Judge Mavel Ruiz Let Down Foster Kids And More – JP

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Miami, Florida – There is a photo dated November 17, 2017 in the Instagram account of Our Kids, Inc. of Miami-Dade Circuit Judge Mavel Ruiz in her judicial robes, smiling with the CEO of Our Kids, Inc. at a black-tie gala dinner. In the same year, two foster kids — Naika Venant and Lauryn Martin — died by suicide in Florida’s foster care system.

Our Kids, Inc. was the lead agency responsible for their care, but they were not taking proper care of their foster kids. Judge Ruiz must have known what Our Kids, Inc was doing. She had presided over their cases in dependency court for years, but she went to their gala anyway. Complicity gets judges invited to galas. Nevertheless, eventually the chickens come home to roost.

Who Is Mavel Ruiz?

Mavel Ruiz is a Circuit Court Judge in Miami-Dade’s 11th Judicial Circuit, Group 65. Her courtroom handles dependency cases — which means the fate of foster children is decided there. Case plans, placement decisions, the question of whether a child is safe – – all of it flows through judges like her. And who was the agency that appeared before her with those case plans, those placement recommendations, those progress reports? Our Kids, Inc.

Her campaign website touts 30 years of experience, but what she means is 30 years in the legal system — the bulk of it as an attorney and Assistant Public Defender, advocating for defendants. She became a Circuit Court judge in 2014. For 12 years on the bench, she has presided over the courtroom where the lives of foster kids are decided, straight into the orbit of Our Kids, Inc. She is asking for six more years on the bench, but voters should be avaluating the last 12 years.

The Political Machine

Our Kids, Inc. was not just a nonprofit organization. It was an institution with deep political cover — entrenched with elected officials, county leadership, and the governor’s office. When you have that kind of protection, accountability becomes structurally impossible. Nobody pulls the contract. Nobody asks the hard questions. You just keep getting invited back. That is not briefcase-of-cash corruption. That is gala corruption. The soft kind nobody goes to jail for — but that costs foster kids their lives.

In 2011, 10-year-old Nubia Barahona was murdered after enduring months of abuse. Her twin brother Victor survived. Our Kids, Inc. was the agency responsible for monitoring their case — and receiving over $103 million annually from the state to monitor foster kids. A Miami-Dade Grand Jury investigated what went wrong. They called it “the bias of trust and complacency.” They concluded: “These two factors combined to exponentially raise the risk of disaster. Murder was the result.” Their final words: “Let Nubia not have died in vain.” The agency announced changes. The state announced reforms. Everyone moved on. Nubia didn’t get to move on.

In November 17, 2017 — six years after Nubia — Judge Ruiz was at an Our Kids, Inc. gala. In her robes. Photographed with the CEO. That photo lives on Our Kids’ Instagram account to this day. That same year, Naika Venant and Lauryn Martin, both foster kids, died by suicide within 60 days of each other. Our Kids, Inc. was responsible for their foster care and was still the lead foster care agency serving Miami-Dade and Monroe Counties.

Reprimanded for Recommendation Letter

Three years later, Our Kids, Inc. was one of only two companies bidding for a contract worth $500 million over five years to serve as the Florida Department of Children and Families’s primary provider of foster care in South Florida. Judge Cindy Lederman drafted a letter. Ruiz and four other Miami-Dade judges signed it. That letter went to the Florida Department of Children and Families during the active procurement.

It ended with this sentence: “We have worked with Our Kids and we have complete faith in the Our Kids model of leadership. When you select the agency please keep our voices in your mind.” After Nubia. After the gala. After Naika and Lauryn. That is the sentence Mavel Ruiz signed her name to. Her reply to Judge Lederman’s email? Two lines: “I’m signing. Mavel,” One judge was offered the chance to sign and declined.

The Florida Supreme Court publicly reprimanded Judge Ruiz for signing this recommendation letter. In their own stipulation to the Judicial Qualifications Commission, the signing judges admitted that the letter “crossed the line into lending the prestige of judicial office to advance the interest of a private entity.” They said it themselves.

Judge Ruiz knew the record. She signed anyway. And when called to account, she admitted it crossed the line. Our Kids, Inc. lost the contract anyway — in April 2019, the state awarded it to Citrus Health, Inc. The judges put their reputations on the line for nothing. The foster kids lost either way. Her campaign doesn’t mention any of it.

Nobody Gets Held Accountable. They Get Promoted.

In Miami-Dade County, the consequences for failure are simple – – there aren’t any. Annette Jose was Vice President and Chief Operating Officer at Our Kids, Inc. — overseeing foster care operations and agency performance, while foster kids were dying in that system. She didn’t answer for it. She joined Miami-Dade Animal Services in 2019 and was appointed Director in 2023. Her salary is $262,483.25. You already know what’s happening at Animal Services. The overcrowding. The euthanasia decisions. The community showing up furious demanding answers that don’t come. The director came from Our Kids, Inc. and the pattern followed her.

