As a family law mediator and as a citizen, I wear many hats: teen advocate, legal scholar, frugal taxpayer, and, above all, safety seeker. Trying Willie Bernstine as a juvenile for the Jan. 27 shooting that wounded a two-year-old girl will respect all those values.
At the risk of being excoriated by those who decry juvenile court as soft on crime, my training and experience compels me to advocate for teens like Bernstine, not only for his personal interests. Tremendous public good comes from the vastly safer and more cost-effective juvenile justice system that actually achieves results rather than mere illusions.
Adult trials, and the decades-long sentences that follow, betray any regard for public funds, legal history, and societal safety.
Have Contra Costa County (California) prosecutors shortsightedly discounted or failed to familiarize themselves with widely-accepted research and history? Helping youth also helps adults, as citizens and taxpayers. While authorities may purport to share my goals of protecting teens, history, society, and public funds, trying Bernstine as an adult scorns every single one of those objectives.
My years in the legal field make the Bernstine case intrigue and disturb me. Bernstine and the public are poised to join the wounded toddler as additional victims of this tragedy.
As 500,000 youths in the United States enter detention annually, trying juveniles as adults should not exist as a concept. Not for Willie Bernstine. Not for any juvenile.
How many more like Bernstine will be pitted against prosecutors who flout the founding principles of juvenile court? Observers of Bernstine’ case, whether motivated by compassion, concern for public safety, or fiscal responsibility, will find those priorities achieved by treating this juvenile as a juvenile.
Communities benefit from results, not vengeance masquerading as justice. Society is not more secure just because a shackled juvenile is photographed en route to prison. Those who oppose crime should want it to diminish. Rehabilitating juveniles supports that ideal.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are later rearrested. Half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52%, and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
The juvenile system’s financial advantages should impress even those requiring more proof than the vastly reduced recidivism rates. Every dollar spent on rehabilitative alternatives reduces taxpayers’ costs by $8, compared with only $2 saved per dollar spent on incarceration.
Those who would try teens as adults seek results that come only from rehabilitation, not the incarceration they are championing. My experiences with rehabilitating wayward adolescents validate that future-focused approach.
When I mentored juveniles as a law student at the University of Idaho, I witnessed sparks of hope in them. Those youths’ rap sheets ran the gamut from truancy to attempted murder, yet a caring adult’s individual attention redirected them, no matter how entrenched they once were.
At that courthouse, I met a boy whose writing skills I soon discovered. Once I praised his talent, he would bring me new pieces weekly, buoyed that his life had a purpose.
At no taxpayer expense, he developed confidence that he could never have cultivated in confinement, compared to the hundreds of dollars his incarceration would have sapped the public purse daily.
Teens like Willie Bernstine are at a similar crossroads. With expensive adult incarceration that research conclusively deems ineffective, will they burden society and reoffend? Or will they receive cost-effective rehabilitation that produces positive results even 111 years after Chicago founded the nation’s first juvenile court?
Friday, March 19, 2010
Juvenile Injustice: The Peter Montenegro Case
San Jose is only hours from Chicago by air but seemingly light-years away from Chicago’s 1899 juvenile court, the first in the nation.
15-year-old Peter Montenegro’s future, and that of kids like him, hinges on a choice: punishing them as adult criminals or rehabilitating them to honor the original caretaking function of the juvenile court.
Police have alleged that Montenegro shot and seriously wounded an ice cream truck driver in Vallejo, California on February 3.
Despite that he was initially housed at Alameda County Juvenile Hall after his arrest, Montenegro will stand trial as an adult on charges of attempted murder and attempted robbery.
In the rush to hold someone responsible for this tragedy, Peter Montenegro would sit at the top of many people’s villain lists.
Few can imagine something more heinous than shooting Amarjit Kaur, an immigrant with limited English, at close range and making off with her entire day’s earnings.
To be sure, these crimes would be just as reprehensible whether the perpetrator was 15 or 50. But even if a court finds Peter Montenegro guilty of these charges, he is also a victim, and so is the public at large.
As I have devoted my career to the law and its history, I know that any criticism of Peter Montenegro and juveniles like him must walk in lockstep with a rebuke of the juvenile justice system that has also failed.
Juvenile courts have a responsibility to protect and rehabilitate children. Early juvenile courts in Chicago and Denver used that anti-incarceration model because it worked then, and it still does.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are rearrested after their release, and half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52% and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
Montenegro’s case is a matter of fidelity to the bedrock principles that underpin juvenile courts. Trying him as an adult pays no homage to the founding principles of juvenile court.
My years as a family and divorce mediator, and the training that prepared me for my career, have given me a front-row seat to observe myriad approaches to juvenile justice—the ways that thrive and the ones that fail.
As an intern at Latah County Youth Services while I was a law student at the University of Idaho, I saw the sad faces of kids convinced that their small mistakes would trap them for life within the box of delinquency.
I staffed a homework room for juvenile probationers every afternoon. That volunteer job placed me in the path of many seemingly obnoxious and indifferent teens who appeared not to care about their school work or their future.
The thought would occasionally sprint through my head, “Why don’t we just lock these kids up and throw away the keys?”
But you never quite know who your message is reaching. I worked with Autumn and Jenny, among eight other juveniles whose charges ran the spectrum from truancy to attempted murder.
Whn I left the building on my last day, Autumn and Jenny sought me out to tell me I was the only tutor who had ever bothered to help them. That result didn’t come from taking those girls at face value.
Surely the only underestimated juvenile probationers were not hiding in small-town Idaho. That buried potential likely also resides within Peter Montenegro and thousands of other teens.
We will not know unless we look.
15-year-old Peter Montenegro’s future, and that of kids like him, hinges on a choice: punishing them as adult criminals or rehabilitating them to honor the original caretaking function of the juvenile court.
Police have alleged that Montenegro shot and seriously wounded an ice cream truck driver in Vallejo, California on February 3.
Despite that he was initially housed at Alameda County Juvenile Hall after his arrest, Montenegro will stand trial as an adult on charges of attempted murder and attempted robbery.
In the rush to hold someone responsible for this tragedy, Peter Montenegro would sit at the top of many people’s villain lists.
Few can imagine something more heinous than shooting Amarjit Kaur, an immigrant with limited English, at close range and making off with her entire day’s earnings.
To be sure, these crimes would be just as reprehensible whether the perpetrator was 15 or 50. But even if a court finds Peter Montenegro guilty of these charges, he is also a victim, and so is the public at large.
As I have devoted my career to the law and its history, I know that any criticism of Peter Montenegro and juveniles like him must walk in lockstep with a rebuke of the juvenile justice system that has also failed.
