On a lounge in a caravan park, a woman lies "spaced out".
So it's Ann instead, who responds to the hungry screams of an eight-month-old baby boy.
She reaches for the formula, chucks out the scoop inside the tin, and uses a teaspoon to sprinkle the powder into cold water.
She then feeds the concoction to her baby brother.
Ann is five years old.
'I was told I was moving'
WARNING: This story contains details that some readers may find distressing.
Ann's mother's alcoholism and father's violence made for a volatile childhood.
"I know we didn't eat — because I was responsible for feeding everyone," the now 19-year-old recalls.
When she was five, Ann was sneaking the single-serve complimentary condiments from the caravan park's reception to keep her younger siblings alive.
"We ate Vegemite. That's what I remember eating," she says.
Over time, members of the Aboriginal community in Tasmania, where Ann lived, picked up on the neglect, and eventually, child protection authorities got involved.
But Ann says she was never placed with elders, which would have helped maintain contact with her culture.
"I'd come home from school and all my stuff — so a couple of bags — were in a van, and I was told that I was moving," she says of her transient childhood.
"You never really knew where your next home was until it happened."
At the age of six, Ann and her youngest brother were taken to a home in Hobart's outer suburbs.
As time passed, she began to trust the couple, who ended up fostering all her siblings.
"It took mum a long time to tell me I was a child, and I needed to play, and not watch my siblings," she says.
"You think of everything that could possibly go wrong — because that's what you had to do to survive."
But as Ann finally found love and understanding, she also found judgement.
"Teachers who knew my story always said that I wouldn't succeed. There's a huge stigma that kids in care won't do well," she says.
"I just wanted to break it — and so far, I'm doing pretty well."
Ann recently graduated from high school and wants to pursue her dream of becoming a nail technician.
Last year, she left state care. And although she's found her "forever home", Ann believes the department waited too long to remove her and her siblings, back when they were barely surviving in that caravan park.
The Department of Communities says it cannot discuss individual cases, but insists removing a child from a family is "an option of last resort".
'Nobody was listening'
It's still early when Annabel* walks into her Western Australian office.
But despite starting at 7:30am to manage the load of child protection cases sitting against her name, things are already "slipping through the cracks".
It's against the code of conduct for child protection workers to speak out. But people in this story have, to shine a light on the system they say is "failing" children and families.
To protect these workers, we have changed their names.
Annabel says some of Australia's most vulnerable children are left in "unsafe" situations because understaffed departments "don't have the capacity to get to them".
"Two young girls that I know of had over a period of two months talked about a family member of theirs who has been inappropriately touching them," she says.
"Given the staffing levels and the inability to be out there — and the lack of resources to put around them — these children had been jumping up and down, saying 'hey, this is happening, this is happening'.
"I imagine, it would have felt like nobody was listening.
"Because they were still with this family member that had done this to them."
It took about three months for the department to stop contact between the girls and the family member.
In another instance, a "violent" teen absconded from a placement organised by the department and returned home.
There were concerns the teen could be subjecting younger siblings to violence, drug use and sexual abuse.
Annabel says the case was marked as "priority one", meaning it had to be addressed within 24 hours.
It took the department at least a month to deal with it.
"What we consider risky seems to have gotten higher and higher," she says.
"What we would have said 10 years ago was the highest risk has now become more of a 'yes, we'll do that in two or three days'."
Western Australia's Department of Communities says 85 per cent of child safety investigations commence within seven days — the highest rate nationally.
"Interim safety plans are put in place to safeguard the children involved while investigations are underway," service delivery executive director Glenn Mace says.
"The primary focus of child protection workers, when conducting an investigation, is the immediate safety of the child."
Mr Mace says criminal concerns should be reported to WA Police.
"Communities works closely with WA Police Force and collaborates with all requests to support criminal investigations," he says.
'I made decisions that weren't correct'
Former departmental worker Natalie* was in the Northern Territory's child protection system for four years.
"I left because I was scared that I was part of the problem rather than part of the solution," she says of resigning in 2012.
A year after finishing her degree interstate, she was offered a child protection role in the NT.
Natalie was under the impression she'd be a case worker, engaging closely with at-risk children.
Instead, as soon as she "walked in", she says she was handed 107 files and told to make judgements about which children "might be at risk of death" and prioritise the rest.
