By Dr. Stacey Patton

Yesterday, The Times of Trenton officially announced that I will receive the 2012 Barbara Boggs Sigmund Award from Womanspace of Mercer County, NJ.  This recognition has been bestowed on 18 stellar women, including artist Faith Ringgold, television personality Star Jones, journalist Diane Sawyer, and Rutgers University basketball coach C. Vivian Stringer.

To be honest, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Womanspace selected me to receive its annual for my work on behalf of children who have been abused or neglected.

It’s always nice to be recognized for your work, especially when it’s work you do from the heart.  While my “official” professions are author, journalist and historian, my “passion project” is speaking to and working with youth and adults around issues of foster care, adoption, and domestic violence.

As you know, I am one who includes the spanking of children—corporal punishment in the name of discipline—in my definition of domestic violence. When I share this perspective, and my commitment to giving parents options to use in their child-rearing toolkit, some people react very negatively. I’ve received countless insults, typed attacks and threats on this site and elsewhere for suggesting that physical violence might not be the best way to communicate with a child. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that some of those people who are most adamant about spanking and beating children (you know, the ones who loudly and proudly advocate “whuppin’ that a**”) often have hostile reactions to my advocacy work.

Fending off attacks is nothing new for me: I spent my childhood trying to survive an abusive adopted home. So the vicious comments and accusations only fuel my determination to grow this movement until the beating of children is viewed as socially unacceptable.

So in addition to being an honor, I appreciate Womanspace’s recognition of my work, not only because I have deep respect for their organization, but because it is so profoundly validating of my efforts to make a difference. This is especially important these days when, despite rhetoric to the contrary, the well-being of kids is not a national priority.

The Children’s Defense Fund reports that Black children are facing the worst crisis in America since slavery. Their statistics paint a grim and frightening portrait of young Black life in our nation. There are many areas for progress and improvement: health, education, poverty, fractured family structure, and risk of crime and incarceration. Why then would we add corporal punishment to the already daunting load of challenges faced by Black children today?

Womanspace is a nonprofit that provides help for victims and survivors of domestic and sexual violence, and they have upgraded their child advocacy program this year into a full-service therapeutic children’s counseling division. They get it!

I will humbly and gratefully accept their Barbara Boggs Sigmund Award on behalf of every parent who has struggled with anger, fear and frustration; every child who wonders why the person they rely on for survival is hurting them to “teach you a lesson;” on behalf of the countless women and men in social services; and in tribute to those advocates and activists who came before me. It means a lot to me, for all those reasons.

But the most important message that this honor conveys is that, despite the often hateful response to standing up for children, I am not alone in this struggle, the most important of my life.

The Womanspace fundraiser will be held on May 9, in the Westin Hotel at Forrestal Village. Please help support their work by purchasing a ticket, or making a donation at www.womanspace.org, or calling them at 609.394.0136.

                          

I’m happy to report that on Jan. 11, 2012 I will deliver the keynote address for the 19^th annual Children’s Law Institute Conference (CLI) in Albuquerque, New Mexico. 

Every year the CLI conference brings together hundreds of social services professionals from the State of New Mexico and beyond to enhance their skills and knowledge of how best to serve child victims of abuse and neglect.  Attendees explore a range of best practice responses, highlight new research, recommend changes in the foster care and juvenile justice systems, and look at a variety of ways for professionals to build support and connections for the children and families they serve.

The theme of this year’s conference is “Community Matters” and is a call for social work professionals to come together as a community, rejuvenate, hone skills and find inspiration.  Like many other industries across the U.S., the child welfare system is facing tough times.  Agencies are being asked to better the lives of children and families in the face of shrinking budgets, fewer resources, and increasingly complicated cases. 

Do more with less, is the constant refrain in all sectors of American society.  But I will talk about how the social services community can band together to do more AND BETTER for children in care.  I will share the story of my foster care journey and highlight the social workers and community that rallied around me as a child and ultimately empowered me to finish growing up.  I will also emphasize key ways the social services industry can build community by strengthening cultural competence and bettering communications with the families they serve.

This year, the CLI conference will offer 35 workshops that are designed to refresh thinking about core topics in social work practice, inspire new ideas, and leave attendees feeling united and energized.  On Jan. 11 and 12, I will lead a workshop called “The Grief Journey of the Child Placed in Foster Care.” 

