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Juvenile Justice

Juvenile Justice

Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice

Edited by

FRANCINE T. SHERMAN and FRANCINE H. JACOBS

John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Juvenile justice: advancing research, policy, and practice/edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs.

p. cm.

Includes index.

ISBNs 978-0-470-49704-3; 978-1-118-10586-3; 978-1-118-10585-6; 978-1-118-10587-0; 978-1-118-09337-5

1. Juvenile justice, Administration of—United States. 2. Juvenile corrections—United States. 3. Juvenile

delinquents—United States. I. Sherman, Francine T., 1955- II. Jacobs, Francine H.

HV9104.J864 2011

364.630973—dc22 2011014932

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To all the children, families, advocates, practitioners,

and policy makers involved with juvenile justice,

acknowledging the critical roles you play in creating

a more humane and effective system

Contents

Foreword Justice for America’s Children xi

Marian Wright Edelman

Preface xv

Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Introduction xvii

Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Contributors xxvii

SECTION I

Framing the Issues 1

Chapter 1 A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 3

Marty Beyer

Chapter 2 Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 24

Kristi Holsinger

Chapter 3 The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 44

Paula Braverman and Robert Morris

Chapter 4 Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 68

Francine T. Sherman and Hon. Jay Blitzman

Chapter 5 A Vision for the American Juvenile Justice System: The Positive Youth Development Perspective 92

Richard M. Lerner, Michael D. Wiatrowski, Megan Kiely Mueller, Christopher M. Napolitano, Kristina L. Schmid, and Anita Pritchard

vii

SECTION II

Understanding Individual Youth 109

Chapter 6 Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice 111

James Bell and Raquel Mariscal

Chapter 7 The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 131

Francine T. Sherman and Jessica H. Greenstone

Chapter 8 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 156

Laura Garnette, Angela Irvine, Carolyn Reyes, and Shannan Wilber

Chapter 9 Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System: Toward Developmentally and Socioculturally Based Provision of Services 174

Ellen E. Pinderhughes, Karen T. Craddock, and LaTasha L. Fermin

SECTION III

Understanding Youth in Context 197

Chapter 10 Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 199

Francine H. Jacobs, Claudia Miranda-Julian, and Rachael Kaplan

Chapter 11 Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 223

Linda L. Baker, Alison J. Cunningham, and Kimberly E. Harris

Chapter 12 Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities 245

Robert L. Hawkins, Maryna Vashchenko, and Courtney Davis

Chapter 13 The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 267

Edmund Bruyere and James Garbarino

viii C O N T E N T S

Chapter 14 The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 286

Kathleen B. Boundy and Joanne Karger

Chapter 15 Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 310

Sabina E. Vaught

Chapter 16 The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 331

Francine T. Sherman and Lisa Goldblatt Grace

Chapter 17 How American Government Frames Youth Problems 352

Timothy Ross and Joel Miller

Chapter 18 Youth Perspectives on Health Care 369

Rachel Oliveri, Ila Deshmukh Towery, Leah Jacobs, and Francine H. Jacobs

SECTION IV

Working for Change 389

Chapter 19 Youth-Led Change 391

Barry Dym, Ken Tangvik, Jesus Gerena, and Jessica Dym Bartlett

Chapter 20 The End of the Reform School? 409

Vincent Schiraldi, Marc Schindler, and Sean J. Goliday

Chapter 21 Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 433

Anne F. Farrell and Diane M. Myers

Chapter 22 Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 456

Stan Schneider and Lola Simpson

Contents ix

Chapter 23 Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice 477

Peter W. Greenwood and Susan Turner

Chapter 24 Better Research for Better Policies 505

Jeffrey A. Butts and John K. Roman

Afterword 527

Congressman Robert (Bobby) Scott

About the Editors 531

Author Index 533

Subject Index 551

x C O N T E N T S

Foreword: Justice for America’s Children MARIAN WRIGHT EDELMAN

President, Children’s Defense Fund, Washington, DC

The test of the morality of a society is what

it does for its children.

—Dietrich Bonhoeffer (c. 1940)

Has America turned her back on her most

vulnerable children?

America is the richest nation in the world.

We rank #1 in gross domestic product (GDP),

and we have more billionaires than any other

country. Surely, a nation so blessed will take

care of its children, who are its greatest treasure,

its future, and its most vulnerable population.

Yet the gap between rich and poor in

America is greater than in any other major

industrialized nation 1 and is growing wider,

dooming millions of children to the fate of

growing up poor—if they survive infancy.

Today, tens of thousands of poor babies in

rich America enter the world with multiple

strikes against them: born without prenatal

care, at low birth weight, and to a teen, poor,

and poorly educated single mother and absent

father. Many are funneled from birth into what

the Children’s Defense Fund calls ‘‘the cradle-

to-prison pipeline,’’ which traps children into

life paths marked by abuse, illness, school failure

and suspension, detention, incarceration, and,

too often, early death. Others become trapped

in the pipeline to prison later in life.

At crucial points in a poor child’s develop-

ment, more risks pile on—the loss of a parent,

sibling, or friend; low teacher expectations;

family or neighborhood violence; gang

involvement—making a successful transition

to productive adulthood significantly less likely

and involvement in the criminal justice system

significantly more likely. For children of color,

who are disproportionately poor, the odds of

youth detention and eventual incarceration as

adults greatly exceed those for White children.

Black children are 3 times as likely as White

children to be poor. A Black boy born in 2001

is more than 5 times as likely as a White boy

born that same year to be incarcerated at some

point during his lifetime.