She had no experience in statutory child protection in the NT.
"How am I going to do this? I wasn't even abreast of the legislation at that point. I didn't even understand what it meant," she says.
"I'm sure that there probably are decisions that I made that weren't correct, children left in situations that probably shouldn't have been, or even perhaps children that [were] removed that shouldn't have been."
Natalie says the team was "under a huge amount of pressure" from "upper management" to be closing around two cases every day to reduce the workload.
She remembers two children, aged 12 months and three years, who were returned to their home "far too early".
"We hadn't been able to put appropriate support in place and then, within a few months, we were flying these children back to [us] — one with a cracked skull and one with a broken arm," she says.
"Particularly, the older child was showing a lot of sexualised behaviour, which was inappropriate.
"We knew that stuff had happened to them.
"And we had sent them back and subjected them to further harm.
"To the point where they had broken bones."
"There was a lot of disbelief and anger [in the office] ... but there was a culture of, if you speak up then things will be made very difficult for you, and you'll be bullied out of the department. People were scared.
"It's a system that while it's in place to try and improve outcomes for children living in situations of adversity, it's actually causing a lot of further trauma and disadvantage. It's not working."
The Department of Territory Families, Housing and Communities (TFHC) says it hires skilled workers and offers them "high-quality" training, including a three-week induction program on legal processes and case management.
"Nationally, the Northern Territory is the most responsive to concerns for the safety and wellbeing of children," the spokesperson says.
According to the TFHC, the state last year had the second highest proportion of investigations that commenced within seven days.
"The NT government is committed to providing early intervention and support to help families build stronger relationships, reunifying children with family where it is safe to do so, and working with families to put child safety planning in place," the spokesperson says.
Child with autism returned to mother after alleged sexual assault
In a backyard in regional Victoria, Margaret's* granddaughter Abbie* is fluttering her fairy wings, pretending to be a princess.
"She's normally the happiest little girl you'll ever meet, as long as she feels safe," Margaret says.
Abbie spent the first weeks of her life with a mother who used drugs and failed to maintain the baby's hygiene, as well as her own, court documents show.
The state's Department of Health and Human Services (DHHS) removed Abbie from her home, and asked Margaret — Abbie's paternal grandmother — to look after her.
When Abbie reached 18 months, she was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder. Months later, the DHHS determined that Abbie's birth mother was fit to parent her.
Abbie stayed with her mum during the week, and at Margaret's on weekends.
Until one day, Abbie alleged her mother had physically and sexually assaulted her.
A psychologist's report states Abbie "reported sexual violence from her, [saying] 'Mummy poked a hole near my vagina'".
A Victoria Police email, seen by the ABC, shows the Sexual Offences and Child-abuse Investigation Team commenced an investigation after receiving a notification. Since then, the file has been "re-opened and closed on multiple occasions upon further information or disclosures being received".
A couple of years ago, Margaret was given the sole parental rights of Abbie in family court.
Since then, Abbie has been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder from "early childhood trauma". Margaret believes the damage she went through can never be reversed.
The Department of Families, Fairness and Housing could not comment on the case, but said the government was "providing more support than ever" for at-risk children, their families and carers through a $1.2 billion boost that is on top of the $1 billion allocated last year.
'She isn't his mother — I am'
Diane* has touched down in Western Australia — just in time for her son Ben's* birthday.
Only hours after he was born, the Department for Child Protection (DCP) separated them.
"Everyone was upset, the nurses, even the doctor was crying," she recalls of the day.
"You go home to an empty bassinet and a broken heart. It is the most horrendous thing. You know that your baby is still alive, yet there's no baby."
Her four other children were removed over emotional and physical violence concerns years before Ben was born.
"I can reflect back on it now and I know I deserved to lose them.
"I had a lot of mental health problems. I wasn't coping very well being a single mum."
But Diane says she was desperate to do better, undergoing years of therapy and five parenting courses before Ben's birth. Even moving in with relatives for "familial support".
Psychiatric and related reports from the time state Diane's drug tests were negative and she no longer qualified for the borderline personality disorder diagnosis, with her "only" mental health issues being "the stress and anxiety caused by the removal of her children", and complex but stable post-traumatic stress disorder.
In a children's court hearing in 2019, the judge said the department in its decision had relied on "historic examples" and failed to properly assess Diane's ability to raise Ben.
