Shane Correia

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.”

What is a community court? It can take many forms, but at its core, a community court is about partnership and problem-solving.  It's about creating new relationships, both within the justice system and with outside stakeholders such as residents, merchants, churches and schools.  And it's about testing new and aggressive approaches to public safety rather than merely responding to crime after it has occurred. Here are six principles, derived from the experience of the Midtown Community Court, to keep in mind as you plan a community court: Restoring the Community Recognize that communities are victims, too. Quality-of-life crime damages communities, often more so than individuals. If left unaddressed, low-level offenses erode communal order, leading to disinvestment and neighborhood decay and creating an atmosphere where more serious crime can flourish. A community court acknowledges this reality. Use punishment to pay back the community. Standard sentences—jail, fines, probation—may punish offenders, but they do little to restore the damage caused by crime. A community court requires offenders to compensate neighborhoods through community service. Combine punishment with help. Encouraging offenders to deal with their individual problems honors a community's ethical obligation to people who break its laws because they have lost control of their lives. Social service programs also have practical crime control value as they can permanently alter the behavior of chronic offenders. Give the community a voice in shaping restorative sanctions. A community court can open a dialogue with its neighbors, enlisting them in the effort to develop appropriate community service projects. A community advisory board can offer residents an institutionalized mechanism for interacting with the judge and court administrators. Make social services at the court open to residents. Defendants are not the only ones in a community who could benefit from educational, job training and counseling programs. A community court can be a resource for anybody who needs assistance, opening its doors for Alcoholics Anonymous groups or English-as-a-second-language classes, for example. Bridging the Gap Between Communities and Courts Make justice visible. A community court puts offenders to work in places where neighbors can see what they are doing, outfitting them in ways that identify them as offenders performing community service. The court also publicizes its social service and treatment success stories. These efforts give community residents and organizations visible and tangible evidence that the criminal justice system is accountable to the community. Make justice accessible. A community court welcomes observers and visitors. Calendars and other information about activities in the courtroom are available to the public on computer terminals in the lobby. The courthouse staff is prepared to answer questions and give tours. Community members are thus able to directly see justice in action. Make justice proactive. Court administrators monitor crime conditions in the community and look for opportunities to involve the community in addressing crime-related problems as they develop. Mediators attempt to solve simmering community disputes before they erupt into criminal matters. Reach out to victims. A community court can be a safe haven for victims, offering them both assistance and a voice in the criminal justice process. Because it is based in the neighborhood where victims live, a community court may be able to provide access to services quicker and in a less intimidating setting than larger, centralized courts. Knitting Together A Fractured Criminal Justice System Use the authority of the court to link criminal justice agencies. Too often, criminal justice agencies work in isolation, moving cases from street to court to cell and back again without communicating with one another or taking the time to problem-solve. Because of its role as a central hub in the justice process, a community court can play an important coordinating function. Don't reinvent the wheel. Courts cannot be expected to solve difficult neighborhood problems by themselves. As courts look to play a more aggressive role in addressing complicated issues like quality-of-life crime, they must also look for new partners. Social service providers—both non-profits and government agencies—can bring valuable expertise to the table, including counseling, job training, drug treatment and mediation skills. Make social service providers and criminal justice professionals work together. Judges in a community courthouse can consult with treatment professionals on individual cases. Police can alert counselors to defendants who may be open to receiving help. Clerks can help link individual victims to assistance. Physical proximity makes possible closer and more coordinated working relationships. Explore crossing jurisdictional lines. The problems faced by citizens often do not conform to the narrow jurisdictional boundaries imposed by modern court systems. Criminal defendants may also be involved in a landlord-tenant dispute or a small claims matter. Handling all of these cases in the same place may enhance the court's ability to address a defendant's underlying problems. Helping Offenders Deal with Problems that Lead to Crime Put problems first. Beyond focusing on case processing and punishment, a community court looks for ways that sentences can help defendants change their lives. Drug treatment, medical services, educational programs, and counseling all can be incorporated into sentences. Use the court as a gateway to treatment. The crisis of arrest may prompt a defendant to seek help. A court can use its coercive power to reinforce that impulse. Remain involved beyond disposition of the immediate case. The judge can monitor offenders' experiences in treatment, using the court's authority to reward progress and impose new sanctions for failure. Providing Better Information Make as much information as possible available at the defendant's first appearance. This allows the judge to act as a practical problem-solver as well as an imposer of sanctions, matching the defendant's needs with available treatment or community service programs. Make information available to everyone at the same time. Entering new data into a central database simultaneously accessible by the judge, prosecutors, defense attorneys and social service staff allows all parties to share information as soon as it is available. Simultaneous access helps disparate agencies work together and limits "gaming" of the system by attorneys who take advantage of information delays. Use current information to enhance accountability. Updates on a defendant's progress allow the court to monitor compliance with sentences. They also permit early recognition of problems and rapid responses to remedy them. Designing the Courthouse The courthouse should be a physical expression of the court's goals and values. A community court should communicate its mission in every facet of its design. All elements of the courthouse—holding cells, public entryways, and office space—should reflect a sense of fundamental respect for the legal process and for all who participate in it, including defendants, victims and the general public. A community court should be more than just a courtroom. Beyond holding pens, a courtroom, judge's chambers and a clerk's office, it must accommodate social service workers, victim advocates and community service managers; it also needs room to house community service workshops and provide conference rooms for treatment sessions and classes. After hours, the courthouse can become a community resource for tenant groups, block associations and others who want to hold public meetings. Put everything under one roof. Locating social services side by side with the legal process serves the needs of the community court by making it easier for a judge to craft sentences that combine punishment and help. It also serves the needs of social work and public health by bringing services to a center of need.

