The Arc

In September 2005, the Bureau of Justice Assistance of the U.S. Department of Justice funded ten demonstration projects and one technical assistance provider under its new Community-Based Problem-Solving Criminal Justice Initiative. The Initiative aims to broaden the scope of problem-solving courts, testing their approach to wider defendant populations and applying key problem-solving principles—links to social services, rigorous judicial monitoring, aggressive community outreach—outside of the specialized court context.  The Center for Court Innovation was named technical assistance provider for the Initiative, and will assist the ten demonstration sites in implementing their problem-solving initiatives. These grantees are: the Pima County Juvenile Court Center, Arizona; the San Diego City Attorney's Office, California; the City of Atlanta Community Court Division, Georgia; the Sault Tribe of Chippewa Indians, Michigan; Bronx Community Solutions, New York; the Athens County Municipal Court, Ohio; Clackamas County, Oregon; the Fourth Circuit, South Carolina; the Office of the Commonwealth's Attorney, Lynchburg, Virginia; and the City of Seattle, Washington. Click on the names above to read abstracts of each winning proposal.

    The New York State Adult Drug Court Evaluation, which can be read in its entirety here, evaluates adult drug courts in New York State, one of a handful of states that is engaged in a coordinated effort to institutionalize drug courts statewide. With funding from the Bureau of Justice Assistance of the U.S. Department of Justice, the Center for Court Innovation, in collaboration with the New York State Unified Court System, spent three years documenting the policies, participant characteristics, and performance of participants in eleven of the state’s oldest and largest drug courts. Four were from large urban counties of New York City (Bronx, Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens); one is suburban (Suffolk); three are from medium-sized cities (Syracuse, Rochester, and Buffalo); and three were from small city/semi-rural areas (Tonawanda, Lackawanna, and Ithaca). At six of these drug courts, impact evaluations were also conducted to determine effects on recidivism as compared with conventional case processing. What follows are some of the main points researchers concluded from the evaluation. Impact on Recidivism All six drug courts (Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, Suffolk, Syracuse, and Rochester) produced recidivism reductions compared with conventional case processing. The six courts represent a mix of geographic areas and policies (e.g., regarding eligibility criteria, screening and assessment protocols, graduation requirements, approach to sanctions, and supplemental services). Since the measurement periods tracked defendants at least three years after the initial arrest and at least one year after program completion, the results indicate that positive drug court impacts are durable over time. The six drug courts generated an average 29% recidivism reduction over the three-year post-arrest period and an average 32% reduction over the one-year post-program period. Major findings are as follows: Reduced post-arrest recidivism: Drug court participation led to a lower probability of recidivism three years after the initial arrest (significant in five courts and p < .10 in the sixth). Depending on the drug court, recidivism reductions ranged from 13% to 47% (average reduction = 29%) relative to the comparison group level. Reduced post-program recidivism: Drug court impacts extended beyond the period of program participation. Drug court participation led to a lower probability of recidivism at one year post-program (significant in three courts, p < .10 in one court, and suggested by the numbers but not significant in two). Post-program recidivism reductions ranged from 19% to 52% (average reduction = 32%). Survival over time: When comparing in-program to post-program recidivism rates for drug court participants, recidivism did not rise in the post-program period, but rather declined in three of the six courts. Further, when comparing participant and comparison group recidivism rates after each additional year following the initial arrest (a “survival analysis”), in only one of the six courts was there clear evidence of attenuation of the drug court impact over time. This was contrary to the expectation that the magnitude of the drug court impact would peak immediately following the arrest (when judicial monitoring is most intensive); instead, results in most sites revealed positive long-term impacts persisting beyond the period of active judicial supervision. Impact of drug court graduation: Drug court graduates were far less likely than comparison defendants to recidivate in all six courts; however, drug court failures were as likely, if not more so, as comparison defendants to recidivate in four of the six courts. Translation: the benefits of drug court participation largely accrue to those who successfully graduate. Impact of arrest charge: In Rochester, participants arrested on drug charges performed better relative to the comparison group than participants arrested on a select number of non-drug charges. Although the analysis is relatively limited in scope and requires future replication, the findings suggest that drug courts may be more successful in curtailing drug-based criminal behavior (indicated by drug charges) than in curtailing criminal behavior driven by other criminal propensities. Other predictors of recidivism: Among drug court participants and comparison defendants alike, those with prior misdemeanor convictions and of younger age were generally more likely than others to recidivate across all courts and analyses. Impact on Case Processing and Case Outcomes For the same six sites, the impacts of drug courts on criminal case processing and case outcomes were analyzed. Key findings include: Initial case processing speed: Drug court cases reach initial disposition more quickly than conventional court cases. Participants in all six drug courts spent significantly less time from arrest to initial disposition/program entry than comparison defendants. Total Time Pending: When in-program participation time was included in the calculation, processing time for participants was far longer than for comparison defendants (due to the length of the drug court program). Hence to achieve positive impacts such as lower recidivism, drug courts require a significant up-front investment of court resources. Sentencing: Average sentence length stemming from the initial criminal case is sometimes shorter than in conventional prosecution—and sometimes not. Whereas graduates are never sent to jail or prison, drug court failures receive longer incarceration sentences than comparison defendants in five of the six courts. This highlights the importance of drug court graduation in reducing the use of incarceration. When considering initial case outcomes for all participants at once (combining graduates and failures), drug court participants averaged significantly shorter jail or prison sentences in three of six courts; but in one court, drug court participants were sentenced for significantly longer on average and in the remaining two courts, there was no significant difference. Program Retention Rates Retention is a key measure of program success. A one-year retention rate indicates the percentage of participants who, exactly one year after entering drug court, had either graduated or remained active in the drug court program. Earlier research finds that retention not only indicates success in treatment but also predicts future success in the form of lower post-program recidivism and drug use. Drug courts generally produce higher retention rates than community-based treatment programs accepting a combination of voluntary and court-mandated treatment participants. Key findings about program retention and graduation rates across the eleven drug courts studied here include: Retention rates: The one-year retention rate exceeds the national standard of 60% for drug courts in eight of eleven courts studied (five New York State courts exceeded 70%). Long-term retention/graduation rates: When the retention period is extended to two and three years, more than half of participants in eight of eleven New York State courts are retained—and the rate exceeds 60% in three courts. The three-year retention rate gives a close approximation of each drug court’s final graduation rate. Predictors of Success Across five drug courts (Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, Suffolk, and Syracuse), several characteristics consistently predicted both drug court graduation and lower recidivism: Participant characteristics: Consistent with earlier studies, age predicted success; older defendants were more likely to graduate and less likely to recidivate. A primary drug of heroin made graduation less likely (in two of three courts examined for this effect) and prior criminal convictions were near universally predictive of future recidivism. Also, participants entering on property charges were somewhat more likely to return to criminal activity than those entering on drug charges. Immediacy: Immediate engagement in treatment (e.g., avoidance of early warranting) universally and strongly predicted drug court graduation. Importance of graduation: Graduation is itself a powerful predictor of avoiding post-program recidivism; those who failed drug court were far more likely to recidivate in the post-program period.5 Further, contrary to previous research with non-drug court populations, no benefit was found to spending more total time in treatment only to fail in the end. Among those who failed, more time in the drug court program (measured in four courts) or more days specifically attending treatment (measured in one court) had no impact on post-program recidivism. These results strongly point to drug court graduation as the pivotal indicator of long-term outcomes. Drug Court Policies and Participant Characteristics In considering the drug court policies and participant characteristics in eleven courts, the analysis produced four general findings: Diversity of approaches: There is no single drug court model. All eleven courts mandate community-based treatment, regular drug testing, case management visits, updates before a dedicated judge, and rewards and sanctions in response to progress or noncompliance. However, policies vary considerably across several domains—legal eligibility criteria, whether a guilty plea is required prior to entry (the pre-plea or post-plea models), approach to treatment and case management, specific sanctioning practices, graduation requirements, legal consequences of graduation (e.g., case dismissal or charge reduction), and legal consequences of failure (e.g., length of resulting jail or prison sentence). Drug use patterns: The eleven courts also treat participants with different presenting problems. The median duration of drug use ranges from eight years (Manhattan and Queens) to eighteen (Brooklyn); and while the five most common primary drugs are similar statewide (heroin, crack, cocaine, marijuana, and alcohol), they are used in different proportions in each jurisdiction. Socioeconomic disadvantage: In all eleven courts, nearly half of the participants (and a much higher percentage in several) were neither employed nor