My workshop is designed to help social workers, supervised visitation professionals, Court Appointed Special Advocates, counselors and other direct care providers understand the stages or phases of grief and ways that children may act during these stages.  Through interactive exercises and discussions participants will learn how to identify and appropriately document the behaviors that children demonstrate as they move through stages of grief and loss and develop strategies on how to respond not only to the behaviors but also the emotions behind the behaviors.

Among the list of dynamic speakers and presenters is Ashley Rhodes-Courter, author of Three Little Words.  Ashley spent 10 years in foster care, living in 14 different foster homes.  She will discuss her time in foster care and highlight the CASA worker that was able to get her out of abusive situations and eventually find her an adoptive family. Ashley will also shed light on what it means to be a foster youth, what tools are important when working with youth, and how one person can change the life of a child.

Also on the list of speakers is Alan Webber, founder of Fast Company Magazine.  Alan will deliver the closing keynote on Friday.  He will share relevant lessons from other sectors about building efficient and effective teams within the social services community.

Stay tuned for updates from New Mexico and hopefully a video of my keynote!

By Dr. Stacey Patton

Just before the Thanksgiving holiday I took a virtual trip to Israel where I met up with about 20 Jewish and Palestinian high school teens who attend the Jerusalem Book Club four times a year to share pizza, lemonade and thoughts on the books they read together.  I sat in a small drab studio in Brooklyn Heights while they perched themselves on colorful poufy chairs inside the American Center in Jerusalem and discussed my memoir That Mean Old Yesterday. 

Organized in 2007, the Jerusalem Book Club is a cooperative project between the Schmidt’s Girls College in East Jerusalem and the Academy of Music and Dance in West Jerusalem.  The club’s theme is – “Reading is Understanding.”  Despite being neighbors in Jerusalem and surrounding areas, these Arab and Jewish teens rarely interact with each other in their every day life outside of their book club meetings.

I was surprised when Suzanne Sapir, one of the Jerusalem Book Club organizers, informed me that Arab and Jewish teens were reading That Mean Old Yesterday as their most recent pick.  My initial reaction was, ‘Why would a group of teens living in radically different cultures want to read a book about a young African-American girl who was adopted, endured child abuse and survived the American foster care industry?’  ‘Why would these young people, who continue to endure political hostilities and unrelenting violence in their region, want to hear what I have to say about the history of slavery and racial terrorism and its impact on black families in America?’  

‘What in the world could we possibly have in common?’

As they all sat side-by-side on the opposite side of the video monitor they asked important questions about the themes of my book, the writing process, healing and resiliency, and they brilliantly articulated what my work meant to them.  One student told me that if he had to choose a soundtrack to accompany my life story it would be Sam Cooke’s “Change Is Gonna Come.”  I was blown away by the students’ depth of knowledge of American history, black music and literature.

More importantly, they reminded me that there clearly are issues that transcend political boundaries, religion, and long-term feuds.  I’ve kept in contact with a few of the teens via Facebook and email since our meeting.  Some have shared their own personal challenges with physical and emotional abuse and others have talked about how much they enjoy coming together despite their differences. 

Last year a student told Sapir, “It is so nice to get together.  We talk and laugh and enjoy discussing books.  Why do people around us tell us that we are enemies and should not meet?”

Sapir said she almost fell off her chair.  “That is what I always wanted these kids to realize,” she said by email.

Sapir initially got the idea to start the Jerusalem Book Club from watching an episode of Oprah that mentioned kids and book clubs.  When the Israel and Palestine Center for Research and Information (IPCRI) and the Middle East Children’s Alliance (MECA), organizations dedicated to peace and recognizing the rights of Israelis and Palestinians and children, both ran out of funding Sapir knew she had to do something to address the impact of the conflict on young people.  So she asked a Muslim friend and colleague to partner with her to begin a book club where Jewish and Arab teens would read books in English.

“My mission was to bring together kids who live in the same city but never connect, never socialize, never talk,” Sapir said.  “It’s like they live in two different worlds.  At the time, as well as now, it would be impossible to bring Arabs from the territories here or bring Israeli kids there.”

In 2007, Sapir traveled to the U.S. to visit her sisters.  One of her sisters donated the first two sets of books – Alice Walker’s The Color Purple and William Golding’s Lord of the Flies.  She returned to Israel with the books in her luggage and prepared for the first meeting.  Since their first meeting the club has read books like The Wave, Jane Eyre, The Book Thief, The Kite Runner, Life of Pi, Mao’s Last Dancer, and A Long Way Gone, a book about a boy soldier in Sierra Leone who was rescued by UNICEF and now lives in New York City.  In 2009 the book club received an award from a German organization for doing cooperative work in a conflict zone.  The club received 1000 Euros to purchase more books.

