Opinion: The personal and profound costs of the Utah Fits All court ruling
Another mom shared with me that her small business had gone under after the pandemic and she almost had to pull her children out of the microschool where they were thriving. But at the last minute, they were able to stay.
A few months ago, I watched a previously shy student stand before a room of 600 and talk about his education at a high quality private school and his future plans for college.
What changed the game for each of them? The Utah Fits All Scholarship.
Utah families have been using this scholarship for just under a year now, and the reaction I most frequently get when I ask them how it's going is tears of joy and gratitude. Learning is supposed to be a joyful experience as children follow their curiosity, dig for knowledge, explore the world through books and nature, and decide which life and career paths intrigue them. But for many forced into an education system that doesn't fit, learning has increasingly become a frustration.
So for thousands of Utah families, Utah Fits All wasn't just policy — it was possibility! It was the answer to late-night worries, mounting frustration and students slipping through the cracks. Designed to give parents the freedom to choose an education path customized to fit their child's unique needs, this innovative program has transformed lives in under nine months.
Children with learning differences discovered environments where they could finally thrive. Struggling students gained confidence. Families felt hope.
But that hope now hangs in the balance. In a stunning decision, Judge Laura Scott of Utah's 3rd District Court ruled the Utah Fits All program unconstitutional — a singular judgment that threatens to abruptly derail the progress these students have made and extinguish the hope so recently kindled. The ruling isn't just a legal blow; it's a disruption to real lives, real classrooms and real futures. If allowed to stand, this decision could strip families of the very tools that made education accessible, equitable and effective. The cost of this ruling isn't theoretical — it's personal, and it's profound.
Ten thousand students are using the scholarship this year, and thousands more have recently applied in hopes that they, too, will be given the opportunity to choose an education that aligns better with their values, expectations and unique learning needs.
What will the costs be if we turn our back on these children and allow this scholarship to go away?
The costs will be felt by parents like Amy, from Francis. She says, 'Receiving the Utah Fits All Scholarship has opened up so many opportunities for the education of our 13-year old son … He is truly enjoying school more this year than he has in the past. I can't fully explain how transformative Utah Fits All has been for our son's education.'
Autumn from Moroni says that when her daughter was in preschool, she was a single mom and toured her dream school for her daughter. 'Because of my circumstances,' she says, 'it was impossible for me to afford the tuition. Having my daughter finally be able to attend the private school of our choice is a dream come true.'
Tiffany from Ivins is a mother of five biological and eight adopted children. 'Because there are multiple diagnoses of fetal alcohol, ADHD, autism, anxiety and dyslexia, these children are delayed in their progress.' But, she says, 'The Utah Fits All Scholarship has helped us to beat the odds.'
Ultimately, our children will pay with their hopes, confidence and futures. And that's not okay with me. This should concern any Utahn who wants to ensure that the children of our state are able to find the educational path that best fits their needs and leads them to success. We now place our confidence in the Utah Supreme Court to rule favorably and uphold the constitutionality of the Utah Fits All law.