in school at intake. More than a quarter of participants were currently or formerly homeless in seven courts. Female participants: The challenges faced by female drug court participants were particularly acute (including more severe drug use, treatment histories, and socioeconomic disadvantage than males), highlighting the need for supplemental services for this population. Treatment and Recovery Major findings about the treatment and recovery process include: Treatment capacity: Despite early questions about whether there is sufficient treatment capacity in New York State to serve the increased demand for treatment generated by drug courts, so far participants have been able to enter treatment rapidly. The median time from drug court intake to treatment placement is less than one month in eight of nine courts examined and less than ten days in three courts. Treatment modality: Over half of participants begin in an outpatient modality, in all but two courts. When clinically feasible, most courts prefer to begin participants in outpatient treatment and then upgrade to inpatient in response to relapses or other compliance problems. Characteristics generally indicating a higher probability of inpatient care are primary drug of choice (heroin), living situation (homeless), employment status (unemployed) and age (younger defendants). Relapse: Relapse and noncompliance are common, even among those who ultimately succeed. In seven of eight courts examined, at least half of all graduates had at least one positive drug test, and many had several positives—usually in the earlier stages of participation. This highlights the value of drug courts according multiple chances to participants experiencing early problems. Graduated sanctions: In responding to noncompliance, drug courts apply sanctions, such as writing an essay, observing drug court for several days from the jury box, more frequent court appearances or case management visits, community service, or short jail stays. However, drug courts vary widely in the type and severity of sanctions most frequently used. Across three courts examined in depth (Brooklyn, Queens, and Suffolk), none routinely follow a “graduated sanctions” model, where successive infractions are met with increasingly severe sanctions. Instead, some infractions are always met with a similar sanction response. For example, a warrant or new arrest in Brooklyn nearly always incurs a jail sanction. Also, drug court teams frequently make individualized decisions based on what they believe will be most effective with a particular participant rather than adhering to a rigid schedule of graduated sanctions. Achievements beyond substance abuse recovery: Beyond substance abuse recovery, drug courts seek to promote further achievements and lifestyle changes in the areas of employment, education, vocational training, housing, and family reunification. Consistent with these goals, across all nine courts examined, graduates were significantly more likely to be employed at graduation than intake. Also, graduates in five of the nine courts were significantly more likely to be in school at graduation than intake. Conclusion This study provides strong evidence that drug courts produce lasting changes in their participants, persisting even after the period of active judicial supervision. In general, the study reveals impacts consistent with those detected in other evaluations that covered shorter timeframes and fewer courts. This study also finds that final program status is a critical predictor of subsequent outcomes. Drug court graduates had far lower recidivism rates than comparable defendants not entering the drug court, while drug court failures had similar or, in some courts, higher recidivism rates than the comparison group. Accordingly, future research should seek to pinpoint which policies and practices can help drug courts produce both more graduates and lower recidivism rates. With drug courts demonstrating considerable diversity in their geography, policies, and practices, the next generation of studies should seek to answer why drug courts work and how they can produce positive outcomes for more of their participants.  

Mental health courts are creating a great deal of discussion and have provoked a surprising variety of responses from stakeholders in the criminal justice system and the mental health system. Here are some of the challenges, questions and tensions under discussion.   Use of Jail Many mental health court practitioners struggle with the issue of whether it is ever appropriate to use jail as a sanction for defendants who fail to take their medications or participate in treatment. In drug court, there’s a certain logic to sending offenders to jail for dirty urine because they’re violating the law—there’s a clear connection between the incarceration and the violation. When a mentally ill defendant stops taking his medications, he may have violated the court’s order but no law has been broken. What kinds of sanctions are appropriate in this case? And apart from appropriateness, there are questions about the effectiveness of jail for offenders with mental illness. For instance, the King County Mental Health Court in Seattle, Washington, tries to avoid using jail sanctions because offenders’ mental condition often deteriorates in jail, making it harder for them to re-engage in treatment upon release (Cayce, 2000). The San Bernardino, California Mental Health Court also seeks to avoid the use of jail, but for a different reason. Interestingly, they found that offenders with mental illness were simply not motivated by the threat of jail. Many regarded a stay in jail as a welcome relief from the difficulties of life in treatment or in the community (Morris, 2000). As a result, San Bernardino has aggressively employed community service sanctions instead. Beyond Legal Competency Legal competency statutes and rulings set a very low standard for participation in criminal proceedings. Even if defendants meet the standard for legal competency to stand trial, their mental disorders may impair their abilities to make effective treatment decisions (Grisso & Applebaum, 1998). Given this, what expectations of competency should mental health courts adopt? One approach to this difficult question is offered by King County, which permits defendants to enter treatment for a short period of time pre-plea to stabilize their condition and maximize their ability to make competent decisions about their legal and treatment options. Treatment Availability/Effectiveness Mental illnesses are various and complicated. Are certain mental illnesses less susceptible to treatment than others? How do you handle defendants for whom medication simply has no effect? Are there some illnesses for which treatment will have no impact on recidivism? Is there enough “integrated” treatment available for defendants with co-occurring disorders? Public Safety A single sensational story about a participant committing a violent act could be enough to sink the entire mental health court movement. Courts must always balance the desire to rehabilitate with the need to preserve public safety. How can mental health courts quickly and effectively assess the public safety risks posed by defendants with mental illness? How reliable are the available risk assessment instruments? How should they be used? Stigma and Confidentiality Do mental health courts run the danger of stigmatizing defendants with mental illness? What happens if a defendant decides not to opt in to mental health court and the case is transferred to a conventional court? What information should the new judge and prosecutor receive about that defendant’s mental illness, if any? And would this information have the potential to prejudice the way that the prosecutor and judge treated the defendant in subsequent proceedings? More generally, what kinds of confidentiality protections are appropriate for the information that defendants reveal as part of their involvement with mental health court? Housing Many defendants with mental illness are homeless—they need housing in addition to treatment. And the effectiveness of treatment may be seriously compromised without adequate housing (Ades, 2001). How will mental health courts ensure access to housing for those defendants who require it? Public Benefits The vast majority of participants in mental health courts will require public benefits—Medicaid, Social Security Insurance or Social Security Disability Insurance—for their subsistence and treatment. These federal benefits are often terminated or suspended when a person is jailed. As a result, when defendants are released, they must re-apply for benefits. It often takes several weeks before benefits applications are processed and payments begin. This leaves many defendants with mental illness in limbo, unable to meet their basic support and health needs (GAINS Center, 1999). What, if anything, can mental health courts do to address this problem? The Role of the Courts Many individuals who end up in mental health courts have already been in the mental health system at some point in their lives. What evidence is there that courts can bring about different results? What do they bring to the table that’s unique? Is it simply coercion? Or is it something else? Can courts promote enhanced system integration, bringing together criminal justice, mental health and drug treatment agencies? Answering these questions will go a long way toward coming to terms with a more fundamental question: Are mental health courts a good thing or a bad thing? This is a question that can only be answered over time, with the help of solid, independent research and more practice on the ground. While mental health courts have raised difficult legal, ethical, practical and therapeutic concerns, it is important to note that many of these issues are not entirely new. Drug courts, community courts, domestic violence courts and other problem-solving courts have been grappling with these issues for years. And the record has shown that on a local level, many problem-solving courts have managed to figure out answers to thorny issues of confidentiality, proportionality, case targeting and public safety. Mental health courts must figure out how to build on the best of the existing problem-solving courts while formulating new responses to issues that are unique to the mental health field. Works Cited Ades, Y. (2001). Interview with Yves Ades, Director, Mental Health Programs, Center for Alternative Sentences and Employment Services, New York, NY. Cayce, J. (2000). Interview with Hon. James D. Cayce, Presiding Judge of the King County District Court, who planned and presided over the King County Mental Health Court located in Seattle, WA. GAINS Center (1999). Medicaid Benefits for Jail Detainees with Co-Occurring Mental Health and Substance Use Disorders. Prepared by Sherman, R. Delmar, NY: The National GAINS Center for People with Co-Occurring Disorders in the Criminal Justice System. Available: https://www.prainc.com/gains/publications/medicaid.htm Grisso, T. & Applebaum, P. (1998). Assessing Competence to Consent to Treatment: A Guide for Physicians and Other Health Professionals. New York: Oxford University Press. Morris, P. (2000). Interview with Hon. Patrick Morris of the Superior Court in the City of San Bernadino, California about the Mental Health Comprehensive Offender Umbrella for Release and Treatment program.  