“The kids love getting together,” Sapir said.  “They talk and laugh and do what all teenagers do – complain about school, etc.  We usually discuss the books for an hour after doing icebreaker activities.  At 5:00 it is over, but sometimes the kids stay and talk, talk, talk after the teachers leave!”

As I chatted, laughed and shared jokes about Hip Hop and reality TV shows like ‘The Jersey Shore’ and ‘Real Housewives of Atlanta’ I got the sense that the burdens of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict did not enter the room and certainly were not brought up in our conversation.  Sapir said that she and the other organizers hope that by reading and discussing books together the students can somehow bridge the gap between them, overcome prejudices they have about each other, and become friends.

Sapir said, “There are many stories, good stories” about Arabs and Jews cooperating.  “This info never gets out in the media,” she said.

Her biggest hope is that the teens will walk away with a vision that they can help others by making people aware of important issues.  “Knowledge is power,” Sapir said.  “Even one person has the power to change things.  Books take you to different places.”  Sapir also hopes that the teens may be inspired to write their own stories about growing up in Jerusalem.

One thing that we all agreed upon – African American, Jew, and Arab – is that abuse knows no boundaries and that healing, resilience, and friendship are universal necessities.

If you would like to support the Jerusalem Book Club by donating books or money please email Suzanne Sapir at sksapir@gmail.com.

By Dr. Stacey Patton

The sexual abuse of a child, irrespective of gender, class background or race, is no doubt one of the most heinous crimes.  But there’s no denying that the public’s outrage is especially charged when the perpetrator and victim are of a different race. 

Unconfirmed reports allege that former Penn State defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky chose black boys as his primary victims.  The mainstream media’s use of the coded terms “underprivileged” and “at-risk” to describe the victims has rightly raised suspicions among black observers.  A parent of one of the boys has said that Sandusky’s victims were “blacks about 10-12 and had a tall slim muscular build.”

What if Sandusky’s victims are in fact black?  Did race add a layer of vulnerability for his victims, as some observers have suggested?  Did the race of the alleged victims lead Penn State officials to turn a blind eye to a serial child rapist?  Will race determine whether the judicial system will allow the accused pedophile to walk free or pay for his alleged crimes?

While some say that the race of the victims involved in the Penn State sex abuse scandal does not matter, others like Syracuse University professor Boyce Watkins believe that blacks have good reason to be concerned and skeptical.  The problem, Watkins and others have asserted, is much bigger than the Penn State scandal: we live in a society where black children are exempted from the category of innocence, have no intrinsic social value, and are unworthy of protection.  Watkins writes:

“When Black kids go missing, the media almost never notices.  When Black children are being shot in “the hood,” nobody cares.  Black men are incarcerated at holocaust proportions, but few politicians show even a hint of concern.  In light of these realities, it’s not entirely inconceivable that Sandusky chose his targets for the same reason that many serial killers murder prostitutes with no family . . . it’s easy to get away with the unthinkable when you go after the victim that no one cares about.”

Earl Ofari Hutchinson, co-host of the Al Sharpton Show, agrees.  “Put bluntly, if Penn State officials kept their yaps shut for years in the face of open knowledge of and strong suspicions of the child rapes and the victims were young black males, then the last dot connected is the charge that black lives are routinely devalued when it comes to officials taking action to protect them,” Hutchinson asserts.  He adds, “This charge has repeatedly been leveled in serial murders, inner city gang carnage, and child service agencies that ignore or downplay repeated reports of abuse when the victims and the abused are black.”

I am inclined to agree with Watkins, Hutchinson and others who have raise these very important points about the degradation of black childhood in America.  But I want people to consider something else . . .

While the African-American community should rightly be concerned about Sandusky’s alleged fetish for black boys, his crimes against them, and the institutional response, this scandal ought to prompt black America to rally around its children.  How can we expect the larger society to value and protect black children from sexual abuse, genocidal violence and other hidden holocausts when too many among us advocate and even celebrate physically and mentally beating down our children? 

