In recent years, thousands of foster kids have been admitted to psychiatric facilities owned by health care giant Universal Health Services, according to a yearlong Mother Jones investigation. Sometimes, they leave far worse off than when they arrived. 

While the investigation focuses on the story of Katrina Edwards, who spent years in UHS’s North Star Behavioral Health, in Anchorage, several former foster children in Alaska shared similar accounts. They talked about the violence, seclusion, and overmedication at UHS facilities, and of feeling abandoned by the Office of Children’s Services, the state’s child welfare agency.

Below, five former foster youth recount their experiences at North Star and another UHS center. (UHS couldn’t comment on the specific stories, but has denied similar allegations.) Their stories reflect claims made in pending lawsuits against UHS, and have been lightly edited for clarity.

Alexies Ezell

20 years old; at North Star three times between 2017 and 2019, totaling six months

“It was just really lonely. No one would call unless it was a court date. I felt really forgotten about. And when [OCS] would check in, it’d be just very brief, just like, ‘Oh, you’re okay? You’re still alive? Okay, well, we’re still looking for a placement.’”


Mateo Jaime

21 years old; at North Star for two months around 2018

“With North Star, once you’re there long enough, you want to be a juvenile delinquent. You want to cause trouble. Everything’s so gray. There’s no purpose to be there. Therapy’s once every two weeks—so-called therapy. During that time, they just want to send you to Nevada. They want to send you to Oklahoma, send you to California. It was this merry-go-round, merry-go-round.”


Nathon Pressley

26 years old; at North Star for eight stays from 2003 to 2011, totaling 14 months

By age 6, “they stick me with people that are [older]. I could say one wrong word and suddenly I had my face in the ground. So I started misbehaving as well. I would get angry at people keeping me there. I would tell adults to fuck off. I learned those words very quickly. That’s how the chain started. They would throw me into a cage and treat me like an animal. I would act like an animal in return, and they would keep on caging me.”


Abigail Redmon

19 years old; at North Star three times from 2016 to 2020, totaling roughly 3.5 months

“We weren’t supposed to bring bugs inside, but there was a small outside part with a basketball hoop. I used to go back there and lift up the mats and find worms. I found an inchworm one time, and I named him José. I tried to keep him alive as long as I could, sneaking pieces of broccoli and carrots in my clothes to bring upstairs. I also had a spider. His name was Mark. José and Mark, they were in styrofoam cups all the way in the back of the desk.”


Jyasia Batts

22 years old; at North Star an estimated 11 times and Texas NeuroRehab Center for two years starting in 2011

“There was this male [staffer at Texas NeuroRehab]—he slammed my head into the floor. And he put his elbow on the side of my face, just digging it in. It got to a point where I couldn’t breathe because he was putting so much pressure on me. After that, they put me in my room and told me I couldn’t come out. I was obviously hysterically crying. I was in pain. The fact that the bruises were so visible was traumatizing. That’s when OCS should have taken me out. But I stayed there. I remember [my caseworker’s] response was, ‘You just have a few more months and you will be discharged.’”

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From the desk of Mother Jones CEO, Monika Bauerlein...

Newsrooms can be funded in many ways. One of the most controversial (and volatile) ways is by a for-profit corporation or a billionaire owner. We see it across the headlines on a weekly basis: the claw backs in public media, the gutting of The Washington Post, the bending over backwards to appeal to Trump and his allies.

But not here.

When Mother Jones first started publishing 50 years ago, our founders made a critical decision: to be a reader-supported nonprofit. They knew that no corporate owner would be interested in a muckraking newsroom; they also knew that no muckraking newsroom would be interested in following the agenda of a corporate owner.

And so, we’ve been reader-funded for half a century. We rely on contributions from our readers—readers like you—whether it’s $50, or $15 a month, or whatever fits your budget. People give what they can, and every donation makes a difference for our newsroom, which has grown tremendously—in size and reach and renown—since its inception in 1976.

You may be wondering: What does it take to publish an investigation? And what does my donation actually fund? The answers are one and the same: It takes people, resources, and time. And that’s what your donation funds directly.

Every donation Mother Jones receives from readers fortifies our newsroom, whether we’re covering underreported scandals out of Washington, DC, or the most important news of the day. And right now, each donation will be doubled because of our $50,000 match. So when you make a donation—$5, $50, any amount—it’ll go twice as far.

Your support keeps us going. If you’re able, donate today.

Thanks for reading.

—Monika

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