By FamiliesvsDHR Editorial Board

There are moments in this country. Moments when people reach a limit. When grief becomes action. When silence becomes something we can no longer afford.

We have seen it before. When women, newly outraged or long tired of being ignored, laced up their shoes and took to the streets. When teenage survivors of gun violence decided they were done begging for their lives and started demanding change. When the world watched George Floyd die, people got up and walked out of their homes. When immigrant families were separated at the border and Americans said, not this time, not in our name. And more recently, in towns across the country, we have seen the No Kings protests. Ordinary people standing face to face with authority and asking a simple, dangerous question: who gave you this power?

But one group of families has never had their moment to rise. Not because the pain is any smaller. But because the suffering is quieter. More private. Carried out behind closed doors with paperwork, sealed files, and polite-sounding phrases like best interest of the child.

We are talking about families torn apart by child welfare. By systems that call themselves protective while operating unchecked. Families that are picked apart by suspicion and buried in silence.

Every year, thousands of children are taken from their homes. Not always for abuse. Not always for neglect. Sometimes it is poverty. Sometimes it is culture. Sometimes it is nothing more than fear, bias, or the words of a mandated reporter who made a call and walked away.

There are mothers who have not held their children in over a year. Fathers who never got the chance to fight. Grandparents who begged to step in but were told no. Children pulled out of school without a phone call home. Babies taken from hospitals within hours of birth.

If that sounds like a stretch, it’s not. It is the quiet reality for thousands of families across this country. It happens every day. And it happens out of view.

The hearings are closed. The records are sealed. The parents are gagged. And the public is never told what really happened. What is left behind is a narrative that says the system always knows best, and if your child was taken, you must have done something wrong.

So again, the question. What would happen if these families stood up?

We know what protest can do. We have seen what it looks like when people stop waiting and start moving. We have seen it change laws, shift policy, and force attention. We have seen what happens when silence breaks and truth gets a microphone.

Now imagine this. Parents in every state. Kinship caregivers. Former foster youth. Social workers who saw too much. All standing in front of courthouses, state offices, school buildings. Holding up photos of the children they lost. Not to death, but to a system that is constantly facilitating unjust family destruction.

No shouting. No chaos. Just truth. Just presence. This is the protest that has never happened. And that should tell us something.

Because this system was designed to keep families quiet. It isolates them. It tells them their story is too messy, too painful, too rare to matter. It threatens their reunification if they speak. It conditions their silence by holding their children hostage in the name of safety.

But the stories are not rare. They are everywhere. Alabama. New York. Georgia. Texas. California. Kentucky. Names change. States change. The pain does not.

What would it take to break that silence? It would take someone deciding they are done being afraid. Then two people. Then two hundred. Then two thousand.

And suddenly, it is not just a moment. It is a movement.

This is not about political sides. It is not about who you voted for. It is about families. The right to raise your own child. The right to be heard before you are judged. The right to be poor, to be imperfect, to be human. Without being criminalized for it.

We have marched for racial justice. We have marched for women. For immigrants. For veterans. For workers. For children in cages. For healthcare. For democracy.

But we have not marched for the parents whose children were taken under vague accusations and never returned. We have not marched for the families trapped in secret courtrooms with no public oversight. We have not marched for the children who were removed in the name of protection and placed into worse.

So here is the invitation.

To the mother still waiting. To the father who was erased. To the grandparent who got ignored. To the sibling who lost a best friend. To the foster youth who aged out without answers. To the whistleblower who wanted to help but stayed quiet too long. If you are ready to stand, we are asking you to speak.

We are gathering names, stories, and contact information from those who are ready to be part of something bigger. Not for a mailing list. For something real. For a protest that could shift the conversation, if enough of us show up.

If you are willing to be counted, send your name and contact to:

📩 contact@familiesvsdhr.org
Subject line: Let’s Protest

You do not need the perfect words. You do not need to have it all figured out. You just need to say: I’m here.

We will walk forward together. This week, this country prepares to celebrate freedom. The parades. The flags. The fireworks. The words. Liberty. Justice. Independence. But here is what no one is talking about.

There are parents who will not spend the Fourth of July with their children. Not because they broke a law. Not because they were proven unfit. But because someone made a phone call. Someone filed a form. And a system decided it was safer to take than to ask.

There are families right now who will be lighting sparklers in silence. Cooking for children who are not coming home. Watching fireworks while wondering how many more court dates it will take to be called a parent again.

So yes, we are celebrating freedom. But we should ask ourselves this simple question. Freedom for who? Because if you can lose your child without a trial, if the government can override your voice as a parent, if silence is forced and your story sealed, then we are not talking about freedom. We are talking about modern day captivity. And the question is not whether we love this country. The question is whether this country still honors the families it was supposed to be built for.

With love, urgency, and peace.
—Families vs. DHR