500 SEEK REFORM OF DRUG LAWS

Albany -- Protesters at Capitol seek changes to harsh Rockefeller-era
sentencing rules

Bishop Howard Hubbard and the Rev. Al Sharpton. Upstate conservative Sen.
John DeFrancisco and Queens liberal Assemblyman Jeffrion Aubry. Ten-year-old
Lisa Oberg and "Grandpa'' Al Lewis.

They're people who have almost nothing in common, with one exception: They
all called Tuesday for changes in the state's Rockefeller drug laws.

For more than a decade, politicians, judges and advocates have called for
reforms to the 26-year-old laws that mandate prison sentences of at least 15
years for offenders caught possessing or selling relatively small amounts of
drugs.

Now, with the largest and most diverse group to date clamoring for change,
officials believe 1999 is ripe for reform. On Tuesday, more than 500 people
from different backgrounds and all corners of the state rallied at the
Capitol to deliver a stinging attack on the laws.

The law "has not solved drugs on your streets,'' said Aubry, who introduced
a bill last month to repeal the mandatory sentencing requirements. Aubry
said the tough sentences merely warehouse people in prison without curbing
either the demand or supply of drugs.

Enacted in 1973, the laws were Gov. Nelson A. Rockefeller's response to a
burgeoning narcotic problem. At the time, the Republican governor was
angling for a spot on a presidential ticket. Now, however, criminologists
almost uniformly claim the tough sentencing laws have failed to achieve
their goal and have succeeded only in crowding New York's prisons with
nonviolent addicts.

Opponents are beginning to draw comparisons between Rockefeller's political
ambitions and those of the current GOP governor, George Pataki, who is also
seeking a national spotlight. When he came into office in 1995, Pataki
called for reforms to the Rockefeller laws -- a proposal he has now all but
deserted.

"(In) the vast majority of these cases, the person sentenced has a long
record or has been involved in massive amounts of drug peddling,'' Pataki
said earlier this week. "So, we're always willing to look at proposals, but
I haven't seen one yet that we're prepared to support.''

At the end of 1998, more than 23,000 state prison inmates were serving
sentences for drug offenses, at a cost of $2 billion annually, according to
the Correctional Association of New York. Two years ago, according to the
advocacy group, 80 percent of drug offenders sent to prison were never
convicted of a violent felony. And 17 percent of them had no prior felony
arrests.

Even the Republican-controlled Senate appears ready to change the laws. Sen.
John DeFrancisco, a conservative from Syracuse, has introduced a bill that
would double the quantity of drugs that would have to be sold or possessed
before the tougher terms kick in. And Senate Majority Leader Joseph Bruno of
Brunswick said Tuesday it makes more sense to fight addiction with treatment
than incarceration.

"Clearly the name of the game would be . . . to get people rehab, treatment
. . . not just to put people away and lock them up,'' Bruno said.

He was echoed by Bishop Howard Hubbard of the Roman Catholic Diocese of
Albany, who described the laws as "harsh statutes'' that "keep addicts who
offer no threat to the community incarcerated for unduly long periods of
time with no opportunity for effective treatment and with no
signifi@@hyphen@@cant benefit to the public.''

Also calling for change are Chief Judge Judith S. Kaye who in her State of
the Judiciary address last month, proposed giving judges the discretion to
cut mandated sentences by two-thirds in appropriate cases, and Court of
Appeals Judge Joseph Bellacosa. Bellacosa, considered one of the most
law-and-order jurists on the high court, recently characterized the
Rockefeller approach to the drug problem as an "utterly failed and
disastrous . . . experiment.''

Perhaps the most compelling testimony so far came Tuesday from 10-year-old
Lisa Oberg, whose mother, Arlene, was imprisoned on a 20 years-to-life
sentence shortly before she was born. Lisa has never lived with her mother
and only sees her four times a year. She will be 20 by the time her mother,
a first-time, nonviolent offender, is eligible for parole.

"I am speaking to the other victims of this law -- the kids,'' said Lisa,
who lives in Brooklyn with her grandmother. "Because they need their parents
as much as I need mine.'' State editor John Caher contributed to this
report.