Meanwhile, retired Judge Steven Leifman spent 25 years on the bench championing Miami-Dade’s mental health jail diversion initiative and a $51 million taxpayer-funded building — the Miami Center for Mental Health and Recovery. He built his entire public identity around it while still wearing the robe. Then the building sat empty. Locked. Finished and quiet, bleeding one million dollars a year in maintenance costs, while people with mental illness kept cycling through Miami-Dade jails — the exact problem the center was built to solve.

Judge Leifman himself eventually said: “Every day that goes by we’re losing money and we’re losing credibility.” A seven-story monument that spent decades congratulating itself before anyone figured out how to pay the electric bill. The County Commission finally approved a path forward. It may open in 2027. Twenty-three years after voters first approved the funding. Nobody lost their job. Nobody gave the money back. Nobody was held accountable. In this County, that is not the exception. That is the system.

Then There Was the Hug

Judge Ruiz’s misbehavior did not end with Our Kids, Inc. Last year, an appellate panel found that Judge Ruiz showed bias in a case involving Miami Dade College’s land transfer for a Trump presidential library — after she hugged the plaintiff following the hearing and appeared to thank him for filing the lawsuit.

In open court. On the record. An appellate panel. Finding bias. From a sitting judge. Two separate findings of conduct unbecoming the bench. One from the Florida Supreme Court. One from an appellate panel. Twelve years on the bench. Two findings. Her campaign doesn’t mention either one.

Follow The Money

Two complaints filed with the Florida Elections Commission on June 6, 2026 allege that Ruiz’s campaign accepted contributions above the legal limit. Florida law caps judicial campaign contributions at $1,000 per person per election. The complaints allege that law firm of Colson Hicks Eidson contributed $1,000 twice — $2,000 total. Over the limit. And that attorney Michael Davis contributed $250 in April and $1,000 in May — $1,250 total. Over the limit.

These are pending complaints, not proven violations. Ruiz’s supporters call them politically motivated. But the numbers are in the public campaign finance records. This isn’t someone’s opinion. It’s math. And Colson Hicks Eidson is a major Miami litigation firm. Their attorneys appear in Circuit Court. The contribution cap exists precisely to prevent a judge from taking money from lawyers who appear in front of her bench. The pattern is the same every time. Call it politics. Dismiss the question. Move on.

Your Origin Story Is Yours. Your Judicial Record Is Ours.

Judge Ruiz has a story. She’ll tell you about it. Her campaign will tell you about it ad nauseam. She came from nowhere. She worked hard. She made something of herself. She represents the community. In Miami, that story is currency. It buys goodwill. It builds loyalty. It makes voters feel like one of their own made it. It works — until someone asks about the Supreme Court reprimand.

Nobody is taking Judge Ruiz’s story away from her. She came from nowhere. She worked hard. That is real. But the immigrant story doesn’t live in the courtroom. The judicial record does. And that record belongs to every person who has ever stood in front of her bench — or who will. Every insurance dispute. Every eviction case. Every custody battle. Every moment when someone needed to believe, truly believe, that the person in that robe answered to nothing but the law.

That belief has to be earned. And it has to be maintained. The robe does not become self-cleaning because of where you were born. After Nubia. After the gala. After Naika and Lauryn. She signed the recommendation letter — the one that said “keep our voices in your mind” — for a half-billion-dollar contract, for a foster care agency whose track record she knew better than almost anyone.

A Supreme Court reprimand. An appellate finding of bias. Campaign finance complaints. Thirty years of building a brand — built on community, while the community’s most vulnerable foster kids were dying in a system she helped protect from accountability. She is selling 30 years in the legal profession. Voters should be looking at her 12 years on the bench. The brand is not the record.

August 18, 2026

On August 18 this year, Miami-Dade County voters will decide whether Judge Mavel Ruiz gets six more years on the bench — six more years presiding over the same dependency cases, the same foster care system, the same foster kids. Just two candidates are on the ballot. The winner will be decided that day. See: https://miamiindependent.com/politics/2026/05/31/support-destiny-alvarez-for-judge/.

Judicial races are on your ballot every cycle. Most voters skip them — and the insiders are counting on that. That is exactly how this corruption continues. One election nobody paid attention to. One more six-year term. One more gala. One more letter. Half a billion dollars and a sentence that ends with “keep our voices in your mind.”

The Florida Supreme Court spoke about Judge Mavel Ruiz’s conduct. The appellate panel spoke. The campaign finance records speak for themselves. Now it’s your turn. Because accountability doesn’t belong to insiders protecting insiders. It belongs to the people. The chickens always come home to roost. The question is whether you’re paying attention when they land.