Should teachers be mandated reporters? 

Requiring teachers to report suspected child abuse is well-intentioned, but what happens when they get it wrong? 

 

A frequent explanation for police malpractice is that officers have been assigned too many duties — finding lost children, directing traffic, patrolling schools, responding to complaints of domestic abuse, and so on — to attend properly to their primary role as peacekeepers. That certainly doesn’t excuse them for malfeasance, but it should come as no surprise that when people have to perform a range of complex and often difficult tasks that exceed both their training and their job description, they can become distracted, frustrated, and discouraged, and their professional standards might even begin to slip. 

The nation’s K-12 public school teachers face a similar predicament. They, too, must take on all sorts of tasks that go well beyond their primary responsibility to nurture and educate young people (i.e., the mission that brought them into the profession). Some of these tasks, such as supervising detention and serving as lunch monitors, are mildly annoying, briefly diverting them from their core work. But at least one of these added duties — the mandatory reporting of child abuse and neglect to child protective services — often expands into a weighty, time-consuming, and emotionally draining job, one for which few teachers have been prepared. 

Just as it is one thing to break up a street fight and another to intervene in a domestic conflict so, too, it is one thing to monitor class discipline and something else entirely to monitor the treatment of children by their caretakers. Perhaps, given the terrible consequences of child abuse, the public has few concerns about foisting such a weighty responsibility on teachers. But, in fact, when we place teachers under this obligation, an awful lot can go wrong. On balance, I believe, mandatory reporting requirements have been unfair not only to teachers but also to families and children. 

When we place teachers under this obligation, an awful lot can go wrong.

Since teachers are among a relatively small number of adults whose work puts them in regular contact with large numbers of children, it may make intuitive sense for governmental authorities to ask them to play a crucial role in identifying potential abuse cases. And we should be grateful to those teachers who have correctly identified and reported cases of abuse and neglect, many of which might otherwise have gone undetected. Yet, the decision to make such a referral is difficult and fraught with uncertainty, and we must consider whether it is appropriate to rely on teachers to make these calls, given how many students they serve, how little flexibility they have in their schedules, and how little, if any, training they have in this area. 

Indeed, if we take a step back and consider the history of mandatory reporting, its current parameters, the frequency with which teachers make mistakes, and the unfortunate consequences of overreporting, it becomes clear that this policy does more harm than good. We have better alternatives to consider, so let’s turn to other means of performing the important work of monitoring and responding to child abuse. 

Fifty years of mandated reporting 

Until the 1960s, the American public and its elected officials turned a blind eye, for the most part, to abusive child-rearing practices. But all this changed in 1962, when the pediatrician Henry Kempe and his colleagues published the landmark paper “The Battered Child Syndrome” in the Journal of the American Medical Association. Based on observations from their medical practice, the authors reported on a frequently appearing cluster of symptoms — serious physical injury including bone fracture, subdural hematoma, failure to thrive, skin swelling or bruising, or sudden death — that could only be explained by brutality from caretakers. They found that the perpetrators, most frequently a parent or foster parent, usually displayed a defective character structure that allowed aggressive impulses to be freely expressed.  

Understandably, the “discovery” of frequent child-battering by caretakers alarmed the public. By 1967, all 50 states had passed laws meant to prevent such abuse. Then, dissatisfied with the variety and laxity of some of these laws, Congress passed the 1974 Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act, which required states to have in place a system of mandatory reporting in order to receive federal grants for child protection.  

At its onset, the reporting requirement was narrowly conceptualized to encompass only severe or significant physical abuse, and only doctors were mandated reporters. However, over the past 50 years, the requirement has expanded to include sexual abuse, emotional abuse, and neglect, and the list of reporters now includes educators, social workers, clergy, law enforcement, and attorneys (though only teachers are included in every state’s list). In addition, there has been a recent push, adopted by 19 states so far, to make all citizens mandatory reporters.  

Given the expanding list of who must report and for what, referral numbers have grown significantly over the last few decades. So too have rates of overreporting. For instance, one national study found that referral rates rose by 8.3% between 2008 and 2012, even as overall rates of confirmed child victimization declined by 3.3% during the same period (Friedersdorf, 2014). Similarly, according to data from the Children’s Bureau at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS, 2020), almost half of all abuse cases (44%) referred to authorities in 2018 were screened-out and not investigated further. Of those that proceeded to be investigated (56%), just 16% were substantiated. Overall, then, only 9% of the initially referred cases were ultimately verified. Or, put another way, fully 91% of all reports of abuse turned out to be false positives, subjecting caretakers unnecessarily to a screening or surveillance process, and often to an ongoing investigation. Further, of the reports made in 2018 that were ultimately substantiated, 61% had to do with child neglect alone, which, while serious, tends to have consequences that are not as severe as other kinds of abuse. 