Today, there are mental health courts in a number of U.S. cities, and many more mental health courts are in the planning stages. A recent study by the Crime and Justice Research Institute documented the practices of the first four mental health courts, highlighting a set of common procedures and goals that typify the mental health court approach. Based on the success of the drug court model, a handful of jurisdictions across the country have developed specialized courts to address mental illness. Like drug courts, the central goal of mental health courts is to reduce the recidivism of defendants by providing them with court-monitored treatment. The first of these courts opened in June 1997 in Broward County, Florida.   Shortly after Broward opened its doors, several other municipalities began to plan mental health courts. Today, there are mental health courts in Seattle and Vancouver, Washington; San Bernardino, Santa Barbara and Santa Clara, California; Brooklyn, New York; Anchorage, Alaska; Marion County, Indiana; St. Louis, Missouri; Akron, Ohio; and Jefferson County, Alabama. A number of other mental health courts are in the planning stages. A recent study by the Crime and Justice Research Institute documented the practices of the first four mental health courts—Broward, King County (Seattle), San Bernardino and Anchorage (Goldkamp & Irons-Guynn, 2000). While each mental health court is unique, this study—and independent research on the other mental health courts—highlighted a set of common procedures and goals that typify the mental health court approach: Problem Solving Mental health courts mark an attempt by court systems to address a systemic problem, taking a critical look at the issues that defendants with mental illness pose for the courts and crafting a new set of responses. Put simply, these courts are not satisfied with continuing with business as usual—standard case processing or out-sourcing the solution to some other agency. (Finkelstein & Brawley, 1997). Public Safety By responding to widespread concerns about how courts deal with defendants with mental illness, mental health courts attempt to shore up public trust and confidence in the justice system. Indeed, many mental health courts have been created in response to a specific local crisis involving mentally ill defendants—for instance, the murder of a retired firefighter in Seattle, Washington by a person with mental illness (Goldkamp & Irons-Guynn, 2000). Therapeutic Jurisprudence In linking defendants with mental illness to treatment alternatives, many mental health courts see themselves as practicing “therapeutic jurisprudence” (Lurigio et al., 2001; Lerner-Wren, 2001; Wexler & Winnick, 1996). In one way or another, mental health courts are testing the extent to which the law can be a therapeutic agent—a social force producing positive life changes for defendants. Screening  Mental health courts develop new systems to identify defendants with mental illness. The point in the criminal justice process at which this intervention occurs varies by jurisdiction. Usually, identification takes place within 24 hours of arrest while defendants are still in custody. The primary sources of identification are jail staff, family members and defense attorneys. Eligibility Criteria After identification, each court has created eligibility criteria that target a certain type of defendant. Almost all programs require that defendants have symptoms of severe mental illness and face non-violent, misdemeanor charges. San Bernardino’s court has handled some non-violent felonies on a case-by-case basis. In general, mental health courts specify that the defendants’ mental illnesses must be “Axis I disorders” as designated in the Diagnostic Statistics Manual IV (American Psychiatric Association, 1994). Dedicated Staff Each mental health court has a dedicated judge and some additional specialized staff. The specialized staff are usually mental health clinicians who screen cases for eligibility, prepare treatment plans, and report to the judge on defendants’ progress in treatment. In some cases, this staff is hired by the court system using new funding sources. In other cases, this staff is assigned from a collaborative government agency or from a local treatment provider. In general, mental health courts have been planned and overseen by interdisciplinary teams composed of a variety of criminal justice and behavioral health stakeholders. For instance, the Santa Clara Mental Health Court “team” includes the judge, district attorney, public defender, and mental health caseworkers (Santa Clara Bar Association, 2001). The team meets to discuss every case, with each representative providing input from their unique institutional perspective. Non-Traditional Roles Mental health courts—like drug courts before them—have altered the dynamics of the courtroom, including, at times, certain features of the adversarial process. For example, in some courts defenders and prosecutors come together to discuss their common goals for each defendant. Mental health courts may engage judges in unfamiliar roles as well, asking them to convene meetings and broker relationships with service providers. Voluntariness Participation in mental health court is voluntary—defendants must affirmatively “opt-in” to receive treatment. For instance, the King County Mental Health Court in Washington gives defendants two weeks in a treatment placement to help them decide whether to participate in the program or not (during this time, their attorneys can also investigate the strength of the case against their client) (Goldkamp & Irons-Guynn, 2000). Plea Structure Once a defendant opts into a mental health court, one of two things happens: either prosecution is “frozen” and charges are dropped after the defendant successfully completes treatment, or a plea is taken and later vacated (or charges reduced) after treatment is completed. All of the mental health courts require a longer period of time in treatment than the defendant would have served in jail or prison if they had plead guilty to the crime charged, and most courts require participating defendants to spend a minimum of one year in treatment. The rationale behind this is two-fold. First, mandated treatment involves many fewer restrictions than being incarcerated (many defendants are even released to their own residences). Second, mental health courts are willing to invest in treatment only if there is real promise of reducing symptom severity (and thereby reducing recidivism). Experience indicates that it takes at least a year to successfully engage people with mental illness in treatment. Accordingly, many mental health courts reserve the right to extend offenders’ period of treatment in the event of non-compliance. Judicial Monitoring Mental health courts require participants to return frequently to court to enable the judge to monitor the progress of treatment. Court appearances are made less frequently as participants demonstrate consistent compliance over a sustained period of time. System Integration Mental health courts seek to promote reform with partners outside of the courthouse as well as within. For instance, mental health courts have encouraged mental health and drug treatment providers to come together to improve service delivery for offenders. Works Cited American Psychiatric Association (1994). Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition (DSM-IV). Washington, D.C. Finkelstein, H. & Brawley, D. (1997). Introduction. Broward County Mental Health Court Status Report, 1(1). Ft. Lauderdale, FL: Broward County Public Defender. (Both authors are Chief Assistant Public Defenders). Available: https://www.browarddefender.com/mhealth/volume_i_mental_health.htm#Vol I, No. 1 Goldkamp, J. & Irons-Guynn, S. (2000). Judicial Strategies for the Mentally Ill in the Criminal Caseload: Mental Health Courts in Fort Lauderdale, Seattle, San Bernardino, and Anchorage. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs, Drug Courts Program Office. Available: https://www.ncjrs.org/html/bja/mentalhealth/contents.html Lerner-Wren, G. (2001). Letter from the Mental Health Court Judge. Third Annual Mental Health Court Progress Report. Ft. Lauderdale, FL: 17th Judicial Circuit, Broward County, Florida. Available: https://www.co.broward.fl.us/ojss/jsi00500.html Lurigio, A., Watson, A., Luchins, D., Hanrahan, P. (2001). Therapeutic Jurisprudence in Action: Specialized Courts and the Mentally Ill. Judicature, 84(4), 184-189. Santa Clara Bar Association (2001). Time for a Change: The Mental Health Court of the County of Santa Clara (Press Release of April 3, 2001) reprinted in Santa Clara Bar Association Legal Links. Santa Clara, CA: Superior Court of California, County of Santa Clara.  