Juvenile courts have a responsibility to protect and rehabilitate children. Early juvenile courts in Chicago and Denver used that anti-incarceration model because it worked then, and it still does.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are rearrested after their release, and half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52% and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
Montenegro’s case is a matter of fidelity to the bedrock principles that underpin juvenile courts. Trying him as an adult pays no homage to the founding principles of juvenile court.
My years as a family and divorce mediator, and the training that prepared me for my career, have given me a front-row seat to observe myriad approaches to juvenile justice—the ways that thrive and the ones that fail.
As an intern at Latah County Youth Services while I was a law student at the University of Idaho, I saw the sad faces of kids convinced that their small mistakes would trap them for life within the box of delinquency.
I staffed a homework room for juvenile probationers every afternoon. That volunteer job placed me in the path of many seemingly obnoxious and indifferent teens who appeared not to care about their school work or their future.
The thought would occasionally sprint through my head, “Why don’t we just lock these kids up and throw away the keys?”
But you never quite know who your message is reaching. I worked with Autumn and Jenny, among eight other juveniles whose charges ran the spectrum from truancy to attempted murder.
Whn I left the building on my last day, Autumn and Jenny sought me out to tell me I was the only tutor who had ever bothered to help them. That result didn’t come from taking those girls at face value.
Surely the only underestimated juvenile probationers were not hiding in small-town Idaho. That buried potential likely also resides within Peter Montenegro and thousands of other teens.
We will not know unless we look.
The Hypocrisy of the Robert Barnes Case
As a family law mediator and as a citizen, I wear many hats: teen advocate, legal scholar, frugal taxpayer, and, above all, safety seeker. Trying Robert Barnes of Virginia as a juvenile would have respected all those values.
At the risk of being excoriated by those who decry juvenile court as soft on crime, my training and experience compels me to advocate for teens like Barnes, not only for his personal interests. Tremendous public good comes from the vastly safer and more cost-effective juvenile justice system that actually achieves results rather than mere illusions.
Adult trials, and the decades-long sentences that follow, betray any regard for public funds, legal history, and societal safety.
Has Commonwealth’s Attorney Earle Mobley shortsightedly discounted or failed to familiarize himself with widely-accepted research and history? Helping youth also helps adults, as citizens and taxpayers. Mobley, while purporting the same objectives I prize, has scorned every single one.
My years in the legal field make the Barnes case intrigue and disturb me. Barnes and the public have now joined Meghan Landowski as additional victims of this tragedy.
As 500,000 youths in the United States enter detention annually, trying juveniles as adults should not exist as a concept. Not for Robert Barnes. Not for any juvenile.
How many more like Robert will be pitted against prosecutors who flout the founding principles of juvenile court? Observers of Barnes’ case, whether motivated by compassion, concern for public safety, or fiscal responsibility, would have found those priorities achieved by treating this juvenile as a juvenile.
Communities benefit from actual results, not vengeance masquerading as justice. Society is not more secure just because a shackled juvenile is photographed en route to prison.
Those who identify themselves as anti-crime should want criminal behavior to diminish. Rehabilitating juveniles supports that ideal.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are rearrested after their release, and half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52% and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
The juvenile system’s financial advantages should impress even those requiring more proof than the vastly reduced recidivism rates. Every dollar spent on rehabilitative alternatives reduces taxpayers’ costs by $8, compared with only $2 saved per dollar spent on incarceration.
Those who would try teens as adults seek results that come only from rehabilitation, not the incarceration they are championing. My experiences with rehabilitating wayward adolescents validate that future-focused approach.
When I mentored juveniles as a law student at the University of Idaho, I witnessed sparks of hope in them. Those youths’ rap sheets ran the gamut from truancy to attempted murder, yet a caring adult’s individual attention redirected them, no matter how entrenched they once were.
At that courthouse, I met a boy who I soon discovered was a gifted writer. Week after week, once I praised his talent, he would bring me new pieces. Buoyed that his life had a purpose, that teenager completed a new poem or short story between each mentoring session.
At no taxpayer expense, he developed confidence that he could never have cultivated in confinement, compared to the hundreds of dollars his incarceration would have sapped the public purse daily.
Teens like Robert Barnes are at a similar crossroad. With expensive adult incarceration that research conclusively deems ineffective, will they burden society and reoffend? Or will they receive cost-effective rehabilitation that produces positive results even 111 years after Chicago founded the nation’s first juvenile court?
At the risk of being excoriated by those who decry juvenile court as soft on crime, my training and experience compels me to advocate for teens like Barnes, not only for his personal interests. Tremendous public good comes from the vastly safer and more cost-effective juvenile justice system that actually achieves results rather than mere illusions.
Adult trials, and the decades-long sentences that follow, betray any regard for public funds, legal history, and societal safety.
Has Commonwealth’s Attorney Earle Mobley shortsightedly discounted or failed to familiarize himself with widely-accepted research and history? Helping youth also helps adults, as citizens and taxpayers. Mobley, while purporting the same objectives I prize, has scorned every single one.
My years in the legal field make the Barnes case intrigue and disturb me. Barnes and the public have now joined Meghan Landowski as additional victims of this tragedy.
As 500,000 youths in the United States enter detention annually, trying juveniles as adults should not exist as a concept. Not for Robert Barnes. Not for any juvenile.
How many more like Robert will be pitted against prosecutors who flout the founding principles of juvenile court? Observers of Barnes’ case, whether motivated by compassion, concern for public safety, or fiscal responsibility, would have found those priorities achieved by treating this juvenile as a juvenile.
Communities benefit from actual results, not vengeance masquerading as justice. Society is not more secure just because a shackled juvenile is photographed en route to prison.
Those who identify themselves as anti-crime should want criminal behavior to diminish. Rehabilitating juveniles supports that ideal.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are rearrested after their release, and half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52% and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
The juvenile system’s financial advantages should impress even those requiring more proof than the vastly reduced recidivism rates. Every dollar spent on rehabilitative alternatives reduces taxpayers’ costs by $8, compared with only $2 saved per dollar spent on incarceration.
Those who would try teens as adults seek results that come only from rehabilitation, not the incarceration they are championing. My experiences with rehabilitating wayward adolescents validate that future-focused approach.
When I mentored juveniles as a law student at the University of Idaho, I witnessed sparks of hope in them. Those youths’ rap sheets ran the gamut from truancy to attempted murder, yet a caring adult’s individual attention redirected them, no matter how entrenched they once were.
