Florida regularly commits autistic students to psych wards

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Florida’s Baker Act directs police officers and some mental health professionals to hospitalize the mentally ill, but it was never intended to be used on children with autism or children who act out in class. The 48-year-old law even says those with developmental disabilities should not be committed unless they’re also mentally ill and a danger to themselves or others.

But more and more kids who do not meet the criteria are being taken from schools to crisis centers for up to 72 hours and more.

Across Florida, the number of children involuntarily transported each year to a mental health center has doubled in the last 15 years to about 36,000, or 100 a day, according to the Baker Act Reporting Center at the University of South Florida. More than 4,000 were under the age of 10.

There’s more awareness about reporting concerning behavior and more children making troubling statements on social media. And since the mass shooting at a Parkland high school in 2018, every public school in Florida has an officer or armed guard with a hard set of rules for dealing with kids in crisis.

Interviews with dozens of parents around the state reveal a system that sweeps up too many kids.

The Tampa Bay Times found officers hospitalized children who had a meltdown, refused an order or drew a troubling picture. Some kids vaguely threatened to hurt themselves. Other children exhibited behavior that was typical for their development disabilities and identified in their federal education plans.

Often, the Baker Act of a child happens without parents’ knowledge or consent, and once the process is underway, they have no rights under the law to challenge a decision. These interactions with police can be particularly scary for parents of special needs children who struggle with tantrums and communication.

“In that moment, that decision may seem like a good one in order to err on the side of caution or avoid issues of liability,” said Kristin Kosyluk, an assistant professor at the University of South Florida’s Department of Mental Health Law & Policy who studies the impact of mental stigma. “But in the long term, the impact is a traumatized child, a traumatized family and an experience that can never be undone.”

Pinellas County Sheriff Bob Gualtieri said police are “hands down, unequivocally the least qualified people to deal with this. The mental health training that law enforcement officers receive in the academy is minimal … so you end up with a lot of situations that are resolved by over-Baker Acting.”

Sam Boyd, a senior staff attorney with the Southern Poverty Law Center in Miami, said this rarely happens in other states. “Schools don’t send people to mental institutions.”

Florida doesn’t require a standardized approach. In Hernando County, school resource officers initiate the Baker Act and typically don’t notify parents until the child is on the way to a facility. In Miami, where a video of a handcuffed 7-year-old went viral in 2018, the policy is to call parents first. In Alachua County, parents are notified as soon as a counselor assesses the child, but school officers decide whether to transport to a crisis center. The different approaches is one reason there is no accurate statewide data on the use of the Baker Act in schools, Boyd said.

Some parents have convinced those crisis centers that their children don’t belong. Others have struggled to get their kids out. A number of children have been released after a night by psychiatrists who recognize they are not mentally ill.

The law provides little oversight, with judges weighing in only if a facility wants to keep a child committed involuntarily longer than three days.

Sen. Gayle Harrell, a Republican from Stuart, and Rep. Jennifer Webb, a Democrat from Gulfport, are sponsoring companion bills that would require parental notification upon the initiation of a Baker Act. It would attempt to curtail inappropriate Baker Acts by requiring more training of school officers. They also would be compelled to contact a mobile response team and find out if the child has another medical condition, such as autism. The bills would mandate that a count be kept of the number of children taken involuntarily from schools.

Parents and advocates say the law needs to change.

“I’m seeing officers and administrators who use the Baker Act as a tool to get kids out of school,” said Shahar Pasch, an attorney from West Palm Beach who has represented dozens of families. “It’s across the board, across the state, the whole Baker Act system is being abused.

A.J. had thrown a tantrum in the school courtyard, stomping his feet. He pitched a piece of paper at an administrator whom he said had been mean to him. Now he sat outside the nurse’s office and whimpered.

“I don’t want to be arrested,” he cried to Salley and the guidance counselor, tears flowing. “I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t want to go to the asylum.”

Salley, a father of three, patted A.J.’s shoulder. Then the officer left the room and called over his police radio to have someone bring him “Form 52,” the document to initiate an involuntary commitment.

Back in the hall, after A.J.’s arm had been bandaged, Salley told him: “You’re not in trouble. You’re just having a hard time dealing with a new situation. That’s all it is.”

“I don’t like new things,” A.J. said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“But that’s what we’re here for, that’s what friends are for, to help each other through hard times,” the officer said.

“Yea,” A.J. said, calming down.

He turned his red face, wet with tears, to the officer and asked if Salley could come to school with him every day. Salley said he’d try.

Salley told the boy that his father was on his way, and they would decide what to do together.

