Article by Todd Matthews / Photos by Erik Castro

Thursday afternoon at the King County Juvenile Courthouse is clearly the busiest day of the week. In the lobby outside Courtroom One, teenagers, attorneys, representatives from area social service agencies, and family members wait patiently for the doors to Judge Laura Inveen's courtroom to open at 1:30 p.m. Seventeen year old Aubrey Glines is one of those people waiting to enter the court. Wearing a gray puffy jacket, boots, blue jeans, and headphones that rest above her ears so she can answer my questions, the teenager appears less nervous than many of the others in the lobby. Glines will be eighteen years old in less than two weeks. She is confident and nonplussed about the day's forthcoming appearance before the judge. Like many of her peers, she lives with her mother and has plans for college ("I either want to be an EMT or a computer technician . . . ."). Unlike many of her peers, however, she has a long list of criminal offenses. "Felony Looting. Possession of Stolen Property," she says, pausing as she watches me scribble the violations on my notepad, ensuring I record all of them. "Violation of Uniformed Controlled Substance Act. Taking A Motor Vehicle." Glines pauses. "After I was arrested, I went to detox, and inpatient treatment in Yakima. I was looking at a lot of jail time."

Juvenile Drug Court participant Aubrey Glines confers with her public defender (photo by Erik Castro)

Indeed, Glines surely would be in jail right now, rather than court, if it weren't for her public defender and a program called King County Juvenile Drug Court. Started in July 1999, Juvenile Drug Court offers an alternative to jail for charges involving drugs and/or alcohol, or committing property crimes while under the influence of these substances. Participating teenagers must attend weekly court hearings, complete court-ordered treatment, attend school, participate in individual group and family counseling, and undergo random urine tests. If a teenager successfully completes the program, his or her charges will be dropped. Similarly, if a teenager drops of out of the program, or is terminated by the court, that individual waives his or her rights to a jury trial, and faces a sentence based solely on the police report.

The Juvenile Drug Court criterion is a lot to handle for many people -- let alone teenagers trying to balance school, part-time work and, quite frequently, family troubles at home. Nonetheless, Glines is unfazed. "Drug Court doesn't scare me," she says, watching some of her peers in the lobby. "I know I'm going to make it. I'm motivated to finish."

A Drug Court program in King County is not new. In the mid-1990s, attorneys and judges throughout the United States began to look at alternatives to sentencing individuals for non-violent drug offenses. The first Drug Court program began in 1994 in Miami, Florida. The program outlined a plan wherein an individual arrested for drug related charges had the opportunity to opt into Drug Court in lieu of jail time -- thus reducing the number of people locked away for nonviolent offenses, and finding a viable way in which to treat and rehabilitate repeat drug offenders. In 1996, the King County Superior Court started its own adult Drug Court program, with much success: between 1995 and September 2000, 350 people have graduated from the adult Drug Court program; 80% of those graduates have not collected new charges. Last December, that program was folded into the larger part of the King County Superior Court system, and is now looking to expand its services.

Juvenile Drug Court, however, is still in its early stages. When the program started, it was only the third in Washington state (smaller programs are presently operating in Clallam and Kitsap counties). The program received a $389,000 grant from the Department of Justice -- money spent on a full-time administrator, along with the part-time services of a judge, public defender, prosecutor, two full-time probation officers, staff and start-up costs. The program is small -- there are never more than 50 juveniles enrolled -- and Judge Inveen's court meets only once a week with the participants.

"The concepts for Juvenile Drug Court are modeled after the adult Drug Court program," says Margaret Tumulty at the Department of Youth Services. Tumulty is the Juvenile Drug Court Administrator. Indeed, an individual must meet eligibility requirements before being admitted into the program -- a characteristic similar to adult Drug Court. Once a teenager is admitted into the program, he or she is referred to a treatment agency, and that participant's progress is divided into three phases. Youth are advanced to the next phase of Drug Court depending on the length of continuous sobriety, attendance at treatment sessions, and achievement in completion of his or her case management plan. If an individual relapses after being promoted, he or she may have additional requirements -- such as sanctions -- or may be demoted back to the earlier phase level until that person has a sufficient period of sobriety again. Drug Court participants are required to attend all treatment sessions required by the treatment agency, provide regular urinalysis samples for drug testing (ranging from 3 per week to 1 per month), attend all sober support groups as outlined by the treatment provider, and complete seven Drug Court goals involving family, legal activity, school/vocation, peers, pro-social activities, drug program, and mental health.

Juvenile Drug Court (photo by Erik Castro)

Though Juvenile Drug Court may be modeled after its adult counterpart, the youth aspect of the program renders it a strikingly unique entity altogether. "Our youth are dependent typically on their parents," says Tumulty, "and so I think it's much more difficult for them to get through Drug Court. They don't have their Drivers Licenses, typically. They have to take the bus. They are still involved in school. And sometimes, actually, they aren't even living at home. They are homeless."

