Sun Sentinel Palm Beach Edition

State is punishing a family for a decades-old crime

- Erica Smith Ewing is a senior attorney and Daryl James is a writer at the Institute for Justice in Arlington, Va.

Miami nurse Tara RolleBrown opened her home when her 3-year-old grandson needed foster care in 2017. Yet when she tried to adopt the boy to make the arrangemen­t permanent, the Florida Department of Children and Families said no.

The reason had nothing to do with child welfare. The boy, who soon will turn 8, has lived with Tara and her husband, Theodie Brown, continuous­ly for five years without incident. Like with all temporary placements, the state makes monthly visits to the home — often unannounce­d — and only has positive reports.

And yet, the state is blocking the adoption because of something that happened in the distant past. More than 30 years ago, Theodie was convicted of robbery, drug charges and other crimes. And the state won’t ever let him forget.

“They continue to drill and drill and drill that over our heads forever,” Tara says. “They’re not letting up.”

Theodie is a reformed man. He served his time, paid his debt to society and since then has lived clean. He married Tara, his high school sweetheart, and maintains a steady job driving trucks for the Miami-Dade Water and Sewer Department.

He also takes his parenting duties seriously, first with the two children that he had with Tara, and now with his step-grandson.

Social workers even did a home study and concluded that the child “was very safe with him and was very well cared for and loved.”

Unfortunat­ely, a loving family environmen­t is not good enough in Florida. State law restricts the placement of children in homes where ex-offenders live. Although the statute allows ex-offenders to show proof of rehabilita­tion, the Florida Department of Children and Families went a step further and enacted regulation­s that apply these restrictio­ns without any ability to rebut them during adoption proceeding­s.

People need second chances, but the department does not believe in redemption.

Sadly, the battle is not the first for Tara. Her daughter, who lost her parental rights years ago, had five children enter the foster care system. Two of the children found homes with relatives, while Tara fought for custody of the other three. Each time, the state cited her husband’s criminal record as the reason to place the children elsewhere.

Tara had no choice but to bring a lawsuit to keep the grandson who lives with her. Florida law firm Jay & Campbell represents her. As the case drags on, Tara’s emotions range from anger and sadness to hopelessne­ss. “You never really feel like a whole person or a whole family,” she says.

The situation is not unique in Florida. Multiple state laws allow “collateral consequenc­es” — penalties not imposed by any judge or jury — that linger with ex-offenders no matter what they do to turn their lives around.

“Even if you’re living right and doing the things you’re supposed to do, you’re never really forgiven,” Tara says.

South Florida ocean rescue lifeguard Jaime Rojas can relate. His chosen occupation requires emergency medical technician certificat­ion, but the Florida Department of Health denied his applicatio­n in 2020 due to a single drug conviction from 16 years earlier.

Jaime paid his debt to society and turned his life around, but collateral consequenc­es followed him. Rather than give up, he reapplied for EMT certificat­ion with assistance from our public interest law firm, the Institute for Justice. Two lawyers had to submit almost 100 pages of paperwork and engage in months of back-and-forth with the department until regulators finally relented and gave Jaime his certificat­ion in 2022.

Similar hassles abound, making it difficult for returning citizens to earn an honest living. Florida eased restrictio­ns for barbers, cosmetolog­ists and constructi­on contractor­s in 2019, but the state still allows occupation­al licensing boards to use vague standards like “good moral character” to turn away anyone with a criminal history. And unlike Jaime, most applicants lack access to lawyers who can help them navigate this legal quagmire.

A 2020 report from the Miami-Dade Public Defender’s Office describes additional types of collateral consequenc­es, including restricted eligibilit­y for social services, housing, student loans, academic scholarshi­ps and immigratio­n status. “Any criminal conviction, however small, triggers a convoluted network of federal, state and agency consequenc­es that can affect nearly every aspect of a person’s life,” the report’s authors write.

Sometimes, the penalties even affect innocent spouses and children. Tara and Theodie will continue to fight for their family, but Florida lawmakers can do their part by addressing collateral consequenc­es. Criminal justice demands punishment, but every returning citizen deserves a chance for a fresh start.

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By Erica Smith Ewing
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James
and Daryl James

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