Juvenile Injustice
Overcrowding, violence, and abuse--state juvenile justice systems are in a shockingly chaotic state. Now, finally, the feds are stepping in.
The stories are equally disturbing at the Hickey School in Baltimore, which has housed about 250 delinquent boys. Nestled on several rolling acres in rural Baltimore County, it's both a detention center for kids awaiting trial and a "training school" for boys already found delinquent by the courts. Since 1991, the state has paid tens of millions to two private companies--first Rebound, a Colorado company, then Youth Services International, a subsidiary of Correctional Services Corp.--to run the place. But the problems persisted. Behind Hickey's razor-wire fences, there are nearly three assaults a day, according to a recent state report. Of the more than 70 child abuse/neglect investigations there since July 1, 2002, a quarter of the allegations have been substantiated; in an additional 30 percent, there was not enough evidence to rule out the case but not enough to prove neglect or abuse. The state took over operations at Hickey on April 1. At the same time, Maryland lawmakers approved a package of reforms that include smaller facilities with only 48 beds, year-round education, and programs to ease kids back into their communities, though it has a years-long timetable and funding is uncertain. The state also plans to hire a new private contractor to run the facility. On a visit by a reporter to Hickey, the place seemed clean and calm, if grim. Several teens said they had not witnessed any violence there. Ken Montague, who heads the Department of Juvenile Services, says his department has tried to train staff not to be violent. But he concedes that the challenges at a place like Hickey are immense, with 50 percent to 70 percent of the kids there suffering mental-health or substance-abuse problems. "We have to work on this," Montague says, "and make sure these kids get the help they need."
What many kids get instead of help, however, is experience--of the wrong kind. Ralph Thomas, who runs the governor's office that monitors Maryland's juvenile facilities, says the system is churning out even more troubled kids: "Many of these kids come out worse for their experience in these facilities. They're more likely to prey on society."
And not just in Maryland. Back in California, at the Southern Youth Correctional Reception Center and Clinic in Norwalk, Mark Alvarado, 19, is a depressing illustration of the state of juvenile justice. Alvarado says he set his grandmother's house on fire at age 5. At 9, he says he joined a gang; his older brother had "Natural Born Killer" tattooed on his collarbone. He was in and out of juvenile hall for years for what he calls "little stuff--burglaries and robberies and arson." He was thrown in the CYA at 16 for auto theft. There, he says, he learned new skills--how to hot-wire a car and how to break into houses. "I came out a better criminal," he says. "That's how it is for most people." Alvarado was paroled in June.
With Vince Beiser
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