And, in the past 20 years, sentencing for

juveniles in our nation has become increas-

ingly harsh and punitive and there has been an

increase of 72% in the number of children

held in America’s juvenile detention centers; 2

thousands of children are held in adult prisons.

As a number of the chapters in this im-

portant volume illustrate, the experiences of

detained and incarcerated children in America

are rarely rehabilitative. Children and teens

who go through our nation’s juvenile justice

2 Myers, D. M., & Farrell, Anne F. (2008). Reclaiming

Lost Opportunities: Applying Public Health Models in

Juvenile Justice. Children and Youth Services Review 30,

1159–1177.

1 OECD Report (2009), Growing Unequal? Income Distri-

bution and Poverty in OECD Countries, notes that ‘‘the

United States is the country with the highest inequality

level and poverty rate across the OECD, Mexico and

Turkey excepted.’’

xi

system are condemned to long terms at large

youth detention centers and adult prisons only

to languish in cells surrounded by thick walls

and razor wire. Too often, they are locked

down for long periods of the day with no real

opportunities for rehabilitation, treatment, or

education. Many youth become hardened

criminals while incarcerated, and at the end

of their sentences they are released into com-

munities that don’t have adequate resources to

reintegrate them.

Tragically, instead of helping disadvantaged

youth become responsible adults, the juvenile

justice system today has become a major feeder

into the cradle-to-prison pipeline, leading

young people into the adult criminal system.

That pipeline runs through economically de-

pressed neighborhoods and failing schools;

across vacant lots where playgrounds and health

facilities should be; and in and out of broken,

understaffed child welfare agencies. By the time

many children get arrested and are brought

before a juvenile court, they have been pro-

vided far too little loving and thoughtful adult

support—only to face purported child-serving

systems that treat them unjustly.

The high number of cases that juvenile

courts administer—an estimated 1.6 million

cases each year nationwide—is attributable to

the fact that we, the adults, have let our most

vulnerable children down. We don’t pay at-

tention to early warning signs, such as a drop

in grades or a reluctance to go to school, that

indicate poor children need help; we don’t

provide them with adequate mental health

services or other counsel; and we have per-

mitted the increasing criminalization of chil-

dren at younger and younger ages for

behaviors that used to be handled by families,

churches, teachers, and community organiza-

tions. We seem to have forgotten that children

are children, and that our job as adults is to

guarantee their safe passage to successful,

productive adulthood by guiding them, nur-

turing them, protecting them, and teaching

them.

It was not always so. America’s juvenile

justice system was once regarded as one of the

most enlightened in the world. It was founded

over 100 years ago on the principle that chil-

dren, unlike adults, are still developing and that

many of their perceptions, actions, and re-

actions are immature responses to an increas-

ingly complex world. The early American

juvenile justice philosophy taught that, with

the proper guidance, children can learn new

behaviors and attitudes as they mature. The

emphasis was on rehabilitation, not punishment

and retribution. In order to grow into respon-

sible and caring adults, it was believed, youthful

offenders need support, treatment, and care.

The editors of this volume and authors of

individual chapters urge us to remember that

the children involved in our juvenile justice

system are, first and foremost, children. Like all

children, they need the love and guidance of

adults—in their families, in their neighbor-

hoods, in their communities—to develop their

considerable potential and to thrive. And like

all children, they need a nurturing school

environment, the attention of caring and tal-

ented teachers who know their students can

learn, and a rigorous curriculum that gives all

students the skills to succeed in college and the

workplace. The fact that risk factors such as

poverty, discrimination, and personal tragedy

add stress to their young lives and increase their

chances of becoming trapped in the cradle-to-

prison pipeline should not cause us, the adults

in their lives, to lower our expectations for

their success or, worse, write them off or

abandon them. Indeed, their increased vul-

nerability should make us redouble our efforts

to give them the support and care they sorely

need. Repeatedly, in the chapters of this vol-

ume, we are reminded that deficit- and

xii F O R E W O R D : J U S T I C E F O R A M E R I C A ’ S C H I L D R E N

punishment-based approaches to juvenile jus-

tice only feed the pipeline to prison and that

when we identify children’s strengths and

build on those strengths intentionally and

consistently, we can help children in the juve-

nile justice system grow and thrive.

In the pages that follow, you will meet

children involved in the juvenile justice system

who would have benefited from a coordinated,

caring, and developmentally appropriate system

of support. There is Marco, a young boy who

initially did well in school and loved science but

whose grades dropped when he became sad and

fearful in middle school because he was terror-

ized by gang violence in his neighborhood and

witnessed the murder of a friend; no adults

picked up on signs of his stress or bothered to

check in with him to see what was going on. As

his fears grew, Marco succumbed to pressure to

join a gang ‘‘for protection’’ and, before long,

he was charged with being an accessory to a

crime in a drive-by shooting.

You also will hear from Grace, an intelli-

gent and outspoken young girl of color who,

shortly after her placement in a foster home

(a placement she perceived as punishment), was

charged with assault on a public employee and

‘‘disturbing school assembly.’’ After Grace’s

expulsion from school, she was shuttled among

foster homes, residential placements, and secure

detention, as the Department of Family Ser-

vices and the Department of Juvenile Justice

struggled over control of her case. And you will

visit a juvenile justice detention center school

where children 13–20 years old are regarded as

‘‘predators’’ by the adults in charge of their care

and whose ‘‘sentences’’ are extended when they

fall asleep in class.

