A STIRRING GRADUATION IN DRUG COURT ALSO RECALLS THE MANY WHO HAVE BEEN LOST

When I addressed the crowd at the Jefferson County Family Drug Court
graduation a week ago today, I called the roll of my childhood friends who
had been "murdered" by substance abuse.

Some died young, in their 20s and 30s. Some managed to duck, dodge and
weave through years of drug and alcohol abuse into a physically and
mentally ravaged middle age.

Some tried to kick the habit but couldn't. Anybody who thinks it's easy
hasn't been an addict or hasn't known one.

I've lost so many friends to drugs that when I go home to visit, I hardly
know anybody. On occasion, I've spied a resemblance in the young face of a
stranger, and my sister, Debbie, who still lives in the old neighborhood,
introduces me to a son, daughter or grandchild of one of those old friends.
Sadly, it's obvious that some are repeating the cycles of their elders.

It breaks your heart watching people die. It breaks your heart being
helpless to do anything about it.

Often I say to myself, "There but for the grace of God go I." It's deeply
humbling to look back and realize that you've gone through the valley of
the shadow of death and been spared.

And to do what? To tell the story, I believe. If I can't directly save
lives, at least I can defend the humanity of those whom the judgmental
among us condemn and would just as soon throw away.

As I stood to speak at the graduation, I thought that, had there been a
drug court in my community in my day, maybe I'd be able to go back home
today, sit on a bench in the big park on the East River Drive and laugh and
talk with my old, dear friend Geneva.

But Geneva, sweet and sassy Geneva, is many years gone. I felt her spirit,
though, when I showed up on the sixth floor of the Judicial Center for the
drug court graduation.

It was no traditional graduation, for sure. No caps and gowns. No strains
of "Pomp and Circumstance." No long procession. The entire graduating
class, in fact, consisted of just two people.

But on this day, the trappings didn't matter. What did matter was the
journey those two women had taken -- the lengths to which they had gone to
reinvent themselves as drug-free, responsible women and mothers.

Addicts who aren't serious need not seek admission to drug court. It's a
tough program, and any backsliding -- such as not showing up for counseling
sessions, missing meetings with the judge or failing a random drug test --
has very serious consequences:

A woman could go to jail. Or, worse, lose her right to regain custody of
her kids.

"Intensive legal accountability" is the formal description of the
cornerstone of drug court's approach. Others are "gender-specific
treatment, intensive case management and increased community and family
involvement."

Let me break down that rhetoric. There's no way for participants to bluff
their way through.

The judges, lawyers, child protective workers and others involved in family
drug court didn't just fall off the turnip truck. They're wise to the ways
that addicts can be deceitful.

Jefferson County's Family Drug Court has been around only for about 11/2
years. But some form of drug court has been operating much longer and
enjoys strong and growing support from the legal community and politicians.

Finally -- finally -- people in power are coming to understand what
advocates have argued for years: Treating addicts in community settings is
preferable to and certainly more cost-effective than putting them in jail.

An estimated 348,000 Kentuckians are substance abusers. And it costs
taxpayers more than $17,000 a year to keep a single inmate incarcerated for
a year. In contrast, a treatment program costs about $5,000.

Gov. Ernie Fletcher and Lt. Gov. Steve Pence apparently see the wisdom of
drug courts. Shortly after taking office, they proposed to include $4.2
million over two years to fund 11 new drug courts around the state. "I
believe that if we have to take money from somewhere else and put it in
treatment, we'll have to do that," Pence said when the announcement was made.

What will actually materialize for drug courts remains to be seen, since
legislators haven't passed a budget yet.

At Thursday's graduation, however, politicians weren't on anybody's mind.

We were all there to celebrate two beautiful women's victories over their
addictions and their determination to get their four kids back.

"Stick out your chests," I told them. "Say, 'I did it!' You've outgrown
being the kind of women that you used to be. And aren't you proud?"

They were proud, of course. So were their families and their friends.

And so, too, were Family Court Judge Eleanore Garber, the lawyers, the case
workers and the others in that sun-drenched conference room who had had a
hand in helping two more women squeeze through the eye of the needle of
their addiction.

Betty Baye's columns appear Thursdays in The Forum. You can read them
online at www.courier-journal.com.