The obligation on teachers 

Under mandatory reporting laws, teachers are legally obligated to contact a child protective service office if they believe a student to be the target of abuse or neglect. Then, if the complaint meets the criteria for a potential response, the child welfare agency launches an investigation that is likely to include a home visit consisting of interviews with the child’s parents, caregivers, or other adults in the home. If no evidence of harm is found, the family assessment may still result in a voluntary referral to community services for preventive support.  

While teachers can report anonymously or through their schools (although their name may be disclosed if the case is taken to court), they cannot avoid the responsibility. Not to report abuse is considered a misdemeanor (or worse) and can result in up to six months in jail, a fine up to $1,000, or both. As a result, teachers and other educators have been particularly diligent reporters. In 2018, for instance, education personnel made 21% of all reports, the highest of any professional category (HHS, 2020). However — and herein lies the problem — researchers have found that educators’ reports are 95% less likely to be substantiated than those from other professionals (King & Scott, 2014).   

Moreover, it’s important to consider the role that student demographics might play in teachers’ decisions to report suspected child abuse, and in subsequent decisions about whether to investigate. According to HHS (2020) data, of substantiated cases of abuse, Black students were 70% more likely than white students to be identified as victims, while the rate of Latinx children found to be victims was equal to that of whites.  

This raises difficult questions that deserve further study: Are teachers in the U.S., most of whom are white, quicker to see Black children as victims of abuse, and if so, why? For instance, could teachers be mistaking the effects of poverty (which disproportionately affects Black families) for abuse? Perhaps, when children come to school ill-fed and ill-clothed, teachers tend to overlook their caregivers’ economic circumstances and assume they’ve been neglectful. (Recognizing this possibility, about half of states have specified mandatory reporters should not assume a child is suffering from neglect if their condition can viably be ascribed to poverty alone; Meiners & Tolliver, 2016). Similarly, could teachers mistake differences in child-rearing practices for abuse? Many teachers see all forms of physical punishment as abusive, even though research suggests that such punishments might have limited negative effects in families of color when it is perceived as the norm and is accompanied with parental warmth and encouragement for a child to grow into a responsible adult (Lansford et al., 2004). On the other hand, shaming practices have been found to cause great psychological harm (Goodman & Cook, 2019), yet these practices are less likely to be perceived as abusive and are, in fact, used in many schools. 

The teacher’s dilemma 

As mandated reporters, teachers must be alert to the possible indicators of abuse. But the list of potential signals is remarkably broad, and many of the behaviors listed could be attributed to multiple causes. Signs of emotional abuse include being withdrawn, fearful, or anxious about doing something wrong; extremes in behavior such as being overly passive, aggressive, demanding, compliant, or infantile. Signs of physical abuse include unexplained bruises, over-alertness, flinching at sudden movements, fear of going home, or inappropriate clothing (such as long sleeves on hot days). Signs of neglect include ill-fitting or soiled clothing, poor hygiene, and frequent lateness or absences. Signs of sexual abuse include trouble sitting or walking, seductive behavior, and a reluctance to change clothes in front of others. This is quite a list!  

Now, with these lists in mind, imagine you have a class of 25 students, one of whom hangs around when school is dismissed and seems to be moody — both passive and angry, by turn. When asked, the student denies anything is wrong. You don’t have time to ask detailed questions because you run an extracurricular club after dismissal. But what are you to do if the behavior continues? Are you to surmise the student may be in an abusive situation? Is it not just as likely that she has had a falling out with a close friend, her parents are getting a divorce, or her grandmother is seriously ill?  

Or, let’s say you notice bruises on a student. When queried, he says he and his older brother have been playing football together after school. While recognizing he may be truthful and that it is hard to distinguish a bruise caused by parental abuse from one that results from normal sibling roughhousing, your concern is aroused. You certainly do not want an abusive situation to persist, and you have a legal obligation to report, so you write up a referral.  

