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Nicole: For folks who are not familiar with the Act or who you are, can you briefly take us back to when this idea first took shape for you? What was happening in your life, your work, or your community that made you feel this change was necessary?
Kelis: This idea took shape long before it ever became legislation. It grew out of years of walking alongside Black youth and parents that were being pulled into the child welfare system not because they were unsafe, but because they were poor, unsupported, or misunderstood.
What I kept seeing—over and over—was a disconnect between what families needed and how the system responded. Black families were being surveilled instead of supported. Strengths were ignored, culture was minimized, and family bonds were treated as disposable. I felt a growing urgency that this wasn’t just about individual cases—it was about a system that needed to be fundamentally reoriented. The Act came from that place: a recognition that we needed structural change.
Nicole: What personal experiences — as a Black woman, a family member, or a professional — most shaped your understanding of the child welfare system?
Kelis: As a Black woman, I understand how quickly our families are judged and how rarely our humanity is acknowledged. I’ve seen how Black motherhood, in particular, is scrutinized through a lens of suspicion rather than care. Professionally, I’ve sat with parents who were doing everything they could with very little—and still being told it wasn’t enough.
As a community member, I’ve watched children lose connection to their culture, extended family, and sense of belonging because systems valued compliance over care. Those experiences shaped my understanding that child welfare, as it exists, often causes harm even when it claims to protect. They also clarified for me that any meaningful reform had to center Black families as experts in their own lives.
Nicole: Who are the people, ancestors, or mentors whose influence you feel most strongly in this work?
Kelis: I carry the strength of Black women who came before me—women who protected their children and communities under impossible conditions. Ancestors who resisted family separation during enslavement, migration, and state violence are always with me in this work.
I’m also deeply shaped by my faith in GOD; HE has taught me how to lead with conviction while staying grounded in humility. And honestly, the families I serve are my greatest teachers. Their courage and persistence continually sharpen my purpose.
Nicole: Before this became legislation, what did you hope it would do for Black families beyond what policy language can capture?
Kelis: Beyond policy, I hoped it would restore humanity. I wanted Black families to feel seen, respected, and believed—to know that the law recognized their right to stay together whenever safely possible. I hoped it would interrupt the generational trauma caused by unnecessary removals and replace it with investment, trust, and community-based support. At its core, I wanted families to experience dignity; not as a bonus, but as a baseline.
Nicole: If you had to describe the heart of this Act in one sentence that isn’t legal language, what would you say it’s really about?
Kelis: This Act is about protecting Black families from being torn apart by systems that were never designed to serve them.
Nicole: What was it like to bring a community-rooted idea into the legislative space? What felt affirming, and what felt difficult?
Kelis: Bringing a community-rooted idea into the legislature was both empowering and exhausting. It was affirming to see lived experience taken seriously and to watch community language enter formal policy spaces. There were moments when I felt deeply validated—when legislators listened, learned, and shifted their thinking.
But it was also difficult. I had to constantly translate pain into policy, humanity into talking points. There were moments where urgency was met with delay, and truth was softened for comfort. Holding the line between community accountability and political compromise required constant discernment.
Nicole: How did you navigate being a Black woman advancing a structural critique within institutions that have historically caused harm?
Kelis: I navigated it by staying grounded in purpose and community. I knew that discomfort was inevitable—especially when naming racism, financial incentives, and power dynamics. I refused to shrink my analysis to be more palatable.
At the same time, I led with clarity, preparation, and integrity. I didn’t come asking for permission—I came with evidence, community backing, and moral conviction. Being a Black woman in those spaces meant I had to be twice as prepared and deeply rooted in who I am. My faith and my community kept me steady.
Nicole: What was your most proud moment throughout this process?
Kelis: I felt especially proud when community voices—parents, advocates, and organizers—were acknowledged as essential to shaping the law. That felt like a rupture in how power usually operates.
Nicole: What does it mean to you, as a Black woman, to have authored something that is now part of state law?
Kelis: It’s deeply humbling. Black women have always generated solutions, but rarely receive credit or authority. To know that something rooted in our lived reality is now codified into law feels like both honor and responsibility. It tells me that our experiences are not just valid—they are necessary for justice.
Nicole: When future generations look back on this moment, what do you hope they understand about why this work mattered?
Kelis: I hope they understand that this work mattered because families mattered. That we refused to accept a system that normalized Black family separation. I want them to see that change happened because community members demanded it—and that healing-centered, culturally grounded policy is possible.
Nicole: What changes are you already seeing or hoping to see as this Act begins to shape practice? What would success look like five or ten years from now?
Kelis: I’m hopeful to see shifts in how risk is assessed, how family strengths are documented, and how prevention is funded. Success would look like fewer unnecessary removals, stronger kinship placements, and families receiving support before crisis.
Five to ten years from now, success would mean Black children staying connected to their families and culture—and community-based organizations being resourced as primary partners, not afterthoughts.
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