At that courthouse, I met a boy who I soon discovered was a gifted writer. Week after week, once I praised his talent, he would bring me new pieces. Buoyed that his life had a purpose, that teenager completed a new poem or short story between each mentoring session.
At no taxpayer expense, he developed confidence that he could never have cultivated in confinement, compared to the hundreds of dollars his incarceration would have sapped the public purse daily.
Teens like Robert Barnes are at a similar crossroad. With expensive adult incarceration that research conclusively deems ineffective, will they burden society and reoffend? Or will they receive cost-effective rehabilitation that produces positive results even 111 years after Chicago founded the nation’s first juvenile court?
Start with the ones who have the most potential: Making juvenile justice a priority
I recently heard in-flight instructions by a flight attendant who joked that passengers putting on oxygen masks should “start with the child who has the most potential.”
That tongue-in-cheek comment amused me, but it also reminded me of the brokenness of the juvenile court. The judicial system does not prioritize its resources to those who need the most and will benefit most greatly, either.
As someone who has spent years watching juveniles endure neglect from adults who lack the foresight to understand the consequences of their seemingly harmless actions, little things mean a lot. Bonner County’s loss of certification of its juvenile detention facility puts Idaho’s stamp on what is par for the course nationwide.
The state gives juveniles what is left at the bottom of the resource barrel, starkly repudiating every rehabilitative concept of the original juvenile courts. Then, to add insult to injury, after putting incarceration ahead of treatment, authorities cannot even make its dilapidated facilities meet the minimum requirements to house the youth.
While I was a law student at the University of Idaho, I worked with juvenile delinquents for three years. The Youth Services office was a tiny suite within the county courthouse that had cramped hallways with tattered carpet. The probation counselors’ offices were too small to accommodate more than one guest chair.
In my hometown, the two smallest courtrooms – out of more than 20 – are in the juvenile courthouse. I observed 11 hearings in the same juvenile case for more than a year in one of those cramped courtrooms.
The microphone system did not work properly. No one could hear the speakerphone without being within three feet of it. One of the juvenile court judges did not even sit at an elevated bench. It looked more like an elementary school classroom than a courtroom.
Is it any wonder that the juvenile court waiting area – far larger than either of the two courtrooms – was always packed to the gills with up to 40 teens, lined up as if they were waiting for Jonas Brothers tickets? Even making sure that the facility is adequately furnished and maintained to look and function like a courtroom goes a long way toward modeling to adolescents that they should respect a society that takes them seriously.
These days, many juvenile courthouses are run-down and most dockets are hopelessly clogged. Bonner County is one example among many of juveniles getting the leftovers after adults have fed to their hearts’ content at the public trough. Rehabilitating kids requires the resources of the juvenile court, completely unavailable in the higher-priority adult courts that get first dibs on public funds.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are rearrested after their release, and half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52% and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
The juvenile system’s financial advantages should impress even those requiring more proof than the vastly reduced recidivism rates. Every dollar spent on rehabilitative alternatives reduces taxpayers’ costs by $8, compared with only $2 saved per dollar spent on incarceration.
Ensuring the quality of juvenile facilities, and juvenile offenders’ access to resources and court time within them, achieves more and costs less.
Perhaps the Bonner County facility’s plight can raise awareness that will buck the trend of giving the least to those who have the most potential.
That tongue-in-cheek comment amused me, but it also reminded me of the brokenness of the juvenile court. The judicial system does not prioritize its resources to those who need the most and will benefit most greatly, either.
As someone who has spent years watching juveniles endure neglect from adults who lack the foresight to understand the consequences of their seemingly harmless actions, little things mean a lot. Bonner County’s loss of certification of its juvenile detention facility puts Idaho’s stamp on what is par for the course nationwide.
The state gives juveniles what is left at the bottom of the resource barrel, starkly repudiating every rehabilitative concept of the original juvenile courts. Then, to add insult to injury, after putting incarceration ahead of treatment, authorities cannot even make its dilapidated facilities meet the minimum requirements to house the youth.
While I was a law student at the University of Idaho, I worked with juvenile delinquents for three years. The Youth Services office was a tiny suite within the county courthouse that had cramped hallways with tattered carpet. The probation counselors’ offices were too small to accommodate more than one guest chair.
In my hometown, the two smallest courtrooms – out of more than 20 – are in the juvenile courthouse. I observed 11 hearings in the same juvenile case for more than a year in one of those cramped courtrooms.
The microphone system did not work properly. No one could hear the speakerphone without being within three feet of it. One of the juvenile court judges did not even sit at an elevated bench. It looked more like an elementary school classroom than a courtroom.
Is it any wonder that the juvenile court waiting area – far larger than either of the two courtrooms – was always packed to the gills with up to 40 teens, lined up as if they were waiting for Jonas Brothers tickets? Even making sure that the facility is adequately furnished and maintained to look and function like a courtroom goes a long way toward modeling to adolescents that they should respect a society that takes them seriously.
These days, many juvenile courthouses are run-down and most dockets are hopelessly clogged. Bonner County is one example among many of juveniles getting the leftovers after adults have fed to their hearts’ content at the public trough. Rehabilitating kids requires the resources of the juvenile court, completely unavailable in the higher-priority adult courts that get first dibs on public funds.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are rearrested after their release, and half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52% and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
The juvenile system’s financial advantages should impress even those requiring more proof than the vastly reduced recidivism rates. Every dollar spent on rehabilitative alternatives reduces taxpayers’ costs by $8, compared with only $2 saved per dollar spent on incarceration.
Ensuring the quality of juvenile facilities, and juvenile offenders’ access to resources and court time within them, achieves more and costs less.
Perhaps the Bonner County facility’s plight can raise awareness that will buck the trend of giving the least to those who have the most potential.
Juvenile Injustice: The Jacen Pearson Case
Amid the tragedy of Todd Peek’s death in Iowa, allegedly at the hands of his stepson, Jacen Pearson, Peek’s family members seem to believe that the justice system that traditionally aims to serve the broader interests of society is also available at their personal beck and call to pounce on a pre-adolescent who needs more treatment than condemnation.
I am loath to criticize victims, but Peek’s relatives’ bloodthirstiness will not achieve the satisfaction they seek. Worse yet, the detriment their crusade may wreak on Jacen could add him to the list of victims.
Two weeks ago, the Peek family, seemingly blinded by a kneejerk desire for vengeance, wrote an emotionally-charged letter to the Des Moines Register. That diatribe read like a victim impact statement laced with inflammatory rhetoric.
However, reasonable people are entitled to their own opinions but not their own facts.
When the Peek family excludes Jacen from the list of victims of that heartbreaking incident, they misunderstand the whole point of juvenile court. Fact.