In order to sanction offenders who commit certain low-level offenses and educate them about the effects of their actions, planners at Midtown Community Court came up with the idea of Community Impact Panels: mediated sessions in which community members meet with offenders to discuss the impact of their offenses on the community.   Problem The Midtown Community Court was established in 1993 to combat quality-of-life offenses such as shoplifting, turnstile jumping and graffiti. The Court, the first of its kind in the nation, is based on the philosophy that meaningful and visible sanctions for low-level crimes, combined with access to services, can restore a community's sense of safety as well as prevent future offending. Typical sanctions include one to 10 days of community service, such as painting over graffiti or cleaning up local parks. Services, which can either be mandated by the court or accessed voluntarily, include on-site counseling, drug treatment and job training. For some offenses, however, Court planners had difficulty finding a sanction to match the crime. Some low-level offenses, such as public drinking or public urination, were too minor to warrant a full day of community service, but too serious to let go with a fine. In addition to calibrating the punishment with the crime, the Court wanted to find a way to make the sanction meaningful to both the community and the offender. "For a lot of [low-level] offenders, paying a fine is too easy," says Judge Eileen Koretz, who presides at the Midtown Community Court. "They just pay and get out. They don't really understand why the police are bothering to pick them up; that police don't just arrest people, they respond to the community's concerns." Solution In order to sanction offenders who commit certain low-level offenses and educate them about the effects of their actions, court planners came up with the idea of Community Impact Panels. This sanction requires more of the offender than a fine, but is not as time-consuming as community service, thus matching the seriousness of the crime to its punishment. Community Impact Panels are mediated sessions in which community members meet with offenders to discuss the impact of their offenses on the community. The goal is to show offenders that their crimes harm the neighborhood and to keep them from offending again. Each Community Impact Panel is composed of community representatives, a facilitator, and offenders. The community representatives are volunteers, recruited by the Court from the neighborhood. They include people who live and work in the area: merchants, citizens, social service providers, the police and representatives of the faith community. The facilitator is a trained mediator. The role of the mediator is to help the two groups stay focused and maintain respect for each other over the course of the discussion. Planners decided that it was vital for participation in the Panels to be mandatory for offenders. Compelling offenders of low-level offenses to go to Court and attend an Impact Panel is a form of punishment that expresses the community's disapproval. Implementation In January 1999, with funding from the U.S. Department of Justice, Community Impact Panels made their formal debut as a sanction at the Court. In the courtroom, the judge makes a determination about whether an Impact Panel is an appropriate sanction for a given offender as part of the standard plea bargain process. Typically, those linked to the Impact Panels are offenders with no previous record. If sanctioned, participation in the Impact Panels is mandatory. On the day the Impact Panel has been scheduled, offenders receive a basic, one-hour training and orientation from a Court mediator. Community members also receive a one-hour training to help them prepare for the unpredictable nature of the conversations. In addition to explaining the basic purpose of the Impact Panels, the Court provides volunteers with tips for defusing anger and using non-judgmental language. The Impact Panel discussion lasts one hour and usually includes four offenders, four community members and a Court mediator. All of the participants sit together around a table, with community members on one side and offenders on the other. The mediator initiates the discussion and then facilitates, making sure that everyone is allowed an opportunity to share his or her perspective. Discussion often covers a wide range of issues, from the causes of the crimes committed to possible solutions. Brief surveys are administered both before and after Impact Panels to gauge their effectiveness. After offenders complete the requirement, their cases are dismissed after six months so long as they aren't re-arrested. Challenges Finding the appropriate tone: Panel participation is intended to be a positive experience for everyone involved, which is why skilled facilitators are essential to ensure that both sides maintain an attitude of respect. "If what you want is respect for your neighborhood, you can help that process out by giving some respect up front," says Stuart Sears, a mediator who originally helped coordinate the project. Sears, who facilitated many of the Panels and who also helped attract community volunteers, learned that offenders say more when the process is not overly judgmental of them. Community representatives are also uncomfortable with the process when they feel they need to judge the offenders. This distinction had not been made clear at one early Panel in which all the offenders were johns. "They felt they were being asked to judge the people sitting across the table from them, and they reacted against that," Sears recalls. "That really made us rethink what we were doing in terms of training participants. We don't want the community representatives to do something that two hours later they feel badly about." Integrating police into the panel: Soon after the program began, the Police Department representative on the Court's advisory board suggested that a police officer would be able to contribute an important perspective to the conversation, allowing offenders and community members to understand how police make decisions related to the topic at hand. Others feared, however, that a police officer would intimidate offenders and inhibit their candor. And some also worried that a police officer's presence would be a distraction, turning the Panel into a cop-bashing session. As it turned out, the police perspective was integrated into the sessions without sabotaging the spirit of trust and honesty or diverting conversation. Recruiting volunteers: Panels are sometimes difficult to arrange. The Court tries not to use community members more than once or twice in order to keep the voices fresh and to involve over time as many community members as possible. Finding new community members and scheduling the Impact Panels at a mutually convenient time, however, kept the number of Panels relatively small—16 over the course of the programs's first year, involving 44 community members and 59 defendants. This represents only a small fraction of the Court's annual caseload of over 15,000 cases. Recruiting community members has gotten a little easier over time as word of mouth about the Panels has grown. Results Nearly 70 percent of participants—both offenders and community members—reported that the Impact Panels were "worthwhile" or "very worthwhile." All 59 offenders surveyed answered affirmatively when asked whether they felt the community members had treated them with respect. When asked what they learned from the process, answers included: "It enlightened me that people live in this area," "It drives home the point of personal responsibility very effectively," and "I learned that specific acts can have a ripple effect." These responses are particularly significant given the offenders' attitudes toward their offenses prior to the Panels: 60 percent had said that they thought their actions were "not harmful." As for community participants, 96 percent felt that the Impact Panels had given them the opportunity to present their point of view. And 84 percent felt that the offenders who participated had learned that their actions had a negative effect on the surrounding community. This response was typical: "It's an opportunity for the offenders to see the faces of the people they have affected. It makes it real."  

