A court of second chances

"It's helping the community get stronger," says Jean Bakitko, who arrived at the court in 2000 as a crack addict under arrest. After 17 months of inpatient rehab, he's about to move into a halfway house.

Then there are the intangible benefits. Residents have told PSC interviewers they feel safer and less alienated from the courts. Playing Little League with court officers or being mentored by prosecutors may ensure fewer kids return as adult offenders.

Such involvement, however, is expensive. A study of Manhattan's Midtown Community Court found it cost as much as $150 more per arraignment and that no more than two-thirds of that added cost was offset by benefits such as reduced use of jail space.

Community-justice advocates also question how far they should stray from traditional justice.

"When you branch out that far you are exposing yourself to greater risks," says David Rottman of the National Center for State Courts, who has studied community courts. "There's a danger that the core purposes of a court can get downplayed."

For his part, Judge Lippman is convinced community courts can serve as laboratories for improving the entire court system and helping to improve individual neighborhoods such as Red Hook one person at a time.

Back in his chambers, surrounded by children's books that he gives young visitors, Calabrese says he's never felt more committed to his job dispensing justice. "I know we're succeeding on a day-to-day basis."

Stones carved with the words "boys" and "girls" adorn the entrance of the Red Hook Community Justice Center in Brooklyn, N.Y. They're a vestige of the former parochial school the building once housed, but might just as well be welcoming the young people who still are a significant presence inside this unusual center of justice.

Peek in the model courtroom one day and you may witness a teenager facing a jury of his peers. On another day, the room echoes with the laughter of 10-year-olds building model planes. These are just two ways the center tries to reach youths long before they might show up in handcuffs.

Not that the mock court doesn't have real consequences.

Teens serve as jurors, judge, and lawyers in cases such as truancy. Today's "defendant" is a 17-year-old, caught outside school, who first claims he was on the way to a doctor's appointment and then acknowledges he didn't have permission to leave.

Wearing a baggy denim shirt and baggy pants, he sits beside the teenage judge as the jurors pepper him with questions.

"What would you do differently to avoid the situation?" one asks.

"Stay in school," he says softly.

"What's your goal?" another asks.

"Go to college and to be a marine biologist," he replies.

The jury needs 10 minutes to deliver its verdict: The teen must attend a life-mapping workshop to define his goals.

Often peer pressure is more effective than a judge's warnings, says court staffer Robert Feldstein.

"If it's another kid from the [housing projects]," he says, "they can't turn off in the same way."

Those dispensing justice get lessons, too. Before serving six-month terms of office, they learn about the law, and acquire skills such as public speaking.

"We can help people and prevent them from going on the wrong path," says 15-year-old Leland Mack, a youth-court member. "It's an early turning point for them."

Page: 1 | 2 | 3