By Amani Chiari
In the United States, survivors of sexual violence are often told to report, to speak up, to trust the system. But what happens when the system is the perpetrator — and its violence not only ignored, but official policy is misused and abused by public service employees and enforcement to facilitate and enforce sexual violence?
In recent articles for North Star Editorial, we provided case studies for more than a thousand instances of state sanction violence, particularly sexual violence, and particularly against black male youth to attempt to push them into state controlled living environments and of sexual abuse by government employs (public services) once in those state controlled living environments in support of Non-Intimate Personal relationship abuse framework. At least, 800 of the victims are now adults that were abused by public services as youth when public services controlled their living environments — demonstrating the lifelong negative impact of departments of Health and Human Services access to black children and family.
Generally, all matters involving youth placement will pass through a state's Department of Health and Human Services. Most often, the Department of Health and Human Services was already a presence in the children's lives before they came into contact with the criminal system—whether that was through welfare programs like SNAP and Medicaid given to their parents (likely once children touched by Health and Human Services themselves), or through direct placements such as foster care.
There is a cycle of generational destruction targeting the Black household, the Black family, and ultimately Black boys, girls, women, and men—once scattered—perpetuated by the Department of Health and Human Services since its radical mid-20th century reforms. At the root of this is control: control of Black children, control of Black people, and control over the United States itself, beginning with "No Control" over the exploitation and oppression of this racial population, most vulnerable to systemic injustice. "No Control" of the mandate for equal and equitable enforcement of policy, regulation, and law so that Black Americans would have same the access and protections afforded to everyone and therefore, black Americans would produce the same sustainable, positive outcomes as everyone else.
No power for self because its systematically taken. All blame for everyone. All responsibility of everyone—all dumped on black Americans, then we're told we aren't "enough" of something (anything really) or we would overcome it all by ourselves when no other population is held to that standard. Also, if we take risk to become enough, after literally everything has been taken from us and denied to us so that we cannot sustain positive outcomes without risk like everyone else, then we're criminalized for succeeding in the risk we took. That’s the foundation behind every issue I address in my exposés—including this one.
There is law for a reason, and it has to begin to be enforced—for all—the way it was intended. If not, I'm confident that what we're going to face is a civil war based not only on race and wealth distribution, but one where citizens are unified on a single point: dismantling organized government permanently.
I shouldn't have to create exposés just to be heard, for the evidence to be seen. I'm a voice in the wilderness, calling out in prophecy: either follow instructions by issuing justice without delay, or feel the consequences of refusing to do so.
This is precisely why I must write exposés: because the voices of those actually living these realities are not documented, nor meaningfully included in conversations about causes and solutions. My aim is to bring you inside—to see the root causes and to hear the solutions from those directly affected.
And truthfully, these solutions should no longer be up for debate or delay. Those in power have already had their turn—and they failed. Their voices have been heard; they led us here. It’s time for them to step back, unless they are amplifying those with lived experience who have crafted real solutions—solutions that require elected and official support to move forward.
That, after all, is exactly how government is meant to work: in service of the public’s well-being. Instead, we’ve seen elected individuals exert control over all households and budgets rather than just their own, in ways that have created harmful policy and nearly nonexistent enforcement.
But—I’ve digressed.
The point of that digression is to emphasize, above all, that complaints of internal misconduct made by participants of these agencies who have this much negative impact on participants wellbeing must be held to the highest standards of investigation, transparency, and accountability in order to reduce the rate of sexual violence against Black women and children.
This agency’s misconduct chronically produces outcomes of exposure to sexual predators and instability. So, what is causing Black people to forge the relationships and what is causing them to stay in relationships with Health and Human Services longer than they should have to? The answer is administrative conduct.
Therefore, complaints must be heard and resolved expeditiously. Nothing bad would have ever happened to me or my descendants if this agency and its allies had not been allowed to touch us.
In continuance of the conversation on Non-Intimate Personal Abuse, we now examine the female component through the lens of Making a Killing, echoing the revolutionary Ally Carter with current evidence of the connection between Human Services, public services, and sexual violence against Black women and children.
