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IMPACT PROFILE
The face of
DRUG COURT
Judge attempts to fill gaps in a criminal justic system that does little to force offenders to face their problems
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LISA BUL photos/The Patriot Ledger A participant in drug court holds a certificate of achievement awarded for staying drug- and alcohol-free for three months. |
A scowl crept across Judge Diane Moriarty’s face as she looked up from a probation report and glared at an offender standing across the courtroom. This wasn’t the news she had been hoping for. It was time for a hard conversation.
“You’re getting ready to relapse again aren’t you, Ellen?” asked Moriarty, her voice sharp and impatient.
The offender, Ellen Gaumont, a 45-year-old Randolph resident with arrests for drunken driving, larceny and fraud, lifted her chin in defiance.
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| Quincy District Court Judge Diane Moriarty says she often feels like a TV judge – a dramatic star thumping the bench for the benefit of her audience – while conducting drug court. |
“No, absolutely not,” Gaumont said. “My counselors are saying things about me that aren’t true. I’m trying my hardest, and I’m willing to try harder.”
“You’re trying to give me crap, Ellen, and I’m not going to listen to it,” Moriarty shot back. “If you don’t start working your program, I’m going to put you back in jail.”
In this courtroom, where arguments between judge and offender are a regular part of the dialogue, Moriarty said she often feels like a TV judge - a dramatic star thumping the bench for the benefit of her audience.
She knows, however, the work she does here couldn’t be more serious. In Quincy’s drug court, she is attempting to fill gaps in a criminal justice system that she said does little to force offenders to face their drug problems.
On the South Shore and across the nation, re-offender rates continue to hover near 70 percent, and many officials say jail has become no more than a hard-luck weigh station for dealers and users who return to old habits as soon as they get out.
In the Norfolk County Correctional Center in Dedham, 82 percent of inmates - 400 out of 485 - were incarcerated because of crimes related to drug use. Jail officials say about 65 percent of inmates will commit new crimes after they are released, mostly due to continued drug activity.
“What we’re doing now is not working,” said Moriarty, who spends half her week in drug court and the other half presiding over district court sessions in Roxbury. “The roller coaster ride in and out of jail is not working. People are just rolling in and out, and it’s costing taxpayers $36,000 a year.”
Drug courts attempt to change that by forcing offenders to follow a 12- to 18-month schedule of court appearances, counseling sessions and daily drug testing. The program began operating as an experiment in Florida in 1989 and has since spread to communities all over the country. There are now more than 700 drug courts operating nationwide, including 15 in Massachusetts.
Moriarty said it costs taxpayers $5,000 to put an offender through a year of drug court, a fraction of what it would cost to keep that person in jail for a year.
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| Laura A. Juliano, 24, of South Boston, who received suspended 90-day jail sentences on drug-related charges, is a participant in drug court at Quincy District Court. |
The offenders who appear before her are among the toughest substance abusers in the system. Their arrest records - typically a mix of drug charges, property crimes and domestic violence - have kept them cycling in and out of jail for years.
Most land in drug court after yet another slip up.
Not everyone in law enforcement is convinced drug court is the best way to handle these offenders. Some police officials deride the program as a softball approach to dealing with lifelong criminals who should be given longer jail sentences, not another chance at treatment.
In Quincy, the program receives its test every Thursday afternoon, when heroin addicts and alcoholics pass through district court metal detectors and climb the stairs to Moriarty’s courtroom.
The nervous shuffling starts in Courtroom A at about 1 p.m. It’s hot and stuffy in drug court and about 40 offenders sit lazily in four wooden benches at the back of the room.
The crowd contains a mix of faces - black, white and Hispanic - and ages from late teens to early 50s. Some wear khakis and collared shirts, others wear sports jerseys and gold chains.
In a room next door, lawyers and substance abuse counselors are meeting with Moriarty to discuss who showed up for counseling this week and who skipped out. Who failed drug tests, and who might have to go to jail.
Meanwhile, offenders continue trickling into the courtroom. They push open the wood-paneled door, flick nods toward familiar faces and quietly find a spot to sit and wait. Some try to make conversation before the session starts.
