JUSTICE? WHAT A JOKE.

Justice? What a joke. Low-rider jeans that are too low? Call 911.
Failing to shovel that snow-covered sidewalk? Book 'em. In America
today, lawmakers are criminalizing innocent behavior at an alarming
rate and undermining our criminal justice system.

Texas Rep. Wayne Smith is tired of hearing about parents missing
meetings with their children's teachers. His proposed solution is
simple: Prosecute such parents as criminals. In Louisiana, state Sen.
Derrick Shepherd is tired of seeing teenagers wearing popular
low-rider pants that show their undergarments -- so he would like to
criminally charge future teenagers who are caught "riding low."

Across the USA, legislators are criminalizing everything from
spitting on a school bus to speaking on a cellphone while driving.
Criminalizing bad behavior has become the rage among politicians, who
view such action as a type of legislative exclamation point
demonstrating the seriousness of their cause. As a result, new crimes
are proliferating at an alarming rate, and we risk becoming a nation
of criminals where carelessness or even rudeness is enough to secure
a criminal record.

There was a time when having a criminal record meant something.
Indeed, it was the social stigma or shame of such charges that
deterred many people from "a life of crime." In both England and the
USA, there was once a sharp distinction between criminal and
negligent conduct; the difference between the truly wicked and the
merely stupid.

Legislators, however, discovered that criminalization was a wonderful
way to outdo one's opponents on popular issues. Thus, when deadbeat
dads became an issue, legislators rushed to make missing child
payments a crime rather than rely on civil judgments. When cellphone
drivers became a public nuisance, a new crime was born. Unnecessary
horn honking, speaking loudly on a cellphone and driving without a
seat belt are only a few of the new crimes. If you care enough about
child support, littering, or abandoned pets, you are expected to care
enough to make their abuse a crime.

Consider the budding criminal career of Kay Leibrand. The 61-year-old
grandmother lived a deceptively quiet life in Palo Alto, Calif.,
until the prosecutors outed her as a habitual horticultural offender.
It appears that she allowed her hedge bushes to grow more than 2 feet
high -- a crime in the city. Battling cancer, Leibrand had allowed
her shrubbery to grow into a criminal enterprise. (After her
arraignment and shortly before her jury trial, she was allowed to cut
down her bushes and settle the case.)

Of course, it is better to be a criminal horticulturalist than a
serial snacker. In 2000, on her way home from her junior high school
in Washington, D.C., 12-year-old Ansche Hedgepeth grabbed some french
fries and ate them as she went into the train station. In Washington,
it is a crime to "consume food or drink" in a Metrorail facility. An
undercover officer arrested her, searched her and confiscated her shoelaces.

Running out of adult targets, many state laws pursue the toddler and
preteen criminal element. In Texas, children have been charged for
chewing gum or, in one case, simply removing the lid from a fire
alarm. Dozens of kids have been charged with everything from
terrorism to criminal threats for playing with toy guns or drawing
violent doodles in school.

In the federal system, Congress has been in a virtual criminalization
frenzy. There are more than 4,000 crimes and roughly 10,000
regulations with criminal penalties in the federal system alone. Just
last year, Congress made it a crime to sell horse meat for human
consumption -- a common practice in Europe where it is considered a
delicacy. Congress has also criminalized such things as disruptive
conduct by animal activists and using the image of Smokey Bear or
Woodsy Owl or the 4-H club insignia without authorization.

The ability to deter negligence with criminal charges has always been
questioned by academics. Negligent people are, by definition, acting
in a thoughtless, unpremeditated, or careless way. Nevertheless,
prosecutors will often stretch laws to make a popular point -- even
when the perpetrators have suffered greatly and shown complete remorse.

In 2002, Kevin Kelly was charged criminally in Manassas, Va., when
his daughter, less than 2 years old, was left in the family van and
died of hyperthermia. With his wife in Ireland with another daughter,
Kelly watched over their 12 other children. He relied on his teenage
daughters to help unload the van and did not realize the mistake
until it was too late.

The suggestion that people like Kelly need a criminal conviction to
think about the safety of their children is absurd. Kelly was widely
viewed as a loving father, who was devastated by the loss. The
conviction only magnified the tragedy for this family. (Though the
prosecutors sought jail time, Kelly was sentenced to seven years
probation, with one day in jail a year to think about his daughter's death.)

The criminalization of America might come as a boon for politicians,
but it comes at considerable cost for citizens and society. For
citizens, a criminal record can affect everything from employment to
voting to child custody -- not to mention ruinous legal costs.

Yet, it now takes only a fleeting mistake to cross the line into
criminal conduct. In Virginia, when a child accused Dawn McCann of
swearing at a bus stop, she was charged criminally -- as have been
other people accused of the crime of public profanity.

Our insatiable desire to turn everything into a crime is creating a
Gulag America with 714 incarcerated persons per 100,000 -- the
highest rate in the world. Millions of people are charged each year
with new criminal acts that can stretch from first-degree murder to
failing to shovel their sidewalks.

We can find better ways to deal with runaway bushes, castaway pets,
or even potty-mouth problems. Congress and the states should create
independent commissions to review their laws in order to
decriminalize negligent conduct, limiting criminal charges to true
crimes and true criminals. In the end, a crime means nothing if
anyone can be a criminal.

Jonathan Turley is the Shapiro Professor of Public Interest Law at
George Washington University and a member of USA TODAY's board of contributors.