Invisible Child: Poverty, Survival, and Hope in an American City

by Andrea Elliott

His daughter was too little to understand what was happening—that the people in the van were child protection workers. That the court had ordered them to take Lee-Lee and her siblings away. That the parents were being accused of “neglect.” That they had neglected, among other things, the condition of their home. A moment passed. The van door opened. A caseworker stepped onto the sidewalk and paused. The father gathered Lee-Lee up and placed her in the van, promising to come for her tomorrow. That evening, the siblings were transferred to a facility in Lower Manhattan, formerly the site of the Bellevue Hospital morgue. They stepped through a metal detector, trading their street clothes for matching maroon jumpsuits. Their father’s words kept ringing. Whatever happens, stay together. This much they had tried, for all of their short lives. Eight children, sixteen hands clasped into one chain. Like this they had dashed across the highway or played Ring Around the Rosie, lifting up and crashing down while never letting go. They had learned this from their parents, who had learned it from their parents. Now the chain was breaking. The strongest link was already gone. Her name was Dasani.