One family, blinded by the prejudice of its own pain, however justifiably so, still does not have the right to deny this child the rehabilitative approach that decades of research developed and a more than a century of practice has validated. Fact.
Communities benefit from results, not vengeance masquerading as justice. Society is not more secure just because a shackled juvenile is photographed en route to prison. Those who oppose crime should want it to diminish. Rehabilitating juveniles supports that ideal.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are rearrested after their release, and half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52% and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
The juvenile system’s financial advantages should impress even those requiring more proof than the vastly reduced recidivism rates. Every dollar spent on rehabilitative alternatives reduces taxpayers’ costs by $8, compared with only $2 saved per dollar spent on incarceration.
Ensuring the quality of juvenile facilities, and juvenile offenders’ access to resources and court time within them, achieves more and costs less.
Those who would try teens as adults seek results that come only from rehabilitation, not the incarceration they are championing. My experiences with rehabilitating wayward adolescents validate that future-focused approach.
When I mentored juveniles as a law student at the University of Idaho, I witnessed sparks of hope in them. Those youths’ rap sheets ran the gamut from truancy to attempted murder, yet a caring adult’s individual attention redirected them, no matter how entrenched they once were.
At that courthouse, I met a boy whose writing skills I soon discovered. Once I praised his talent, he would bring me new pieces weekly, buoyed that his life had a purpose.
At no taxpayer expense, he developed confidence that he could never have cultivated in confinement, compared to the hundreds of dollars his incarceration would have sapped the public purse daily.
Accused teens, and even pre-teens such as Jacen Pearson, are at a similar crossroads. With expensive adult incarceration that research conclusively deems ineffective, will they burden society and reoffend? Or will they receive cost-effective rehabilitation that produces positive results even 111 years after Chicago founded the nation’s first juvenile court?
The juvenile justice system’s dual responsibilities are to protect the entire community and treat the individual offender. Neither is accomplished by indulging one family’s grief-tinged spite at the expense of a misguided 12-year-old who needs help more than the Peeks need revenge.
I am loath to criticize victims, but Peek’s relatives’ bloodthirstiness will not achieve the satisfaction they seek. Worse yet, the detriment their crusade may wreak on Jacen could add him to the list of victims.
Two weeks ago, the Peek family, seemingly blinded by a kneejerk desire for vengeance, wrote an emotionally-charged letter to the Des Moines Register. That diatribe read like a victim impact statement laced with inflammatory rhetoric.
However, reasonable people are entitled to their own opinions but not their own facts.
When the Peek family excludes Jacen from the list of victims of that heartbreaking incident, they misunderstand the whole point of juvenile court. Fact.
One family, blinded by the prejudice of its own pain, however justifiably so, still does not have the right to deny this child the rehabilitative approach that decades of research developed and a more than a century of practice has validated. Fact.
Communities benefit from results, not vengeance masquerading as justice. Society is not more secure just because a shackled juvenile is photographed en route to prison. Those who oppose crime should want it to diminish. Rehabilitating juveniles supports that ideal.
Louisiana’s juvenile recidivism rate, for example, was five times lower upon implementing alternatives to confinement. Nationally, two-thirds of inmates incarcerated in adult systems are rearrested after their release, and half are imprisoned again.
The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative, a public-private partnership, advocates detention only as a last resort. In jurisdictions adopting its protocol, detention center populations declined 52% and juvenile arrests dropped 45%.
The juvenile system’s financial advantages should impress even those requiring more proof than the vastly reduced recidivism rates. Every dollar spent on rehabilitative alternatives reduces taxpayers’ costs by $8, compared with only $2 saved per dollar spent on incarceration.
Ensuring the quality of juvenile facilities, and juvenile offenders’ access to resources and court time within them, achieves more and costs less.
Those who would try teens as adults seek results that come only from rehabilitation, not the incarceration they are championing. My experiences with rehabilitating wayward adolescents validate that future-focused approach.
When I mentored juveniles as a law student at the University of Idaho, I witnessed sparks of hope in them. Those youths’ rap sheets ran the gamut from truancy to attempted murder, yet a caring adult’s individual attention redirected them, no matter how entrenched they once were.
At that courthouse, I met a boy whose writing skills I soon discovered. Once I praised his talent, he would bring me new pieces weekly, buoyed that his life had a purpose.
At no taxpayer expense, he developed confidence that he could never have cultivated in confinement, compared to the hundreds of dollars his incarceration would have sapped the public purse daily.
Accused teens, and even pre-teens such as Jacen Pearson, are at a similar crossroads. With expensive adult incarceration that research conclusively deems ineffective, will they burden society and reoffend? Or will they receive cost-effective rehabilitation that produces positive results even 111 years after Chicago founded the nation’s first juvenile court?
The juvenile justice system’s dual responsibilities are to protect the entire community and treat the individual offender. Neither is accomplished by indulging one family’s grief-tinged spite at the expense of a misguided 12-year-old who needs help more than the Peeks need revenge.
“Shynerra’s Law”: The First Step, but Not the Last Step in Reforming Juvenile Violence
Now that Ohio Gov. Ted Strickland has signed “Shynerra’s Law,” juveniles needing protection from other juveniles in that state can obtain restraining orders that might have prevented Antonio Rogers from murdering Shynerra Grant in 2005. Judges now have another means of safeguarding the most vulnerable. Shynerra’s Law demonstrates progress: legislators have recognized that threatened adolescents deserve at least as much care from the court as threatened adults already get.
However, even with this monumental leap forward, a restraining order is just a piece of paper. Someone determined to violate it will do so. A judge’s signature and possible jail time will not deter those resolving to harm others. While Shynerra’s Law adds a preventative tool where none existed before, it cannot be the last word.
As a legal scholar and divorce mediator for eight years and a juvenile mentor for 13, I know the rich history of juvenile court—what it was, and what it still is. Juvenile court gives judges a unique opportunity to intervene before a teen ventures too far down the wrong path. Shynerra’s Law aims to stop violence, and, if used properly, the juvenile court has the muscle to protect potential victims even more.
When the Chicago juvenile court began in 1899 and similar courts were established in Denver and other cities, they weren’t much of a court at all by today’s standards. The judge didn’t sit on an elevated bench. He usually didn’t wear a robe. No lawyers stood next to their jumpsuit-clad clients.
The original juvenile courts grew out of the idea that children needed rehabilitation and treatment to become productive citizens. The judges were, in essence, counselors and teachers in a parental role. Many of those early courts had nearly non-existent recidivism rates, precisely because they focused on the best interests of the child, rather than locking him up for a certain term with no preparation for reentering society.
