(Philadelphia Public Record, May 21, 2009)

COURTS IN THE ’HOOD?

by Tony West

Almost all convicted criminals inevitably return to the streets. Too many, however, become repeat offenders not long after their release. If the destructive cycle of recidivism is ever to be broken, a growing number of criminal-justice experts believe, a way must be found to bring the resources of the system to those same streets where the criminals got into trouble in the first place.

Interest is rising in a new kind of neighborhood-based court – far removed from the downtown towers of City and State government, but smack in the heart of high-crime communities. The idea is by staying in intimate contact with parolees and probationers’ community networks, officers of these courts can monitor offenders more carefully, spot pressures that might tilt them back toward a life of crime and steer them instead toward the straight and narrow, using the resources at hand.

Philadelphia has long had a system of “community courts” convened by volunteer Judges in Police stations or other community venues (now-Supreme Court Justice Seamus McCaffery gained early fame by holding court for unruly Eagles fans in Veterans Stadium). The new model of community-based justice takes this idea a giant step farther. It relies on permanent buildings with permanent court staff that liaison with all the local social services ex-offenders are likely to need.

After a visit to one such facility in Red Hook, Brooklyn, New York City, Deputy Mayor for Public Safety Everett Gillison and Councilman Curtis Jones, Jr. came back to Philadelphia deeply impressed. An effort to establish a local pilot program along these lines will soon be made.

Before delving deeper into the community-justice model, however, let’s take a closer look at the way offenders are supervised (or not) in the community today.

It’s hard for an outsider to watch probation and parole in action – much harder than it is to watch the police or courts in action. Visitors are forbidden to the Adult Probation & Parole Dept. in its 10th-floor roost at Broad & Arch Streets. Parole Officers aren’t exactly forbidden to talk about their work; none of them wanted to be interviewed on record, however.

Those who talk portray a grim, often fruitless experience that allows little chance for Officers and their wards to connect.
“Justus” has been a Probation Officer for less than five years, like most of his coworkers. He has, however, lived through a transition from an older model in which all Parole Officers carried caseloads of about 130 clients to the current experimental one, in which some Officers supervise “high-risk” caseloads of about 50 while others carry “low-risk” caseloads of 500.

“Under the old system,” Justus says, “We were expected to go out into our clients’ communities once or twice a month. That way we could learn their families and their background first-hand.

The focus used to be on reducing recidivism by rehabilitation. Most Philadelphia Parole Officers firmly believe most offenders require substance-abuse treatment. And that’s best provided by neighborhood sources. “You might find a great program for them, but if it’s on the other side of town, they’re not going to go,” Justus explains.

Learning the treatment, employment, housing and educational resources of an offender’s neighborhood is key to maintaining him, Justus says.

It’s harder now. Parole Officers rarely leave their headquarters anymore. Instead, parolees and probationers make a pilgrimage to Center City, far from where most of them live. High-risk offenders come in once a month; low-risk offenders see their Parole Officers once every six months. For both kinds, the experience is similar.

“First you wait in line to get in the building,” Justus relates. “The line wraps around our building from our front door to Cherry Street, rain or shine. Then they must pass through metal detectors, with their belts off. The ones who’re wearing baggy pants waddle through the building, tugging on their jeans to keep them up.”

Once they reach the office, they may wait another 30 minutes to see their Parole Officer for 5-10 minutes. Only 10 interview booths are available for as many as 50 people.

Once in the booth, “You race through a list of questions,” Justus continues. “Any new arrests? Any cases coming up? You inquire about their housing and their work life. You try to get a drug test; sometimes you succeed. Then it’s time to go.”

Community Courts In Action

A far cry from 1401 Arch Street is the Harlem Community Justice Center in Manhattan, New York City. Now 10 years old, this project of the New York State Unified Court System focuses on juvenile delinquency, housing issues and criminal reentry cases. One day a week, its Judges devote their time to about 80 newly released parolees who are thought to pose a special risk of recidivism in this zone of 600,000 people, one in 20 of whom have been in prison.

“Initially they report weekly to the Judge, just to share how they’re doing,” says Kate Krontiris, planning & operations manager for HCJC. “They are backed up by Parole Officers, case managers and other staff.”

Krontiris heads the Upper Manhattan Reentry Task Force that seeks to link area parole and corrections workers with fathering programs, hospitals, substance-abuse and mental-health treatment programs, academic, employment and business groups.
Does it work? A study completed in 2006 showed 85% of enrollees successfully completed this six-month program – good numbers in a world where recidivism rates range from 50% up.

UMRTF is concentrating on high-risk parolees. The Red Hook Community Justice Center pays greater attention to low-level offenders. But the integrated, holistic model still reigns.

“I sat behind a bench with the Judge at Red Hook,” recounts Councilman Jones. “The Judge was hearing the case of a minor offender. The Judge said, ‘This kid used to be a limo driver, but he lost his license because he hadn’t paid child support. Furthermore, he didn’t graduate from high school. Therefore, I am sentencing him to take a placement test for his GED. In addition, he is sentenced to do community service, cleaning vacant lots in an orange jump suit, for pay; which will be used to reduce his child-support arrears; which will enable him to get his license back.’

“The kid’s girlfriend looked up and said, ‘Can I get sentenced to take my GED too?’ And the Judge said, ‘Yes!,’” Jones recounts with amazement. “The Judge knew how to deal with a borderline kid that had a chance of redemption.”

Red Hook used to be a high-crime neighborhood plagued by major drug dealers, Jones said. Now, after several years of community-based justice, the biggest complaints in the area are about short dumping, he says.

Jones now dreams of applying the Red Hook model to a high-crime patch in, say, Philadelphia’s 35th Police Dist.
Pilot programs like these cannot single-handedly eliminate crime or recidivism, Jones acknowledges. “But they are a lifeboat that can be launched.”

New York State is running 13 different community-court experiments like Red Hook and Harlem under the aegis of its Center for Court Innovation. This is an independent nonprofit tasked with coming up with new answers to court challenges. They permit criminal-justice pros to explore different new ideas and evaluate their results rigorously.

If Philadelphia is to try similar experiments, Pennsylvania’s institutions will have to craft their own ways of establishing them in a lawful manner.

How that will be done will take skillful politicking by many different players in legislative, executive and judicial branches of government.