Juvenile Drug Court Mixes Caring, Coercion

Blinking with disbelief, the lanky teenager demands to know why he's being
sent to the King County Juvenile Detention Center for the weekend. Whaddid
I do?" the 16-year-old asks defiantly during his weekly check-in at the
county's new juvenile drug court.

Superior Court Judge Laura Inveen gently reminds him that he missed drug
treatment the previous week and tested positive for drugs.

In desperation, the boy's mother tells the judge she is convinced her son
is using marijuana again.

"Where's the evidence?" the youth mumbles, shaking his head in disgust.

But Inveen doesn't relent, ordering him into detention until an electronic
anklet is available for him to wear upon release. When the teen is searched
after the hearing, detention staff find marijuana in his pocket.

The boy is one of 25 teenagers who appear before Inveen every Thursday in
the 4-month-old drug court. Up to 50 young offenders will be enrolled later
this year.

The two-year, $507,000 pilot project offers a combination of treatment,
scrutiny and support -- an approach that has shown promising results
nationwide in helping teenagers kick drug and alcohol addictions.

The court is an experiment in "therapeutic jurisprudence," casting the
judge in the role of coach, counselor and disciplinarian.

"I'm very proud of this program and the kids who are part of it," says
Inveen, sounding like the concerned parent of a very large brood. "We see
them when they're doing well and when they're not."

Juvenile drug courts have popped up across the country in recent years,
with 72 programs now underway in 41 states. King County's pilot project is
Washington's third, with smaller juvenile drug courts already operating in
Clallam and Kitsap counties.

The Seattle court is funded by a $380,000 federal Justice Department grant
and $126,715 in county funds.

What motivates teens to enroll in the demanding yearlong program is the
promise that their criminal charges will be dropped if they successfully
complete treatment.

"I'm fortunate they're giving me another chance," says Kendra, 17, who is
nine months' pregnant. "They have no reason to take my baby away now."

A cocaine addict since age 10, Kendra was referred to drug court last
October after being arrested on car theft and assault charges. She was sent
to a 26-day inpatient drug-treatment program and is now attending counseling.

"I honestly don't think I could have done it without them," says Kendra,
who is living with her boyfriend's parents until he gets out of jail. "I've
never gone this long being clean in seven years."

Kendra is one of just three girls in the program so far. The other two are
on the run, but court officials are optimistic they will return. All of the
youths referred to the court have been either charged with a drug or
alcohol offense, or they are accused of committing property crimes while
under the influence of drugs or alcohol. Juveniles charged with violent or
sex-related offenses are excluded.

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. After the first
three months, youths who make progress can check in less frequently.

Failure to comply with any part of the program can result in penalties
ranging from having to repeat an earlier phase of treatment, to spending a
day on a work crew, or being jailed for a few days in the detention center.
So far, one teenager has been removed from the program because he needed
intensive inpatient mental health treatment. None of the youths have flunked.

Parents are also expected to participate in the weekly check-ins to report
on their children's progress.

"This was the best thing that could have happened to my son," says Eileen,
who had taken time off work to attend court with her 17-year-old son,
Michael. "It was the leverage I needed to get control of the situation."

She traces Michael's problems back to the death of his stepfather four
years ago, and a lack of involvement by her son's biological father. Last
summer, her son was charged with marijuana possession and car theft.

Michael is less enthusiastic than his mother about drug court, chafing at
the time commitment.

"Earlier, I would have said I hated it, but I really like the support they
show," he says while waiting for the court hearing.

When he appears before Inveen, Michael is asked to explain a black eye he
suffered when he was robbed at a bus stop the previous week.

Then he jokes that he got everything he wanted for Christmas, "except a car."

Inveen praises Michael's progress and presents him with a belated Christmas
gift: a fuzzy, brown teddy bear.

"All the other tough guys got their bears last week," Inveen says with a smile.

Michael is an early success story: He has followed through with outpatient
treatment, is attending high school and has failed just one drug test.

He is also one of the few teenagers who has strong support from a parent.
Many of the youths show up for their check-in alone.

Although the program asks parents to agree in writing that they will attend
court, Inveen says they can't force families to participate. "We decided we
didn't want to penalize kids if there weren't parents involved because some
of them need this the most," Inveen says.

The judge works with a team of professionals, including probation
counselors, drug counselors and attorneys, who meet weekly to review each
teenager's case.

With so many watching eyes, some teens have figured out that it's better to
confess their slip-ups than try to cover their tracks.

"I had a relapse," one boy tells Inveen. "I learned how easy it was to take
70 days (of sobriety) and flush it down the toilet."

Instead of chastising the teenager, Inveen focuses on the positive steps he
took in getting help from his outpatient counselor. "What to me is
impressive is that you didn't let it be your downfall," Inveen says.

Others are less forthcoming.

One slight, red-haired boy, who looks 10 but is actually 14, tells Inveen
that he has had a wonderful week skateboarding with his father.

Barely containing his frustration, dad has a different story: his son has
stayed out all night more than once, hasn't answered pages and has returned
home with dilated pupils.

Inveen orders the boy to be under his father's supervision at all times,
with the threat of being held in detention if he fails to comply. Unlike
their adult counterparts, juvenile drug courts include families and
educators in developing treatment plans. Teenagers are less likely than
adults to recognize their actions as wrong, and often fear punishment less
than adults. That means treatment must help juveniles understand why drug
use is risky and assess what they have to lose.

It's too early to tell whether the program will make a difference in young
offenders' lives over the long haul.

But other states have reported encouraging signs since the first juvenile
drug courts were launched about four years ago.

More than 75 percent of the 2,693 youth who have participated nationwide
have graduated, according to a U.S. Justice Department report issued last
July. Six months after graduation, 23 percent of youth remained drug-free
- -- a success rate which, while low, is better than many other juvenile
offender programs have achieved.

The 2-year-old Clallam County juvenile drug court has worked with 79
teenagers. About 17 have graduated so far from the year-long program, while
28 are still enrolled. Another 34 youths have dropped out or been asked to
leave.

"It's tough working with juveniles," says Preston Kayes, coordinator of the
Clallam program. "We've been very pleased with the results so far."

With the right mix of treatment, caring and coercion, Inveen is confident
many teenagers can be nudged onto a healthier path.

As the court winds down for another week, the judge asks a community drug
counselor to help convince a girl who has run away from home to return to
court.

"We don't want to lose her," Inveen says.