Moreover, Juvenile Drug Court participants have yet to gain any life experiences or accolades that may prove devastating if lost to drug and alcohol abuse. "The youth don't have the concept of hitting the bottom," Tumulty adds, "because they haven't lost everything. You know that cowboy song: 'I lost my dog, my house, my wife . . . .' They don't have that concept yet. So for them to hit bottom is really difficult to understand."

Is King County Juvenile Drug Court working? If you are looking for numbers to answer that question, it's a difficult equation. The program is less than two years old, and only five participants have graduated. Though demographics may be slim, Tumulty provided me with numbers through December 5, 2000. King County Juvenile Drug Court has served 62 youth: 61% are presently enrolled in the program; 20% were terminated; 11% dropped out; and 8% graduated. Similarly, 16% of the participants have no new charges filed within the past 3-6 months; 35% within the past 7-10 months; 16% within the past 11-16 months; and 2% within the past 19 months. Moreover, 5% of the participants have been sober for 12-14 months; 2% sober for 11 months; 2% sober for 8 months; 16% sober for 3-6 months; and 16% sober for 1-2 months.

Judge Laura Inveen presides over Juvenile Drug Court (photo by Erik Castro)

"Drug Court is a hard program," says Arthur Johnson, a Casemanager in the Chemical Dependency Unit at Central Youth and Family Services (CYFS) in South Seattle. CYFS is one of the treatment providers working with Juvenile Drug Court. If a teenager decides to opt into the program, he or she works directly with a treatment provider for regular drug testing, counseling, and guidance through the program. "I also see it as part of a life experience," Johnson adds, "as far as growing. [It helps build] the responsibility of stepping into the adult world and getting to that level of independence -- to be able to do things on your own."

On a Friday afternoon in January, I meet with Johnson and one of his clients -- a seventeen-year-old named Dwayne Butler. Butler was arrested in December 1999 for a Violation of Uniformed Controlled Substance Act. He was addicted to Marijuana and PCP. He spent ten weeks at the Juvenile Detention Center. Two days before the youth was scheduled to go to trial, his public defender offered Butler the opportunity to participate Drug Court. Butler jumped at the opportunity. He was released from jail in February 2000, entered Drug Court, found a job at Seattle University, obtained his General Equivalency Degree, and is presently attending auto mechanics classes at South Seattle Community College. He is presently in Phase Three of the program, and hopes to graduate in March. He also coaches a youth basketball team. "Drug Court helped me a lot," Butler says. Though that help did not come without certain sacrifices. Weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, appointments with the court, regular urinalysis testing for drug use, and counseling at CYFS have proved to be formidable responsibilities for Butler. "Sometimes I feel like, 'Man, if I would have done my time, I would have been out and off of parole, and not dealing with [Drug Court] right now,'" says Butler. "But who knows what I would be doing off of parole." Butler's observation is one of the fundamental arguments of Drug Court supporters. By addressing the issue of drug and alcohol abuse and diverting the attention toward education, employment, sober activities, and treatment -- rather than simply following the routine practice of incarceration-and-release -- the juveniles who graduate from the program are less likely to return to the criminal justice system.

Juvenile Drug Court participant Dwayne Butler (left) with his casemanager, Arthur Johnson (photo by Erik Castro)

"I look at Drug Court as keeping youth from moving to that next phase: prison," says Johnson. "When one gets into the system at that level, then they can accept that as who they are. I don't see the youth as being at that level, especially the kids I've worked with. I've seen them as being very productive members of society. In order for them to see that for themselves, I feel like they need to go through Drug Court. Once they make it through Drug Court, and they are independent, I don't see them coming through the system -- committing more crimes or making things worse for society. I see them as being leaders of this country. I look at Drug Court as grooming them to be leaders of this country."

Butler is unique because he has a strong sense of purpose and willpower. Drug Court is a hard program, according to the teenager, but he likes the challenge. Simply put, he is determined to succeed. "To this day, I still say that if I wanted to use, then I could use," he says. "I choose not to use. You can only do so much for so long before you get tired of it, or the court catches up with you. I choose to go down that one lane, instead of making all those U-Turns." Moreover, Butler's sense of purpose has propelled him through the program. True, he has been in Drug Court for more than a year. But he also has friends who have been in the program longer, yet are still struggling in Phases One and Two.

Balancing the responsibilities of Drug Court with some of the negative environmental influences inherent with most teens in the program -- influences such as peers who are still using drugs -- is a difficult task. When a youth enters the program, often he or she still has contact with many friends who are still using drugs after school and on the weekends. Such has been the case for Butler, who has managed to rise above these circumstances. "The same people I grew up with, that's who I hang with now," says Butler. "They are always going to be my friends, no matter what they do. As long as I know that the choices I make are on me. Just because they're doing [drugs], doesn't mean I have to do [drugs]. I got enough willpower to say, 'You can do what you want to do.' If someone says, 'I'm going downtown to sell some weed,' then I'll say, 'I'm not going.' Or sometimes I'll go, but when I get down there, I will go my own way."