The authors place such stories in the

context of the latest research and recommend

best practices on child development that

emphasize the importance of an environmen-

tal, developmental approach that builds on a

child’s strengths. The chapter on youth-led

change introduces us to youth who have dis-

covered, within themselves, immense re-

sources not only to change themselves but

to transform their communities, creating ‘‘vir-

tuous cycles’’ (instead of ‘‘vicious cycles’’) that

serve as positive feedback loops building on

increasing strengths.

The lessons in this book remind us that we

can—and that we must—do better, for the sake

of our children, their futures, and the sake of

our nation. Incarceration should not be our

society’s first or primary response to youth in

trouble. Judges need to look for opportunities

to offer poor, young, and minority defendants

the same second chances most privileged youth

can count on. These include alternatives to

incarceration such as restitution, community

service, electronic monitoring, drug rehabilita-

tion treatment, or placement in a ‘‘staff secure’’

(but not locked) community corrections facil-

ity. These youth in trouble must get the educa-

tion, special education, mental health

treatment, and other services they need. We

must ensure that systems intended to support

children actually help them, instead of serving

as entryways into the cradle-to-prison pipeline.

And as the final chapter in this volume makes

abundantly clear, child welfare, juvenile justice,

and education systems all need to collaborate to

design individualized systems of support that

build on each child’s strengths.

There is already good work under way in a

number of states and communities, and you

will read about that work throughout this

volume. Committed leaders and staff are

working to rid the system of the abusive

and punitive treatment of youth in custody

that now too often pushes them into the adult

criminal justice system. Reforms in Missouri’s

juvenile justice system, often now referred to

as the Missouri Model, have replaced large

training schools and detention facilities with

Foreword: Justice for America’s Children xiii

small group programs located as close to

youth’s homes as possible. These small pro-

grams offer a broad range of therapeutic inter-

ventions and are staffed by highly trained and

educated staff who understand that construc-

tive reform is best accomplished through pos-

itive behavioral supports and that the use of

force must be kept to a minimum. The

Missouri Model is being used to promote

juvenile justice reforms in Louisiana; New

Mexico; San Jose, California; and Washington,

DC, and other jurisdictions are waiting in line.

States such as California, Texas, and New York

are also making progress in establishing alter-

natives to secure confinement. The Juvenile

Detention Alternatives Initiative, begun by the

Annie E. Casey Foundation 15 years ago, has

reduced the number of youth in detention

and in some places also reduced the number

of juvenile arrests.

The goal of these and other reforms is to

create throughout our nation a juvenile justice

system that will give children the support they

need to grow into thoughtful, confident, car-

ing, and productive adults as they transition to

the community. We must bring to scale the

reforms already under way that build on the

strengths of children, youth, and families;

provide children and youth with individual-

ized and comprehensive services in the least

restrictive setting appropriate to their needs;

promote evidence-based approaches; and

assist and support the successful return of

youth to their communities. These new

approaches recognize the usefulness and

importance of tracking outcomes for youth

and responses to the new reforms over both

the short and long term.

At the same time, we must take action to

address the root causes of a child’s involvement

with the juvenile justice system so that we

might keep children and youth from ever

entering the system. We must eliminate child

poverty, assure every child comprehensive

health and mental health coverage and the

early childhood experiences and education

required to meet their individual needs, and

offer families the supports needed to keep their

children safe and in nurturing communities.

This volume is a call to action, and I

encourage everyone who reads it to take steps

to ensure that all America’s children are given

an equal chance to succeed. We must all work

together to replace the cradle-to-prison pipe-

line with a pipeline to responsible, productive

adulthood.

xiv F O R E W O R D : J U S T I C E F O R A M E R I C A ’ S C H I L D R E N

Preface FRANCINE T. SHERMAN AND FRANCINE H. JACOBS

The idea for this book grew out of our 5-year

collaboration on the Massachusetts Health Pass-

port Project (MHPP; first the Girls’ Health

Passport Project), which was an effort to de-

velop a system of continuous health-care access

for girls, and then boys and girls, committed to

the Massachusetts Department of Youth Ser-

vices. Fran Sherman was the principal investi-

gator of the core project to develop and

implement MHPP, and Fran Jacobs and her

team at Tufts University, of its evaluation.

Through many hours of discussion, debate,

and mutual education explicating MHPP goals

and teasing out ways to evaluate them, we each

discovered new, more critical ways of thinking

about our own fields, along with new connec-

tions among the worlds of law, policy, and the

social sciences. The experience was both

refreshing and challenging.

For us, that concrete, almost daily collabo-

ration reinforced our belief in interdisciplinary

conversations and understandings of juvenile

justice and broader youth policy. It also re-

inforced the importance of looking behind

practice (however successful you think you

are being) to understand how, and the extent

to which, it reflects current theory and research

on the one hand, and is approaching attainment

of its goals, on the other. That iterative process

of doing and analyzing and then redoing and

reanalyzing, is key to the development of sound

and innovative juvenile justice policy and

practice moving forward, and was practiced,

as well, in the development of this volume. In

that spirit, we hope this book will stimulate

both interdisciplinary conversations among stu-

dents, academics, policy makers and practition-

ers, and links among practice, research, and

theory to develop programs and policies pro-

moting positive development for youth and

their communities.

