My job is your job.

The state should not be responsible for stopping child abuse.

There, I said it.

Let me explain. As many of you know, I work for Utah’s version of child protective services. I won’t say I “like” my job because that word doesn’t mean anything. My job is challenging, heartbreaking, eye-opening, frustrating, rewarding. It cuts deep into the veins of human existence: our relationships, our families, and why we’re here. I have learned more in a year out in the field than I ever did taking classes about social work.  And I have learned more about myself than I had ever hoped.

When I tell people what I do, the most common response I get is some variation of, “that must be so hard. I don’t know how you do it. I could never do that”. Truth is, I don’t know how I do it either, but I’ve really come to hate that response for this reason: By saying you could “never” work for child protective services, you and the rest of the world are subconsciously putting the responsibility to stop child abuse on someone else. On me. On the state. On other people.

Guess what guys, making sure children and other vulnerable populations aren’t taken advantage of, is your responsibility too, simply because you’re human.

I don’t know what it is about our culture, but many of us have forgotten how to give. Many of us have never learned that when you see a problem, you actually can fix it. Many of us have forgotten that keeping a moral, creative, thriving culture and society, is the responsibility of the individual. It is YOUR responsibility. And many of us have never learned to see, or refuse to see, the marginalized, the people who truly need our help - the people who did not enter the world on equal ground and have had to fight tooth and nail to break even.

One great example of what I’m talking about is the “Provo bubble”. People describe Provo as this happy-go-lucky-land where the real world has no effect. I understand why it’s described like that. Brigham Young University is in Provo and the population is about 75% Mormon; in a recent study published in USAToday, Provo is the happiest city in America. When I first moved to Provo I seriously wondered if my fellow students were breathing different air than me because EVERYONE seemed to be much more faithful, hopeful, and happy than me. I didn’t know about the problems Provo has because no one talked about them. And that right there is the bubble. Provo has some deep problems, guys, the same problems EVERY city has. I’ve seen the drug raids and worked with the people involved in them. I’ve seen kids neglected in BYU’s back yard. I’ve worked with the homeless, those resorting to prostitution, those so deep into addiction and mental illness they can’t get out. And they are right here beside us. Next to BYU campus, next to student housing, and no one can see it. NO ONE WANTS TO SEE IT. Because  if you don’t see it, you’re not responsible to do something about it. You won’t have to feel the pull to help. You won’t have to recognize the painful part of being human. The bubble is not just in Provo, it is everywhere. It is this metaphorical sticking your head in the sand to avoid the world’s problems.

My job is a necessary one. I believe in social services. I believe in providing opportunity for reformation. But what I find incredibly sad, is the fact that my job exists in the way it does. Many people hate child protective services because, frankly, no one likes being told the way they are living their life is wrong. And few people take responsibility for harming those most dear to them: their children. People have a hard time seeing how important families and relationships are until they are ripped apart by abuse, violence, drugs. We have created a government institution to protect children and try to rehabilitate families because we as a people weren’t doing a good enough job on our own.  

My one plea is for people to wake up. It is not hard take a second and think about WHY you are here. Part of being human is respecting human life, taking responsibility for each other, and protecting one another. Relationships matter. Families matter. Pain matters. Take a look around and acknowledge the pain instead of running from it. The power to change someone’s life is literally in your hands, if you’re willing to see it. Power is not in the government, in the system, in the programs – it is in you. Use it. Take responsibility. You’re not as trapped as you’re led to believe.

And stop expecting the government to do everything, for God’s sake.