Family courts across America operate under a veil of secrecy. Behind closed doors, judges and commissioners decide the fate of parents and children without the same level of scrutiny that exists in criminal or civil courtrooms. That secrecy has allowed bias, misconduct, and outright injustice to flourish.
The case of Giselle Smiel, a domestic violence survivor and mother of two from California, is a tragic example. Despite having no criminal record and caring for her children as their sole parent for five years, Giselle now sits in a Los Angeles jail cell on six felony charges. Her “crime”? Missing a single custody hearing during her son’s medical emergency—and continuing to fight for her children’s safety against an abusive ex who owes her over $235,000 in unpaid support.
The father, a private airline pilot with a documented history of violence, alcohol abuse, and failed visitations, was suddenly handed full custody by a commissioner—not a judge—at a hearing Giselle could not attend. That single decision triggered a cascade of injustice that now threatens to strip a mother of her freedom, her rights, and her children.
Court Watchers: A Human Check on Power
Court watchers are ordinary citizens who attend hearings and observe proceedings. Their very presence shifts the balance, ensuring that judges and attorneys know the public is watching.
Renata DeMello, Giselle’s ADA advocate, told Slam the Gavel that she saw firsthand how the absence of oversight enabled misconduct:
“Giselle was often in hearings completely isolated—no family, no friends, no reporters. Meanwhile, her ex showed up with multiple attorneys. And with no court reporter present, there was no record. No accountability. Nothing to protect her.”
Renata described how the court scheduled hearings at odd times and discouraged public observers by requiring in-person attendance with $20-a-day parking fees and strict two-hour time limits—obstacles that effectively shut out working people.
“The law says these are public hearings, but they make it nearly impossible for the public to actually watch. That’s not an accident.”
In contrast, Renata noted that when court watchers did show up in numbers in other cases, judges often changed course, suddenly more careful with rulings and procedure. Oversight works—but only if people are allowed inside.
Cameras in Court: A Record of Truth
Family court judges often oppose cameras, citing privacy. But in Giselle’s case, the lack of recordings directly undermined her rights.
Key hearings—where custody was stripped from her and handed to an abuser—were held without a court reporter or video record. When Giselle later challenged these rulings, there was no transcript to prove what had happened, no objective record of what was said.
As legal advocates have argued for years, cameras don’t have to mean sensationalized livestreams. Secure video archives could be accessible only to parties, appellate courts, or oversight agencies. Such archives would prevent situations where survivors like Giselle are left defenseless against judges and commissioners who can rewrite the narrative unchecked.
Remote Access: Eyes Without Borders
The pandemic proved courts can function over Zoom. But since then, family courts have rolled back remote access—another blow to transparency.
Renata called this deliberate:
“Every hearing has a Zoom link. It’s already there, paid for by the public. But when I tried to log in as Giselle’s ADA advocate or even just a concerned citizen, I had to request five days in advance and jump through endless hoops. They could make this open and accessible with one click, but they don’t want the public to see.”
Remote access for vetted court watchers, advocacy groups, and journalists would ensure hearings like Giselle’s are observed even when distance, cost, or disability make in-person attendance impossible. Instead, secrecy prevailed—and Giselle is now behind bars.
A Case Study in Institutional Betrayal
The stakes are devastatingly clear. Giselle’s children lived safely with her for five years. Their father has a history of domestic violence diversion for strangulation—a well-documented predictor of future lethal violence. He required Soberlink monitoring to exercise visitation due to alcohol abuse. He missed visits, failed to pay court-ordered support, and yet was rewarded with custody.
From there, the machinery of secrecy took over:
- No transcript of the custody transfer.
- No ADA accommodations in hearings, despite federal law requiring them.
- False “non-cooperation” claims used to keep her bail set at half a million dollars.
- Public defenders failing to object to mischaracterizations or raise due process violations.
Instead of protecting a survivor, the court system criminalized her. Her children are now isolated from the parent who raised them, enduring trauma compounded by institutional betrayal.
Sunlight Is the Cure
Justice cannot exist in the shadows. Privacy should protect children from exploitation—not shield judges, commissioners, and abusers from accountability.
Three reforms could have changed the trajectory of Giselle Smiel’s case:
- Court watchers in the room to document bias and misconduct.
- Cameras to preserve a record of proceedings.
- Remote access to allow oversight without barriers.
As Renata put it:
“Family court is a front. Until the public can see inside, it will keep destroying families while pretending to protect them.”
Giselle’s case is not an anomaly. It is part of a national pattern where secrecy, bias, and financial incentives outweigh justice. Without reform, more protective parents will find themselves punished, their children handed to unsafe environments, and their rights stripped without witnesses.
If Giselle’s story proves anything, it is this: transparency is not optional—it is the only way to stop a system that punishes survivors while letting abusers walk free.
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