In Spring 2003, the Crown Heights Community Mediation Center conducted a formal survey to assess the needs and concerns of the Crown Heights, Brooklyn, community, as well as to gauge the community’s use and awareness of the Mediation Center. The Operation Data survey provided a forum for community members to voice their concerns about issues of quality of life, safety, services, conflict, and diversity in their neighborhood. The Spring 2003 Crown Heights Operation Data survey was conducted by approximately ten members of the New York City Public Safety Corps, a number of whom had been working primarily in the Crown Heights area and were, therefore, somewhat familiar with the neighborhood. The Corps members administered a total of 198 surveys with members of the Crown Heights community, both door-to-door with local residences and businesses as well as with individuals in public spaces (e.g., parks, bus stops, etc.). The 128 questions in the survey covered such issues as quality of life, public safety, services, conflict, and diversity, as well as demographic characteristics of respondents. The Corps members conducted the survey for two weeks in April 2003. Just over one quarter of respondents (25.4%) had heard of the Crown Heights Community Mediation Center prior to this survey. Of these, 67% heard about the Mediation Center from a friend or family member, 11% heard about the Mediation Center from a newspaper or poster, and 8% heard about the Mediation Center from another local organization. Of those who had heard of it, 63% said that they were satisfied with the Mediation Center. Only one respondent reported being dissatisfied with the Mediation Center. Fourteen respondents had actually utilized services provided by the Mediation Center. When asked generally whether they saw the existence of a community-based mediation center in the neighborhood as a positive or negative thing, 63% of all respondents saw such a facility as a positive thing. Only 2% saw a community-based mediation center as a negative thing and, of these, only one had specifically heard of the Crown Heights Community Mediation Center. When asked to rate the quality of life in Crown Heights, the majority of respondents reported that things were neither extremely good nor extremely bad. Nearly 3/5 (58%) of respondents classified the quality of life as “okay,” while 22% found the quality of life to be poor or very poor and 20% found the quality of life in Crown Heights good or very good. Although 21% of respondents believed that the quality of life had improved in the past year, the majority of respondents (69%) felt it had stayed the same. Likewise, the majority of respondents (70%) felt that inter-racial, inter-religious, and inter-cultural relations had stayed the same over the past year. When asked whether they felt that inter-racial, inter-religious, and inter-cultural relationships in the neighborhood had improved or declined since 1991, the year of the Crown Heights riots, 74% of respondents reported that relations had remained the same. Due to methodological and data quality issues, the group of questions asking about specific quality-of-life issues were collapsed into a single quality of life index, measuring the average score given by respondents. The series included the following items: garbage on the streets, garbage collection, graffiti, run down parks and green areas, illegal dumping, streets in need of repairs, street lighting, turnstile jumping, disorderly conduct, public urination, littering, public drinking, drug selling in public, prostitution, panhandling, vandalism, traffic accidents, and abandoned or dilapidated buildings or houses. When rating the overall seriousness of these quality of life issues, more than half of all respondents (60%) rated them on average either a big or very big problem. Only 6% believed that the issues included in the index were not a problem at all for the neighborhood. Interestingly, although the majority (78%) of respondents reported the quality of life in Crown Heights to be good or “okay,” when asked about specific quality-of-life issues, the majority of respondents responded that quality-of-life issues were big or very big problems. Not surprisingly, respondents were most likely to report feeling safe in their homes, with 91% of respondents feeling safe or very safe in their own homes. Respondents also felt relatively safe in their lobbies and in stores, with 72% and 73% feeling either safe or very safe in these locations respectively. Respondents were least likely to feel safe on the streets (59% report feeling safe or very safe), in parks (60%), on the way to and from the subway (61%), and at the local subway station (61%). Similar to the quality-of-life index discussed above, responses to a number of safety questions were consolidated into a single safety index. Items included in the index were as follows: fighting in public, drug use in public, mugging, domestic violence, child neglect and abuse, residential burglary, shoplifting, youth violence, gangs, unsafe buildings, car theft, displaying guns, and using guns. 68% responded that these issues were either a big problem or a very big problem in the neighborhood. Respondents were asked to rank a number of youth-related issues. The responses were collapsed into a single index, which measures respondents’ average rating of youth problems in Crown Heights. The issues included in the index are: teen pregnancy, lack of resources for young people, lack of after school programs, gangs in schools, quality of schools, truancy, youth running away from home, youth congregating in the streets, and fighting in schools. A substantial majority—86%—of respondents felt that these issues posed “big” or “very big” problems to the youth in the community. In addition to questions about youth-related problems, respondents were asked to rate the importance of a number of youth services and programs as very important, somewhat important, or not important. Respondents were also asked if they thought that additional youth services were needed in Crown Heights. Only 11% of those interviewed felt that additional youth services were not needed in the community. More than 75% of respondents felt that each of the fourteen youth services and programs listed were very important (the services listed were family mediation services, counseling, mentoring, tutoring, jobs and job training, conflict resolution training, after-school programs, mediation in schools, and computer training, youth courts, dating abuse education, arts programs, sports, and religious organizations). In general, residents of Crown Heights feel that issues of quality of life, safety, and youth are problematic in their community. In all three indices, at least 3/5 of respondents rated the issues as big or very big problems. Youth problems stand out in particular, with 86% of respondents rating them problematic. These findings point to a wide range of potential issues for the Mediation Center and partner organizations to seek to address. One of the primary roles of the Crown Heights Community Mediation Center is to train mediators and provide mediation services to community members in conflict. In light of this, respondents were asked to indicate the frequency of various types of conflict within Crown Heights. Slightly more than half of respondents felt that landlord/tenant disputes and disputes between neighbors were common, while just under half of respondents felt that disputes between merchants and residents and disputes within families were common. While half of respondents believed such disputes were common, 17% or less of the respondents had had any of the four types of disputes themselves in the past year. However, when both respondents’ disputes and the disputes of their acquaintances are considered, at least 30% of respondents have had some personal experience with each of the four types of dispute. There appears to be a disconnect between estimates of disputes in Crown Heights and respondents’ actual experience of conflict. For example, while 55% of respondents indicated that landlord/tenant disputes were common or very common in Crown Heights, only 35% of participants had had such a dispute (16%) or knew someone who had had such a dispute (19%). Also, more than half (51%) of respondents reported having daily professional contact (defined as non-personal interactions, such as those one might have with merchants or co-workers) with people of a different race and with people of a different nationality than their own. Nearly half (49%) also reported having daily professional contact with people of a different religion than their own. More than 1/5 of respondents reported that they had professional contact with those of a different race (22%), religion (25%), or nationality (24%) rarely or never. Respondents reported more diversity in their personal lives; 60% of respondents reported having daily personal contact with people of a different religion or nationality and 57% reported having daily personal contact with people of a different race than their own. In general, respondents reported feeling safe with people from different religious, racial, and national backgrounds than themselves. More than 85% of respondents reported feeling safe or very safe with people from different races, religions, and nationalities. The findings that respondents in Crown Heights report extensive diversity in their personal and professional interactions and feel safe with members of diverse racial, religious, and national groups may indicate that public perceptions of Crown Heights as a community riddled with racial and ethnic strife do not accurately reflect the experiences of those who live and work in the community. This finding is particularly interesting, given the earlier finding that the majority of respondents did not feel that inter-racial and inter-ethnic relations had improved in Crown Heights since the 1991 riots.

    It is common for both the complaining witness and the defendant in a domestic violence case to believe that the victim brought the violence on herself. The court can respond to this by making sure that defendants understand that they are directly accountable to the judge for their behavior towards the complainant and their compliance with court orders. Domestic violence courts can encourage another kind of accountability as well, holding government and nonprofit partners accountable for serving victims and monitoring defendants in the most effective manner possible. Build strong relationships with service providers. Information is crucial to any effort to promote accountability. Strong relationships with service providers, such as batterers intervention programs and substance abuse treatment providers, ensure that when a defendant is noncompliant, the court is notified right away and can act accordingly. In Buffalo, service referrals are made through a clinical center located right in the courthouse, ensuring that information flows smoothly both from and to the court. Hold batterers programs accountable. Judges and case managers should research local batterers programs to determine which ones will reinforce the court’s message to defendants. Additionally, the court needs to work together with batterers programs so that they know what they have to tell the court and why. One batterers intervention program in Brooklyn, not accustomed to being accountable to the court, reported as a matter of course that all offenders sentenced to the program were in compliance even if they were not. When the court realized this, it stopped referring defendants to that program. This example highlights the need for constant communication with off-site programs. Think creatively. In many jurisdictions the local probation department can provide the court with specialized domestic violence officers to help supervise offenders. Probation and parole departments can monitor offenders even when they are no longer being monitored directly by the court. And local nonprofits can pitch in as well. In Queens, the domestic violence court has a representative from a local batterers intervention program sitting in the courtroom in order to conduct an immediate intake for each sentenced offender. This process eliminates a step from the process—sending the offender off-site to participate in an assessment interview—and thus improves efficiency and accountability. Use technology to enhance access to information. Computer technology can streamline the information process and ensure that relevant information flows continuously, quickly, and reliably to all dedicated personnel. Dedicated domestic violence courts use technology to help avoid contradictory rulings and to make more informed decisions about sentencing. New York has developed a specialized domestic violence technology application to allow judges, case managers, district attorneys, defense attorneys, probation officers, and community partners to have immediate access to important information regarding each domestic violence case.  