The judge was "not satisfied" there was evidence Diane couldn't care for Ben, insisting that the department increase the contact between the mother and the child, enabling them to be reunified in two years' time.
"In the event of reunification, the mother's major trigger, the department, will be removed from her life and there is no current evidence she is not otherwise coping," the judge said.
Dealings with the department trigger Diane because she too was in the state care, where she was sexually and physically abused by a worker.
The National Redress Scheme last month recognised Diane's suffering by offering her an apology and $100,000 in compensation.
Diane's reunification with Ben was due in December, but instead the department has applied for an 18-year order for Ben, meaning he is to stay with foster carers until he's an adult.
In the documents, the department has listed "the best interests of the child" as grounds for filing the order, saying Diane has not demonstrated she can provide for Ben's needs nor articulated a reunification plan.
"Communities has applied for a Protection Order (until 18) on the grounds [Diane's] child requires protection and care," the department told the ABC in a statement.
But her therapist of six years disagrees, writing in January this year that Diane has shown "incredible" resilience in overcoming hardship and is now in the "best mental health of her life":
"Diane has a positive support system, a loving and supportive relationship, stable friendships and is caring successfully for her partner's three children as well as her [older] son.
"Diane has proved that with reflection and a trusted network, healing is possible. I believe that Diane can provide a loving, stable home for her son Ben."
When Ben's foster parents moved from northern WA to "one of the most expensive seaside residences" in the south, it became clear to Diane she could never afford to live near her son, unless she regains parental rights.
"I get that his carer loves him and cares about him. But at the end of the day, she isn't his mother. I am," she says.
"And I never had an opportunity to parent him."
'We don't have capacity to deal with crises'
It's not uncommon in understaffed and overworked departments for reunification of families to "fall by the wayside", former NT worker Natalie says.
"Case workers are expected to see too many kids per day, and sometimes that's to the detriment of facilitating family contact," she says.
Catherine Liddle from the peak body for Indigenous children and families, SNAICC, says most children who are sent into out-of-home care will never be reunited with their families again.
For Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children, the rate of removal is "disproportionate".
They are 10 times more likely to end up in out-of-home or permanent care.
A recent Family Matters report shows in 2019-2020, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children were admitted to out-of-home care at a rate of 13.8 admissions per 1,000 children. For non-Indigenous children, the ratio was 1.4 per 1,000.
"This is absolutely fundamentally not OK, because as an Aboriginal person, your identity is connected to your culture and your community," Ms Liddle says.
Neglect, which stems from poverty, is often the reason for removal.
Ms Liddle believes many families' situations escalate to the point of removal because Australia's child protection system is a reactive one, where prevention takes a back seat.
"Only a fraction of the dollars in this area is actually going to family support services, so that those families with complex needs get the support they need before there is a problem," she says.
"Nationally, only 16 cents in every child protection dollar is spent on supporting families to stay safely together, while 84 cents is spent chasing the losses of a system predicated on removal," the Family Matters report states.
WA case worker Annabel says in many departments, there is an "extraordinarily high number" of children's files left in limbo and reports being dismissed.
"We don't have the capacity to deal with crises as they arrive," Annabel says.
The annual Report on Government Services shows all Australian states and territories are falling short on investigating child safety reports.
About 300,000 children were at the centre of safety notifications made to Australia's welfare departments between 2020 and 2021.
Only a third of those were fully investigated.
And almost half of those were found to be legitimate child safety issues.
Jacqui Reed from CREATE Foundation, that advocates for children and young people in care, says evaluations of children's trauma and the way forward need to start happening "a lot quicker".
"What we're seeing all too often is that these assessments are not being done and decisions are being made in rather ad-hoc manner," she says.
"The longer the child's in the system, the poorer the result."
Nineteen-year-old Ann wants to use her lived experience to help other children navigate the system.
"Once I've settled down in life, I want to help people become who they want to be," she says.
And she won't struggle to find them, because children needing help are everywhere.
All around you.
Beside you.
Right in front of you.
*Names have been changed for legal reasons.
Credits
- Reporting: Katri Uibu and Alison Costelloe
- Photography: Maren Preuss and Marco Catalano
- Videography: Maren Preuss and Paul Strk
- Digital production: Katri Uibu
- Digital editor: Daniel Miller
- Graphic design: Paul Strk