We have both benefited from the support

and dedication of talented students and col-

leagues. I (Fran Sherman) am grateful to the

Juvenile Rights Advocacy Project clinic and

seminar, which gives me the invaluable, daily

opportunity to see juvenile law and policy

through the fresh eyes and quick minds of

second- and third-year law students; to

Rebecca Vose and Tony DeMarco, my JRAP

colleagues, who have made my work life both

stimulating and fun and have been so generous

with their time, giving me time to work on this

volume, and Judy McMorrow, who has pro-

vided thoughtful and consistent counsel and

friendship through all of my 26 years at Boston

College Law School. I also want to thank my

national juvenile justice colleagues, many of

whom have contributed to this volume, who

demonstrate the power of vision, leadership,

devotion, and intentionality in implementing

smart and effective juvenile justice practices and

policies. The many youth and, particularly

young women, whom I have represented

xv

over 30 years, are an ongoing inspiration and

education, and are, of course at the core of this

volume.

Likewise, I (Fran Jacobs) have much

appreciated the support and encouragement

of colleagues in both of my departments at

Tufts—the Eliot-Pearson Department of

Child Development, and the Department

of Urban and Environmental Policy and

Planning—many of whom, from distinct

and distantly flung perches in the worlds of

child development and public policy, have

had encouraging words to share about the

worthiness of this book. Rachel Oliveri, Ila

Deshmukh Towery, Jessica Greenstone, and

Claudia Miranda-Julian expertly helped us

convert what was learned in the course of

the MHPP evaluation into broader lessons

for juvenile justice policy. And Maryna

Vashchenko and Jessica Dym Bartlett pro-

vided expert substantive consultation and

patient editorial intervention. At Boston

College Law School, Classie Davis, Celeste

Laramie, Kori Burnham, Lauren Whillhoite,

Hilary Jaffe, Coleman Peng, Dan Maltzman,

Mary Ann Neary, and Chester Kozikowski all

provided important research and administra-

tive support.

A number of foundations supported

the Girls’ Health Passport Project and the

Massachusetts Health Passport Project in

some way, and through that support helped

stimulate the thinking behind this volume.

They are: The Blue Cross Blue Shield of

Massachusetts Foundation, The Jacob and

Valeria Langeloth Foundation, The Boston

Foundation, the Florence V. Burden Founda-

tion, The Jessie B. Cox Charitable Trust, and

the Gardiner Howland Shaw Foundation. We

are grateful for their support and for the

encouragement and insight provided by our

grant administrators in each and every case. I

(Fran Sherman) have greatly appreciated the

support and fellowship I have received over the

years from my colleagues at the Annie E. Casey

Foundation’s Juvenile Detention Alternatives

Initiative. The many lessons I have learned

from them are woven through this volume.

We both thank our universities, Boston Col-

lege Law School and Tufts University, respec-

tively, for providing us with essential research

leave and support to work on this volume. We

are also grateful to Marian Wright Edelman for

her foreword to this volume; her career as an

advocate for children is unparalleled and stands

as an inspiration.

My (Fran Sherman) boundless love, grat-

itude, and respect go to my three children,

Leah, Sarah, and Jake Tucker for their warmth,

kindness, intelligence, and senses of humor.

This book and so much of my work, which is

centrally about ways to support youth, is dedi-

cated to my children for the way they honor

their many gifts and opportunities. They are my

inspiration, and I look forward to continuing to

watch their adult lives unfold. And most of all,

my gratitude and love go to my husband, Scott

Tucker—my best friend, most solid support,

and biggest booster.

My (Fran Jacobs) deep gratitude goes

to my family—first and foremost to my hus-

band Barry Dym—and then to my children

(Jessica and JJ Bartlett, and Gabriel Dym and

Rachael Kaplan) and grandchildren (Molly

and Jake Bartlett, and Eli Aaron Dym) for

having the patience to see me through this

process, and the good sense to avoid me on

those crunch writing days. My 91-year-old

mother, Miriam Jacobs, kept up on the prog-

ress of this project, celebrating with me the

completion of each phase. This book, about

children and families and the help that every

one of them needs and deserves, pays tribute

to them all.

xvi P R E F A C E

Introduction FRANCINE T. SHERMAN AND FRANCINE H. JACOBS

Arthur Schlesinger Jr. (1986) observed that

the history of social policy in the United

States reflects fairly predictable cycles, com-

pleted in 30 years or so, between liberalism

and conservatism—‘‘public purpose and private

interest’’ (p. 31). These cycles of national in-

volvement with issues of social concern invig-

orate our politics with new energy and ideas;

their seeds are sown, during previous cycles, as

forays of innovation that eventually coalesce.

And although it can appear at the ‘‘end’’ of a

cycle, that policy has not advanced much, if at

all, in fact the process is recursive. For better or

worse, we never do return precisely to where

we were, and every so often, the change in

policy direction is bold, significant, and per-

manent. Those of us who came of age in the

1960s and 1970switnessed this transformational

progress in civil rights, women’s rights, and the

rights of persons with disabilities.

And then there is juvenile justice policy. It is

often noted that our national disposition toward

delinquent youth and our approach to addressing

their deeds and needs vacillate, unsurprisingly,

and in the regular cycles that Schlesinger de-

scribed, between punishment and rehabilitation.

Modest changes are often consolidated before

the pendulum swings once again in the opposite

direction; reformers at either end tool up, ready-

ing themselves to undo or modify what has been

codified in the ‘‘down’’ cycle.