For Black women in particular, the answer to what happens when the system is the perpetrator is nothing short of state-sanctioned abandonment.
I am one of those women. I am a survivor of sexual violence directly linked to my entanglement with the Minnesota Department of Human Services (DHS), and I am not alone.
Foster care, a service operated under DHS, is often portrayed as a protective intervention. But for many Black girls, it serves as an entry point into a lifelong pattern of vulnerability and abuse. Ally Carter, a young Black woman whose voice has recently emerged, is telling the truth: there is a documented and repeated connection between foster care placements and sexual violence — a connection deeply rooted in the very systems meant to protect us.
I was not destroyed in foster care because I escaped — and I took my child with me. But five years later, when I returned to Minnesota to seek medical insurance coverage, the state resumed its pursuit under another name: healthcare obstruction. Since then, I have been systematically deprived of safe housing, medical care, and legal protection. And each point of destabilization has led directly to exposure to predators.
A Pattern of State-Enabled Violence
There have been four separate incidents involving sexual predators since my Housing Choice Voucher was stolen in February 2019. That theft wasn’t just a bureaucratic error — it was an act of violence. It forced me into homelessness, which in turn exposed me to a trafficking ring. I escaped. But upon returning to Minnesota, I was stalked, criminalized for defending myself, and left without protection.
More recently, I’ve endured sexual harassment and retaliation from property managers, while city officials and law enforcement protect those responsible. I have been subjected to racist abuse, ignored in every attempt to report it, and systematically denied justice — because I am a Black woman.
This is not a series of accidents. This is a pattern. And it is one that public services are both enabling and enforcing.
The Legal Terms Are Clear: This Is Injurious and Damaging
Legally, the violence I’ve experienced is injurious: it has caused physical, emotional, and psychological harm. The sexual violence, the stalking, the abuse by people in positions of power — all violate my bodily autonomy and safety.
The state has also committed medical neglect by denying me treatment for Chiari Malformation, a neurological condition I’ve lived with for over two decades. I secured care myself — without insurance, while homeless — in another state. But Minnesota blocked my access to that care, choosing instead to keep me in a cycle of illness, instability, and dependence.
The damage doesn’t stop there. I have suffered financial loss, isolation, reputational harm, and the destruction of personal autonomy. The continued presence of DHS in my life serves no supportive purpose — it exists solely as a barrier to safety, health, and justice.
A State-Sanctioned Domestic Violence Relationship
What I am describing is a domestic violence relationship — only in this case, the abuser is the state itself. And unlike others, I have been barred from escaping it. These individuals and agencies are hiding behind job titles, weaponizing bureaucratic power to avoid accountability for criminal actions. But the law does not excuse crime based on professional identity. The law does not say, “If a social worker assaults a child, it’s policy.” The law says the crime is the crime.
Yet here I am — still waiting for an investigation, let alone prosecution.
I’ve been forced to leak evidence on my own, in the middle of health crises, because the state refuses to act. I have printed exposés while unhoused, stalked, and denied medical care. I have been isolated, silenced, and abandoned, not because I failed to report — but because I did.
The Broader Truth: This Isn’t Just Me
What’s most devastating is that I’m not an anomaly. I’m just one of the few who documented everything and never stopped fighting back. Many other women — especially Black women — are still locked in these silent wars. Some are still with their abusers because submission was their only perceived path to survival. Some are dead.
I am alive, but not because the system worked. I am alive because I have refused to give in, and because my faith sustains me. God fills in the space that human cruelty has hollowed out. His mercy is the only reason I still breathe, still write, still fight.
But that doesn’t excuse this system — and it doesn’t absolve those enabling it.
The Call to Action: Accountability Is Non-Negotiable
We need independent investigations into how DHS and public housing authorities intersect with patterns of sexual violence. We need federal oversight of state systems that are acting with impunity. We need laws not only written, but enforced — with no exemption for title, race, or department.
And above all, we need to listen to Black women when we say: this is happening, this is systemic, and this must end.
My story is not rare. The only rare thing is my ability to tell it. But I won’t stop — not until this truth forces the country to face itself.
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