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USA Today
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Chapter 2 | Against the odds, one teen rescues her sisters from foster care Family members who take in a relative's kids face unique challenges. Often, they do so without financial, educational and medical support. Marlena remembers the moment she decided to rescue her four sisters from foster care. The sixteen-year-old was back at a Mississippi children's shelter after caseworkers removed her from her mom's care a second time. Maybe we'll all come home, Marlena told a staff member. We'll be home together. No, baby. It don't work like that, the staffer said. By the time you get out of school, y'all be across the United States somewhere. You'll probably never see them again. The girls, aged 5 to 16, rarely saw each other after the state removed them. Social workers had decided their mom could not provide for their basic needs and, after her sister Amy was raped, had not done enough to keep them safe. 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The teen worked to support herself and her mom, whose only income was a monthly disability check that she received because of paranoid schizophrenia. Mom and daughter, without a car, walked across town to take a parenting class mandated by child welfare workers. Somehow, their attendance wasn't recorded. Marlena sat next to her mom in court as state child welfare workers asked a judge to terminate the woman's parental rights. They said she hadn't even tried to bring her daughters home. Marlena raised her hand, waving it. The judge asked, Can I help you? Can I speak, please? Go ahead. Marlena disputed the caseworkers' list of failures. Her mom had been committed for a mental health breakdown but had stabilized. She had gone to the mandated classes with her mother. The legal aid office had turned her mom away, saying they didn't represent people in cases like hers. When I'm old enough, I am willing to bring my sisters home, Marlena told the judge. You know, I can be there. An attorney in the room from the legal aid office said, on the spot, that she would help the family bring the girls home. A 2004 lawsuit against Mississippi, with a still-running settlement agreement, argued that the state's child welfare system reunited kids with parents sooner than was safe. Other times, caseworkers placed kids with relatives who had not been thoroughly vetted or granted any kind of legal custody before closing the case – if they'd opened a case at all. Between 2000 and 2002, Mississippi cut the number of kids in foster care by 18% even though the number of abuse and neglect reports was largely unchanged. Those children often fell into a frayed American safety net, which Congress weakened when it restructured cash benefits in the 1990s. Mississippi had the lowest payments – a maximum of $120 per month for a family of three – before the changes. The new policies fell heavily on the poorest parents, including relatives caring for nieces, nephews, siblings and grandchildren. Work requirements meant that a retired grandma had to go get a job to qualify for support beyond the meager child-only benefit. Each kid in the household received less money than the last. Limits on how many years a family could receive aid disqualified an aunt from the larger family benefit because she had already gotten help for her own children before taking in a brother's kids. Just after the nation's leaders redefined who deserved help, Marlena, 19, brought her sisters home. Rebuilding a family In an old house with high ceilings, the four younger girls shared bunk beds in one bedroom. Marlena had her own room. A coworker at the nursing home donated their furniture. By 2001, Marlena had been approved for a low-income housing voucher, enabling the sisters – and their mom – to move into a five-bedroom home. With her meager wages as a nursing assistant, Marlena paid bills and bought school uniforms. She didn't let her sisters spend too much time with relatives she considered a bad influence or dangerous, such as the uncle who molested her and aunts who drank more than they worked. She was doing it. She was rebuilding their family. Yet, their home lacked a familiar comfort. Her younger sisters returned from foster care reading 'humongous books' and without the same Black accent. Amy, in particular, was quiet, never telling Marlena about her life or asking for help. 'I don't think we ever got that sisterly connection back,' she said. Amy, who was 12 when she came home, agreed. 'You're alone in foster care. Alone all the time. So, it doesn't really bother you to not have connections,' Amy said. Back home with her sisters, she thought, I remember you from when I was younger, but I don't really know who you are. Amy recalls another divide. The teenagers spent time together and had, mostly, stayed in their hometown throughout foster care, letting them keep close with friends and cousins. She and Kay K, the youngest, had lived in other cities and states, sometimes switching foster homes or shelters every few months. 