On March 26, the Manitoba Advocate for Children and Youth released a 78-page report with an unusual distinction: it was written by the young people the system is supposed to serve. The report, titled Niigan nakeyaa Oshkinawe — "forward youth" in Anishinaabemowin — documents what it's actually like to age out of care in Manitoba. The young authors don't mince words. Life after the child welfare system, they write, feels like "surviving, not living."
That phrase should sit with anyone who works in this space. Not struggling. Not adjusting. Surviving. It's the word you use when the baseline is getting through the day, not building a life.
Roughly 625 youth leave Manitoba's child and family services system every year, according to the Canadian Child Welfare Research Portal. Approximately 90% of the more than 10,000 children currently in Manitoba's CFS system are Indigenous. When those young people turn 18 — or 21 if they secure an extension of care — many of them walk into adulthood without knowing how to cook a meal, pay a bill, or file their taxes.
That's not a generalization. That's what the youth in this report said happened to them.
What the Report Actually Found
The Niigan nakeyaa Oshkinawe report was produced by the Manitoba Advocate's youth ambassador advisory squad — young people with direct experience in the care system. They documented what the transition out of care looked like from the inside, and the picture is consistent: social workers did not create transition plans. Life skills weren't taught. Adulthood arrived without preparation.
Participants described feeling like "second-class members" of foster families. They were subject to different rules than biological children in the same household. Some said their caregivers appeared more motivated by financial compensation than by genuine care.
These aren't comfortable findings. They challenge the assumption that placement equals support. The report calls for stronger screening of foster parents and better training on the rights of young people in care — something Manitoba's own framework is supposed to guarantee but that youth say they never heard about.
Three Studies, Same Story
What makes this report harder to dismiss is that it's not an outlier. It's the third Manitoba-specific study in three years to reach the same conclusion.
In 2024, researchers at the University of Manitoba published a qualitative study of 17 Indigenous care leavers. They found that the CFS transition process was "unclear and failed to engage them as partners." Youth were left without adequate mental health support and without the interpersonal networks most people take for granted.
A year earlier, the Futures Forward collaborative in Winnipeg surveyed more than 100 former youth in care in Manitoba and found the same gap: young people were not adequately prepared for adulthood. Futures Forward now provides transition supports for youth ages 15 to 29.
Three different research teams. Three different methodologies. The same finding: Manitoba's child welfare system moves young people through care without equipping them for what comes after.
A Funding Model That Doesn't Match the Problem
This report lands at a moment when Manitoba's CFS system is already under pressure from multiple directions. In February 2026, the Southern Chiefs' Organization told CBC News that Manitoba's single-envelope CFS funding model has left Indigenous children "underserved and discarded." Funding levels haven't kept pace with the growing complexity of needs on the ground.
Meanwhile, Manitoba's extensions of care currently cap at age 21. The province's own legislative review recommends extending supports to age 25. That legislation hasn't been updated. For youth aging out of care in Manitoba, the gap between what's recommended and what's available is measured in years — years where national data shows between 25% and 50% of care leavers across Canada experience precarious housing or homelessness.
The money question matters because everything the youth in this report describe — the missing life skills training, the absent transition plans, the foster homes that felt transactional — requires resources to fix. Screening foster parents more rigorously costs money. Training social workers in youth-centred transition planning costs money. Extending supports past 21 costs money. Without a funding model that matches the scale of the problem, recommendations stay on paper.
What "Forward" Actually Looks Like
The title of the report translates to "forward youth." It's a deliberate choice. The young people who wrote it aren't asking to be rescued. They're asking for what should have been there all along: basic preparation for adult life, caregivers who show up with genuine commitment, and a system that treats them as partners in their own future.
Some of that work is already happening outside the system. In Winnipeg, on Treaty 1 Territory, organizations like New Steps ILP exist specifically to fill these gaps — life skills training, financial literacy, cooking, budgeting, and a supported path from dependence to independence. VOICES: Manitoba's Youth in Care Network just relocated to a new space on Mayfair Avenue this month, continuing its work as a peer-driven advocacy hub. Futures Forward keeps expanding its reach.
But community organizations can't substitute for systemic change. They can catch people. They can't redesign the system that keeps dropping them.
The question this report raises isn't new. What's new is who's asking it. For the first time, Manitoba's child welfare oversight body handed the pen to the young people who lived the system. They wrote 78 pages. The least the province can do is read them.
If you're a young person navigating this transition, or a professional supporting someone who is, reach out. You don't have to figure it out alone.