The prediction of the ‘‘coming of the super-

predators’’ by John Dilulio (1995, November

27), then a professor at Princeton University, in

the mid-1990s, may represent the apogee of the

pendular swing of that time, the midpoint of that

cycle. Broadly speaking, with the Juvenile Justice

and Delinquency Prevention Act and the pro-

cedural due process revolution of the late 1960s

and 1970s, juvenile justice policy had become

more rehabilitative in orientation. Rates of ju-

venile crime arrests increased over the 1980s,

however, and the population of juvenile offend-

ers became increasingly racialized. The rise in

juvenile violent crime arrests during the 1980s

was a complex, multidetermined phenomenon

(Zimring, 1998), however, and by 1994 juvenile

violent crime arrests had already begun their

long decline (Puzzanchera, 2009). Nonetheless,

Dilulio capitalized on, and catalyzed, the grow-

ing sentiment among Americans that these

youth were too dangerous to have in our midst.

They were depraved, thoroughly incorrigible,

and therefore needing to be removed from

society to protect the rest of us.

We know the end of this story: That on-

slaught never materialized—and indeed, juve-

nile crime statistics have evidenced steady

improvement over the ensuing years (Puzzan-

chera, 2009). Nonetheless, the late 1990s wit-

nessed a flurry of state legislation that expanded

punitive approaches for juveniles, including

making it easier to transfer youth to the adult

correctional system.

Meanwhile, reformers were preparing for

the next cycle to emerge, and that cycle is,

xvii

indeed, upon us. There are many recent signs of

progress toward a more rehabilitative posture in

juvenile justice. The Supreme Court’s decisions

in Roper v. Simmons (2005) and Graham v. Florida

(2010) struck down the juvenile death penalty

entirely and juvenile life without parole in non-

homicide cases based, in part, on grounds of

child development and neuroscience. On the

front end of the system, detention reform has

significant national momentum, helping juris-

dictions to be more accountable to youth and

communities and reduce the use of secure de-

tention to cases of greatest community and flight

risk. On the back end of the system, led by

the Missouri Model, states are reducing their

reliance on secure youth institutions and build-

ing networks of community-based youth

programs on principles of positive youth devel-

opment. Around the country there is increasing

use of evaluation—and evidence-based practices

in juvenile justice systems—reflecting a more

thoughtful and hopeful approach to meeting the

goals these systems set for themselves.

With greater interdisciplinary engage-

ment, new ways to understand and support

youth in the system have emerged. Positive

youth development, ecological developmental

theory, family systems theory, and new re-

search on adolescent brain development, for

example, are infiltrating programming and

policy discussions in juvenile justice as well

as the law. This is a moment of hope and

possibilities; and perhaps these new possibilit-

ies will even direct us toward transformational

changes in juvenile justice.

THE ARCHITECTURE OF THE VOLUME

The organization of this volume, reflecting the

forward-facing trends previously noted, is eco-

logical in structure, considering youth in the

juvenile justice system within the context of

their families, communities, and the multiple

public systems that influence them, and are

influenced by them as well. Although most

of its chapters are scholarly in tone and content,

other authors approach their topics with an

activist orientation—a mix of perspectives we

sought out from the volume’s inception. Chap-

ter authors represent a broad range of disciplines

and perspectives, also necessary, in our view, to

engage meaningful juvenile justice policy.

Followingthisecological road map, Juvenile

Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice is

divided into four sections: The first, ‘‘Framing

the Issues,’’ offers an introduction to the core

elements of the juvenile justice system—the

youth, the proposed developmental lens (posi-

tive youth development) through which to

consider their behaviors and the system’s re-

sponses to them, and the law that undergirds

and directs the system operations. Next, in

‘‘Understanding Individual Youth,’’ we provide

more in-depth portraits of subgroups of these

youth, according to characteristics that appear

to influence their experiences in the systems—

race and ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation,

and family circumstances. Next, in ‘‘Under-

standing Youth in Context,’’ we open the lens

and examine aspects of family, community, and

formal and informal systems particularly rele-

vant to youth’s system involvement. Finally, in

‘‘Working for Change,’’ we highlight some of

the most promising innovations in juvenile

justice; combined they offer a vision for the

future of juvenile justice system policy.

BASIC PREMISES

Although the chapters in this volume present a

range of opinions and approaches to collecting

and validating evidence, certain underlying

premises are represented in the book—obvious

xviii I N T R O D U C T I O N

tous,butworthmentioning—thatcontributeto

the volume’s overall point of view.

& Youth have a set of legal rights that are

central to the structure and operation

of effective and successful public sys-

tems and of society as a whole. The

juvenile justice system is first a legal

system, with youth involvement trig-

gered by an alleged law violation.

Youth do not lose their rights

when they enter this system; rather,

in significant ways, their rights are

appropriately enhanced in counter-

point to the risk the system poses to

them. The rights of system-involved

youth, and of children generally, have

a long history in the United States

and can be understood to advance

youth’s needs and autonomy. Youth

law can also be understood ecologi-

cally, with children’s rights in relation-

ship with those of their parents and

the state. When the legal system

works properly, it both respects and

protects youth. & The course of development is mallea-

ble, at least into earlyadulthood. While

early experiences are core to a child’s

development, a substantial, accumulat-

ing body of theory and research—

reflected in recent Supreme Court

and other court decisions—concludes

that this developmental trajectory is

not set by adolescence. Youth in the

juvenile justice system, therefore, are

still maturing, making them amenable

to rehabilitation and, using value

language, redeemable. & This course of development is also

multidetermined, involving millions

of transactions and ‘‘inputs.’’ Urie

Bronfenbrenner, the developmental

psychologist who coined the term

ecological development for use in his

field, imagined the child as the core

piece in a collection of nested, Rus-

sian dolls—at the center of a set

of concentric circles of influence,

including families; communities; in-

formal and formal, governmental and

nongovernmental institutions and or-

ganizations; and societal values and

beliefs. Youth are both shaped by

and shape their environments, and

interventions to affect individual de-

velopment need to factor these con-

texts, centrally, into the equation. & The juvenile justice system is in the

position both to improve and to de-

grade the functioning and future pros-

pects of youth in its custody. Even

assuming a benign or helping orienta-

tion, the juvenile justice system as pres-

entlystructured(aback-end,after-the-

fact,residualsystem)isnotwell-situated

to achieve its rehabilitation goals; there

is a poor match between what youth

need and what the system can provide.

