Making crime hit home for offenders

NEW YORK -- The playful banter of two dozen teenagers rang throughout a spare, airy room one recent evening in Brooklyn, but the young voices immediately fell silent once a 15-year-old boy in baggy pants and a hooded sweatshirt walked in alone, looking perplexed.

He was there to face sanctions for spraying graffiti on a neighborhood building, and many of the teens were about to serve as a jury of his peers in a real-life court proceeding. Others would act as judge, prosecutor, defense advocate, and bailiff.

Wearing red shirts and poker faces, the teens sat on wooden benches firing off questions: ''Why did you do it? How did you feel when the police handcuffed you? How did you feel when your father picked you up from the police station?"

The ''youth court" was created by the State of New York and local residents to try teens who have been accused of low-level offenses, cases that police believe warrant an appearance before the court.

It is one of dozens of examples across the nation of people attempting to use community pressure to control crime in their neighborhoods. In some cases, those appearing before the community boards are referred to the system by judges or prosecutors. But in virtually every case they have to agree to appear.

When adults are involved as members or offenders, the panels are frequently called community accountability boards and are sometimes said to rely on the ''grandma effect" because relatives, neighbors, and local ministers are used to deter offenders from getting into trouble again.

Since starting in Vermont a decade ago, the movement to engage neighborhood residents in meting out justice has spread to Arizona, Florida, Minnesota, Colorado, and Massachusetts. Offenders agree to meet with the citizen panels, discuss how their unlawful actions hurt the entire neighborhood, and comply with whatever sanctions they impose, often an apology or a stint of community service. The goal is to shame the behavior but embrace the individual as a neighbor.

''It gives that authority back to the community but the purpose is not to punish people, but hold offenders accountable, and it gives the victims a voice," said Carolyn Boyes-Watson, an associate professor of sociology at Suffolk University.

''Ask anyone over 30, and they will tell you that 'when I was a kid caught talking trash, my neighbor said something about it,' but these days many people are afraid to discipline other people's kids, and if they do the kids will give them a finger," said Boyes-Watson, director of Suffolk's Center for Restorative Justice. ''But this is an attempt to revive some of that moral authority back to the community."

Restorative justice focuses on repairing the harm caused by a crime and meeting the needs of victims. According to David Karp, associate professor of sociology at Skidmore University, more than 227 accountability boards and youth courts operate across the country.

Critics describe the community-based efforts as soft justice. They also contend that it is hard to judge their effectiveness because most are voluntary, and those offenders who agree to go before the boards are usually willing to repent.

David Muhlhausen, a senior policy analyst at the Heritage Foundation, said that some programs can be helpful, but that peer pressure alone will not work without clear consequences for misbehavior.

''Programs like a youth court may be an alternative, but there need to be sanctions in place if juveniles do not follow through," he said. ''Also, for offenders being released -- if they have done their time and are ready to be released, these boards can be helpful, but they also need to make sure offenders are abiding by the terms of their release."

A decade ago, Vermont residents were frustrated with the rise in incarceration, but the state lacked money to build more prisons. The state's citizen panels grew out of that need as well as research that indicated the public wanted lawbreakers to be held accountable and to repair the damage, and also for residents to be involved in that process, said Hans Johnson, regional director of community development for Vermont's Department of Corrections.

Since then, 62 boards in 43 Vermont towns have been created. The boards have handled 1,421 cases.

Karp, who has studied the Vermont program, acknowledges it is difficult to gauge whether such programs reduce the number of repeat offenders because most programs -- even those in Vermont -- are new. But he said the best measure is if the community feels offenders have accepted responsibility for their actions and made amends. In Vermont, 91 percent of the offenders who met with community boards made restitution, far more than in traditional courts. Karp said 92 percent of the boards were satisfied with the results.

In Massachusetts, Springfield, Concord, and Greenfield have programs for offenders that involve the community.

In Springfield, offenders about to be released from prison for crimes ranging from murder to theft can volunteer to meet with members of the community where the offenses took place. Sister Mary Quinn, the Restorative Justice coordinator for Hampden County, helps offenders prepare for their first meeting with the community.

''We try to be honest and explain we are not retrying a case here," she said. ''We tell them the community wants to talk to you about two major themes: First, you need to be responsible and accountable for your crime, but they also want you to be welcomed back -- but do not want you doing in our neighborhood what you were doing before." An appearance before the Springfield board can result in an early release, but does not guarantee it.

Nor are there guarantees in New York. But Judge Alex Calabrese, who presides over the Red Hook Community Justice Center, the umbrella agency for the youth court, believes the juvenile offenders who come to the court listen to their peers more than they would to adults. He often sends criminal cases, such as minor assaults and theft, to the youth court, but it normally deals with offenses in which formal charges have not yet been brought. Officials said 85 percent of the offenders complete restitution, ranging from community service to letters of apology.

Although some of the nation's schools have student disciplinary boards, the youth court differs in having the backing of a judiciary that enforces state law.

Red Hook is a Brooklyn community of about 20,000, dominated by a sprawling brick housing development. Its residents, most of whom are poor and African-American or Latino, dubbed one apartment building ''La Farmacia" because illegal drugs were sold there.

In 1998, court officials knocked on doors to find children to participate in the youth court, which operated out of a former crack den in the housing development until the justice center opened two years later in an abandoned Catholic school. Youngsters involved with the youth court meet twice a week and receive $100 a month.

State studies show residents' perception about the police and court system has improved since the creation of the Red Hook Community Justice Center. Residents also sense things have gotten better in their community, including problems with drugs and garbage. Red Hook did not have a murder last year, a first in 35 years.

Unlike the makeup of other youth courts across the country, many of Red Hook's members are not top students, said Adam Mansky, director of operations for the Center for Court Innovation, which worked with the New York state court system to create the youth court. Some have been kicked out of traditional schools, he said, and others were hired after being in the hot seat in youth court. Most come from the area.

Lamaran Diallo, 14, of Red Hook, who served as bailiff during the recent trial, said she still has her doubts about the legal system, but now she wants to be a judge to correct it. ''I feel good that these kids coming here are not going to jail, because jail doesn't stop things," she said.

Melissa Dobles, the 16-year-old judge, looked stern in the court as she told everyone to shut off their cellphones and to keep the proceedings confidential. A reporter was allowed to attend the session on condition the young offender was not identified or interviewed.

Lionell Cowan, 17, served as advocate for the boy with the baggy pants, who received two months of community service removing graffiti and had to write an apology letter. Cowan said the boy was taken aback to walk into a room packed with his peers.

''I told him what was happening, but it catches you by surprise," said Cowan, who will attend Howard University this fall. ''I feel that we are really helping the boy, and we are helping Red Hook feel better about its image."