Just this week CNN published a report showing that African Americans are most likely to use switches, belts, shoes and other objects to beat children.  Last week I participated in a conversation on NPR’s “Tell Me More” with Michel Martin and the ‘Mocha Moms’ about the so-called thin line between physical discipline and abuse.  One of the moms boisterously argued that it is okay to whip children with switches and belts and to even knock her 18-year-old child upside the head.  You have to beat them with love, she said.  I’m not making this up.  You can listen to the conversation for yourself here.

There’s no denying that black children have remained trapped in the logic of race and devaluation since the birth of William Tucker in 1624, the first black child born in the American colonies.  In the American imagination the black child remains the antithesis of the white child: unhealthy, uneducable, deviant, criminal, hypersexual, dangerous, and unworthy of protection.  

But when so many black people beat the bodies and murder the souls of our children we shouldn’t be so surprised when a predator, like Jerry Sandusky, seizes the opportunity prey on our youth.  We shouldn’t be surprised when an institution like Penn State looks the other way and when a philanthropic organization like The Second Mile Foundation uses the plight of poor black children to raise millions while knowingly or unknowingly becoming complicit in pimping out those same children.

Until we do better by our children, no one else will.

A discussion we desperately need to have.

Two recent cases of videotaped beatings have brought corporal punishment into the public sphere in a dramatic way, interspersed with the dynamics of race, gender, class, age and privilege.

In September, Devery Broox, 25, posted a video on WorldStarHipHop.com of himself whipping a seven-year-old boy he mentored. Broox’s justification for whipping and verbally abusing the boy,  humiliating him with a bad haircut and subjecting him to a punishing workout, is that he was trying to keep him from prison. He said the boy’s grandmother had called him to punish the boy for acting up at school.

Broox posted the video online with scrolling statistics about the number of black men in prison, and titles for each step of the process of disciplining a child: Interrogation, Removal of SWAG, Beat Dat ASS!!!, and at the end: Job Well Done.

A viewer alerted the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, the local police department identified Broox and the boy from the video, and Broox was booked into jail and charged with one count of felony child abuse. He has since posted bond.

The comment threads on various sites where the video was posted overwhelmingly supported Broox, saying black kids need to be whipped to keep them out of the penal system. Some viewers even accused the police and social services as being racist for arresting Broox.  These kinds of reactions support the contention that African Americans are more likely to not just embrace corporal punishment, but view it as essential to rearing children responsibly.  Since this videotaped beating of a young black boy did not provoke an outcry among black Americans, should we be surprised that it did not garner national media attention and public outcry?

Contrast Broox’s case with that of William Adams, a family law judge in Texas whose disabled  daughter secretly videotaped him savagely beating and verbally berating her when she was 16.  The daughter, Hillary Adams, now 23, recently posted the video on YouTube, where it got more than 2 million hits and prompted a police investigation. 

In contrast to the comments for Broox’s video, many of the comments on the Adams family beating harshly criticized the father for going way too far.

Ironically, Judge Adams handles child abuse cases. In response to the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services request that he be removed from such cases during the investigation, he was taken off such cases for two weeks.  Last week, the Huffington Post reported that Adams won’t face charges because, although police feel it involved a criminal offense and might normally charge him, too much time has passed. 

We can’t look at these two cases—a young black man beating and berating his young mentee, and a middle-aged white judge doing the same to his teen daughter—without racism slapping us in the face. The five-year statue of limitations on the Adams case, and authorities’ claims that  the judge might otherwise have faced charges feels a bit too convenient. This is not just a white man, but one with power in the judicial system, in the very area in which he might have been charged. 

While we must address the fact that a white man got away with something for which a black man was jailed, we must first address the false and persistently pervasive belief that whipping black children keeps them on the right side of the law. In fact, the opposite may be true. For example, the Baltimore, Md. police department, reports that 84 percent of prison inmates were abused as children.

Let’s get to the heart of the matter: why are children being abused in the name of “discipline?” When does “spanking” become abuse? Why is there such a disparity in the way spankings are viewed in black and white communities? And why are children in our society not entitled to the same right to be free from physical assault as adults are?

With our nation’s schools hyper-focused on addressing bullying, national awareness of adult-on-adult domestic violence viewed as unacceptable, and the growing numbers of black children entering the foster care system because of child abuse, why does the black community have such a tragic double standard for the youngest and most vulnerable among us?

While the specifics—and outcomes—of the Broox and Adams cases vary, the underlying dynamic is terrifyingly similar: physical, emotional and verbal abuse being heaped upon children in the name of “straightening them out.”

Maybe it’s not the children who are bent.