  To combat domestic violence, all segments of a community have to work together to send a consistent message that violence is not acceptable. Domestic violence courts can play a critical role in raising public consciousness and convening disparate partners to improve interagency communication. Create strong linkages with a wide range of partners. Because of its complexity, domestic violence inevitably involves a variety of local systems, agencies, and individuals. Recognizing this, domestic violence courts should aspire to expand the range of organizations that are involved in the court’s efforts. Partnerships between the domestic violence court and the many agencies that provide victim assistance/advocacy and defendant monitoring help to strengthen the message to the defendant—and to the community—that domestic violence is not tolerated. Convene regular meetings with criminal justice and social service partners. Interagency collaboration is crucial to ensuring communication, consistency, and continuing education about the court and domestic violence. The domestic violence judge can be a catalyst, providing leadership to the collaboration. Judges should invite all of the court’s partners—representatives from the prosecutor’s office, the defense bar, court officers, victim advocates, resource coordinators, batterers intervention programs, and probation—to participate in regular meetings. The meetings create an opportunity to clarify and understand the court’s expectation of everyone’s roles. Partner meetings can also focus on strengthening outreach to underserved communities and devising preventive education models. Partners, meetings in Westchester County, for example, frequently draw representatives from as many as fifty agencies to share new strategies and form new linkages. Provide court personnel and partners with domestic violence education and training. Domestic violence courts can continually educate and update staff and partners by scheduling regular court-sponsored trainings. In New York’s domestic violence courts, trainings have been held on a variety of topics featuring a wide range of both local and national experts. Trainings have ranged from “Domestic Violence 101” presentations held during Domestic Violence Awareness month to more in-depth day-long presentations focused on specific issues such as the overlap of child maltreatment and domestic violence. The goals of these trainings are really twofold—to provide ongoing support and reinforcement on domestic violence issues to court personnel and partners as well and to highlight the court’s commitment to handling domestic violence cases in an educated and serious manner.

To gain insight into questions about problem-solving courts and their expansion, in 2003 a Center for Court Innovation research team conducted four focus group sessions (in Burbank and San Francisco, California, and in New York City and Rochester, New York) and several individual interviews among a diverse group of judges with experience in drug courts, domestic violence courts, mental health courts, and other collaborative justice courts in those two states. In total, 35 judges participated in this exploratory research. The findings, although not necessarily representative of the general population of problem-solving court judges, provide important insights into the potential transferability of new practices to general court calendars. In the following excerpt, the question of how domestic violence courts compare to other problem-solving courts is addressed.     Focus group participants noted that there is a divide between domestic violence courts and other problem-solving court models, a divide marked by significant differences in philosophy and practice. This suggests that there may be no single, universal body of problem-solving principles and practices. It also suggests that the type of problem-solving court experience judges have had may influence how they view problem solving and what they consider to be transferable components. This fact was frequently acknowledged, both explicitly and implicitly, in exchanges among focus group participants. Perhaps most significant for this discussion, domestic violence courts do not view defendant rehabilitation as a high-priority part of the problem-solving process. This differs sharply from most problem-solving courts (with the possible exception of community courts). Rather, the mission of domestic violence courts concentrates more on the promotion of victim safety and offender accountability. In focus groups, judges further discussed the differences between domestic violence and other problem-solving courts. Domestic Violence Court Operations Based on experience, one judge believed you could effectively apply all the core problem-solving court practices in a domestic violence court, except that it would be inappropriate for the courtroom to applaud defendant compliance, and you would need to tone down the use of incentives and sanctions. However, most judges articulated major differences between domestic violence court operations and those of other problem-solving courts. The primary difference concerned the basic dispositional processes in the court. In domestic violence court, unlike in most other problem-solving courts, the determination of guilt is an integral component, which often leads to an adversarial atmosphere in which defendants deny culpability and resist participation in community-based sanctions and services. This tension persists even in post-disposition monitoring, one judge in the Rochester group noted, because domestic violence courts will not tolerate violent recidivism the way a drug court might tolerate relapse: “There is an immediate punishment for any kind of behavior like that.” As another judge in that group pointed out, domestic violence courts have really adopted only the punitive tools of behavioral modification; there are sanctions but no rewards. Explained a New York City judge, “We don’t clap when you complete a domestic violence accountability program.” Again, this view of the adversarial nature of domestic violence court operations was not universal. One judge believed a truly collaborative approach could emerge by building trust over time among the judge, district attorney, and public defender. Another key difference is court volume. domestic violence court judges reported that they had staggering caseloads, far more than in other problem-solving courts. This left them with little time to spend either on individual interactions or on return court monitoring appearances; as a result, some judges were forced to rely on probation for monitoring. Finally, a few judges remarked on the procedural challenges posed in domestic violence courts by evidence-based prosecution and victim recantation, both issues that rarely arise in other courts. These two issues, which can take up substantial amounts of court time, require both the judge and attorneys to have technical expertise. Indeed, one of the areas in which domestic violence courts were seen as very similar to other problem-solving courts was in the need for specialized knowledge. Program Mandates While drug court judges frequently stressed the need to understand the psychopharmacology of addiction, there is no equivalent concept in domestic violence. One cannot describe domestic violence in terms of a disease model, and there is no known “cure.” So while the process of placing and monitoring defendants in batterer intervention programs may seem similar to that of placing and monitoring defendants in substance abuse or mental health treatment, some judges observed that it is done with a different intention. Batterer intervention programs may be mandated as much for purposes of supervision and punishment as for rehabilitation. Overall, domestic violence courts do share several common features with other problem-solving courts: a larger team composed of judge, attorneys, resource coordination staff, and treatment representatives; community outreach; monitoring and accountability; and extra information about defendants and their compliance. But most judges cited other features as noticeably absent: substantial time for each case; non-adversarial deliberations; and interactive, theatrical dimensions with respect to the judge-defendant-audience relationship.  