Here’s my question: What if a judge could, upon issuing a juvenile restraining order, also assign that teen to receive the same social services that an adolescent on probation would be getting? Why wait for a crime to be committed when the juvenile court has the authority to act parentally and could avert a tragedy instead of just reacting after someone is maimed or killed?
Criminal court judges cannot usually mandate many conditions for adults before a crime has been committed, but juvenile court judges can. Judges in adult court are not meant to be caretakers. Juvenile judges must, in the words of U.S. Supreme Court Justice Abe Fortas, ask, “What is [the juvenile offender], how has he become what he is, and what had best be done in his interest and in the interest of the state to save him from a downward career?” Fortas got it right. Rehabilitating teenagers before their problems escalate benefits all of society, not just the adolescents themselves.
Shynerra’s Law is a good start, but if Rogers ignored a no-contact order, he likely would have disregarded a restraining order also, even if one had been available to Grant. We need to take the law a step further and use the unique authority of the juvenile court proactively to prevent the harm that a mere piece of paper cannot stop.
However, even with this monumental leap forward, a restraining order is just a piece of paper. Someone determined to violate it will do so. A judge’s signature and possible jail time will not deter those resolving to harm others. While Shynerra’s Law adds a preventative tool where none existed before, it cannot be the last word.
As a legal scholar and divorce mediator for eight years and a juvenile mentor for 13, I know the rich history of juvenile court—what it was, and what it still is. Juvenile court gives judges a unique opportunity to intervene before a teen ventures too far down the wrong path. Shynerra’s Law aims to stop violence, and, if used properly, the juvenile court has the muscle to protect potential victims even more.
When the Chicago juvenile court began in 1899 and similar courts were established in Denver and other cities, they weren’t much of a court at all by today’s standards. The judge didn’t sit on an elevated bench. He usually didn’t wear a robe. No lawyers stood next to their jumpsuit-clad clients.
The original juvenile courts grew out of the idea that children needed rehabilitation and treatment to become productive citizens. The judges were, in essence, counselors and teachers in a parental role. Many of those early courts had nearly non-existent recidivism rates, precisely because they focused on the best interests of the child, rather than locking him up for a certain term with no preparation for reentering society.
Here’s my question: What if a judge could, upon issuing a juvenile restraining order, also assign that teen to receive the same social services that an adolescent on probation would be getting? Why wait for a crime to be committed when the juvenile court has the authority to act parentally and could avert a tragedy instead of just reacting after someone is maimed or killed?
Criminal court judges cannot usually mandate many conditions for adults before a crime has been committed, but juvenile court judges can. Judges in adult court are not meant to be caretakers. Juvenile judges must, in the words of U.S. Supreme Court Justice Abe Fortas, ask, “What is [the juvenile offender], how has he become what he is, and what had best be done in his interest and in the interest of the state to save him from a downward career?” Fortas got it right. Rehabilitating teenagers before their problems escalate benefits all of society, not just the adolescents themselves.
Shynerra’s Law is a good start, but if Rogers ignored a no-contact order, he likely would have disregarded a restraining order also, even if one had been available to Grant. We need to take the law a step further and use the unique authority of the juvenile court proactively to prevent the harm that a mere piece of paper cannot stop.
The Intensive “Don’t Care” Unit: The Lincoln County detention center escapee as a poster child for juvenile justice reform
When Mary-Lou Lawnacki urged, “There is no one you can’t love once you know their story,” she might as well have been writing about the two teen boys who escaped from the Cyndi Taylor Krier Juvenile Correctional Treatment Facility in San Antonio on Feb. 24.
Despite the challenges of acknowledging juveniles’ wrongdoing without making a beeline toward vengeance, rehabilitating them benefits adults and society at least as much as it serves the needs of the offenders. The adolescents who escaped represent children in the juvenile justice system in every city and state, reflecting the crumbling of once-noble goals.
In 1899, the nation’s first juvenile court recognized that, rather than punishment for adults’ failure to endow them with values, juveniles needed treatment and support. 111 years later, schools and courts have abandoned what decades of planning deemed sound.
As Lawnacki observed, understanding people’s stories makes it harder to condemn them. When 30 other juveniles stand in what more resembles a cattle auction than a courtroom, the truth doesn’t meet the same eyes as the stereotypes.
As a divorce mediator and teen advocate, I’ve seen lots of teens like the ones who made news this week. I wonder whether a judge knew that one of my clients’ fathers was high every night. Did another judge consider that the curfew he imposed without reading a kid’s file would ensure doomed homework in the chaos of that so-called home?
What about the logic of forcing a teen to visit a college as a consequence for doing the same thing that had earned a community service sanction the week before? Now, college is punitive drudgery. Nice going, judge.
How about the probation officer who denied one of my teens a visit with me because I challenged her? She jerked that kid away from the first place he got his homework done, prepared for college, and studied for the SAT.
My office is often where teens first tell their stories. Probation officers and judges would love them, too, if they knew those stories. But not if those adolescents fear telling them because of the critical response to every other constructive step they’ve attempted.
Judge Ben Lindsey of Denver, who revolutionized juvenile justice a century ago, counseled adolescents rather than punishing them. Another early reformer, Judge Julian Mack, sought “what had best be done in children’s interests and in the interest of the state to save them from a downward career.”
Where is that foresight at present? Today’s juvenile courts have fewer judges like Mack and Lindsey and more who are unprepared for the awesome responsibility of directing a life at a crossroads.
The ideals of Mack and Lindsey are languishing in the Intensive “Don’t Care” Unit. Appreciating the brokenness of the juvenile court requires not a law degree, but a dictionary. Justice means fairness. It is not fair to deny vulnerable teens the protection they need and deserve.
However misguided the two escapees may appear, they have a story. That story will determine how best to help them and, yes, to improve society, rather than a one-size-fits-all response that deceives the public into thinking the problem has been solved.
Julian Mack and Ben Lindsey were not merely well-intentioned men who tried hard. If their legacy matters, today’s juvenile courts must pay homage to that child-centered philosophy. They are the real heroes of juvenile court. By rehabilitating teenagers like the recent escapees, cultivating optimism, and showing them a purpose, those pioneering judges honored parental compassion over kneejerk vengeance.
Who, Mary-Lou Lawnacki might ask, can’t love those stories?
Despite the challenges of acknowledging juveniles’ wrongdoing without making a beeline toward vengeance, rehabilitating them benefits adults and society at least as much as it serves the needs of the offenders. The adolescents who escaped represent children in the juvenile justice system in every city and state, reflecting the crumbling of once-noble goals.
