Dear Editor,
She was 10 years old, with blonde hair, big eyes and an even bigger smile. She was so excited to begin the fifth grade at Empower College Prep. And she was also on the radar of child welfare officials — again and again. Her name was Rebekah Baptiste, and despite 12 reports of suspected abuse, she died at the hands of people who should have loved and protected her.
Sadly, Rebekah is not alone.
In recent months, the state of Arizona lost 16-year-old Zariah Dodd, who was pregnant at the time of her murder, and 14-year-old Emily Pike. We also lost two infants: A 6-week-old baby boy and a 4-week-old baby girl — both beaten to death by their young fathers. Why? Because they “wouldn’t stop crying.” So fresh and new to the world, these sweet babies will never know what it’s like to run through the grass, feel sand between their toes, play in the rain, marvel at the mountains, sweat from the desert heat, or eat an ice cream cone after a day in the pool.
Instead, they will be highlighted in an obituary and featured on the news, remembered by the brutal acts of the men who helped bring them into this world. Men who helped create them. Men who share half of their DNA with them. Men who are monsters.
These children aren’t statistics — they are the human cost of a system that often reacts too late, and sometimes not at all.
Every 10 seconds in the United States, someone reports suspected child abuse. Every year, more than four million reports reach child protection agencies, affecting more than 7.5 million children. Every day, we lose six children to abuse.
Here’s the ugly truth: Being “know to the system” does not equate to being safe. In Rebekah’s case, only one of several reports used the exact statutory language required to open an investigation. The others — though deeply concerning — were dismissed.
Our thresholds for intervention are too high. Our oversight too weak. Our services overburdened and underfunded. We treat repeated calls as isolated events instead of connecting the dots. By the time we act, it’s often too late.
But here’s what many people don’t want to hear: This isn’t just a government failure. It’s a community failure.
Child abuse prevention is everyone’s responsibility. We can’t afford to wait for lawmakers or agencies to fix it on their own. Child abuse is an epidemic. Each of us has the power to notice, to speak up, and to keep speaking up until a child is safe.
Know the warning signs:
• Physical: Unexplained bruises, burns or injuries, clothing that is inappropriate for the weather, poor hygiene
• Behavioral: Sudden withdrawal, changes in school performance, fearfulness around certain people, reluctance to go home
If your gut tells you something is off, trust it. Write down what you see and hear — dates, times, details, and any statements from the child. Don’t confront a suspected abuser yourself but do make the call.
If a child is in immediate danger, call 911. You can also call the Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453). Our trained counselors are available 24/7 in more than 240 languages via call, text, or chat to offer crisis intervention, guidance, and resources. It’s also completely confidential.
On September 3, Arizona lawmakers will hold a special session to examine these failures. Childhelp will be there pushing for immediate safety reforms and long-term change. But no reform will matter without the relentless vigilance of a caring public.
You may think, I called once, and nothing happened. Call again. Call 10 times if you have to. A child’s life is worth your persistence.
Because in the fight against child abuse, silence isn’t neutral — it’s deadly. And protecting children is not someone else’s job. It’s all of ours.
Michael Medoro is the Chief Operating Officer and Chief of Staff at Childhelp, a national nonprofit founded in 1959 that has saved more than 13 million abused, neglected, and at-risk children. Learn more at Childhelp.org.