  In an effort to bridge the worlds of research and practice at a critical moment in the life of drug courts, the Center for Court Innovation, working with the U.S. Department of Justice, brought together in November 2003 a select group of state administrators and drug court scholars to discuss a series of important questions: What can researchers tell state officials about drug court operations and impacts? What can’t they tell them that they need to know? Going forward, are there a handful of strategic investments in research that would reap significant dividends for the field as a whole? And how will state leaders know if their efforts to promote statewide drug court reform are successful? One thing became quickly apparent during the conversation: as in many areas of social policy, researchers and practitioners rarely talk to one another. Indeed, the scholars at the table lamented that research had not played a particularly influential role in shaping drug court policy to date. Why is that so? There were several reasons cited at the roundtable, but they all spoke generally to a single theme: the cultural divide between research and practice. This divide has several dimensions. One is philosophical: Urban Institute researcher Shelli Rossman summarized this neatly when she observed that “researchers start with the assumption that an intervention does not work and try to disprove it . . . . Practitioners, however, want to start from the position that they’re doing something that they already know works.” Another dimension is practical: researchers tend to talk to one another, rather than to practitioners whose work they are studying, observed University of Pennsylvania scholar Douglas Marlowe. For Hennepin County, Minnesota Chief Judge Kevin Burke, the issue is the differing reward systems for both professions. While researchers worry about getting papers published, judges worry about getting re-elected and re-appointed. Although research may not have been integral to drug court development to date, this may soon change. While the first phase of the drug court movement was dominated by individual judicial leaders at the grassroots level and the second phase by drug courts’ success at attracting the attention of decision makers at the federal level, the action seems to be shifting more and more to the state level. All across the country, states are increasingly assuming fiscal and programmatic authority over drug courts. Along with this new authority comes the pressure to document results—and to identify best practices, enforce quality standards and determine eligibility criteria (including whether drug courts should handle higher level offenders). Research can help  administrators make better, more informed decisions in all of these areas. Albeit frustrated by their lack of a voice in drug court policymaking decisions to date, scholars at the roundtable did report widespread consensus in the research community that, when properly implemented, drug courts offer a powerful means for changing the behavior of addicted offenders. As Doug Marlowe said, “There’s no room for debate: the application of certain, swift and appropriately modulated sanctions and rewards improves behavior over time.” Participants around the table identified the following elements as crucial to successful drug court implementation: enrolling addicted offenders into treatment quickly; imposing sanctions and rewards swiftly and appropriately; bringing high-risk offenders back before the judge regularly; creating effective screening mechanisms to identify eligible cases; graduating a significant percentage of participants; and ensuring that drug court participants feel they are being treated respectfully by the judge and are being listened to in the courtroom. At the same time, researchers also acknowledged that that there was much still to be learned about what makes drug courts work. “What we know [about drug courts] is very small and what we think we know is much bigger,” said Urban Institute researcher John Roman. For researchers, the critical question is whether drug court implementation will heed the wisdom of drug court research, or if resource constraints will force administrators to cut corners and thus decrease the effectiveness of the drug court model. For example, roundtable participants raised questions about whether drug courts with heavy caseloads could afford to schedule weekly or bi-weekly judicial status hearings with the high-risk offenders who appear to benefit most from interacting regularly with a judge. In addition to resources, other participants raised concerns about a potential “novelty effect”: the idea that drug courts, like many demonstration projects, will show less positive results over time as the novelty wears off. Both scholars and practitioners agreed that certain aspects of the drug court model needed improvement. Treatment emerged as a critical area of concern, with several roundtable participants noting that treatment programs in the field were slow to catch up with emerging best practice standards. While University of Maryland researcher Faye Taxman suggested that one obstacle to change was that these new treatment models appear to “threaten practitioner discretion,” other roundtable participants said that drug court judges could help move the process along, arguing (in Doug Marlowe’s words) that “if anyone is going to hold the treatment system accountable, it’s the court system.” The issue of race also came up a number of times in the discussion, mostly by practitioners looking for guidance with regard to how to work effectively with minority populations. Hennepin County, Minnesota’s chief judge, Kevin Burke, said the key to working with this population was to “build a sense of hope. . . . If there’s anything a judge can do, it’s to convey to a young person that they can be something.” Taxman concurred, pointing out that research showed that young African-American males need “positive reinforce[ment]” from authority figures to succeed. However, Burke also raised concerns about fairness, contending that drug courts needed to be careful not to put excessive pressure on African-American defendants to forego an opportunity to challenge the constitutionality of an arrest in exchange for being offered drug treatment. This roundtable was part of a series organized by the Center for Court Innovation and the Department of Justice. Previous roundtable events have addressed such topics as the reintegration of drug court graduates into their home communities, mental illness, community justice and due process in problem-solving courts.

Based on the demonstrated success of drug courts—and the enthusiastic public attention these courts have generated—a number of states have begun to take the next step, seeking not just to replicate pilot drug courts, but rather to test system-wide the viability of new approaches to the problem of addiction.   Perhaps no criminal justice innovation has spread as rapidly in recent years as drug courts, which offer judicially monitored treatment as an alternative to incarceration for non-violent addicts. The first drug court was launched in Dade County, Florida, in 1989. Today, there are more than 1,200 drug courts either in operation or in planning across the country. More than 226,000 defendants have participated in these programs. Drug courts are the most prominent example of a wave of “problem-solving” innovation that has sought to change the way courts operate in this country. Alongside drug courts, domestic violence courts, community courts, family treatment courts, mental health courts, and other specialized courts are using the authority of the judicial branch in new ways—in an effort to improve outcomes for victims, communities, and defendants. These problem-solving courts employ new tools and new methods—such as requiring defendants to appear regularly before judges to report on their compliance with court orders, or adding social scientists, drug treatment counselors, and other service providers to the courtroom team. The first generation of problem-solving courts has achieved some provocative results—none more so than drug courts. Independent research credits drug courts with reducing rates of drug use and rearrest among participants. Also, treatment retention rates—a key indicator of long-term sobriety—are twice as high for participants in drug courts as opposed to individuals who seek out treatment voluntarily. To date, the drug court movement has largely been a grassroots phenomenon, driven by a highly motivated cadre of judges, prosecutors, and court leaders. Based on the demonstrated success of drug courts—and the enthusiastic public attention these courts have generated—a number of states have begun to take the next step, seeking not just to replicate pilot drug courts, but rather to test system-wide the viability of new approaches to the problem of addiction. Their focus is on building systems at a state level, either through special judicial branch-led efforts (as in New York), legislation (Indiana), or collaborative efforts that bring together the heads of statewide agencies like corrections, courts, and social services (Utah). Clearly, drug courts are at the brink of moving into a new stage of development. Acknowledging this reality, in March 2002 the United States Department of Justice, working with the Center for Court Innovation, brought together a select group of judges, practitioners, and thinkers from around the country to discuss the future of drug courts. The goal of the roundtable was two-fold: first, to unearth some of the strategic, conceptual, and practical challenges that practitioners face in attempting to bring drug courts into the mainstream of court operations, and second, to provide a road map to drug court advocates in addressing those challenges. Perhaps not surprisingly, the topic proved to be a complicated one. During a day-long conversation, court administrators, judges, legal scholars, and experts in other fields of social policy innovation grappled with a series of difficult questions. How do you “go to scale” with an idea like drug courts? Is the goal to promote continued replication of the drug court model? Or is the goal to advance drug court principles and strategies, making sure they take root in every courtroom? Most important, how do you institutionalize innovation? Will the drug court approach lose its effectiveness if it becomes business as usual? Several key themes emerged from the discussion. Many, though not all, participants agreed that going to scale meant more than “hanging more signs on the door” (a phrase coined by University of Wisconsin law professor Michael Smith) or merely increasing the number of drug courts in existence. Instead, participants seemed eager to distill the “active ingredients” or “essence” of the drug court model—and to encourage the spread of drug court principles as opposed to expanding the number of drug courts. Adele Harrell, a researcher at the Urban Institute who has written extensively about drug courts, put it best when she suggested that success for advocates might lie in drug courts fading “out of existence as their tenets become embedded in practice.” The desire to spread elements of the drug court approach—and not replicate drug courts per se—has some important implications. First and foremost, it means that advocates must identify which elements of the model that they wish to see incorporated into the broader court system. This is a more difficult task than it might at first appear. Participants at the roundtable articulated a number of core drug court elements. For Utah state court administrator Gary Becker, the essence of drug courts is the creation of new partnerships between courts and state