Salley explained how A.J. had struggled at lunch and had later scratched himself. “Yea, it’s very common for kids with autism to self-mutilate,” Plonsky said.

But then A.J. had made the comment about killing himself, Salley explained. The officer felt obligated to take A.J. for an evaluation.

Plonsky absorbed this information calmly. Children with autism often struggle to express their needs and understand non-verbal communication, emotions and conversations. They fall apart when their routines or interests are disrupted.

A.J. saw three people for his disabilities, including a behavioral pediatrician and a therapist, Plonsky said. Was this facility going to be able to do anything they couldn’t do?

“He’s been threatening to kill himself since he was in kindergarten,” Plonsky said. “Therapists say it’s an attention-getter.”

Salley said he had no choice.

“The reason is because of the liability,” Salley explained. “Everything we do now is recorded. So he made the statement he’s going to do it now, and god forbid he does do it, it would come back on me and the school board and the city of Cocoa. And it’s just the world we live in right now. I wish I had more discretion on that, because when common sense prevails, better things can happen.”

Fifty years ago, kids like A.J. did not typically attend school. Many children who were blind or deaf, learning or intellectually disabled or emotionally disturbed stayed home or attended institutions. It wasn’t until 1975 that President Gerald Ford signed the Education for All Handicapped Children Act, which ultimately compensated schools that provided “a free and appropriate education” to children with disabilities.

Schools are required to abide by individualized education plans, or IEPs, which outline each disabled child’s special needs, says Mitchell Yell, a professor of special education at the University of South Carolina in Columbia.

“When state and federal law conflict, federal law would prevail,” Yell said.

If the plan is not followed, parents or guardians can file a complaint or request a hearing. “It’s very highly litigated,” Yell said.

Yell and other experts expressed concern that school officials would not even look at a child’s education plan while deciding whether to send him to a crisis center.

Under federal law, a principal must consider an IEP, says Mark Kamleiter, an attorney and behavior specialist who has represented families battling school districts.

“Covering his backside is not reasonable grounds for applying the Baker Act,” he said.

A number of parents recounted how the experience traumatized their children. Several said the Baker Act had caused their children to fear police.

One Pinellas County mom said her son, who was placed under the Baker Act for the first time at age 6, can’t sleep with sheets of certain textures. They remind him of the ones in the hospital.

Another said her 13-year-old son had never gotten in trouble at school before a teacher fished a crumpled drawing out of the garbage. He and another boy had drawn two naked, Rambo-like guys with penises and guns and a square with the name of the school. He was driven to a crisis center.

“I understand that with everything that’s happened and all the school shootings, but this is way too much,” said Ann Corzo, a commercial loan assistant. “My son is going to therapy because of everything that happened to him, and now my son is under a microscope in school.”

It may be that some of those kids might not have gotten care otherwise, said Kosyluk, the assistant professor who studies the impact of mental health stigma. But, she said, there are likely children who didn’t need involuntary hospitalization and will now avoid “the behavioral health care system at all costs, and that prospect is scariest to me.”

“Having spoken with many people who’ve undergone involuntary psychiatric hospitalizations,” Kosyluk said, “it sticks with you for life.”

Together, the officer and A.J. walked out the front of the school and past a boy stretched out on a bench, across the open parking lot to the car with POLICE on the side.

Staci Plonsky pulled up in time to see her son being placed in the back seat. She didn’t feel like she could alter what was about to happen, so she told A.J. she would sort it out at the other end.

She sobbed as she trailed the police car to Melbourne, the nearest children’s crisis unit. It was a 45-minute drive.

Once they arrived, she tried to talk the crisis center out of taking A.J., telling them he had autism.

She was told they had to wait for the doctor. She begged to stay with A.J. but the intake counselor wanted her insurance information.

A.J. was out of school for four weeks. His family toured several private schools, consulted attorneys, retrieved records. They learned that it’s difficult to win cases like this against police.

Ultimately, the family consulted Disability Rights Florida, which advocated on A.J.’s behalf with a new public school, McNair Middle.

“Our goal was to move forward,” said Staci Plonsky, 39.

So this past August, A.J. headed off to his first day of school. He hung out with the guidance counselor for a day, then added a class. By the end of the first week, he had a full schedule.

One day, when the school number flashed on Plonsky’s phone, she panicked. But it was just a teacher telling her how impressed she was with A.J.

"She was told they had to wait for the doctor. She begged to stay with A.J. but the intake counselor wanted her insurance information."

Hmmm....

Do I smell a profit motive?