Healing Criminal Justice - A Journey to Restore Community in Our Courts

INTRODUCTION

The San Francisco Superior Court building stood in the shadow of the majestic City Hall building, with its golden dome and expansive hallways. Then the most recent addition to the Civic Center plaza, the Superior Court, made of marble and wood, is an imposing edifice in its own right. Its departments dedicated to complex litigation and substantial financial claims were populated by high-end civil attorneys and their clients. Department 163, however, was not one of those.

Peter stood before me in Department 163. He was a participant in the San Francisco Parole Reentry Court (SFPRC), a new court-based rehabilitation program dedicated to the reintegration of serious criminal offenders into society.

The year was 2010. Reentry courts were a part of the larger problem-solving court field, which were, in turn, built upon the success of drug courts. Problem-solving courts had the potential to be a pathway forward for a nation overwhelmed by complex social justice problems rooted in alcohol, drug, and mental health issues. 

Drug courts, and their progeny, problem-solving courts, reimagined the traditional criminal courtroom as a forum for solving the community’s most vexing problems. They focused on treatment and rehabilitation rather than punishment, relied heavily on incentives, applied limited sanctions, encouraged staff to reject traditional adversarial roles, worked collaboratively as a team, and espoused the idea of community as a source of strength, resources, and healing for participants.

Peter, African-American and in his early twenties, was slight of build and medium height, dressed in casual but clean attire. I’d been watching his progress from the bench for several months. Good looking, often with a mischievous smile that played across his face, he had a way of keeping court conversations light and playful, as if he was in on a joke. He also seemed to be among the most committed to the program, but this day brought who he was into focus.

With Christmas approaching I had asked everyone in the program to bring to the court holiday party some gift that reflected who they were—a somewhat puzzling request from a criminal court judge. (My guess is that none had ever attended a party of any kind in a courtroom.) I suggested that they read a passage from a book, sing a song, play an instrument, bring some food to share, or recite a poem.

Peter recited a poem. A parody of the classic “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” he had written it specifically for the event and called it “The Twelve Days of Reentry.” It gently poked fun at the program, staff, participants, and especially me. Though it stung a bit, it was funny and well written. I was impressed with Peter’s wit and creativity.

Another participant, John, brought his five-year-old daughter Maria to court with him, as he often did. Maria wore a party dress for the occasion and offered to sing a song. Jane, our treatment counselor, picked up Maria and placed her on top of counsel’s table so she could be seen as well as heard.

She started out in a thin but steady voice but faltered at the end of the first chorus. The entire courtroom came to her aid, joining her in singing and finishing the song, a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

It was a pivotal moment in the life of the nascent San Francisco Parole Reentry Court. The program had come close to being aborted on several occasions. Many were unsure what a reentry court was and why a retired judge from Oakland should be running it. Staff who’d recently been hired also had questions as to how a court could help reintegrate parolees back into the community. Some doubted my intentions, some my connection to reality.

Of course, that wasn’t anything new to me. As an Oakland judge I had started the first drug court in California, which against serious odds had been extremely successful. In my first year as a drug court judge I placed over one thousand defendants in the Oakland Drug Court, achieving twice the success rate of the previous drug rehabilitation program. I would later go on to found successful California and national drug court associations.

Thirty parolees and their families and friends celebrating the holidays were packed into the smallest courtroom in the building, fitting for a retired judge “sitting on assignment.” Sitting on assignment wasn’t very different from being a substitute teacher. The office of the chief justice of the Supreme Court of California would send retired judges, as needed, to courts across the state to fill in for absent judges. The presiding judge of the county would keep the retired judge around until no longer required or favored, as the case may be. I had been sitting as a superior court judge in San Francisco for almost four years. I served at the pleasure of the county presiding judge and the chief justice and could be terminated by either at will (both of which would come to pass).

Then it was my turn to offer my gift to the parolees and other attendees. I wasn’t looking forward to it, as judges don’t normally pick up a tenor saxophone during a court session. In fact, it was my first performance in a courtroom. I stood at the bench in Department 163 of the San Francisco civil court building in my black robe, tenor saxophone in hand, and played “The Christmas Song,” made famous by Nat King Cole. Though I had played the song countless times, I couldn’t recall having been as nervous. I was being “judged” by an audience of parolees, their families and friends, and the court staff.

It was also what was called for, however; a reentry court required transparency. I couldn’t expect participants to be open with me in court if I myself remained a distant authority figure.

My audience applauded politely. I followed with Elvis Presley’s bluesy rock and roll classic “Heartbreak Hotel.” I played it the way I’d learned to play in Oakland’s blues dives: with grit and soul. This time their applause was like a wave breaking over the courtroom. It turns out that Elvis and I were a hit.

After the holiday entertainment we shared a feast in the handsome conference room next to our courtroom, with its glass ceiling and beautiful wooden conference table. It was a site we took advantage of because of its proximity to my courtroom, using it for counselling groups, teaching exercises, staff meetings, and now the San Francisco Parole Reentry Court holiday party. As far as I knew I had the only criminal trial courtroom in the building; all other criminal cases were being handled in the dark and cavernous halls of the criminal court building across town, on Bryant Street.

The Christmas luncheon was a sumptuous affair: a buffet of barbecued chicken, pork ribs, and brisket with sides of potato salad, coleslaw, vegetables, and breads, and desserts of carrot cake, pecan pie, and Christmas cookies—all of it the generous contribution of the Recovery Survival Network and its executive director, Lou Gordon. It was quite the scene: 30 parolees and their families loading their plates and rubbing shoulders with sheriff’s deputies and court staff at the buffet table, everyone smiling and sharing good wishes for the holiday season. Seated around the great mahogany conference table were parolees next to parole officers, seated next to court staff, seated next to family members, seated next to sheriff’s deputies, and so on.

It was an extraordinary Christmas feast, like none I have ever attended. People who were supposed to be antagonists, expected to distrust and dislike one another, were enjoying each others’ company and sharing a wonderful Christmas meal. I think that the Christmas party was when the dam broke. With law enforcement, attorneys, court staff, and parolees, recognizing each others humanity. The doubts and scepticism of staff and participants about each other, and the reentry court program, and me, slowly melting away in the forming of a new community. It was the outcome I had hoped for.

One evening in July of 2018, I served as master of ceremony at “Yoshi’s,” an upscale jazz club in Oakland’s Jack London Square. The Bay Area Blues Society Orchestra was performing for a fundraiser celebrating the completion of the Seventh Street Walk of Fame, a pathway of stars built into the sidewalk along Seventh Street in Oakland, where great music artists had played in the many blues and jazz clubs once found there. Ronnie Stewart, the band leader and president of the society, led an orchestra of twenty, performing before a full house of Oakland blues fans. Yoshi’s itself was more than a music venue—it was the premiere jazz nightclub in the Bay Area. Its dark and intimate interiors, excellent acoustics, and storied history made it a special place for both nationally recognized artists and local musicians.

The evening was marked by a bravado performance by Oakland’s greatest blues performers who have entertained the East Bay for the past 50 years. In my introductory remarks as MC, I briefly recalled how Oakland had been blessed with great bluesmen and how Oakland has supported the arts and especially the blues. I was amazed at the energy exchanged between the seniors on stage and those in the audience, which was mostly African-American, as was the band. To this day the blues remain at the heart of the Oakland community.

I was honored to be part of the evening. I had been a public defender, commissioner, and judge at the Oakland courthouse just a few blocks away.

Ronnie and I played together often over the years, first at Earl’s, a small jazz club on Solano Avenue in the city of Albany (on the outskirts of Oakland). Ronnie was the...