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Looking beyond the crime - How being a reentry court judge changed me

ALLISON MCCARTY
Summit County Common Pleas Judge

Published: May 9, 2018

As a member of the publication committee of the Ohio Judicial Conference, I dutifully volunteered when a call was made for articles for its newsletter. I decided I would write about reentry courts, as I have presided over one for seven years.

I did some research and began writing an article about whether they reduce recidivism or whether they actually decrease prison costs as desired.

Halfway through my draft, I changed my mind.

Why write another potentially boring article about data and statistics?

I decided instead to tell you a story. A story about a change in perspective, a change in approach, a change of heart. This story is about how being a reentry court judge changed me.

To understand this story, I need to give you a little information about my professional background.

I have been a judge for 19 years. nine years in Akron Municipal Court, and I am now in my 10th year here at the Summit County Common Pleas Court.

Prior to becoming a judge, I served as an assistant Summit County prosecutor for 10 years, where I tried felony criminal cases.

I did not become a prosecutor as a career move, to accelerate or improve my chances of becoming a civil litigator, or to increase my viability as a potential judge.

I became a prosecutor because that’s what I wanted to be. I wanted to be the person pursuing justice, putting away bad guys. That is always how I viewed my job.

I was the one trying to achieve justice for victims, and protecting the community.

I was a true believer. I liked “wearing the white hat.”

I became a prosecutor and “jumped in”, wholeheartedly, to the law enforcement mindset and approach to criminal justice because it rang true to who I am.

My respect for first responders is undeterred and unwavering to this day. I have often been described as a “Law & Order judge.”

As a municipal judge, I may have set records for the longest Summit County jail sentences ever imposed.

I had no problem incarcerating noncompliant defendants, and those in contempt could find themselves with extremely long stints in the jail.

It was not difficult for me to impose these sentences, since as a prosecutor I had specialized in child abuse cases and tried many murder trials and thus had a hand in sending many offenders to prison to life.

A 180-day sentence seemed like nothing to me. A walk in the park.

Apparently my reputation in the jail was quickly cemented and I was dubbed ‘Maximum McCarty” because, as one inmate told me in his letter, “you’ll give somebody one chance, but if they mess up, you give ‘em the maximum.”

I was elected to the common pleas court in 2008, beginning my term in 2009. In 2011, I began presiding over a reentry court in addition to my regular docket.

My reentry court targets higher risk offenders who are in prison––people who may not normally be considered for judicial release, but who, due to our significant and intensive monitoring, have a better chance for success in transition than would normally be the case on regular probation.

A significant requirement is that the offender must have at least one year remaining on his or her sentence, thus keeping the stakes for failure high.

In presiding over reentry court, I began doing something that I never did as a prosecutor––I began regularly engaging with and talking to the offenders.

Once someone enters the program, his or her lawyer does not play a role and I speak with the participant without an attorney present.

The caseworker stands up with him or her in front of me, but otherwise, it’s generally a discussion between me and the offender.

These discussions start off occurring every week, and then every few weeks.

We talk about many different things––struggles, successes, hopes and fears––problems with addiction, family stresses, etc. I basically mentor, even parent these offenders, all while wearing a robe and sitting on the bench.

After a few months handling these cases, I found myself thinking a great deal about the people that came in front of me, how different their lives were, their outlooks––and especially––their expectations for themselves.

For some, it is so low. For some, especially at the beginning, they seem so lost. They are still caught up in old ways of thinking. It is difficult to get them to open up and speak to me from the heart, and tell me what they are really thinking and struggling about.

For many, trust is difficult. Lying has been a way of life. Lying to friends, to family, even to themselves.

For some, though, I manage to break through and they figure out that I truly am trying to help them succeed.

These individuals develop real insight into their behavior and often excel in the program. They obtain and maintain employment. They pay off their court fines and costs. They remain drug-free.

They begin to feel positive reactions from family and come into the court, changed, more confident, feeling like they are a contributing member of society and standing up a little bit taller.

As a prosecutor, when I stood up and demanded a long prison sentence for the offender standing on the other side of me, next to his or her lawyer, I never really thought about that person. They were a wrongdoer, who needed to be punished.

I never thought about what lay ahead for that person as they were carted away to prison. Their one day potential transition back into society never entered my mind.

But after starting on the reentry court journey, at sentencings I found myself thinking more and more about what was going to happen to this young man or woman in their future.

What would her life look like in five years? Will she be able to reintegrate?

These were new thoughts for me.

I have concluded that it really is my job to think about these things.

And in order to protect our society from rampant recidivism, we do need to consider helping offenders transition back into society.

The court is not always the place deemed responsible for overseeing such a transition, but it can be.

I admit, I am old school, I am conservative, and I am a tough judge.

I will never be the “touchy-feely, hug-a-thug” judge some police and prosecutors joke about.

But I have changed.

I often discuss potential judicial release with many offenders as I sentence them––to give them hope, a goal, and tell them that, if they prove well-behaved in prison and deserving, there is someone who sees the possibility of rehabilitation for them.

No longer are these people merely criminals serving a sentence. They are living breathing individuals who I remember by name, whose achievements I celebrate and whose failures I grieve.

They laugh, they cry, they struggle, and, sometimes, they succeed.

I’m hoping those of you who are in my same situation, doing this very tough job, and who do not currently have a reentry program in your court, will consider embarking on this journey as well.

It will change you.


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