Aboriginal children who need to be in out-of-home care.
The difficulty is that sometimes unsuitable placements are being made in order to satisfy the Placement Principle. Too often, it seems to have been interpreted as requiring any Aboriginal placement that appears viable, regardless of whether that placement truly serves the child’s best interests.
In my current work, I have encountered many situations where Aboriginal children have languished in temporary arrangements, or have been placed with Aboriginal carers who lack the resources or capacity to meet the children’s complex needs. The result is that the placement breaks down and they are in an even worse situation than before.
Many children entering care have experienced significant trauma. They may have foetal alcohol syndrome, attachment disorders, or behavioural difficulties that require skilled, supported care. Finding carers capable of meeting these needs is challenging under any circumstances. When we further try to restrict the pool to Aboriginal carers within a specific geographical area, we may be setting children up for failure.
The consequences for those children can be devastating. Too often, in the files I see, they have gone on to abuse drugs or alcohol or ended up in prison. In their teenage years, girls put themselves in very unsafe situations where they are vulnerable to sexual exploitation. They have babies, but their children have to be taken away from them because they are not capable of looking after them. So yet another Aboriginal child has to be placed in out-of-home care, and the pattern of intergenerational disadvantage continues.
The question is not whether Aboriginal children should maintain connection to culture and community wherever possible — of course they should. The question is whether mandatory placement hierarchies best achieve this, or whether they sometimes sacrifice children’s immediate safety and stability on the altar of cultural preservation. Can we not ensure cultural connection through other means—regular contact, cultural programs, mentoring—while prioritising placement with carers best equipped to meet each child’s individual needs?
More than anything else, children who have experienced serious trauma or chronic neglect need safe, stable and nurturing families. Their future depends on it. Children have only one life to live — or to lose. If we are to close the gap, we owe it to Aboriginal children to put their needs first, while doing everything we can to preserve their connections to Aboriginal family and community.
Emeritus Prof. Patrick Parkinson AM chaired the legislative review that led to the enactment of the Children and Young Persons (Care and Protection) Act 1998 in NSW