In child welfare, we have created layers of oversight meant to protect children and promote accountability. But too often, those structures cause more harm than good.
Foster Care Review Boards are a clear example. Originally created to provide independent oversight and ensure kids do not linger in care, these boards have become largely symbolic and often reinforce the very delays and disparities they were meant to fix.
These boards were born from a federal requirement under Title IV-E mandating regular case reviews for children in foster care. States could choose to meet that mandate through court or administrative processes, and many — including South Carolina, where I recently served as the director of the Department of Social Services — opted to establish a Foster Care Review Board to accomplish this, believing community input would make the system more responsive and humane.
On paper, that idea made sense. In practice, it is very different. Foster Care Review Boards are one of the least studied oversight tools in child welfare, and much of the existing research is outdated or focused on early citizen review panels rather than the boards states use today. Because of this, we still cannot truly say whether these boards make permanency quicker, reduce barriers or truly help families move forward. What we do know raises real concerns. The quality is uneven, families are barely engaged, and too much of the work centers on paperwork instead of progress. In many places, the process varies from one county to the next, and their recommendations rarely shape what actually happens for a child. We need fresh research to understand whether these boards are truly helping families or whether it is time to get rid of this requirement or develop a new model that offers real support and lifts up lived experience.
Most boards are made up of volunteers, many of them well-intentioned, but rarely trained in trauma, family dynamics or the realities of poverty. They often review massive caseloads by reading agency paperwork, without speaking directly to the child, parent or kin caregivers most affected. Their recommendations are not binding, and courts may or may not read them.
Meanwhile, caseworkers spend hours preparing duplicative paperwork that adds little value to case progress. It is a heavy administrative lift with minimal return.
This structure creates real burdens for already overworked caseworkers. When board members ask, “Why is this form incomplete?” or “Why has reunification not happened?” they often do not see the reality of workers juggling home visits, crisis calls and emergencies every day. It is oversight without understanding, and it breeds frustration, burnout and turnover.
Even more concerning is how bias and misunderstanding manifest in board recommendations. Families, especially those navigating poverty, are often judged harshly for missed visits or slow progress on case plans. A parent working double shifts at Waffle House to keep the lights on might be labeled “uninvolved.” A grandmother caring for multiple grandchildren on a fixed income may be called “unstable.”
Volunteers who serve on these boards are, in my experience, often from a higher socioeconomic level than the families whose cases they oversee and, as a result, may lack an understanding of the barriers to case plan compliance those families face. Poverty is not neglect, but when oversight lacks context, the system treats it that way.
Youth who have attended these reviews have described them to me as cold and humiliating: strangers reading files aloud, offering opinions without real conversation or relational understanding. That is not accountability. It is surveillance without compassion.
Too often, boards prioritize compliance over connection. Did every box get checked? Was every form filed on time? Rarely do they ask: Is this family healing? Is this child safe, connected and thriving? Has this kin caregiver been supported to succeed?
This compliance mindset delays permanency and deepens inequities. It gives the illusion of accountability while children remain in care longer than necessary and families struggle against systems that measure paperwork more than progress.
South Carolina law directs its review boards to “advise foster parents of their right to petition the family court for termination of parental rights and adoption.” On paper, this is about permanency. In practice, it can empower volunteers with little connection to a family or child to prematurely push for termination, bypassing kin, dismissing the nuanced work of family preservation, and discounting parents’ efforts to rebuild.
But what if Foster Care Review Boards could become what they were meant to be: a community voice for families, not a layer of oversight over them?
Imagine if we reimagined these as Family Care and Resource Boards, which partnered with agencies to identify supports instead of deficits. Volunteers could help locate community organizations, churches and kin networks willing to step in with housing, transportation or child care support.
Instead of deciding whether a parent has “done enough,” they could ask: What would help this parent succeed? Instead of merely reviewing paperwork, they could help caseworkers solve problems and connect families to real resources, embedded as an arm of the court focused on solutions rather than surveillance.
Such an entity could also become a sounding board for families and caregivers, a safe space to raise grievances, express concerns or highlight barriers to services. Parents could share when visitation schedules conflict with work shifts. Kin caregivers could speak to financial strain. Foster parents could voice frustration with slow case progress. The board’s role would not be to direct or judge but to listen, learn and help route concerns toward resolution and resource connection.
This only works if we rethink who serves. The volunteers who struggled with oversight will not succeed in a support model. States need people with lived experience, cultural proximity and real training. This is not reusing the same volunteers. It is rebuilding the board with new skills and a new purpose.
Oversight is necessary, but only when it is informed, meaningful and human-centered. If we want families to heal and children to thrive, our accountability systems must evolve too.
We say we want to center family. That means trusting families, listening to kin and designing structures that support, not surveil, them. Foster Care Review Boards were built for another era. If they cannot evolve into partners for family success, then maybe it is time to build something new.