“Hey, you get that job yet?” one man asks another sitting next to him.
“Yeah, I started working Monday.”
“You know (the boss) over there? Does he remember me?
“Kind of.”
The men smile, but there’s not much to say. An awkward silence settles, and they start looking for something else to keep them occupied.
Another 15 minutes pass before Moriarty enters through a door on the left side of the courtroom. The offenders slowly rise to their feet.
“Hello, everybody,” Moriarty says, smiling broadly as she takes her place at the head of the courtroom. “How’s everybody doing today?”
Most days, the mood in drug court is upbeat. Moriarty is more cheerleader than disciplinarian, and she tends to offer more encouragement than condemnation.
One by one, offenders are called to a microphone in front of Moriarty. Waiting there for them is Al Hall, a stocky probation officer with a shaved head and shoulders like a linebacker. His handshake crushes fingers.
On this day, Melissa Hardy’s name is half way down the judge’s list. She is young, 19 or so, and petite. Her tan skin is smooth and her dark brown hair is pulled back in a pony tail.
“Afternoon,” Moriarty says. “How are things?”
“OK this week,” Melissa says, smiling slightly.
“There are a couple of excellents on your report,” Moriarty says. “I’d say that’s a good thing.”
Melissa nods.
Hall, the probation officer, interrupts with his progress report:
“Melissa is doing an excellent job right now, your honor. Probation would like to reward her with a star today.”
The courtroom breaks into applause. The probation department awards stars to offenders for consistent good behavior. The stars are posted on a confetti-covered poster lining one wall of the courtroom. Offenders can choose between green, blue, red and gold. Melissa Hardy chooses green.
After she sits, the rest of the session continues on a similar pattern: more stars, more polite conversations, more applause.
Then comes the judge’s confrontation with Ellen Gaumont.
The mood in drug court has suddenly shifted. It’s quiet as Moriarty flips through a probation report in dismay. It had been a good day - only one offender failed to show up. This would ruin it.
Moriarty believes Gaumont is trying to sabotage her treatment so she’ll have an excuse to start using again. She has seen this pattern before with this offender, and she knows it’s time to clamp down - both to help Gaumont and to show the other offenders that misbehavior will not be tolerated.
For the next two minutes, Moriarty and Gaumont argue back and forth. Court officers and other offenders watch in silence, shifting their eyes between speakers as heated words pass across the courtroom. The confrontation ends with Moriarty leaning across the bench and shouting:
“You are going to work your program, and you are going to work it hard. If you don’t, I’m going to put you back in jail. Can I be any clearer than that? Can I?
“No.”
A few minutes later, after the day’s session has ended, Moriarty is still worried about the confrontation and how it will affect Gaumont.
“I can only go so far,” she said. “I can’t force them to do this if they don’t work at it. I’m not sure Ellen is going to make it.”
There are always going to be people who fail in drug court. Moriarty knows that, but she also knows that each failure bolsters the argument of detractors who say repeat offenders should be incarcerated, not offered another chance at rehabilitation.
Because Quincy’s program began just over a year ago, there is no long-term data to assess its effectiveness. Moriarty measures its success by comparing it to her experiences in regular court sessions.
In most district court cases, Moriarty said, she has no idea how offenders’ lives turn out after she sentences them. They leave her courtroom with fines, treatment assignments and sometimes jail sentences.
Who knows whether any of it will have an effect. Most likely it won’t, said Moriarty, adding that she ends up seeing most offenders again within a year or two.
“Drug court is the one place where I feel like I can help,” she said. “It’s the one place where I can actually see results. Mostly, judges only see the failures. We don’t see the successes.”
NUMBERS
65
Drug arrests in Abington in a year
Click here to view graphic displaying drug treatment figures
157
Abington residents in treatment in a year for heroin, cocaine or marijuana abuse
51%
Massachusetts residents going into substance abuse programs because of heroin
41%
Massachusetts residents going into substance abuse programs because of alcohol
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