JUDGES CONFRONT 'EXERCISE IN FUTILITY'

Inpatient Wait Lists Undermine Alternative Sentencing For
Addicts

For Jennifer McCready, the break came halfway into a 10-year prison
sentence for dealing cocaine, when a judge sent her to a long-term,
residential drug treatment program in Crownsville. A year later, the
30-year-old native of eastern Baltimore County is holding down a job
and renting her own apartment for the first time in years.

"It worked out awesome for me," she said. "There are a lot more people
out there who could do the same if given the chance."

But few are getting to follow in her footsteps. A track that has been
set up to empower Maryland judges to use alternative sentencing for
addicted offenders is essentially broken.

At a recent legislative hearing, three judges testified, in unusually
heated language, that their authority to sentence seriously addicted
lawbreakers to long-term treatment has been virtually nullified by
waiting lists that run to 18 months, so long that many defendants'
jail terms have ended by the time a slot opens up. And in Baltimore
County District Court, a public defender argued last week that the
state was violating the law by failing to find an inpatient slot for a
defendant who was still sitting in jail after being sentenced to
treatment three months ago.

It is no secret that the demand for substance abuse treatment exceeds
supply in Maryland, a state with relatively high levels of drug abuse,
particularly heroin. But the recent protests revealed the shortage's
effect on one particular feature of the criminal justice system:
judges' ability to sentence people with serious addictions to
long-term, residential treatment rather than prison or jail.

'Judges Are Desperate'

"Judges are desperate for viable alternatives to incarceration. Judges
are desperate for accessible, suitable treatment for defendants,"
Baltimore District Judge Charlotte M. Cooksey wrote to the House panel
that held the hearing. But "most judges have come to the conclusion
that ordering the [state health] department to obtain treatment is an
exercise in futility."

There is growing consensus in Maryland that it makes sense to divert
nonviolent offenders with substance abuse problems into treatment
rather than jail or prison. Gov. Robert L. Ehrlich Jr. speaks strongly
in favor of such diversion, a stance the Republican acknowledges is
not shared by many in his own party.

But the resources directed to treatment don't match the belief in it,
say lawyers and judges. "We were so pleased to hear [Ehrlich] say that
he believes in treatment, not incarceration, but I'm not sure if he's
aware that a program in his administration is not working," said Nancy
S. Forster, the state public defender.

The shortage is most apparent in one particular route of alternative
sentencing, a provision in state law that empowers judges to commit
defendants to the state Department of Health and Mental Hygiene for
long-term, inpatient treatment, which typically lasts nine months to
one year. This provision, which has existed since the 1970s but was
strengthened in legislation last year, is used mainly for offenders
with serious addictions who have failed in shorter treatment and who
in many cases have concurrent mental illnesses.

The law requires the health department to "promptly" find beds for
those sentenced under the provision. But the list of people waiting in
jail for their slot to open has grown to 140, and those sentenced in
recent weeks have been told the wait will last well into 2007. Judges
say the list would be even longer had many judges not given up on the
provision altogether.

The problem is not hard to explain. Many judges who are open to
alternative sentencing for addicts like being able to sentence them to
a long-term residential program because such programs have relatively
high success rates. Judges also like knowing exactly where the
offender will be living while in treatment.

But at $70 a day, residential treatment is more expensive than
outpatient care. The state has purchased only 141 slots in private
facilities for those sentenced under the provision, at a cost of $4
million of its $133 million treatment budget. Because of the high
cost, the vast majority of nonviolent drug offenders who are diverted
into treatment are simply given probation with the condition that they
attend outpatient programs.

The state is in the process of seeking new contracts with treatment
providers that would create about 20 more slots for addicts sentenced
under the long-term provision. Judges say the added slots, which have
been held up by legal challenges to the bidding process, still will
not meet the demand.

'Take a Broader View'

Alan Friedman, director of legislative relations and Ehrlich's drug
policy adviser, said that he understands the judges' wish for more
slots for those sentenced under the provision but that the state also
needs to fulfill many other treatment needs, including within prison
and for those who seek treatment without court referrals. New local
and statewide councils created last year to oversee drug treatment are
deciding how best to spend the money that's available, he said.

"There are lots of pieces to the puzzle," he said. "You have judges
sitting at that table saying we want what we want, but my job requires
I take a broader view."

Others argue that the state could do more to expand the total funding
pie to allow for more long-term treatment, noting that such care,
while not cheap, is no more expensive than prison, which costs about
$24,000 per inmate per year. The state's total budget for drug
treatment has remained flat the past three years.

Del. William A. Bronrott, a Montgomery County Democrat who attended
last week's hearing, says he is considering resubmitting a bill to
raise the state excise tax on alcohol by a few pennies per drink and
devote the proceeds to substance abuse treatment and prevention. The
state's tax on liquor hasn't been raised since 1955 and the tax on
wine and beer hasn't been raised since 1972, giving Maryland one of
the lowest rates in the country.

Raising the tax to 6 cents per drink would produce $90 million in
annual revenue, Bronrott said. "By taking a minuscule bite out of
consumers' pockets, that would generate an enormous amount of money
for the most serious public health and safety problem facing the state
today," he said.

A coalition of advocacy groups argues that the obvious place to look
for money is the state corrections budget. As judges divert more
offenders to treatment - the prison population fell by 400 people last
year, while the number of defendants diverted to treatment increased
by 300 - it makes sense to redirect funding from corrections to
treatment as well, the group argues.

"We say we're committed to treatment for nonviolent offenders, but we
keep building prisons. It's contradictory," said Tara Andrews,
director of the nonprofit Justice Maryland, one group in the
coalition. "We're diverting a person from one system into another but
not diverting the money."

Going further, Andrews and Cooksey question the wisdom of Ehrlich's
decision to invest more in treatment for those who are in prison. It
might make more sense, they said, to spend more on treatment as an
alternative to prison, rather than on treatment for inmates who might
not be released for years to come.

"Why isn't it made available to people who with a proper treatment
alternative wouldn't require incarceration, instead of focusing on
people who have received a lengthy sentence or committed lots of
serious crimes?" said Cooksey, the District Court judge.

A Half-Year Wait

McCready received her diversion into treatment at Second Genesis in
Crownsville when she was five years into a 10-year term at the women's
prison in Jessup. The judge in her case wanted to see her finish four
years of prison, and it took half a year for a slot to open up.

McCready says that in her late teens she was hoping to attend college
but became overwhelmed when she started caring for her young nephew
after her sister became a heroin addict. McCready says a boyfriend
helped drag her into drug use and then dealing.

"I was addicted to the whole lifestyle," she said. "I wanted what I
wanted when I wanted it. It was the easy way and I took it."

But at Second Genesis, which the state has been relying on for most
inpatient diversions from the courts, McCready thrived on the
program's structure: clients attend classes on self-esteem, anger
management and relationships; discipline each other's misbehavior; and
share cleaning duties for the cafeteria.

McCready has found work as a spatial design consultant for Maryland
Correctional Enterprises, helping state agencies make the best use of
their offices. Last month, she got an apartment in Glen Burnie, but
she often returns for visits to Second Genesis.

On Friday, she joined current client Michael Bell in giving visitors a
tour of the Second Genesis building. Bell, a 32-year-old from
Annapolis, was sentenced to the program after a conviction for drug
dealing, his fourth trip behind bars. He said his five months in the
program have helped him kick the heroin addiction that led him into
dealing, and that he is looking forward to working in heating and air
conditioning once he leaves.

"This program has taught me a lot of things I never dealt with when I
was being warehoused in prison," he said. "Life shows up every day,
and I'm looking forward to showing up for life from this day forward."