In 1899, the nation’s first juvenile court recognized that, rather than punishment for adults’ failure to endow them with values, juveniles needed treatment and support. 111 years later, schools and courts have abandoned what decades of planning deemed sound.
As Lawnacki observed, understanding people’s stories makes it harder to condemn them. When 30 other juveniles stand in what more resembles a cattle auction than a courtroom, the truth doesn’t meet the same eyes as the stereotypes.
As a divorce mediator and teen advocate, I’ve seen lots of teens like the ones who made news this week. I wonder whether a judge knew that one of my clients’ fathers was high every night. Did another judge consider that the curfew he imposed without reading a kid’s file would ensure doomed homework in the chaos of that so-called home?
What about the logic of forcing a teen to visit a college as a consequence for doing the same thing that had earned a community service sanction the week before? Now, college is punitive drudgery. Nice going, judge.
How about the probation officer who denied one of my teens a visit with me because I challenged her? She jerked that kid away from the first place he got his homework done, prepared for college, and studied for the SAT.
My office is often where teens first tell their stories. Probation officers and judges would love them, too, if they knew those stories. But not if those adolescents fear telling them because of the critical response to every other constructive step they’ve attempted.
Judge Ben Lindsey of Denver, who revolutionized juvenile justice a century ago, counseled adolescents rather than punishing them. Another early reformer, Judge Julian Mack, sought “what had best be done in children’s interests and in the interest of the state to save them from a downward career.”
Where is that foresight at present? Today’s juvenile courts have fewer judges like Mack and Lindsey and more who are unprepared for the awesome responsibility of directing a life at a crossroads.
The ideals of Mack and Lindsey are languishing in the Intensive “Don’t Care” Unit. Appreciating the brokenness of the juvenile court requires not a law degree, but a dictionary. Justice means fairness. It is not fair to deny vulnerable teens the protection they need and deserve.
However misguided the two escapees may appear, they have a story. That story will determine how best to help them and, yes, to improve society, rather than a one-size-fits-all response that deceives the public into thinking the problem has been solved.
Julian Mack and Ben Lindsey were not merely well-intentioned men who tried hard. If their legacy matters, today’s juvenile courts must pay homage to that child-centered philosophy. They are the real heroes of juvenile court. By rehabilitating teenagers like the recent escapees, cultivating optimism, and showing them a purpose, those pioneering judges honored parental compassion over kneejerk vengeance.
Who, Mary-Lou Lawnacki might ask, can’t love those stories?
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The Real Repeat Offenders
By Mediator Matthew House, J.D.
When I read on February 1 that Joe Alvin Hix and Fred Gentle had escaped from juvenile detention, my first thought was that the justice system had not provided those boys the resources they needed. Two days later, now recaptured, these boys still do not have access to the rehabilitation that has been a juvenile court mandate since 1899. Surely, certain adults now owe an even heavier price for what has become a repeated failure to honor the juvenile court creed of treatment over punishment.
Where will Joe and Fred learn what they need to know? They didn’t learn it at home. They didn’t learn it on the run. Will they learn it at the detention center? I doubt it. Just the same, I challenge the Charlotte County juvenile authorities to show Joe and Fred why they looked or them and why they brought them back.
If the purpose is to punish them, how well did that work the first time? If the objective is to rehabilitate them, why wasn’t that happening before? If Charlotte County knows what is in its best interests, the good men and women who run the juvenile services will realize that treating rather than punishing Joe and Fred will not only honor the founding function of the juvenile court but will also promote the citizens’ safety and protect their finances.
I wonder how much it cost to search for those boys. I gather it ran into the thousands of dollars. What about the cost of juvenile detention in the first place, somewhere around an eye-popping $210,000 per year per youth. For that price, how much rehabilitation are those kids—and, by association, society—getting for that $575 daily cost when they’re locked in a cell for most of the day anyway?
There is a better way, and I have witnessed it. I volunteered at Latah County Youth Services for three years while I was a law student at the University of Idaho. At our daily study table, I saw grades spike and pride resurface as those teens realized the benefit of diligence. They were never shackled and, in groups of no more than four, were supervised by an attentive adult. That care for the individual kept those adolescents on the right track. I never had one of my kids reoffend and go to detention. We used rehabilitation and support because they work.
The false satisfaction of knowing juvenile offenders are behind bars gives the appearance of preserving public safety. To be sure, no one who is a danger to society should walk the streets. But the focus should not be on punishment but instead on the dual protection of the community and the offender who probably has a lot of hurts that no one would want as a bio.
Incarcerating kids for an arbitrary period is like staying home from work for the number of days it typically takes to recover from the flu. What happens in that span, not the time itself, determines whether the illness goes away. When juvenile judges lock up teens in facilities where rehabilitation is not the sole (not just primary, but sole) function, merely being in detention accomplishes nothing except further hardening those adolescents toward a society they have already decided has neglected their needs.
Charlotte County needs a gigantic wake-up call. If the authorities don’t tune in that they have failed even to try to support and treat Joe, Fred, and countless others like them proactively, this will not be the last time they must spring into reactive panic mode to chase down an inadequately rehabilitated teen.
Matthew M. House, J.D. is a divorce mediator and teen advocate in Portland, Oregon. He is a frequent divorce and family law expert guest on television and radio nationwide.
A jpeg file and other media materials are available upon request.
(503) 643-5284
matthew@mediatormatthew.com
www.mediatormatthew.com
When I read on February 1 that Joe Alvin Hix and Fred Gentle had escaped from juvenile detention, my first thought was that the justice system had not provided those boys the resources they needed. Two days later, now recaptured, these boys still do not have access to the rehabilitation that has been a juvenile court mandate since 1899. Surely, certain adults now owe an even heavier price for what has become a repeated failure to honor the juvenile court creed of treatment over punishment.
Where will Joe and Fred learn what they need to know? They didn’t learn it at home. They didn’t learn it on the run. Will they learn it at the detention center? I doubt it. Just the same, I challenge the Charlotte County juvenile authorities to show Joe and Fred why they looked or them and why they brought them back.
If the purpose is to punish them, how well did that work the first time? If the objective is to rehabilitate them, why wasn’t that happening before? If Charlotte County knows what is in its best interests, the good men and women who run the juvenile services will realize that treating rather than punishing Joe and Fred will not only honor the founding function of the juvenile court but will also promote the citizens’ safety and protect their finances.
I wonder how much it cost to search for those boys. I gather it ran into the thousands of dollars. What about the cost of juvenile detention in the first place, somewhere around an eye-popping $210,000 per year per youth. For that price, how much rehabilitation are those kids—and, by association, society—getting for that $575 daily cost when they’re locked in a cell for most of the day anyway?
