Category Archives: Criminal Justice

The recent dismissals of all charges brought against the Duke lacrosse players—accompanied by condemnations of the prosecutor who originally brought the charges—reminded me of something said in 1940 by Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson, who later presided over the Nuremberg trials.

 

Jackson said “The prosecutor has more control over life, liberty and reputation than any other person in America. His discretion is tremendous…The citizen’s safety lies in the prosecutor who tempers zeal with human kindness, who seeks truth and not victims, who serves the law, and not factional purposes.”

 

Whatever other lessons we may learn from the sorry spectacle at Duke—lessons about race, privilege and resentment, or the ease of playing to an ever-more sensation-seeking media—surely the importance of prosecutorial integrity is the most important. Prosecutors are officers of the court; they are lawyers for “the people.” If they do not place their duty to the truth above personal or partisan considerations, they can do enormous damage both to the lives of individuals and to public trust in our institutions.

 

It isn’t only Duke. In Wisconsin, a Republican U.S. Attorney launched a corruption case against an obscure state bureaucrat, and even got a conviction. It was an election year, and not surprisingly, the case was featured prominently in attack ads against the Democratic governor. After the election, the appeals court threw the case out.  The opinion, written by (exceedingly conservative) Judge Easterbrook, called the evidence "beyond thin" and the case “preposterous.”

 

The Wisconsin case, even more than the travesty at Duke, provides a telling example of why the current Congressional investigation into the Justice Department’s firing of eight federal prosecutors is so important.

 

The previous Congress ignored numerous warning signs about politicization of the Justice Department—from the hiring of attorneys with few qualifications and little experience, to the departure of career lawyers who had served both Republican and Democratic administrations. Seasoned career lawyers were overruled so that the department could reverse prior policy in voting rights cases. The list goes on.

 

Then there is the curious “coincidence” that several of the fired prosecutors came from battleground states that will be critical in the 2008 election: New Mexico, Nevada, Michigan, Washington and Arkansas.

 

It is easy for citizens numbed by the constant drumbeat of accusations and counteraccusations and disgusted by the political gameplaying and outright corruption of the last several years to shrug off the situation at the Justice department as one more fight between equally unpleasant political insiders. But that would be a mistake, because we all have an important stake in the independence and integrity of the men and women entrusted, literally, with life and death decisions.

 

Once we lose confidence in the probity of those officers of the court, once we suspect that they have based the decision to pursue (or overlook) behaviors on political calculation rather than on the evidence, we will have lost what John Adams memorably called “a government of laws, not men.” We really will have lost America.  

 

 

Crime has become a high-decibel subject of conversation in Indianapolis. From the persistent challenges posed by jail overcrowding, the recent sharp increase in homicides, and the hotly debated merger of the Indianapolis Police and  Sheriff’s Departments, crime prevention has become the topic of the day. And it sometimes seems as if everyone has figured out what we need to do if we are serious about ensuring public safety and fighting the bad guys.

 

We need Superman.

 

Superman—AKA Clark Kent—didn’t just appear after a crime had been committed. No siree. He had x-ray vision and superkeen hearing, so he knew beforehand when a crime was about to be committed, and usually he got to the scene (just) in time to foil the attempt. His response time was outstanding.

 

Just his presence in Metropolis made the city safe. His take-home cape struck fear in the hearts of the criminal class, and deterred many crimes. (Undoubtedly, this ability to keep the crime rate down was the reason there was always room in the Metropolis Jail for the culprits he brought to justice.) Plus, he supplied his own—admittedly idiosyncratic—uniform.

 

Best of all, we didn’t have to pay Superman. He protected citizens out of the goodness of his heart. He didn’t require a funded pension, or health benefits, or fancy equipment. He kept crime under control without demanding a single dollar of our tax money. A simple “thank you” (and perhaps an adoring look from

Lois Lane

) was all he needed. In the language of economics, Superman made everyone in Metropolis a free rider.

 

It may seem silly even to say this, but Superman is fantasy. And no matter how reluctant we may be to inhabit it, we live in the real world.

 

In the real world, even the most diligent police officer is only human. Most of the time, officers will not be able to avert crimes before they are committed, and will not be able to get to the scene within two or three minutes, even if our police force had an optimum number of sworn officers, which it doesn’t. A take-home car may or may not be part of a cost-effective crime prevention program, but in either case, the police are going to need vehicles, guns, ready access to computer records, a crime lab filled with expensive equipment and a certain amount of clerical and staff support in order to be effective. They are also going to need adequate space in the jail to house the bad guys they catch.

 

Being only human, police need salaries. Given the inherent dangers in their line of work, they especially need health benefits and retirement savings.

 

If we truly want to improve public safety, we will have to pay for that improvement through our taxes. The police merger was an effort to achieve economies of scale, to do more with less, but at some point, there are no more places to cut.