Given the awesome legal power it

holds,systemreformersareincreasingly

proposingadoptionofthe‘‘First,dono

harm’’ dictum—involvement only or

primarily with those youth whose

actions clearly demonstrate imminent

risk to public safety. & Juvenile justice system reformers un-

derstand that much of the essential

work for youth occurs at local levels.

It follows, then, that efforts should be

directed at families and communities

as the primary vehicles for positive

change for youth. The juvenile justice

process should be used to intention-

ally engage these levels of youth ecol-

ogy with, for example, positive youth

Introduction xix

development models of juvenile

defense, expanded diversion, proba-

tion as brokers of community services,

reduced use of secure detention

and treatment, and expansion of

community- and family-focused treat-

ment at the back end of the system. & The most promising juvenile justice

policy includes respectful, authentic

engagement of the full range of its

participants. Although theory and re-

search, and the wisdom of practition-

ers, are important cornerstones of

juvenile justice policy, so are the be-

liefs, opinions, strategic recommenda-

tions, and visions for the future of

system-involved youth, their parents

and family members, their neighbors,

and other members of the community.

This input is critical to developing

services that youth and families actu-

ally use, and to redressing the long-

standing sense of disregard that these

individuals have experienced. & Interdisciplinarity in research, prac-

tice, and policy is critical to the devel-

opment of a well-functioning system.

Juvenile justice (like most of youth

policy) is a naturally interdisciplinary

field and should be intentionally ap-

proached as such. Practitioners, schol-

ars, andadvocatesinlaw,developmental

psychology, and sociology must make

their work comprehensible across disci-

plines. Demystifying these disciplines

for use by one another contributes to

essential cross-system collaboration. & Policy is also normative, informed by

values. Research can get us only so

far; at a certain point the decision is

about the kind of society in which we

want to live—inclusive or exclusive;

more or less equitable, with more or

less of a generous civic impulse. Effec-

tive juvenile justice systems are self-

reflective in this way, asking them-

selves what they stand for, how they

want to be viewed, and the result is as

much values-based as evidence-based.

We argue that this is as it should be. & Confronting issues of race and pov-

erty is critical to any real progress—

the beachhead to claim during this

cycle. The juvenile justice system

cannot be fixed until it deals with

the issues of race and poverty that

undergird it and give it its present

shape. The disproportionate minority

contact (DMC) mandate, and federal

and state policy behind it, acknowl-

edge the racial impact of much of

juvenile justice policy, a fact that we

are only beginning to address.

SECTION I: FRAMING THE ISSUES

We begin this volume, and this section, with

an introduction to five system-involved youth

whose developmental trajectories Beyer ana-

lyzes in Chapter 1 using a strengths/needs-

based developmental framework. Based on

years of clinical practice, she argues that ado-

lescent delinquent behavior results, in part,

from immature thinking and the effects of trauma

and learning disabilities, all common in this

population. These factors, in addition to the

youth’s strengths, seen within the context of

their families, peers, schools, neighborhoods,

and cultural communities, must be considered

at all points of the juvenile justice decision-

making process.

In Chapter 2, Holsinger, as a criminolo-

gist, bases her portrait of youth in the juvenile

justice system on nationally available data that

detail their demographic characteristics, and

xx I N T R O D U C T I O N

the characteristics of the offenses that trigger

and sustain their system involvement. The

chapter includes an overview of the history,

development, and current operations of the

juvenile justice system, providing a shapshot of

the youth involved at each of its phases.

In Chapter 3, Braverman and Morris, both

physicians, introduce these youth as health-care

providers might encounter them: often high-

risk, underserved young people with a host of

unaddressed health, dental, and mental health

needs. After presenting the youth’s profile from

this vantage point, the authors conclude that

the factors that predispose these youth to poor

health outcomes are not a unique combination

of risks, but rather are shared by other disad-

vantaged young people in the United States.

The final two chapters in this section

provide theoretical and empirical scaffolding

for the remainder of the book. In Chapter 4,

Sherman and Blitzman, lawyer and judge,

respectively, provide an overview of U.S.

children’s law, framed both in terms of auton-

omy-based and needs-based rights, and by the

legal dynamic among child, parent, and state.

They highlight the law of juvenile justice and

child welfare systems, and also examine law

relevant to education and health care, two

central institutions for children. The chapter

proceeds ecologically, acknowledging that

children’s lives, including their legal lives,

are related to their families, communities,

and the social institutions surrounding them.

Finally, in Chapter 5, applied develop-

mental scientist Lerner and his colleagues

argue that the contemporary juvenile justice

system is predicated on a deficit view of the

youth in its custody, and as such demonstrates a

counterfactual and counterproductive under-

standing of the nature of adolescent develop-

ment. The authors provide an alternative

lens—the positive youth development (PYD)

perspective—that capitalizes on contemporary

theory and research on adolescent develop-

ment and has profound implications for the

transformation of juvenile justice policy and

programs.