Or perhaps a savvy student reports she has been whipped by her parent. Warned not to probe for details, you take her at her word and report, although it turns out to have been just an angry outburst that she later recants — too late to stop an investigation. Or maybe you observe a student is regularly attending class unclean in tattered clothes. Must you make a referral despite knowing that it’s as likely to be poverty as neglect?  

Given all these possibilities, it’s no wonder that many teachers are reluctant to make child abuse referrals (this despite the larger pattern of overreporting), are afraid of making inaccurate reports, and express the belief that child protective services do not actually do much to help maltreated children (Goldberg, 2015; Kenny, 2001). 

Other teachers may reason that when it comes to abuse, they should err on the side of overreporting — believing that it’s better to be safe than sorry. However, making a referral to protective services is not like sending a sniffling child to the nurse. If the teacher is mistaken and the nurse gives him a clean bill of health, little damage has been done. The child may be peeved and the teacher slightly embarrassed, but the incident probably will go down as a matter of kind, if unwarranted, concern. But reporting suspicions of child abuse often has serious, even disastrous, consequences, including the precipitous breaking up of families. In far too many cases, authorities fail to investigate adequately before taking what may be an excessively harsh response. Across the U.S., on a typical day (setting the pandemic aside), 700-800 children are removed from their homes by police officers and child-welfare workers, with no advance warning given to parents, on the basis of alleged abuse or neglect (Chill, 2018). 

Consider a mother’s reaction when a protective worker shows up unexpectedly to announce she is suspected of child abuse or neglect. The mother, who takes pride in raising her child, is alarmed by this out-of-the-blue accusation. Such an accusation, even if easily refuted, would naturally stir deep sentiments of humiliation and resentment in families. One qualitative study of 18 parents (Dumbrill, 2006) found that even when workers took pains to avoid prompting fear, that’s exactly the feeling their presence provoked. Parents generally felt accused and believed protective services staff had all the power and were not acting in the best interest of their children. Families felt well served and were appreciative only when practical assistance (like getting diapers or finding mental health resources) was offered. 

For children, the consequences are often even worse. Even if protective services staff decide not to pursue an investigation, children find themselves torn between primary loyalty to their family and a teacher who is suspicious of that family. And if children are taken from their caretakers, they may be subjected to invasive questioning, medical examinations, and/or strip searches, and they may be forced to live in foster homes or group residences while the legal system sorts out their future. Further, if a service worker is uncertain as to the probability of abuse, she may elect to place the child in temporary “protective custody,” justifying it as in the child’s best interest. However, the service worker doesn’t witness the child having “a panic attack at 3 a.m. because he is suddenly alone in the world. Or slamming her head against a wall out of protest and desperation” (Chill, 2018).  

Referrals also damage the teacher-family bond. Even at their best, relationships between teachers and families can be delicate, especially if the teacher appears to criticize a parent’s approach to caregiving. Parents may perceive teachers’ academic requests (for instance, asking the parent to help their child finish homework, and then to sign off when it is completed) to be within bounds. They may be more wary of behavioral requests (such as when a teacher asks them to tell their child to participate more in class, stop excluding a classmate at lunch, or speak up about being teased). Still, even then, the teacher-family relationship can usually be repaired. But to suspect a parent of child abuse or neglect does irreparable damage to that bond. Even if protective services quickly dismiss the teacher’s suspicion as unfounded, the parent will be left with grave and probably permanent mistrust of the school.  

Alternatives to teacher policing 

One might argue that if the mandated referral system effectively curbs abuse and protects child well-being, then its benefits will likely outweigh its potential harms. However, the available research doesn’t support that hypothesis. In fact, a comprehensive review of high-quality research articles on this topic suggests the opposite: 73% of those articles reviewed reported negative child outcomes, including revictimization and placement in foster care that was notably worse than the initial family environment (McTavish et al., 2017). 

Yet, the fact remains that public school teachers tend to spend more time with children — both on a daily basis and over time — than any group of adults other than parents and family members. They are extraordinarily well-positioned to notice signs of abuse before they become deadly. Further, teachers care about their students and tend to be highly motivated to take action on their behalf. So, the question remains: Other than requiring teachers to report potential cases of abuse to child protective services, what can be done to take advantage of their capacity to spot trouble signs and monitor children’s well-being? 

