Update: AFSCME Council 5 announced Dec. 11 that more than 4,000 unionized Hennepin County workers, including AFSCME Local 34 representing child protection workers, voted to ratify the new contract.
Hennepin County and its child protection workers have reached a tentative contract agreement after a four-month negotiation that centered on wage increases, training and protective gear for cases involving domestic violence, and reimbursement for use of employees’ cars and work performed from their homes.
The tentative agreement is now before union members for approval. It includes a 4% salary increase each year for the next three years, with some employees receiving an additional 3% pay raise based on merit. Extra pay for night and weekend work will also increase.
“County leadership greatly appreciates the service provided by AFSCME Local 34 employees,” a spokesperson for the county said in an email to The Imprint. “We understand and agree that providing service to the residents of the county can present challenges. The tentative agreement reached between the county and AFSCME recognizes that service to the county.”
The union is also encouraging its workers to sign the agreement.
In a press statement, Bart Andersen, executive director of AFSCME Council 5, called it “a win for every AFSCME member and every family that relies on the critical services provided by Hennepin County workers.” He added that union members “fought hard at the bargaining table and away from the table for this agreement, and it delivers sector-leading benefits, competitive wages, and much-needed workplace improvements.”
CPS workers generally work outside of the public sphere, and are rarely allowed to speak to the press. But amid the labor negotiations, the union connected its members to a reporter. They described the challenges of their work and why they say they are asking for better benefits, compensation, and ultimately more respect for the work they do.
“None of us went into the field thinking that we were going to make hundreds of thousands of dollars and be wealthy off of this job,” said Nichole Castona, who’s been a child protection worker for 19 years, the last seven with Hennepin County. “It’s more about respect and acknowledging that we do hard work and we are oftentimes, especially as investigators, the first people in the home having contact with families.”
Being a child protection worker can be a thankless job. Workers make wrenching decisions about whether kids are safe in homes where parents struggle to care for them amid mental health crises, active addiction, deep poverty and violence. At times, they walk into crisis situations that can be dangerous, and are left with the secondary trauma of working with families during the worst periods of their lives.
According to the National Association of Social Workers, child welfare employees in Minnesota, California, North Carolina and Idaho are the highest paid in the country. In Hennepin County, the pay scale ranges from $71,000 to roughly $108,000 a year, local officials said.
“We all have those moments where we’re like, ‘I’m going to go work at Starbucks instead’ — less stress and more mindlessness. But as far as actually switching careers, for those of us who have been around a while, we’re doing this until we retire. There’s nothing else I would do.”
— Katie Erickson
Colleen St. George, who has been a child protection worker in Minnesota since 2015, is aware of some perceptions among the public that CPS workers snatch children unfairly from home. But she emphasized that many perform this work because they care deeply about children and families, and want above all to improve their circumstances and keep them together.
Several times a week, she said she takes calls outside her regular Monday to Friday work hours. She’s answered the phone in the middle of the night, when law enforcement or foster parents have called. If she’s out at an event with her own family, she’ll step away to handle crises at work. Sometimes she starts her day at 3 a.m. and said she never shuts her phone off. It isn’t possible.
St. George said in her case, her own childhood is part of the motivation.
“In my youth, I didn’t have anyone to check on me and see if I was safe, and I grew up in a pretty volatile household,” she said. “I wanted to be in an industry where I felt like it could make the most difference.”
The job, she added, “is very complex.”
But she had no intention of leaving anytime soon. “If I leave, then some child is going to be at risk,” she said. “You have to really be invested in the well-being of kids to be in this role, or you will not make it.”
Katie Erickson, who’s been a child protection worker for 15 years, the last seven with Hennepin County, said the data entry tools that child protection workers across the state must work with can add to the stress, by forcing them to box families into categories that workers don’t necessarily think are the right fit. Earlier this year, the state budgeted $15 million to modernize the computer system managing child welfare cases.
“The system in and of itself is one of the hardest battles,” Erickson said.
Like many workers, Erickson has also grappled with decisions about a child’s fate, wondering whether they were the right ones. She recalled a case where a judge ordered a child to go back to their home, though the county recommended against it. She walked out of the courtroom fearing for the child’s safety.
But she also remembers the cases that ended well. One former client, who’s now an adult with children of her own, has found her on social media. She periodically sends messages to let her know she’s doing well and is thankful. Other teenagers have reached out years later to ask for advice. This is why Erickson stays in the job.
“We all have those moments where we’re like, ‘I’m going to go work at Starbucks instead’ — less stress and more mindlessness,” she said. “But as far as actually switching careers, for those of us who have been around a while, we’re doing this until we retire. There’s nothing else I would do.”
High turnover, little thanks
High staff turnover is endemic to the field nationwide, and Hennepin County is no exception, CPS workers said in interviews. It affects the families served, as well as colleagues who must constantly be training new staff.
Ana-Rosa Cruz completed training for a job in Hennepin County just three months ago. In that time, three co-workers have left. Cruz, who uses they/them pronouns, said that can be disheartening and leave a person questioning whether this a realistic long-term job, particularly given the pay.
“I love this job. I love helping my families. This is the thing that I was built for. And it makes it almost an impossible choice when you’re wanting to do this work and you’re not able to even afford your life.”
— Ana-Rosa Cruz
Before moving to Hennepin County, Cruz worked for two years as a case manager with the Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe. They earned a master’s degree in social work at the University of Minnesota in 2021 and as a result have tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt. Cruz and their partner are also foster parents and help take care of another family member. Since they are new to the job, they earn at the lower end of the pay scale.
Nonetheless, Cruz is committed to the job for now — and works off hours to meet with families. On a recent weekend, they drove a foster child nearly three hours north to Duluth for a visit with a relative, and then went back on Sunday to pick them up.
“I want this job. I love this job. I love helping my families,” Cruz said. “This is the thing that I was built for. And it makes it almost an impossible choice when you’re wanting to do this work and you’re not able to even afford your life.”
‘It is a lot that we take on’
Part of the job of being a child protection worker is dealing with traumatic situations and the emotional toll that can take. And then there’s the constant questioning of whether they made the right decision in situations that are more often than not far from black-and-white.
St. George described one such case that stands out in her memory, one that ultimately ended in a heartbreaking removal. The partner of the child’s mother had caused significant harm to the child, she said. St. George worked with the mother to help her separate from the partner in the hopes that the child would be safe at home. She checked in frequently.
But over time, she came to realize that the mother was still in contact with the partner and “intertwined dysfunctionally” with him — leaving the child at risk.
“It literally broke me to the core as a mom,” St. George said. “That’s the type of case that really eats at us. We do everything we can to try to ensure child safety, but we cannot change the behavior of another person. They have to be able to change it themselves.”
Each of the four workers who spoke with The Imprint mentioned a lack of sufficient resources to help clients, including getting mental health help for children and stable housing for the family.
“Parents are really struggling,” Castona said. “We want to work with them, but we have limited resources to offer. That’s the hardest part.”