'You learn there's no need to get feelings at all because I'm not going to be here long.' Amy was closest to Kay K because she spent the most time with her in foster care. The duo would 'run up and down the street' together. Sometimes they would sit on a corner, huddled under a blanket and beg for change, acting as if they needed it. They played Mortal Kombat together on the Xbox. Kay K would select Kitana, a princess who fought with steel fans and had run away from the villain who falsely claimed to be her father. Amy always chose Raiden, the god of thunder who led and mentored Earth's defenders. Growing family After years imagining a 'fairy tale' return home, Amy's life wasn't what she expected. Marlena worked all the time. Cousins and aunts always visited or stayed for a while, which meant Amy could never find quiet. Her mom rarely left bed because the medication that tamed her schizophrenia made her lethargic. Amy envied the families she saw on TV and the other kids' moms she met in high school. Why can't my mom be normal? Amy wondered. Why can't you have a normal conversation? Why can't you do normal things? Like, we can't go get our nails done. We can't just go out and eat at a restaurant. School became her safe haven. A place with structure and predictability that was comfortable after so many years in shelters. And then Marlena had a baby. She remembers Amy tying a jump rope to her son's stroller and sprinting around the house with a laughing toddler swinging behind her. 'They had a special bond,' she said. As a teenager, Amy got her nephew dressed for school before going herself. Sometimes she missed activities like swimming, track, cheer and ROTC to come home and care for the boy. Marlena said she never asked Amy to care for her son, who she took to daycare or left with her mom or boyfriend. After watching him on her sixteenth birthday, Amy left with the permission of her mom. No one had ever planned a celebration for her, so she had to do it herself. Marlena came home and didn't know where she was. She reported her missing to police. 'She put her child on another child. I couldn't go anywhere,' Amy said. 'It wasn't like rebellion or anything, but I finally got some freedom. I went to a friend's house. My friend's mom and dad, they took care of me. It was kind of just a weekend getaway.' They got their nails done, played at the arcade and went to the movies. Amy isn't surprised her sister's memory sometimes differed. Her main reflection of the time remains the same. 'It wasn't fair Marlena had to grow up so fast to take care of us,' Amy said. 'We were kids taking care of kids taking care of kids. Because our mom couldn't.' On her own Within the next year, Marlena moved out to her own apartment and enrolled in college to become a registered nurse, pursuing a dream she had paused for years. She left her sisters with their mom. The matriarch, again, was caring for strangers and relatives by giving them a bed in their home. Amy did not have a bedroom. 'I slept on the couch. Or floor,' Amy said. So, she chose to live on her own at 17. She sometimes stayed at an old foster mom's house. She lived with Marlena for a while. She came back to her mom's house. She felt like she was constantly leaving, in search of a calm she couldn't find. She didn't feel stable and struggled to 'find footing as a teenager.' By the time they're 21, former foster youth are less likely than peers to have graduated high school or earned a GED, half as likely to be in college or job training and have lower levels of employment. They're more likely to experience homelessness, become parents or be incarcerated. The risks are highest for youth who 'age out' of the system and are emancipated, like Marlena, and lowest when kids are placed with relatives while in foster care or upon exiting the system. Staying with family helps kids maintain community, cultural and familial bonds – the same social networks that support teens as they transition into adulthood. When the high school told Amy she'd have to repeat a year because they would not accept transfer credits from a previous campus, she decided to get her GED early. At 17, she gave birth several weeks premature. Amy moved in with a 20-something friend who had twin infants. She started college with plans to become a nurse like her sisters. She earned an associate's degree in 2013 and became a certified nursing assistant. Amy met the man who would become her husband. She attended therapy for the first time and began healing old wounds. But while Amy continued college, her health deteriorated. She'd had seizures for years. This was different: fatigue, fevers and joint pain. She was diagnosed with lupus, an autoimmune disease, and left college one semester shy of completing coursework to become a registered nurse. For a while, Amy kept working as a peer-support specialist. She mostly helped women like herself, her sisters and her mother overcome poverty, addiction and trauma. She was accomplishing more than the generation before her and helping others do the same. Yet, Amy had kept distance from family during her 20s. She didn't feel any need to talk with them. So, she didn't know how much trouble her youngest sister was having. Sister mom Marlena considers herself 'old school.' She never argued with her mom – even when it came to parenting disagreements. 'I just found another way,' she said. Kay K had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder at age 10. When Kay K started having new symptoms, Marlena convinced her mom to take her 17-year-old sister to the doctor even though she didn't want to go. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, like mom. It was another battle to get Kay K to take the prescribed medications and go to therapy, especially since their mom had stopped taking her own medications. Kay K had been skipping school to hang out with an older cousin, doing so more often as she got older. Marlena was called into truancy court by a letter that threatened jail or a $10,000 fine. She told the judge that she couldn't control Kay K. That her sister now lived with their mom, who wasn't making her get help. Child welfare workers removed Kay K from home. Soon, she ran away. No one knew where she was for almost a year. She had gone to Louisiana. In a phone call to Marlena that didn't include enough information to find her, Kay K described being held in a man's basement, in a room full of children's games. She suspects the man had been a pedophile, but Kay K would not talk about it. Teens who've spent time in foster care experience higher rates of human trafficking and sexual abuse. Often, they're targeted because of weak social connections and unmet basic needs. Offering care, food and shelter can entice vulnerable young people into dangerous situations. One day, somebody bought Kay K a bus ticket home. She was pregnant. Kinship caregivers keep family together but don't get help they need A Mississippi couple took in a relative's kids to keep them out of the foster care system. They say parents like them deserve more support. A sister's love Kay K graduated high school, worked at Waffle House and began college but never finished. A cycle had started. Sober, Kay K was a witty comedian who liked to have fun. She was kind-hearted and generous, willing to give up her possessions if she thought others needed them more. But young Kay K started spending more time with cousins who crashed at a party house. Some used drugs and had criminal records. Kay K slipped deeper and deeper into life on the fringe, her sisters said. Amy believes a violent partner shielded Kay K from even worse people. The couple would beat each other in drunken outbursts, but the man also protected Kay K from traffickers and dealers. He controlled her life, where she went, and who she saw. When he was imprisoned for robbery, she was freed to spend time with anyone. By the time she was 30, Kay K was selling sex for cash and drugs. At times, she was held against her will. She jumped out a second story window to escape one man. Whenever the family tried to get her help, she'd skip town. Sometimes the sisters had court papers in hand ordering an involuntary commitment, but they couldn't find her. When the sisters did manage to get her into a psych ward or hospital, doctors would discharge her after a week or two with no support for continued treatment. Marlena said Kay K could not qualify for Medicaid, and no one would treat her without insurance. 'The system failed her,' Amy said. Kay K returned to her hometown and got sober when she was pregnant. Usually, hospital testing showed she was clean. Once, doctors found alcohol, meth and cocaine in her blood. Kay K, at times, fought to raise her nine kids, including in court. Most ended up in the care of her sisters. Even that stress didn't end the sisters' relationship. The women had worked too hard for too long to stay connected. Kay K was the only sister Amy had felt close to. 'No matter how angry I am at you, I'll still be there when you need me,' Amy said. 'We're sisters.' Almost every day, Kay K would talk to one of them. She'd borrow a phone and log into Facebook Messenger to call or type a short note. I love you! Love you! How the kids doin? Silence One day, the notes stopped coming. A friend of the extended family told Marlena, You should check on your sister. He said she was being held at an abandoned house. He said a man was selling sex with her to pay for his drug supply. Sisters reported it to police in November but heard nothing back. They took turns staking out the house to catch a glimpse of Kay K or her captor. In January, Marlena told a local news reporter about her missing 31-year-old sister. She got a call from a police officer that day. Why do I have to find out about this from Facebook? he asked. He didn't know they had filed a missing-person report months ago. When he looked, he told Marlena he couldn't find it. The officer drove to the abandoned house with Marlena but nobody answered the door. Neighbors told them that, yes, they'd seen the man and Kay K in the home. Without a warrant, the cop couldn't enter. Weeks later, police asked the family for DNA swabs, calling it standard procedure for a missing person case. Marlena and Amy, however, were suspicious. What they didn't know is that a man told police he found a rug-wrapped body halfway down the hill from an abandoned motel. An autopsy showed the woman had been pregnant, but no baby was found. One night, Amy had a dream. She was caught in a loop as someone else. Someone who was trapped in a dark hotel room and scared. Someone who was choking. Someone who died again and again. 'No matter which way I escaped, I appeared back in that room.' Amy woke up crying, turned to her husband and spoke. My sister's not here anymore. She just died. She's gone. Chapter 3: Rebuilding | A tragedy means Amy must take in her nieces and nephews. She and her sisters fight to give them a better childhood than they had. This article was produced as a project for the USC Annenberg Center for Health Journalism's 2025 Child Welfare Impact Reporting Fund. Jayme Fraser is an investigative data reporter at USA TODAY. She can be reached on Signal or WhatsApp at (541) 362-1393 or by emailing jfraser@
