Government interest rates make it less likely for Sacramento's low-income parents to pay child support

Brian Scott Aduca and Aaron Glen Metcalf admit they weren’t the most responsible fathers, even before they got locked up for small-time crimes. Both were ordered to pay child support by Sacramento County, then watched their respective payment obligations balloon while behind bars.

The courts ordered Metcalf to pay down an $8,000 principal in 2008, the same year he pleaded no contest to a misdemeanor count of battery on a spouse or cohabitant. A 10-percent interest rate shot that amount past $28,000 over the next few years.

When Aduca last exited custody, after serving a 45-day jail bit for drug violation in August 2013, his debt had reached $189,000.

“Man, I’m going to die with this bill,” he said. “So screw it.”

Aduca and Metcalf are like many of the 53,563 people who owed some form of child support in Sacramento County as of February 28. Their own personal missteps, as well as a system that penalizes the poor, nearly convinced them to give up on their families.“I was like, ’Who cares?’” Metcalf said. “I never thought that I’d have the resources at my hand.”

It took the persistence of one local child-support officer, and a casual conversation between two county-employee brothers, to turn this particular tale around, but not all stories end this well.

When it comes to the poorest families, the state government keeps most child-support money for itself, often disincentivizing parents from pursuing claims or paying them. It also charges the poor a larger portion of their incomes than the rich. According to the state’s child-support calculator, a noncustodial parent earning $200,000 a year with one child and an ex with no income would have to pay 12 percent of their salary into the system. Under the same circumstances, someone making minimum wage would have to pay 16.5 percent, even as that money is less likely to reach the child.

When parents don’t pay, the government keeps tacking on interest, regardless of the circumstances. It also suspends any state-issued license, which can imperil employment and—in cases of driving on a suspended license—land someone in jail, where the interest keeps climbing.

Fall far enough behind, and a parent could owe the state for the rest of his or her life.

“It hits lower-income noncustodial parents harder than it hits higher-income noncustodial parents,” acknowledged Sacramento County Department of Child Support Services director Terrie E. Hardy-Porter.

Local agencies like hers patrol a murky territory between state mandates and the realities that lower-income parents face. “We’re not anybody’s advocate,” she added. “We’re the conduit.”

Through the current fiscal year, which runs through June, internal county figures show that only 29 percent had fully complied with their monthly obligations, which average $378.50. Another 44 percent partially complied, meaning they paid at least once during the past fiscal year. That leaves about 7,132 individuals who didn’t pay any child support to the county.

As for the 27,147 who owe arrears—the legal term for past-due amounts— 56 percent made at least one court-ordered payment in the past fiscal year.

Of the approximately $111 million that Sacramento County’s child-support agency collected during the previous fiscal year, in 2012-2013, a quarter of that money went into reimbursing the system.

Parents receiving federal aid get only a maximum of $50 a month, and 80 percent of child-support recipients in the county are either on aid or used to be, DCSS figures show.

“There’s no incentive to work with us, but to receive aid, you have to work with us,” Hardy-Porter explained.

The Western Center on Law and Poverty is trying to iron out that last wrinkle. It’s carrying Assembly Bill 1654, which would increase the pass-through amount to custodial parents on welfare, said legislative advocate Mike Herald. The federal child-support system did something similar in 2006, he added, but California has lagged behind. “We know that when noncustodial parents know the child support goes to the children that they are more likely to pay, and pay more,” he said.

That’s just one of several legislative fixes the center is pursuing to relax the burden on poverty-stricken parents who soak up debt to the state when they’re unable to pay, added legislative advocate Jessica Bartholow.

Short of a political deus ex machina, however, Sacramento County agencies are looking inside their ranks to swap sticks for carrots—and sometimes within their own families.

For instance, it was during a conversation between DCSS assistant director Donald Semon and his brother, David, an assistant division probation chief, that the two learned they could help each other.

DCSS was having trouble tracking down formerly incarcerated nonpayers, while probation wanted a way to incentivize positive choices among those re-entering society.

An agreement between the two agencies was hatched: Probation now shares its offender data with DCSS, while the latter has agreed to lift its hold on driver’s licenses for probation clients who commit to paying down their debts. This allows offenders to take GED tests and job-training courses through probation, and accept jobs they wouldn’t otherwise be able to.

Which is what Aduca and Metcalf did. But with nonstop interest rates, the two roommates were still destined to a lifetime of debt.

Then, both men met DCSS officer Karin Bailey, who helped them qualify for what’s called the Compromise of Arrears Program. It winds back the interest-rate clock until payers owe a sensible amount with an end date in site.

Sometimes that happens by making a lump-sum payment of a few thousand dollars. For cash-strapped dads Aduca and Metcalf, it meant paying $50 a month for an extended period of time to prove they were serious about meeting their paternal obligations.

When Bailey finally called Aduca to tell him $100,000 had been knocked off his debt, tears welled up in the man’s eyes. “I couldn’t believe this,” he said.

Aduca is now paying $147 a month, while Bailey works to get his total down to $5,500. Metcalf has a little more than $3,000 to pay off over three years. “That wasn’t attainable on our own,” Aduca said.

He recently landed a well-paying job as a forklift operator and has contacted his daughter through Facebook. Metcalf is working, too, and enrolled through probation in the Northern California Construction Training program. Both say they’re happy they’re finally able to support their families.

“We have something to fight for now,” Aduca said.

“There’s that light,” nodded Metcalf. “It’s really kind of inspirational. … People got your back. All you got to do is fight for it.”