According to Johnson, Drug Court saved Butler's life. The teenager has been put on a path away from drugs and crime, and his future is promising. "Honestly, who knows where I would be right now if it weren't for Drug Court," Butler comments. "If you would have asked me back then, 'Where do you see yourself in 2001?' I don't know what I would have said. Maybe this is what I needed. Everything happens for a reason -- even if it has to wake you up to do it. When you go to sleep tonight, are you promised tomorrow? When you get up, you live for that day."

The future of Juvenile Drug Court is tenuous. According to Tumulty, the program presently has funding through October 2001. The Alcohol & Drug Abuse Institute at the University of Washington is presently conducting a study of both the Juvenile and Adult Drug Court programs, Tumulty believes that those findings will show that the program is effective, and will help to secure additional money. "Juvenile Drug Court is still a pilot program," says Tumulty. "We would like it to be institutionalized. We'll continue working on trying to make it part of the juvenile court process. It's tough to do because we are currently in an evaluation process. If it works, and it's cost-effective, I believe it will be supported."

Juvenile Drug Court Administrator Margaret Tumulty: "The youth don't have the concept of hitting the bottom, because they haven't lost everything. You know that cowboy song: 'I lost my dog, my house, my wife . . . .' They don't have that concept yet. So for them to hit bottom is really difficult to understand." (photo by Erik Castro)

If I really wanted to see if the program was working, Tumulty told me, I needed to attend one of the graduation ceremonies. Juvenile Drug Court has hosted two graduations, and I decided to attend one of them last December. On a Friday afternoon, I headed down to the basement of the King County Juvenile Detention Center, where hundreds of people sat on metal chairs in the gymnasium. The turnout was impressive. Judges, city officials, law enforcement officers, attorneys, treatment providers, and family members gathered to watch the graduation ceremony and listen to Sherman Alexie speak about his struggles, and successes, surrounding sobriety.

Four participants were graduating. Judge Inveen sat behind a folding table, microphone in hand, and introduced each graduate. She offered a bit of history for each. One young man, a musician named Will, had been hired as a roadie while in the Drug Court program. As such, his job required him to leave the state and tour with the band. The court discussed the matter, Judge Inveen told the crowd, and agreed to let him travel only if he reported to a drug testing agency each day, and provided urinalysis tests that would be sent back to the court in Seattle. Moreover, he had to attend AA meetings in each city while on the road. Will remained sober during the out-of-town stint. Moreover, he was the only graduate who never received a sanction for failing a drug test or missing a treatment meeting or court appointment. "About the only bad thing that happened," Judge Inveen joked, "was that he came back with another tattoo."

"The obsession to get loaded is lifted," Will told the crowd. "I don't commit crimes anymore. I don't have to stick needles in my body anymore."

Toward the end of the ceremony, Judge Inveen signed an order of dismissal for each graduate -- ultimately removing the charges from their records. Sherman Alexie told the crowd about the time he drove home drunk from a college party. He pulled over to the side of the road, got out, and walked several miles back to his apartment. The next day, a police officer arrived at his door. "Is that your car out on the highway?" the officer asked Alexie. Indeed, it was his car. "Do you realize it's still running?" the officer asked, clearly puzzled. That was the last day that Alexie drank alcohol.

Jake Arne, a graduate of Juvenile Drug Court, gets an autograph from writer Sherman Alexie (photo by Erik Castro)

After the ceremony, I met an Asian American teenager named Jake Arne. He was one of the day's graduates. Jake was excited about having his charges dismissed. He had spent nearly a year in the program, eight months at Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings, and for a period had stayed at the Union Gospel Mission -- the youngest person staying there at the time. He has since established residence at the Straley House -- a welcome refuge for homeless teenagers -- in the University District. "Drug Court gave me the option to straighten up," Jake said. "It took me four years to get that." At the graduation, Jake was looking forward to a life away from the criminal justice system. He was working full-time, saving money for his own apartment and the opportunity to travel. College and a goal of employment in the Seattle Police Department were on the horizon. A new experience for Jake, freedom away from courts and jails was a feeling both liberating and somewhat frightening "I don't have anymore community supervision, which some people can't handle," he said. "They get in trouble again. They feel lonely without the justice system. I'm not saying that people who are on probation want to be on probation. But it is security, because you know that someone is watching you. Right now my supervisor is myself. I have parents, but I'm an adult now. I classify what my time is worth, what I'm going to do today, stuff like that. It's fun being able to do everything for yourself. It's a weird feeling not to be on probation. I haven't felt that in a long time."

This article originally appeared in The Tablet