Monroe County should prioritize family investment over surveillance

I was born and raised in the city of Rochester. Like so many Black parents, I have spent my life fighting for my child in systems that punish and surveil, more than protect and support. 

My son Jeremiah was diagnosed with autism when he was very young. I am a hands-on parent and anyone who knows Jeremiah will tell you he’s brilliant, funny, driven, and determined. He doesn’t let any label stop him. He works, has a YouTube channel, loves politics, and can research a topic for hours. But being a Black mother living in the inner city with a child with a developmental disability means I’ve had to raise him under a microscope. Often when I reached out for support, I was met with racial discrimination, implicit bias, and suspicion of neglect. It didn’t take long to be introduced to Monroe County’s family policing system.

When Jeremiah was 9, he began having episodes of physical aggression. We were told to seek mental health counseling. The day of the appointment I went into Jeremiah’s room to prompt and motivate him to get dressed. Once we finally got to the mental health appointment, instead of focusing directly on the need, the counselor asked why I went into my son’s room while he was undressed. I was stunned and asked what she was insinuating. She never answered—instead she called Jeremiah’s case manager to question what kind of person I was.

When Jeremiah reached middle school, I became aware of the gaps in disability services, primarily related to education. Jeremiah’s classroom setup was not meeting his needs. I practically lived at his school advocating for him. Instead of working with me, the staff treated me like a threat. The front desk was told to watch out for me. They assumed that a Black mother demanding a decent education must be “looking for something.”

Things escalated one afternoon when two Child Protective Services workers showed up at my home. I saw their badges and let them in. They barged past me, threw papers in my face, and demanded I sign without even giving me a copy. One of them tried to walk into my kitchen “to see if there was food.” They questioned me about leaving Jeremiah home alone—although he was 13, had a cell phone, and we had practiced an emergency plan over and over. But they never asked about any of that. Black families rarely receive curiosity—only conclusions and judgment.

What shocked me most was discovering that CPS had also gone to my son’s school to interview him without notifying me. What happened to my parental rights? Unsurprisingly, the staff who worked against me from Jeremiah’s school were the same ones who coordinated the CPS visit. 

As a Black parent, I do not feel safe asking for the support I need. I fear I will be met with accusations and racialized surveillance. For Jeremiah, he becomes very anxious when asked personal questions—especially from those in authority positions. He fears threats of being removed from his environment. The reality is, we were both traumatized by our interactions with CPS.

What happened to us was both personal and structural. HOPE585’s “The Cost of a False Alarm” backs up my experience by analyzing the crisis of over-surveillance and overreporting in Monroe County’s child welfare system. In 2024, approximately 76 percent of more than 6,000 CPS investigations were ultimately unfounded, wasting millions of dollars and causing ongoing trauma.

Families like mine, who have been marginalized by race, class, and disability, need respect and resources like housing, services and care. We deserve the same chance as any parent to raise our children without being criminalized. CPS should not be a weapon against us, but utilized only after prevention and intervention services have been exhausted. 

It’s time Monroe County recognized the difference and responded by prioritizing family investment in its 2026 budget. Our county has at least $18 million in opioid settlement funds that could be used toward family safety by providing adequate resources and community care. And it’s time for Monroe County to address its failures and start investing in families.

Elaine Smith and her son are Rochester residents. She has worked as a case manager and mandated reporter for more than a decade.

Smriti Jacob is Rochester Beacon managing editor. 

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