Aftereffect WNYC Studios

Just before 5pm on Monday July 18th, 2016, a 26-year old autistic man named Arnaldo Rios Soto walked out of his North Miami home. He had a silver toy truck in his hand. Hours later, his life would be changed forever.
A passing motorist mistook Arnaldo's toy for a gun and called 911. Police and SWAT arrived and the confrontation was captured in a cell phone video. The encounter left Arnaldo's behavioral aide - a black man named Charles Kinsey - severely wounded, and it left Arnaldo in need of round-the-clock care.
As a result, three police officers lost their jobs, including the now-former North Miami chief of police, Gary Eugene. In his words: "We blew it."
 
Thank you to Sara Luterman of NOS Magazine and reporter Eric Garcia for pointing us to Arnaldo's story. They've written about his journey as well.

The shooting left Arnaldo severely traumatized, unable to remain in the group home where Charles Kinsey had taken care of him. Shortly after, Arnaldo was involuntarily committed to a hospital psych ward, where a typical stay of just a few days stretched into well over a month as the state of Florida struggled to find a new home for him.
Eventually, Arnaldo finds himself in a new facility with a well-documented track record of abuse and neglect. It's Halloween when we first meet Arnaldo face to face. Ironically, after everything he's endured, the staff have dressed him in a police costume.

Since the beginning, Arnaldo's mother struggled to find adequate care for her autistic son. Her memories are often painful: the doctors who wouldn't diagnose him; the staff who punched him, drugged him, tied his hands behind his back in a classroom chair.
These early experiences shaped Arnaldo. In this episode, we talk with a number of people who've cared for him. They recount a sweet, affectionate young man who was also capable of violent outbursts and fits of rage.
Hidden beneath Arnaldo's story is a disability-services system starved of funding; facilities trying to squeeze every dollar out of their residents; and staff members willing to restrain their clients by any means necessary.

The day of the shooting wasn't Arnaldo's first encounter with the police. In fact, they'd loomed large in his life for years before that. Even as he bounced from one group home to another, the people that consistently showed up for him, often in the worst way, were the cops.







 



(Aneri Pattani)


 

A year and a half after the shooting, there are signs of trouble at Arnaldo's new home, Carlton Palms. The staff isn't keeping an eye on him. There are unexplained injuries. His mother isn't allowed to see his room and he's being restrained in a full-body mat for getting out of bed at night.
And yet, his family continues to hold out hope that this is the right place for him.

A cup of hot water thrown on a developmentally-disabled resident. Another kicked in the ribs. A tooth knocked out by a staff member. Carlton Palms is known for abuse and even death. So why is the state of Florida so reluctant to close it?