treatment agencies. For law professor Smith, it is “the idea that sentencing is a responsibility of the court over a long term.” San Diego Judge James Milliken and Indianapolis prosecutor Scott Newman cited concrete goals: providing judges with more comprehensive assessments and more sophisticated management information tools to guide sentencing decisions and help track offender compliance with court orders. And for New York Deputy Chief Adminstrative Judge Joseph Traficanti, who’s leading an ambitious statewide effort to create drug courts in each of New York’s 62 counties, the goal is to make it possible “for any defendant, in any jurisdiction, to go into treatment.” The fact that participants in the roundtable (most of them drug court proponents) were unable to reach consensus on the core elements of the drug court approach suggests that more work has to be done before advocates attempt to mainstream them. In addition to tackling conceptual problems, participants also addressed strategy questions. Participants returned again and again to the challenge of institutionalizing the drug court model without dampening the spirit of innovation that led to their creation in the first place. “[P]eople don’t respond well to being told, ‘You have to do this,’” said Lisbeth Schorr, an expert on social policy innovation based at Harvard University. She added: “You can’t mandate belief in a program.” Indianapolis prosecutor Scott Newman agreed, arguing that key leaders must have “[t]ransformative personal experiences” if they are to buy into the drug court idea. Roundtable participants repeatedly articulated the tension between the need to ensure quality control as an idea goes to scale and the imperative to preserve local flexibility. One way this was expressed was the effort to distinguish “institutionalization” from “bureaucratization.” “Bureaucracy creates a coercive style of leadership that forces other people to act in a certain way,” Scott Newman said, while “institutionalization is a motivational style of leadership which gets people inspired.” Many participants argued that the best way to promote institutionalization without bureaucratization was to create an intermediary entity that would provide the technical assistance and support necessary to ensure the quality of implementation at individual sites. This would help drug courts “move from a system based on charisma to one based on standards and principles,” without sacrificing local control, according to Columbia University law professor Michael Dorf. Participants also highlighted the need for drug courts to create new partnerships or strengthen existing ones as they mature. One example cited was the need to work with state drug and alcohol agencies, which not only manage large sums of money (from federal health and human service grants) but also have responsibility for guaranteeing the quality of treatment services. Going to scale will be “next to impossible” without involving the commissioners of state alcohol and drug agencies, said Valerie Raine of the Center for Court Innovation. A second area for potential collaboration are state legislatures, which in many places are eager to create a statutory framework (and provide funding) for drug courts. Partnerships with state legislatures can either help or hinder drug courts, as the examples of Utah and Indiana suggest. While Utah provided a statutory framework that allowed federal treatment resources to be redirected to drug courts—clearly a positive development —in Indiana, pending legislation seeks to codify how drug courts are defined, a development that many feared would severely limit local flexibility. This suggests that drug court advocates will have to proceed cautiously in working with legislatures. In addition to airing out conceptual and strategic challenges, participants shared their reservations about institutionalization—and in particular its potential unintended consequences. “Today’s innovation is tomorrow’s conventional wisdom,” warned Michael Smith. “I think we need to find a way to go to scale that’s open to constant change, revision and discovery. Otherwise, you just make it more difficult for the next innovator.” In that vein, Adele Harrell cautioned against “overselling the promise” of drug courts, a shortcoming of past criminal justice innovations that have come and gone. Despite these reservations, participants were cautiously optimistic about the prospects for institutionalization, pointing out that drug courts have already made significant strides forward. Perhaps the most heartening news of the day came from Lisbeth Schorr. Schorr, who has spent the greater part of her professional life thinking about government innovation, remarked that in discussing drug court institutionalization, participants had already reached an unusual level of sophistication. “[T]his is a far better, more rigorous discussion than I am used to hearing,” she said.  

What remains for drug courts is to determine how to make a difference in the next chapter of participants’ lives: the return to independent community living after graduation from drug court. After all, the ultimate test for drug courts is not whether their clients graduate, but whether they are able to live drug-free and become law-abiding members of society. In little more than a decade, drug courts have become a standard feature of the judicial landscape in this country. Every state has at least one, and some, such as New York and California, have dozens. The rapid proliferation of drug courts has been driven by research that suggests that drug courts have succeeded in reducing drug use, improving recidivism rates, and generating significant cost savings. In the process, the judges and lawyers who have spearheaded the drug court movement have encouraged courts to change the way they do business, adopting a problem-solving approach to cases fueled by addiction and building unprecedented partnerships with government and non-profit treatment providers. These are not insignificant accomplishments, to be sure. These achievements do not mean that the drug court story is finished, however. What remains for drug courts is to determine how to make a difference in the next chapter of participants’ lives: the return to independent community living after graduation from drug court. After all, the ultimate test for drug courts is not whether their clients graduate, but whether they are able to live drug-free and become law-abiding members of society. The obstacles to accomplishing this goal are substantial. Drug court graduates often leave treatment without jobs, without education, and without prospects. At the same time, many must find housing, avoid old habits and acquaintances, and mend broken connections with loved ones. They need, in short, to build new lives for themselves. This raises some difficult questions for drug courts. What responsibilities do drug courts have to participants after they leave the court? Is it possible to ease their reintegration into the community? What tools and resources would be most helpful to drug court graduates in managing the transition? What role should drug courts play in the process? If drug courts are to take on this challenge, do they need to change the way they are structured? And what are the boundaries? When should the job of a drug court end? To explore these and other questions related to community reintegration, the U.S. Department of Justice’s Drug Courts Program Office, in collaboration with the Center for Court Innovation, convened a small group of drug court judges, treatment providers, policymakers, and academics for a day-long roundtable. The conversation, which was held in Washington, DC, in November 2000, was a wide-ranging one. Along the way, participants discussed the key elements of reintegration, the relationship between courts and communities, the limits of a court’s coercive authority, and the ethical and legal challenges posed by reintegration. Needless to say, these are topics that do not lend themselves to silver bullets or simple answers. Consensus was hard to reach. The participants did, however, share a general enthusiasm for involving drug courts in the reintegration process. “I think the community wants courts to be in the business of reintegration,” said Judge John Schwartz of Rochester, NY. Participants pointed to a range of services that, based on experience, they had identified as particularly helpful to graduates, including employment, education, health, and housing. The enthusiasm for drug courts taking on reintegration was, however, severely tested when several participants broached the idea of adding new requirements for drug court graduation or lengthening the period of court supervision. The most heated exchanges of the day were devoted to the use of coercion to facilitate reintegration. “Do you put someone in jail because he doesn’t get a GED? Do you require him to get a good job? … Where do you draw the line?” asked Valerie Raine, the former coordinator of the Brooklyn Treatment Court. “Parole and probation periods expire,” remarked John Marr, the director of Choices Group, Inc., a treatment program based in Nevada. “We can’t say, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Because you have a disease that you’re going to deal with for the rest of your life, the court is going to continue to hold you for the rest of your life.’” These concerns led many participants to nominate another role for drug courts in reintegration—relying on their symbolic authority to “provide leadership,” “marshal resources,” and “generate support” for program graduates. Drug courts could “use their leadership to empower external agencies to do a better job,” said Foster Cook, associate professor and director of substance abuse programs at the University of Alabama at Birmingham. “That includes identifying programs, bringing resources into the court, and strengthening the resources that are available when people go out.” Several participants asserted that drug courts could improve the accountability and effectiveness of treatment providers, requiring them to do better discharge planning and employment training as a standard component of drug treatment. According to Elizabeth Peyton, a consultant specializing in strategies for integrating substance abuse and criminal justice services, “Judges have had to be very demanding in terms of what they expect treatment providers to do.” Not all participants were as eager to encourage drug courts to play a more active leadership role. Several pointed out that drug courts are designed to hear cases, not engage in community organizing. Participants also cautioned against “romanticizing what courts can do.” As Queens County, NY, Supreme Court Judge Leslie Leach said, “I think the task of trying to create better neighborhoods is too great for drug courts to take on.” Nevertheless, after a day’s worth of discussion, a tentative consensus emerged: that while drug courts should be cautious about expanding their requirements, they should be creative in employing their symbolic authority to ease the transition of program graduates back into community life. “I think drug courts will sound and feel different as we move forward,” asserted Delaware Superior Court Judge Richard Gebelein. “The questions that the judge asks are going to be different. We won’t just be asking the defendant: ‘How many clean urines have you had?’ … We’ll be asking: ‘Where are you in getting some community help? Are you involved with any kind of organizations? What have you done to implement your discharge plan? Have you made the contacts the plan calls for? Do you have your sponsor?’ And we’ll be expecting the treatment providers to show what they are doing to help implement the discharge plan.”