There is a better way, and I have witnessed it. I volunteered at Latah County Youth Services for three years while I was a law student at the University of Idaho. At our daily study table, I saw grades spike and pride resurface as those teens realized the benefit of diligence. They were never shackled and, in groups of no more than four, were supervised by an attentive adult. That care for the individual kept those adolescents on the right track. I never had one of my kids reoffend and go to detention. We used rehabilitation and support because they work.
The false satisfaction of knowing juvenile offenders are behind bars gives the appearance of preserving public safety. To be sure, no one who is a danger to society should walk the streets. But the focus should not be on punishment but instead on the dual protection of the community and the offender who probably has a lot of hurts that no one would want as a bio.
Incarcerating kids for an arbitrary period is like staying home from work for the number of days it typically takes to recover from the flu. What happens in that span, not the time itself, determines whether the illness goes away. When juvenile judges lock up teens in facilities where rehabilitation is not the sole (not just primary, but sole) function, merely being in detention accomplishes nothing except further hardening those adolescents toward a society they have already decided has neglected their needs.
Charlotte County needs a gigantic wake-up call. If the authorities don’t tune in that they have failed even to try to support and treat Joe, Fred, and countless others like them proactively, this will not be the last time they must spring into reactive panic mode to chase down an inadequately rehabilitated teen.
Matthew M. House, J.D. is a divorce mediator and teen advocate in Portland, Oregon. He is a frequent divorce and family law expert guest on television and radio nationwide.
A jpeg file and other media materials are available upon request.
(503) 643-5284
matthew@mediatormatthew.com
www.mediatormatthew.com
Miles Ahead, Light-Years Away
By Mediator Matthew House, J.D.
Connecticut’s experiment with opening some juvenile proceedings to public view is the second-best solution to fix a broken system, but that’s no more noteworthy than the second-most-common hair color in China. The gap between best and second-best is almost ridiculously vast, because the far better approach would involve extending to juveniles the same constitutional rights that adults have in criminal proceedings.
Not observing standard evidentiary rules and procedures is fine if the juvenile proceeding is noticeably different from adult court. When juvenile courts began around the turn of the last century, first in Chicago, then in Denver, eventually extending to every jurisdiction in the United States, they were more therapeutic and less punitive. Now, adolescents face judgment in courts that bear every characteristic of adult court except the name.
Perhaps Connecticut’s pilot program in Middletown will allow some who are observing juvenile courts for the first time to see that the system cannot have it both ways. If juveniles undergo a trial that anyone would assume was an adult proceeding except for the age of the defendant, they deserve the same legal protections that an adult would have in his or her arsenal to combat the charges and level the playing field. Without those rights, criminal courts give the most vulnerable defendants even fewer advantages than a fully-grown adult who could thoroughly appreciate the quality of his or her actions.
The alternative is to revert to the caretaking role of the juvenile court, a protective realm in which criminal codes and rules of evidence do not apply to the cardinal goal of rehabilitating the young boy or girl in need of support. The purpose of private juvenile proceedings makes sense if they resemble counseling, which itself is confidential. But it seems a Petri dish for corruption if, already stripped of adult rights, juveniles—in what is nothing short of a criminal trial—lose their last check and balance, the public watchdog.
As a divorce mediator and juvenile advocate, I have learned what works. Three years as a mentor for juvenile offenders at Latah County Youth Services while I was a law student at the University of Idaho reinforced to me that juvenile offenders who have stumbled off the proper path deserve help, not embarrassment.
Connecticut needs to expand its already commendable efforts. First, the state should extend to juveniles any provisions of the state and federal Constitutions that do not already apply to them, even though the United States Supreme Court has not yet done so nationally. After all, state protections can be greater than the federal ones; they just cannot be less.
Second, incarceration must be a last resort and used only to protect the community while the juvenile is being counseled and retrained to reenter society, not to punish the adolescent. Juvenile detention as a general policy costs too much—about $210,000 per year per youth—and has far greater recidivism rates than treatment and rehabilitation.
The private system would not need to step out into the sunshine if it were already working. The Middletown program reflects a flawed system that is even worse in most other states. Connecticut laudably chose to make a questionable process public instead of leaving it private. The far better option is to create a system so trustworthy and fair as not to require piercing the privacy that has veiled what used to be a child-centered, treatment-based institution.
The privacy that shrouds juvenile court for sound reasons should not be used to enable prosecutors and judges—driven by efficiency or ambition instead of justice—to trample juveniles’ rights because they face no scrutiny.
Connecticut’s experiment with opening some juvenile proceedings to public view is the second-best solution to fix a broken system, but that’s no more noteworthy than the second-most-common hair color in China. The gap between best and second-best is almost ridiculously vast, because the far better approach would involve extending to juveniles the same constitutional rights that adults have in criminal proceedings.
Not observing standard evidentiary rules and procedures is fine if the juvenile proceeding is noticeably different from adult court. When juvenile courts began around the turn of the last century, first in Chicago, then in Denver, eventually extending to every jurisdiction in the United States, they were more therapeutic and less punitive. Now, adolescents face judgment in courts that bear every characteristic of adult court except the name.
Perhaps Connecticut’s pilot program in Middletown will allow some who are observing juvenile courts for the first time to see that the system cannot have it both ways. If juveniles undergo a trial that anyone would assume was an adult proceeding except for the age of the defendant, they deserve the same legal protections that an adult would have in his or her arsenal to combat the charges and level the playing field. Without those rights, criminal courts give the most vulnerable defendants even fewer advantages than a fully-grown adult who could thoroughly appreciate the quality of his or her actions.
The alternative is to revert to the caretaking role of the juvenile court, a protective realm in which criminal codes and rules of evidence do not apply to the cardinal goal of rehabilitating the young boy or girl in need of support. The purpose of private juvenile proceedings makes sense if they resemble counseling, which itself is confidential. But it seems a Petri dish for corruption if, already stripped of adult rights, juveniles—in what is nothing short of a criminal trial—lose their last check and balance, the public watchdog.
As a divorce mediator and juvenile advocate, I have learned what works. Three years as a mentor for juvenile offenders at Latah County Youth Services while I was a law student at the University of Idaho reinforced to me that juvenile offenders who have stumbled off the proper path deserve help, not embarrassment.
Connecticut needs to expand its already commendable efforts. First, the state should extend to juveniles any provisions of the state and federal Constitutions that do not already apply to them, even though the United States Supreme Court has not yet done so nationally. After all, state protections can be greater than the federal ones; they just cannot be less.