SECTION II: UNDERSTANDING INDIVIDUAL YOUTH

In Chapter 6, Bell and Mariscal, both lawyers

and advocates, begin with an overview of the

history, causes, and current status of racial and

ethnic disparities in the juvenile justice system,

placing contemporary federal policies pur-

porting ‘‘race neutrality,’’ but actually disad-

vantaging Black and Latino youth, in the

context of a deep historical legacy of systemic

racism. They then examine promising policies

and practices for reducing these disparities,

arguing that despite its history, the juvenile

justice system should strive to, and might

achieve, fairness and equity for all young

people.

In Chapter 7, Sherman and Greenstone—

from a legal and developmental perspective,

respectively—describe the experiences of

‘‘Grace,’’ a teenage girl involved with multiple

public systems, including juvenile justice.

Through detailed analysis of primary interview

data with Grace and others responsible for her

care and supervision, and of court case mate-

rial, they shed light on how Grace’s actions

were interpreted and the responses they

evoked. Their case study includes recommen-

dations for implementing gender-responsive

principles across these systems.

In Chapter 8, Garnette, Irvine, Reyes, and

Wilber (as lawyers, researcher, and system

administrator) follow with a discussion of

the experiences and needs of lesbian, gay,

bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) youth in

the juvenile justice system. The authors offer

a framework for understanding healthy

Introduction xxi

adolescent development within this popula-

tion, and particular ways it can go awry, and

present data on the often harmful effects of

arrest and detention for LGBT youth. The

chapter concludes with policy and program

recommendations for addressing their needs.

Finally,inChapter9,Pinderhughesandcol-

leagues,fromacultural/developmentalperspec-

tive, present the challenges to development—

particularly identity development—and thus

to parenting, encountered by the diverse

population of incarcerated teen parents who

are involved with the juvenile justice system.

The authors recommend that the system adopt

a more strengths-based orientation to these

young parents, including facilitating contact

with their own children during their confine-

ment; this approach would increase the like-

lihood for continued engagement with their

children after their confinement ends.

SECTION III: UNDERSTANDING THE CONTEXTS OF YOUTH

The first two chapters in this section focus on

families. In Chapter 10, Jacobs, Miranda-Julian,

and Kaplan—representing a combination of

policy, developmental, and clinical expertise—

detail the current state of family involvement in

juvenile justice, proposing explanations for why

there is evidence of so little. They argue that

more and broader participation is a critical

feature of any juvenile justice system that seeks

or claims to be ‘‘reformed,’’ and review some

promising approaches to engaging families in

the positive development and rehabilitation of

their children.

Chapter 11 focuses on the significant

percentage of system-involved youth who

have experienced and/or perpetrated, vio-

lence in their families. Baker, Cunningham,

and Harris—clinical and developmental

psychologists—usefully identify ‘‘signposts’’

of the effects of family violence, for example,

compromised school success or mental health,

substance abuse, and early home leaving. They

argue for greater attention to the role that

family violence plays in the lives of delinquent

youth, in the service of designing more effec-

tive prevention and intervention programs.

Chapters 12 and 13 focus on communities

as a context for the development of system-

involved youth. In Chapter 12, Hawkins,

Vashchenko, and Davis combine their exper-

tise in urban policy, social work, and develop-

mental psychology to offer a framework,

rooted in resilience and social capital theory,

with which to generate support for youth

reentering their communities after incarcera-

tion. The authors suggest that juvenile justice

reentry programs and policies, and those de-

signed to prevent criminal activity in the first

place, would do well to assess a youth’s access

to positive as opposed to negative social capi-

tal, and then optimize opportunities to build

on the former.

In Chapter 13, Bruyere and Garbarino—

from a developmental perspective—discuss the

effect of risk accumulation, community vio-

lence, and other trauma on youth, some of

whom go on to become involved with the

juvenile justice system. The chapter then

argues for ratification of the United Nations

Convention on the Rights of the Child,

seeing it as providing critically needed guid-

ance for community development to support

this population and reduce the need for

future juvenile incarceration.

Moving to the systems that interact with

delinquent youth, and with other public

youth-serving systems, the next two chapters

examine the role of education before, during,

and after incarceration. In Chapter 14,

Boundy and Karger (lawyers who focus on

educational policy) provide a detailed

xxii I N T R O D U C T I O N

discussion of the two most relevant federal

laws—Title I of the Elementary and Second-

ary Education Act/No Child Left Behind Act

and the Individuals with Disabilities Education

Act—which together require states to provide

a quality public education to school-age

youth, with and without disabilities, including

those in delinquent facilities. Despite these

guarantees, they find the education of these

youth is seriously compromised throughout.

The chapter concludes with research-based

practices, targeted at implementing effective

teaching, learning, and planning for transi-

tion, meant to thwart this school-to-prison

pipeline.

In Chapter 15, Vaught, a scholar of urban

education, brings an ethnographic lens to the

issue of race, education, and juvenile justice,

using a Critical Race framework to examine

how institutional schooling practice and policy

function—in one school within a juvenile

prison—to hinder, complicate, and even likely

scuttle altogether, community reentry for in-

carcerated young men. The dynamics explored

here serve as a local window onto national

education policy, raising issues of fairness about,

for example, zero-tolerance policy, and policies

that assure the quality of the schooling offered

to system-involved youth.

Sherman and Goldblatt Grace, from the

perspectives of law, public health, and social

work, examine the system’s response to the

commercial sexual exploitation of children

(CSEC) in Chapter 16, focusing here on girls.

