No Child Left Behind originally written for WR121 at Lane Community College      About three years ago I was volunteering for Sexual Assault Support Services. We were doing sexual abuse awareness and prevention presentations with sixth-graders. It was an exciting chance for me to do a good thing for the community. I felt honored by the opportunity to actually enter the classroom and engage these kids on topics I found of utmost importance: from assertiveness and boundaries to gender roles and the media, from safety planning to homophobia. We had a few major points which we stressed over and over. We told them above all that they had a right to be safe, and if they had been abused, that it was not their fault. To go along with these messages we also strived to make the classroom a safe place for the kids--a place where they could talk openly about their thoughts and feelings, and a place where their stories of injustice and trauma would be believed. By and large it had worked. For many kids we were able to create such an atmosphere of safety that they found themselves in an unfamiliar situation; for the first time in their lives they felt safe enough to tell someone about past and current abuses. They knew what would happen next. We told them that we would accompany them to the counselor's office, we'd help them form a safety plan, and Child Welfare would be alerted so they could do an investigation and stop the abuse. That's what I believed would happen. I soon learned never again to make promises on behalf of someone else.      While cleaning up after one of our presentations, a girl came to us with urgency in her eyes. She knew it was important, and she knew she was doing the right thing. She proceeded to tell us about her best friend Molly--how she'd have bruises all over her body, and how her parents beat her so unmercifully that sometimes she'd miss school. I felt like this was the moment I was there for. This was my chance to help someone. We proceeded through the steps which we had outlined for the kids a hundred times. When we brought her to the counselor, he seemed quite concerned and assured us that it would be dealt with appropriately. My job was over now, and all I could do was go home trust that something would be done before another beating was meted out.      The next day I called Jean, my supervisor, to see if there were any updates. The following conversation left me in a state of shock. Little did I know, Molly had already gone for help on her own behalf. The week before, other volunteers were in Molly's class, and she'd come to them about her situation. They took Molly to speak with another counselor, who unfortunately, did not share our beliefs. She assumed Molly was lying, called her parents to tell them what she said, and of course, never contacted Child Welfare. Molly didn't come to school the next day. We learned through Molly's friend that her mother had beaten her so forcefully, that she'd broken her own thumb in the process. When Molly had recovered enough to return to school, she told the counselor that everything was fine. According to the counselor, the problem had been resolved.      Child Welfare was called, though not by the school. What happened next sent me from shock into rage. Child Welfare decided that Molly's case would not be pursued. The rationale, if you can call it that, goes that at twelve, Molly was old enough to take care of herself. Jean explained to me that budgetary restrictions dictated an informal policy within Child Welfare; action had to be reserved for the youngest kids in the most life-threatening situations. Even if they had wanted to, there was simply no money to even begin an investigation in what they considered a "low-priority" case. Apparently it didn't matter that there was ample evidence of ongoing abuse. The bruises she wore and the courage she displayed would not bring her respite--the State simply could not afford to help her.      I felt utterly betrayed. Not just by the school or by Child Welfare, but by the community and by the country. I had believed naively that we were all on the same side. My whole life I've heard the message that "women and children" come first--that they will be brought to safety. In spite of my mistrust in government, I had hoped there was a modicum of truth to the claim that "no child will be left behind." Everything I had learned about how social service expenditures are dwarfed by the price we pay for ever-expanding prison and military infrastructures had finally become visceral. My stomach turns every time I ride by the glowing lights of the jail, when not so far away, I know of a young girl who is not even safe in her own home.      Our curriculum has not changed much since then, but when I speak to the kids, my inflection says it all: "I cannot speak for your counselor, and I will not speak for your government, but you are safe with me."