 

Superman isn’t going to save us from fiscal reality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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One of the few television shows I follow is a science-fiction thriller called “The 4400.” The premise is simple: over a period of fifty-plus years, people have inexplicably disappeared, one by one. Then—suddenly—they are all returned. They have no memory of where they have been, and most face a world that is vastly changed; new social mores, new technologies, new national alliances. They are also different. They have been given new powers, and some don’t cope very well with the challenge those powers represent.

 

The returnees encounter fear and stigma. Relatives shun them; government agencies monitor them. These dynamics give the show its dramatic tension, as does the suspense of wondering how it will all turn out.

 

Coincidentally, 4400 is also the number of people who return to Indianapolis annually after “disappearing.” 

 

Of the 650,000 incarcerated individuals who are released from penal institutions in America each year, approximately 4,400 return here. Their initial disappearance from our streets was due to their own misbehavior rather than a plot device, of course, but in other ways, these ex-offenders have more in common with the television returnees than we might think.

 

Depending on the length of time served, many will find the world a different place. Computers, cell-phones, ATMs, transportation—all the technology that morphs with dizzying speed—has changed the everyday environment. Family members have moved, married or remarried, died or written them off.  Just as in the TV show, returnees’ movements are monitored, and they face persistent stigma and suspicion and a host of perverse incentives that seem designed to make re-offending easier than going straight. 

 

The greatest problem these ex-felons will face is getting a job. Employment has been shown to significantly decrease recidivism, but for many reasons (some sound, some not), up to 70% of private-sector employers refuse to hire ex-felons, period—irrespective of the nature of the underlying crime or its relevance to the workplace in question.

 

No sane person wants child molesters working at a day-care center, but as a local judge recently noted, every ex-con isn’t Charles Manson. Some are truly bad actors, but many were kids who got into bad company and made serious mistakes. Others ran afoul of our draconian drug policies. It was appropriate that they pay for breaking the rules, but we all benefit by helping those who genuinely want a fresh start.

 

America imprisons a greater proportion of its population than any other western nation. Most of those prisoners will eventually be returned to our communities. If we choose to slam every door, foreclose every opportunity, Indianapolis will have to deal with our own 4400—4400 people every single year who have nothing to lose by returning to lives outside the law.

 

There are no simple answers, no pat policy prescriptions. Sometimes, hiring an ex-offender presents an unacceptable risk; other times, refusing to give someone a second chance is the greater risk.  

 

Television shows can wrap up problems tidily in an hour. Real life is a lot harder.    

 

 

Comments

One of the few television shows I follow is a science-fiction thriller called “The 4400.” The premise is simple: over a period of fifty-plus years, people have inexplicably disappeared, one by one. Then—suddenly—they are all returned. They have no memory of where they have been, and most face a world that is vastly changed; new social mores, new technologies, new national alliances. They are also different. They have been given new powers, and some don’t cope very well with the challenge those powers represent.

 

The returnees encounter fear and stigma. Relatives shun them; government agencies monitor them. These dynamics give the show its dramatic tension, as does the suspense of wondering how it will all turn out.

 

Coincidentally, 4400 is also the number of people who return to Indianapolis annually after “disappearing.” 

 

Of the 650,000 incarcerated individuals who are released from penal institutions in America each year, approximately 4,400 return here. Their initial disappearance from our streets was due to their own misbehavior rather than a plot device, of course, but in other ways, these ex-offenders have more in common with the television returnees than we might think.

 

Depending on the length of time served, many will find the world a different place. Computers, cell-phones, ATMs, transportation—all the technology that morphs with dizzying speed—has changed the everyday environment. Family members have moved, married or remarried, died or written them off.  Just as in the TV show, returnees’ movements are monitored, and they face persistent stigma and suspicion and a host of perverse incentives that seem designed to make re-offending easier than going straight. 

 

The greatest problem these ex-felons will face is getting a job. Employment has been shown to significantly decrease recidivism, but for many reasons (some sound, some not), up to 70% of private-sector employers refuse to hire ex-felons, period—irrespective of the nature of the underlying crime or its relevance to the workplace in question.

 

No sane person wants child molesters working at a day-care center, but as a local judge recently noted, every ex-con isn’t Charles Manson. Some are truly bad actors, but many were kids who got into bad company and made serious mistakes. Others ran afoul of our draconian drug policies. It was appropriate that they pay for breaking the rules, but we all benefit by helping those who genuinely want a fresh start.

 

America imprisons a greater proportion of its population than any other western nation. Most of those prisoners will eventually be returned to our communities. If we choose to slam every door, foreclose every opportunity, Indianapolis will have to deal with our own 4400—4400 people every single year who have nothing to lose by returning to lives outside the law.

 

There are no simple answers, no pat policy prescriptions. Sometimes, hiring an ex-offender presents an unacceptable risk; other times, refusing to give someone a second chance is the greater risk.  

 

Television shows can wrap up problems tidily in an hour. Real life is a lot harder.    

 

 

Comments