Juvenile Justice Information Exchange (https://jjie.org/page/6/)
In late September, Torri was driving down the highway with her 11-year-old son Junior in the back seat when her phone started ringing.
It was the Hamilton County Sheriff’s deputy who worked at Junior’s middle school in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Deputy Arthur Richardson asked Torri where she was. She told him she was on the way to a family birthday dinner at LongHorn Steakhouse.
“He said, ‘Is Junior with you?’” Torri recalled.
Earlier that day, Junior had been accused by other students of making a threat against the school. When Torri had come to pick him up, she’d spoken with Richardson and with administrators, who’d told her he was allowed to return to class the next day. The principal had said she would carry out an investigation then. ProPublica and WPLN are using a nickname for Junior and not including Torri’s last name at the family’s request, to prevent him from being identifiable.
When Richardson called her in the car, Torri immediately felt uneasy. He didn’t say much before hanging up, and she thought about turning around to go home. But she kept driving. When they walked into the restaurant, Torri watched as Junior happily greeted his family.
Soon her phone rang again. It was the deputy. He said he was outside in the strip mall’s parking lot and needed to talk to Junior. Torri called Junior’s stepdad, Kevin Boyer, for extra support, putting him on speaker as she went outside to talk to Richardson. She left Junior with the family, wanting to protect her son for as long as she could ...
TUCSON, Arizona — Adriana Grijalva was getting ready to head to class at the University of Arizona in the fall of 2022 when she got a text message from her cousin telling her to stay put. The cousin, who works in maintenance at the university, had watched law enforcement descend on campus and reached out to make sure she was safe. A former student had just shot a professor 11 times, killing him.
Equal Justice USA (EJUSA) announced October 8 that it will partner with four new communities to build new restorative youth justice diversion programs. Restorative justice includes an accountability process that identifies root causes of youth criminal actions, while providing an opportunity for healing both for the person harmed and the person who has caused harm.
Louisiana is the only state to pass and then reverse Raise the Age legislation. Louisiana’s criminal justice system now treats all 17-year-olds as adults. Is reversing Raise the Age making a difference in the number of violent crimes by 18-year-olds?
A 65% reduction in youth incarceration between 2005 and 2021 and the closing of two youth prisons during that time are among the great strides of Redeploy Illinois, an innovative Cook County program allowing communities to tailor state-funded juvenile treatment services to meet their particular characteristics and needs.
Rather than just build more jails, Louisiana juvenile justice system administrators urge officials to take a closer look at policies to address youth criminal trends, in addition to curbing persistent violence and escapes at state correctional centers.
To hear the state of Tennessee tell it, Knoxville’s Richard L. Bean Juvenile Service Center has shown “significant and consistent improvement.” It no longer illegally locks kids up alone in cells, as an investigation by ProPublica and WPLN exposed last month.
But a closer look at the facility’s most recent inspection by the state Department of Children’s Services tells a different story. Instead of secluding children against their will, the facility claims that kids are voluntarily agreeing to be locked up alone.
Lockdown drills aimed at preparing students to protect themselves from school shooters do more to stir kids’ anxiety than their sense of protection, argues Dr. Annie Andrews, a South Carolina mother, pediatrician and firearm injury researcher. “Our children do not benefit from participating in these drills,” said former congressional candidate Andrews, also co-founder of Their Future. Our Vote. “Children deserve to feel safe in their schools.”
Among those countering that viewpoint is Alex Piquero, a University of Miami criminologist and former director of the federal Bureau of Justice Statistics. “We are, unfortunately, living in a world where we just have to plan for school shootings and hope that they never happen,” said Piquero, a former editor of the Journal of Quantitative Criminology.
After more than a year in a juvenile detention facility in Orange County, California, Maria Rivera’s son was released back in 2010. As he exited incarceration, the Orange County Probation Department handed Rivera a bill for $16,372, the fees officials charged for keeping him in custody.
We recently conducted a survey of juvenile justice agencies on their staff hiring and retention challenges. Over 200 individual state and local juvenile corrections and probation agencies representing 37 states and over 190 counties reported that they are facing greater staffing difficulties than at any time in the past 10 years.
The first and only time Malik Rainey was arrested, he was 16 and charged, as an adult, with possession of a loaded firearm. But instead of serving what could have been up to 12 years in prison, he wound up in a court-mandated program that kept him out from behind bars as long as he stayed away from crime, and got an education and a job.
Parents in Boone County, Kentucky, were outraged this past January when a ninth grader who had been suspended a year earlier for threatening violence against his fellow students returned to class as soon as his punishment time was up.
“The kid had a ‘kill list’ which named students — friends he was going to kill,” said Republican state Rep. Steve Rawlings.