Second, incarceration must be a last resort and used only to protect the community while the juvenile is being counseled and retrained to reenter society, not to punish the adolescent. Juvenile detention as a general policy costs too much—about $210,000 per year per youth—and has far greater recidivism rates than treatment and rehabilitation.
The private system would not need to step out into the sunshine if it were already working. The Middletown program reflects a flawed system that is even worse in most other states. Connecticut laudably chose to make a questionable process public instead of leaving it private. The far better option is to create a system so trustworthy and fair as not to require piercing the privacy that has veiled what used to be a child-centered, treatment-based institution.
The privacy that shrouds juvenile court for sound reasons should not be used to enable prosecutors and judges—driven by efficiency or ambition instead of justice—to trample juveniles’ rights because they face no scrutiny.
The Intensive “Don’t Care” Unit: Christopher Beverage and Nicolas Bismuke as poster children for juvenile justice reform
When Mary-Lou Lawnacki urged, “There is no one you can’t love once you know their story,” she might as well have been writing about Christopher Beverage and Nicolas Bismuke, who escaped from the overcrowded Jack Jones Juvenile Justice Center in Pine Bluff, Arkansas and were recaptured on January 31 and February 1. Christopher and Nicolas represent a decline in the commitment to children everywhere as they reflect the crumbling of once-noble goals.
In 1899, the nation’s first juvenile court recognized that, rather than punishment for adults’ failure to endow them with values, juveniles needed treatment and support. 111 years later, schools and courts have baselessly abandoned the approach that decades of planning deemed sound.
As Lawnacki observed, understanding people’s stories makes it harder to condemn them. When a scraggly-haired kid with ripped jeans stands with 30 other juveniles at what more resembles a cattle auction than a courtroom, the truth doesn’t meet the same eyes as the stereotypes.
As a divorce mediator and teen advocate, I’ve seen lots of kids who missed the holistic treatment that I hope these adolescents will get. The judge for one of the teens I met probably did not know that the kid’s father was high every night. Did the judge consider that the curfew he imposed would ensure doomed homework in the chaos of that so-called home?
What about forcing a kid to visit a college for the same offense that had earned him community service before? Now, college is punitive. Nice going, judge.
My office is often where teens first tell their stories. Probation officers and judges would love them, too, if they knew those stories. But not if those adolescents fear telling them because of the critical response to every other constructive step they’ve attempted. Let’s hope these boys will not think they are a mistake just because they made a mistake.
Judge Ben Lindsey of Denver, who revolutionized juvenile justice a century ago, counseled adolescents rather than punishing them. Another reformer, Judge Julian Mack, sought “what had best be done in children’s interests and in the interest of the state to save them from a downward career.” Why is that foresight generally so absent today?
Instead of a judge unprepared to direct a life at a crossroads, if my teens had appeared before Judge Lindsey, Judge Mack, or, let’s hope, the judge for this week’s detention escape, they would have told their stories. One kid’s dad got in fistfights with the teen’s friends and was too drugged-out later to remember. Another would have described a family with rampant addiction and a father who became enraged when others suggested the young man could succeed.
The ideals of Judge Mack and Judge Lindsey are languishing in the Intensive “Don’t Care” Unit. Appreciating the brokenness of the juvenile court requires not a law degree, but a dictionary. Justice means fairness. It is only fair to ensure vulnerable teens the care they need.
However misguided these teenagers may appear, they have a story. That story will determine how best to help them and, yes, how best to help society, rather than a one-size-fits-all response that deceives the public into thinking the problem has been solved.
Julian Mack and Ben Lindsey were not merely well-intentioned men who tried hard. If their legacy matters, today’s juvenile courts must pay homage to that child-centered philosophy. By rehabilitating teenagers like these young men, cultivating optimism, and showing them a purpose, those pioneering judges -- as the judge in the current case should -- honored parental compassion over knee-jerk vengeance.
Who, Mary-Lou Lawnacki might ask, can’t love those stories?
In 1899, the nation’s first juvenile court recognized that, rather than punishment for adults’ failure to endow them with values, juveniles needed treatment and support. 111 years later, schools and courts have baselessly abandoned the approach that decades of planning deemed sound.
As Lawnacki observed, understanding people’s stories makes it harder to condemn them. When a scraggly-haired kid with ripped jeans stands with 30 other juveniles at what more resembles a cattle auction than a courtroom, the truth doesn’t meet the same eyes as the stereotypes.
As a divorce mediator and teen advocate, I’ve seen lots of kids who missed the holistic treatment that I hope these adolescents will get. The judge for one of the teens I met probably did not know that the kid’s father was high every night. Did the judge consider that the curfew he imposed would ensure doomed homework in the chaos of that so-called home?
What about forcing a kid to visit a college for the same offense that had earned him community service before? Now, college is punitive. Nice going, judge.
My office is often where teens first tell their stories. Probation officers and judges would love them, too, if they knew those stories. But not if those adolescents fear telling them because of the critical response to every other constructive step they’ve attempted. Let’s hope these boys will not think they are a mistake just because they made a mistake.
Judge Ben Lindsey of Denver, who revolutionized juvenile justice a century ago, counseled adolescents rather than punishing them. Another reformer, Judge Julian Mack, sought “what had best be done in children’s interests and in the interest of the state to save them from a downward career.” Why is that foresight generally so absent today?
Instead of a judge unprepared to direct a life at a crossroads, if my teens had appeared before Judge Lindsey, Judge Mack, or, let’s hope, the judge for this week’s detention escape, they would have told their stories. One kid’s dad got in fistfights with the teen’s friends and was too drugged-out later to remember. Another would have described a family with rampant addiction and a father who became enraged when others suggested the young man could succeed.
The ideals of Judge Mack and Judge Lindsey are languishing in the Intensive “Don’t Care” Unit. Appreciating the brokenness of the juvenile court requires not a law degree, but a dictionary. Justice means fairness. It is only fair to ensure vulnerable teens the care they need.
However misguided these teenagers may appear, they have a story. That story will determine how best to help them and, yes, how best to help society, rather than a one-size-fits-all response that deceives the public into thinking the problem has been solved.
Julian Mack and Ben Lindsey were not merely well-intentioned men who tried hard. If their legacy matters, today’s juvenile courts must pay homage to that child-centered philosophy. By rehabilitating teenagers like these young men, cultivating optimism, and showing them a purpose, those pioneering judges -- as the judge in the current case should -- honored parental compassion over knee-jerk vengeance.
Who, Mary-Lou Lawnacki might ask, can’t love those stories?
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