Anatomy of a newborn apprehension: Where are you taking the baby?

Warning: This story discusses the apprehension of a newborn baby. Please read with care. He was born on a Friday and in foster care by Monday. It would have been the next day if not for the weekend that fell in-between. Social workers at Manitoba’s biggest birthing hospital didn’t have much time: moms and newborns are usually discharged within 48 hours. The Cree mom, who told APTN News she was unaware she was pregnant when she gave birth at an inner-city “trap house”, had already disappeared once during the weekend. Given her lifestyle and lack of housing, social workers at Health Sciences Centre Women’s Hospital decided to seize the infant for his own protection. “We look at everything from the baby’s point of view,” says Sandra Stoker, executive director of All Nations Coordinated Response Network [ANCR], whose social workers are generally the first point of contact with the Child and Family Services [CFS] system. “We follow current Manitoba CFS standards.” But the mom’s aunt and Cree nation are condemning the apprehension. They say they were at the mom’s side, advocating for her in the hospital and arranging housing. They want the baby returned. “These are inhumane, racist and uncivil practices,” says the aunt, who can’t be named to protect the baby’s identity. Manitoba’s CFS Act has strict rules about reporting on children in care. “Given what we know about severing the mother-baby bond and … trauma associated with growing up in foster care,” she says, “the system should be doing everything it can to keep mom and baby together.” The chief of the mom’s community called the hospital to say the newborn was one of his citizens, added the aunt. The chief could not be reached for comment. “It was traumatic, chaotic, heartbreaking,” agrees a friend of the aunt, who is a nurse and attended the hospital to support the family. “Winnipeg is Ground Zero for apprehensions. “This should be major news.” ‘Every single day’   A poster at the hospital promoting mother-child bonding. Photo: submitted Manitoba is known for having an over-representation of Indigenous children in its care. The CFS annual report for 2024 shows there were 8,919 children in the system and 91 per cent of those were First Nations, Inuit or Métis. That number has been relatively stable compared with previous annual reports and is showing a downward trend. However, the number of newborns it apprehends is not made public. A provincial government spokesperson advised APTN to apply “through the FIPPA  [Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act] process” for the statistic. While anecdotal, the aunt says security guards at the hospital told her babies are seized regularly. “Our children are being taken into state custody,” she says. “Every single day.” It’s a situation Indigenous parents, caregivers and leaders are fighting to change. They have been lobbying the system for decades. “Our nations, we have the solutions,” says Kyra Wilson, grand chief of the Assembly of Manitoba Chiefs [AMC] that advocates for 63 First Nations in the province. “We just need the support to ensure we have the capacity and the infrastructure to make sure our children and families are supported in community.” The friend of the aunt says she witnessed social workers taking two First Nations children away in one day. The speed and finality of it seemed unreal. “It was very chaotic.” She says she challenged the ANCR social workers. “I was saying, ‘Why do you have to take him? There’s no reason for you guys to take him … Why can’t we figure something out? We’re all here working together?’ and they were just, ‘No … we’re taking the baby’,” the friend says. “And I was, well, ‘Where are you taking him? A stranger’s? He has family out of town’ … I said, ‘We needed more time but we were all rallying around her. There’s a room at [the aunt’s] house for [mom and baby] to go to and they were just, ‘No. Absolutely no, the baby’s coming with us today and that’s it. And they took him.’” The friend says she doesn’t understand it. “[The aunt] is a researcher [and PhD candidate]; I’m a nurse. Two women like that advocating for her and we still couldn’t make a difference? It’s so disheartening,” she says. ‘Systemic oppression’ Some of the baby supplies purchased by family members and friends. Photo: submitted New research shows a shocking level of CFS involvement in the lives of Indigenous families in Manitoba. A joint study produced by the AMC and University of Manitoba [U of M] analyzed data from more than 13,000 First Nations parents and just under 106,700 non-First Nations parents who had their first child during the 20-year period between 1998 and 2019. Researchers found that half of “First Nations birthing parents in Manitoba experience significantly higher rates of contact with CFS compared to non-First Nations birthing parents.” The data showed:  50 per cent of all First Nations birthing parents had an open CFS file – a rate nearly four times higher than non-First Nations parents  27 per cent of all First Nations birthing parents experienced removal of one or more of their children – a rate nearly six times higher than non-First Nations parents  10 per cent of all First Nations birthing parents experienced termination of parental rights of one or more of their children – a rate more than five times higher than non-First Nations parents Kathleen Kenny, a postdoctoral fellow in community health sciences at the U of M’s Max Rady College of Medicine, says no previous study in the province or elsewhere has estimated population-level rates of CFS contact among parents. “Our research shows devastating levels of disruption and harm by CFS to First Nations families and communities over the past 20 years that is broad and extensive,” Kenny tells APTN. Wilson, the grand chief, agrees. “This system was never built for us. It does not reflect who we are, how we care for each other or what our children need,” she says. “Every child removed from their family and Nation is a tragedy. It breaks the sacred and spiritual bonds, severs connection to land, and inflicts lasting harm on our Nations.” In a news release, Wilson added that “when half of all First Nations birthing parents have an open CFS file, that is not protection; it is systemic oppression. Forcing our families into colonial frameworks is a violation of our rights and our sovereignty.” The study recommends, among other things, investing in First Nations-led care systems, building family reunification homes on reserves, and providing social assistance and public housing for parents following an apprehension. “My number 1 focus is to decolonize child welfare,” says Nahanni Fontaine, the minister of children and families in the provincial NDP government, in response to the findings. “My number 1 focus is to ensure that children are with their families, in their communities, immersed in their language, and their culture and traditions.” Fontaine, a member of Sagkeeng First Nation in Manitoba, says her department is working to keep families together by transferring power to Indigenous CFS agencies and encouraging social workers to place children with their own families. But Indigenous agencies are mandated to follow CFS guidelines, notes Mary Anne Clarke, a social work professor at the U of M, whose 40-year career includes working with First Nations in northern Manitoba. “This perpetuates the harm against First Nations families even though it may have the best of intentions,” she says. “The grandmothers say, ‘Why can’t baby stay with his mother – even if he or she is sick?’ This goes against what’s been ingrained in the system.” Clarke says she has seen first-hand the damage suffered by parents and communities when a child is apprehended, and the value of strengthening and unifying families. The aunt confirms they were all traumatized by the ordeal. “My niece was freaked out by a social worker and police officers [in uniform] at her bedside. She fled the hospital,” the aunt says, noting she found her niece and brought her back. “She was still kind of medically unwell and different specialists came in to talk to her.” That’s when she and her friend encouraged the mom to breastfeed the baby and cuddle him against her warm skin. “We started trying to support her bonding with the baby,” says the aunt, adding it is her niece’s second child. “She was very caring and loving and proud of baby … I had bought things: a car seat, stroller, clothes, Pampers [diapers], glass [milk] bottles the mom wanted. I prepared a whole room in my home for them.” ‘It’s so disconnected’ A bag of baby clothing and related supplies were waiting in the mom’s room. Photo: submitted But it was too late. ANCR had imposed an apprehension order Friday afternoon, says the aunt’s friend. She says it appeared that mom was being prevented from seeing the baby on Monday. “That’s when things went really down from there. We spent the whole morning with her,” says the friend. “Monday afternoon ANCR was there to take the baby. I went into the room and they were undressing him from the clothes that we brought for him,” she says. “They were just adamant about not bringing anything that belonged to baby … They already had him in the car seat, strapped in, in a diaper shirt and a little hat. “They were just looking for blankets, and I said, ‘He has clothes. We have all these things for him’ and they kept saying, ‘No, no, no, we’re not going to bring any of that stuff, it will just get lost.’” The friend says it left her confused. “I was questioning the social workers about [the mom wanting] to breastfeed him and now what is she supposed to do? And they said, ‘There’s freezer bags here. If she wants to she can freeze her breast milk and we’ll see about arranging picking it up for him or whatever’.” “… It’s heartbreaking to watch that happen so quickly … What was such a rush? They barely gave us a chance …” “I just don’t understand how the system works,” she added. “When there’s all those different people why we couldn’t have come to a better conclusion?” The mom hadn’t even named the baby yet, says the aunt. “Here we are, looking after our own people. We were looking after each other. But none of that mattered to them,” she says. When she called ANCR the next day for an update, the aunt says she was told the baby and his file had been transferred to Cree Nation Child and Family Caring Agency. ANCR was unable to discuss the case but says it takes child protection seriously. “There were so many barriers,” says the aunt, “and it’s so disconnected. The communication was really lost.” Both mom and baby were ill following the birth and required medical care. “She was in no shape to answer social workers’ questions,” the aunt says, “but … they wouldn’t let up … They came in when she was sleeping, they interrupted when she was with the doctor.” The aunt says she documented everything she could when she was at the hospital between Fri., Jan. 3 and Mon., Jan. 6. She forwarded her notes, recordings and text messages to APTN during that time. She also filmed the social workers trying to leave on Monday. “Why are they taking the baby?” she asks on a video seen by APTN. “You can’t film us,” two women respond while trying to shield their faces and carry a baby in a car seat. The video goes black when a security guard tells the aunt to turn her phone off. These are “unethical and overtly racist practices,” says the aunt in one of her emails, noting she has researched the generational impacts of the CFS system on Indigenous families in Manitoba over the past 125 years as part of her PhD. She says a dedicated team of Indigenous carers at the hospital would make all the difference. “What if there was a special ward at the hospital dedicated to nurturing the bond, while they both received the medical treatment they needed, and supports were put in place [for them] – much like [governments] are talking about doing for homeless people? “Now, my niece has to fight in court to get her baby back,” says the aunt. “She doesn’t have the capacity [or] resources for that. She’s ill herself.” ‘If no one called 9-1-1 for me …’ Officers provide support to social workers during a newborn apprehension at the request of the CFS agency, says a Winnipeg Police Service spokesperson. Photo: APTN file The niece spoke briefly with APTN over the phone. The 31-year-old says she didn’t know she was in labour when someone at the house called emergency responders. She says a social worker arrived with police and firefighters and told her the baby would be seized. “If nobody called 9-1-1 for me I wouldn’t be alive right now,” she says. The baby weighed seven pounds, four ounces. The aunt was unaware her niece was pregnant and unhoused. But says she told social workers and nurses right away that as “a biological family member” her niece and newborn could live with her and her family in their home south of Winnipeg. Also, she says she offered to take the baby while her niece remained in hospital for medical treatment. She says once an infant is in the system, it is nearly impossible to get him or her out. “What we have been doing is not working,” agrees Clarke, the professor, about apprehensions. “Things are changing slower than First Nations want.” She likes the move to enshrine Indigenous-led child welfare systems as the Justin Trudeau Liberal government did through Bill C92. Passed in 2019, the law allows First Nations, Inuit and Métis governments to take control of their child welfare programs. Uptake is increasing, says Indigenous Services Canada, while pointingi to its website that shows 40 communities have already said they’re going to “exercise their legislative authority in relation to child and family services (CFS) under Bill C-92. “This indicates a significant number of communities are actively engaging with the legislation to establish their own CFS systems,” a statement on the website says. [Editor’s note: This story was produced as part of Spotlight: Child Welfare, a collaborative journalism project that aims to improve reporting on the child welfare system. Tell us what you think.] Continue Reading