Engaging the community should be a top priority in a project’s early stages—above staffing, fundraising, even program planning. Why? Community justice is about partnerships and creating a true sense of partnership between criminal justice agencies and communities takes time. And hard work. The first task at hand is to identify the most pressing issues in a neighborhood. This job can be done best by the people who live and work there. They know the neighborhood’s history, its assets and its strengths. They also know its limitations and its weaknesses. No community justice project will succeed if it doesn’t target the needs of its community. Also, from a pragmatic perspective, community justice projects need all the political, financial and material support they can muster, and having the community on your side is an essential ingredient to securing this support. Beware of taking this support for granted. Remember that many communities are alienated and distrustful of government. The only way to overcome this is by proving your sincerity and commitment over the long haul, and by delivering on your promises. Finally, through engaging the community, planners and community members have an opportunity for mutual education. Planners get to learn about the real neighborhood problems and community members get to learn and participate in creating potential solutions that will provide real and lasting improvement to the neighborhood’s quality of life. Strategies for engaging the community include: 1. Interview Stakeholders Purpose: To gain an understanding of how the neighborhood works, its strengths and weaknesses, its assets and concerns; and to establish relationships with local decision-makers. How to do it: Meet with all the recognized leaders in the neighborhood (elected officials, local police, clergy, school officials, block association representatives, social service providers, merchants, social & civic groups, etc). Some questions to ask are: What do you think about the quality of life in the neighborhood? What are the community’s strengths? What issues are chronic problems? What do you expect from the criminal justice system? Who else should we be speaking with? 2. Attend Neighborhood Meetings Purpose: To show respect for the existing neighborhood infrastructure. How to do it: Attend as many community meetings as possible, including meetings of the parent-teachers association, Lion’s Club, block associations and others. Go just to listen—it sends the message that you aren’t just there to sell an idea. When appropriate, make a five to 10 minute presentation about your project. Explain how the idea came together and who supports it. Answer questions as clearly and honestly as possible. Don’t be afraid to admit when you don’t know an answer or don’t have the authority to make a decision. 3. Convene Focus Groups Purpose: To get input from people who are not in leadership positions, including those who reside or work in the community, raise children there, own or rent property, and use its streets, schools, and parks. To ensure that the official leaders of the community accurately reflect the opinions and concerns of their constituents. How to do it: Assemble groups of about 10 people each and meet with them for an hour or two. Choose a setting that will be comfortable and convenient for participants. You might ask a local minister to invite a group of parishioners to a conversation at the church or the head of the parent-teacher's association to assemble a group of school parents. Ask an independent facilitator to run the group if you don’t feel comfortable doing so. Begin each focus group with an explanation of why you have assembled the group. Prepare a few questions. Try not to lead the participants. For example, instead of saying "does drug dealing make you feel unsafe?" ask, "Do you feel safe at night in the neighborhood?" "If not, why?" Emphasize that you are there to learn, not dictate. 4. Create a Mechanism for Ongoing Community Involvement Purpose: To provide local stakeholders with an opportunity to participate in your project as it moves from concept to implementation. How to do it: Your relationship with the community will always be a work in progress rather than a finished product. Be prepared to carve out an operational role for local citizens. Some projects take a limited approach to engaging local stakeholders in identifying local problems. Others use a broader strategy, allowing citizens to set priorities and help run the project as well. Whatever course you choose, be sure to clearly articulate the responsibilities and limitations of civic engagement in your initiative. Possible avenues for community involvement include advisory boards, community impact panels, and community justice councils. 5. Reach Out to Government Agencies Purpose: To get a clear picture of "business as usual" and to tap into the creative energies of the people who know the system best. How to do it: Start meeting with other criminal justice agencies—police, probation, parole, prosecutors, corrections and courts. Expand your scope to include any agency that is even remotely related to neighborhood problems, including those responsible for housing, health, welfare, and education. Gear your presentation to the audience: remember different listeners will be interested in different elements of what you are trying to do. Some questions to ask are: How is the government currently responding to the neighborhood’s problems? In a more perfect world, what could the criminal justice system be doing better?