Create better tools  

Given that a referral to welfare authorities is a high-risk enterprise, schools need to find ways to cut down on unwarranted referrals. One promising option is to turn to digital tools that can perform an initial analysis of suspected cases, functioning as an early warning system that identifies those cases that merit a closer look. Such tools are not science fiction; they exist today, and they will surely continue to improve in the coming years. For example, the Allegheny Family Screening Tool (in use by the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, region’s Office of Children, Youth and Families since 2016) relies on predictive risk modeling, analyzing hundreds of variables to assess whether a particular allegation of child maltreatment is credible enough to warrant a referral (Allegheny County Department of Human Services, n.d.). Critics have raised concerns about data privacy and possible racial biases coded in the tool’s software. In its five years of use, however, it has proven to be more accurate and to produce fewer false positives than are typically made by teachers and other mandated reporters. Further, it has reduced racial disparities in county referrals for child abuse investigations, and its use has led to only a modest increase in the number of cases flagged for investigation.  

Build a better personnel system 

The task of making an initial referral to child protective services now falls largely to teachers. However, instead of expecting teachers to make such decisions on their own, school districts can and should ensure that teachers routinely get input from other professionals who have more expertise in this area. School nurses, for example, can assess children by engaging in confidential conversations (since, like doctors, they have privileged communication rights) away from the prying eyes of other students. Alternatively, school counselors, social workers, and psychologists might make an assessment and weigh in on referral decisions. Or better yet, schools can implement a team approach. For example, a Massachusetts manual on child abuse and neglect (Crosson-Tower & Rizzulo, 2016) suggests setting up a Child Protective Team whose members represent a range of roles and expertise: the principal and/or assistant principal, the school psychologist or social worker, the guidance counselor, one or more concerned teachers, the school nurse, and even a representative of the Department of Children and Families. Such a team of professionals can pool their expertise, evaluating a given case much more thoroughly than an individual teacher is likely to do, before making a formal referral. 

Given how thinly stretched all these professionals are, making this process a reality means increasing budgets to provide for sufficient personnel, ongoing educational opportunities, peer consultation, and efforts to follow up on referrals. We know that teachers alone cannot protect children, maintain trust with families, and continue to do the already difficult job of educating children. Giving them more help, without adding to their responsibilities, would yield a more accurate and humane system.   

References 

Allegheny County Department of Human Services. (n.d.). The Allegheny family screening tool. Author. 

Chill, P. (2018, June 25). Hundreds of U.S. children taken from home. Hartford Courant. 

Crosson-Tower, C. & Rizzulo, A.P. (2016). Steps toward child abuse prevention: A how-to manual for Massachusetts educators. Children’s Trust. 

Dumbrill, G. (2006). Parental experience of child protection intervention: A qualitative study. Child Abuse and Neglect, 30 (1), 27-37. 

Friedersdorf, C. (2014, July 22). In a year, child-protective services checked up on 3.2 million children. The Atlantic. 

Goldberg, M. (2015, September 15). Has child protective services gone too far? The Nation. 

Goodman, J.S. & Cook, B.I. (2019). Shaming school children: A violation of fundamental rights? Theory and Research in Education, 17 (1), 62-81. 

Kempe, C.H., Silverman, F., Steele, B., Droegemueller, W., & Silver, H. (1962). The battered-child syndrome. Journal of the American Medical Association, 181 (1), 17-24. 

Kenny, M. (2001). Child abuse reporting: Teachers’ perceived deterrents. Child Abuse and Neglect, 25 (1), 81-92. 

King, C. & Scott, K (2014). Why are suspected cases of child maltreatment referred by educators so often unsubstantiated. Child Abuse and Neglect, 38 (1), 1-10. 

Lansford, J.E., Deater-Deckard, K., Dodge, K.A., Bates, J.E., & Pettit, G.S. (2004). Ethnic differences in the link between physical discipline and later adolescent externalizing behaviors. The Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 45 (4), 801-812. 

McTavish, J., Kimber, M., Devries, K., Colombini, M., MacGragor, J.C.D., Wathen, C.N. . . . & MacMillan, H. (2017). Mandated reporters’ experiences with reporting child maltreatment: a meta-synthesis of qualitative studies. BMJ Open 7 (10). 

Meiners, E. & Tolliver, C. (2016). Refusing to be complicit in our prison nation: Teachers rethinking mandatory reporting. Radical Teacher, 106,  106-113. 

U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Children’s Bureau. (2020). Child maltreatment 2018. Washington, DC: Author.