She Almost Lost Custody of Her Baby; a Unique LA County Court Gave Her a Second Chance

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ne of the tallest buildings in South Los Angeles is the Compton courthouse. It’s an imposing monument to justice in a city plagued by crime and poverty.

Beyond the security checkpoint and up the elevator to the 12th floor, there is a one-of-a-kind courtroom in California that’s taking a different approach to handling child welfare cases involving babies and toddlers.

Outside its door, books and toys fill a waiting room. In one corner, there’s a cozy gliding chair to nurse or rock a baby to sleep and a soft mat that invites kids to play on the floor. Colorful paintings hang on the wall, showcasing Compton’s unique features, like the black cowboys who ride horses through the city.

“We realized that we really wanted to create a space where the children and their families could wait and feel a little bit more comfortable when they have to come to court,” said Ashley Price, a dependency court judge who oversees this courtroom, “It’s already stressful and overwhelming as it is.”

In California, young children, especially babies under 1 year old, are removed from their homes and placed in the child welfare system far more than older kids. They also tend to have longer stays in foster care. It’s a traumatic experience that takes place during a pivotal period of attachment and development.

Judge Price is transforming the way she handles cases involving children under 3 years old by intentionally putting their mental health at the center of decision-making.

“The bedrock of our court is recognizing how harmful separation can be and can we find a way around that with extra help and support,” she said.

Parents come to dependency court when child protective services investigate them for mistreatment or neglect. A judge holds hearings to decide whether the allegations are true and whether the child should be a dependent of the court, which gives it authority to make decisions about the child’s care and home placement. The judge and lawyers work out a temporary living arrangement, which may require placing the child with a relative or in foster care while the parents work on meeting certain safety and behavioral criteria – like completing substance abuse treatment or parenting classes – to keep their parental rights.

Price modeled her courtroom after Safe Babies, a national program by the child advocacy organization Zero To Three, which prioritizes building relationships with parents and providing them the social services they need so they can meet the court’s requirements and quickly reunify with their babies. While not every baby gets returned to their parents, the program aims to provide services that strengthen the parent-child relationship, even if the baby is ultimately placed with a relative or adoptive parent.

To do that, Price partnered with attorneys representing the parents, children and Los Angeles County’s Department of Children and Family Services. The same attorneys from each team appear before her court every day, so they’re familiar with every case and family they see. Before starting the program, they visited social service providers in the community so they could better refer families to those organizations.

“For example, if we’re going to send our families to a place to have anger management classes, our courtroom has been there, too,” she said.

Compared with other courtrooms in LA County’s vast dependency court system, this one has a lower caseload and is specially staffed with a community coordinator to connect families to the social services they need.

Ben Falcioni, an attorney with Children’s Law Center, said he typically handled 130 caseloads before being assigned to the Compton dependency court.

“In Compton, with what we’re doing here, which is arguably radically different than the existing system, my caseload is right around 50,” he said. While every dependency court’s goal is to reunify families, he said the lower caseloads in Price’s courtroom give the judge, lawyers and social workers more time to weigh factors, like the parents’ circumstances or the baby’s mental health, that other courts may not have.

“We’re able to provide a lot more oversight, not like a police state type of oversight, but in a more restorative justice mindset of how do we come alongside this family that could be hurting, could be dealing with that level of dysfunction that’s placing their children at risk of harm, to breathe peace and sanity and restoration into this family,” he said.

Leslie Heimov, executive director of Children’s Law Center, said her organization is dedicating more financial resources to allow her staff to maintain a low caseload in Price’s courtroom.

She said when she began defending children 30 years ago, there was no process for ensuring that when a baby is removed from home, the parent shares information to the foster caregiver about the baby’s favorite lullaby, eating or sleeping routine.

“Because we’re in such an adversarial, high-stress and often law enforcement-involved situation, all the things that are good for babies and small children are out the window because there’s this focus on safety first, but safety to the exclusion of well-being,” Heimov said.

She said she’s excited about Price’s courtroom style because it asks all parties to work toward a solution that promotes the baby’s mental health and well-being.

In her courtroom, Price provides snacks and crayons to help families get through their hearings. In one corner, there’s a tall stuffed giraffe that she said has been a hit with the kids. She also makes a point of sitting at a desk facing parents instead of presiding from a bench above them.

“A lot of times, I think that has contributed to this feeling that parents are constantly being judged and criticized,” she said. “And so I like to kind of take away that dynamic and come down and sit with them at their same level and look at them eye to eye and talk to them about what do you need? How can we help you? How can we support you?”

Moana Galala, 28, appeared before the judge last November after giving birth to her second daughter, Eliza. A social worker was worried Galala wasn’t fit to care for the baby because she had a history of addiction.

Four years earlier, she lost custody of her first daughter, Neveah, after the newborn tested positive for drugs. The circumstances were dire: In June 2020, Galala underwent an emergency C-section alone in the hospital because of pandemic restrictions. She was placed in a medically-induced coma after her blood pressure spiked, and she suffered cardiac arrest. When she was released from the hospital, she wasn’t allowed to see the girl she named “Heaven” in reverse.

“Right after I gave birth to her, they took her from me,” Galala said.

Galala said that experience sent her spiraling downward. A dependency court in Monterey Park, east of downtown Los Angeles, gave Galala’s sister custody of Neveah.

“I went through a bad depression. My postpartum was horrible,” she said. “You know, it made me drown myself in drugs even worse.”

When she was ordered to appear before Price, Galala begged the judge for a chance to prove herself as a mom.

After consulting with social workers and lawyers, Price allowed Galala to stay with Eliza – on the condition that they move in with a relative and that she undergoes rehab.

“At first, I was only allowed to be with Eliza at my mom’s, but I was not allowed to go anywhere with Eliza until I had proof that I was able to stay in program for at least 30 days,” she said.

When she did, she celebrated by taking her daughter to the park.

“And even though the baby was still a baby, it was just the principle,” she said.

Galala said the court team celebrated every milestone, like when her husband Eric got clean and took parenting classes. When the couple won back their parental rights eight months later, Galala thanked Price.

“I told her she gave me a chance to bond with my baby that let me know the importance of my part to her as a mom. And that’s what made the difference in my drive to do good, continue being sober,” she said.

Galala said her entire family came to the last court hearing, and Price and the lawyers gave her a framed picture with the word “HOPE.”

The word stands for the court’s name: Helping Our Parents Excel. The court team also signed their names and included their phone numbers on the back of the frame, Galala said, to let her know she can call whenever she needs them.

She thanked them for treating her fairly.

“I have this saying that I tell my sister all the time: ‘I’m never above you, never below you, always beside you.’ And I was telling them, ‘this is how I feel about you guys,’” Galala said. “‘You guys weren’t better than us, and we weren’t below you guys. We were just side by side trying to accomplish a goal together.”

What’s more, her recovery from addiction has led Galala to heal her relationship with her sister, which allowed her to be more involved in Neveah’s life.

The court is compiling data to measure the impact of this work, but Price said so far she’s seeing a difference. The court team has reunified families more quickly, reflecting a similar outcome seen by Zero to Three at more than 140 courtrooms in 30 states that are taking a similar approach. A study found children whose cases went before a Safe Babies courtroom had a higher rate of reunifying with their parents than a comparison group and were more likely to exit foster care to a permanent home.

“What the attorneys are telling me is that the parents leave the courtroom, and even if they don’t get a favorable ruling, they understood what happened,” Price said.

When parents feel like they’re being heard and are treated respectfully, they’re more willing to continue cooperating in their child’s best interest, she said.