They describe the issue and then examine the

range of international, federal, state, and local

laws and policies, aimed at aiding and enhanc-

ing prosecution of perpetrators of CSEC (i.e.,

pimps, johns), and at providing protection and

services to its victims. They show that, as state

and local authorities implement practice and

policy for this population, those two goals—

law enforcement and victim protection—may

conflict, creating practices that serve neither

goal fully and yielding results contrary to

sound public policy and research. The chapter

concludes with a recommended comprehen-

sive response to CSEC.

In Chapter 17, Ross and Miller bring

youth policy and criminal justice together,

and shift to providing a view of the landscape

of government systems involved with youth

issues. They argue that the structure of

American government, combined with bu-

reaucratic service delivery systems, lead to

fragmented and, at times, inconsistent policies

concerning youth, including youth caught up

in the juvenile justice system. A number of

solutions to these problems are offered, and the

chapter concludes on a hopeful note: that

efforts to address service fragmentation are

improving the circumstances for some of these

system-involved youth.

This section concludes with Chapter 18,

Oliveri and colleagues’ (developmental psy-

chologists) qualitative study of the complex

relationships among system-involved youth

and the multiple systems meant to help

them maintain good health. Beginning with

a detailed review of the literature on health-

care access and utilization among this popula-

tion, the chapter then analyzes primary data

collected from youth regarding their health

behaviors and preferences, and their use of

health care. Its findings are useful to those

working across public sectors interested in

improving the health status of these youth.

SECTION IV: WORKING FOR CHANGE

WithChapter19,Dymandcolleagues(psychol-

ogists and community activists) launch this sec-

tion devoted to promising efforts to reform the

juvenile justice system, with a case study of a

Introduction xxiii

youth-ledcommunitydevelopmentprogram—

the Hyde Square Task Force (HSTF) in Boston,

Massachusetts. Youth at HSTF, with the support

and encouragement of staff, initiate, design,

and implement advocacy projects to improve

their own circumstances and transform their

community. HSTF is nationally recognized as

a model for community-based youth develop-

ment, acting as an antidote to the forces that

pull youth toward involvement in the juvenile

justice system.

We move from program-specific innova-

tion to focus on systemwide reform in

Chapter 20. Schiraldi, Schindler, and Goliday

(experienced system administrators) thought-

fully advocate for systemwide reform to elim-

inate the training school and its mind-set, in

favor of a graduated, primarily community-

based approach to juvenile justice premised on

the tenets of positive youth development.

After reviewing the troubled history of the

reform school, and the promising alternatives

now available, they argue that this route is the

most likely to be able both to support youth

and protect and enhance communities.

In Chapter 21, Farrell and Myers (devel-

opmentalists interested in service systems’

operations) identify collaboration as the ‘‘new

imperative’’ across youth-serving systems. They

present the advantages of, and potential barriers

to, collaboration, and offer suggestions for

increasing service providers’ organizational

capacities to engage in this way. After recom-

mending the development of principles and

guidelines for evaluating systems change efforts,

Farrell and Myers conclude that systems pro-

viding services to at-risk and incarcerated youth

must find ways to communicate, cooperate, and

share accountability for outcomes.

Chapters 22, 23, and 24 focus on the

significant contributions that relevant, reliable,

and accessible information can make to sys-

tems reform. In Chapter 22, Schneider and

Simpson, experienced data system consultants

to child-serving public agencies, highlight

how the quality, availability, and use of data

can either promote or impede agencies’ abili-

ties to plan, operate, and evaluate wisely. The

authors review the role that data systems have

played historically in these agencies, and the

current status, overall, of their information

systems; they then provide a detailed analysis

of the technical, logistical, and resource-

related challenges to be addressed before

agencies can shift to data-driven decision

making, using three JDAI (Juvenile Deten-

tion Alternatives Initiative) jurisdictions as

successful case examples.

In Chapter 23, Greenwood and Turner,

experienced consultants on evidence-based

practices for juvenile justice systems, review

the current state of evidence-based practice,

enumerating its demonstrable benefits, and

noting the challenges it may pose for agencies

adopting it. The chapter then provides the

framework by which the Blueprints for Vio-

lence Prevention project validates program

models as promising or efficacious, and in-

cludes an overview of successful programs.

The authors conclude with examples of the

implementation of such programs in selected

jurisdictions.

Finally, in Chapter 24, Butts and Roman

draw on their extensive experience as pro-

gram and systems evaluators to provide a

clear-eyed review of the research approaches

that inform evidence-based policy. Although

they support the increasing intention, and

practice, of using evidence to inform policy,

they caution against overreliance on it, detail-

ing the limitations of currently available

methods and products of research and eval-

uation for the tasks juvenile justice systems

have at hand. The authors conclude with

recommendations for enhancing the applica-

bility of research in this context.

xxiv I N T R O D U C T I O N

The volume concludes with an afterword

from U.S. Representative Robert ‘‘Bobby’’

Scott of Virginia. Congressman Scott, a na-

tional spokesperson for youth and families in

the juvenile justice system, notes prospective

federal legislation that focuses increasing at-

tention on less advantaged children, and

exhorts the federal government to continue

to demonstrate its leadership by enacting a

number of pending federal bills and initiatives,

such as the reauthorization of the Juvenile

Justice and Delinquency Prevention Act and

the Youth PROMISE (Prison Reduction

through Opportunities, Mentoring, Interven-

tion, Support, and Education) Act.

In reflecting both the exciting advances

and the considerable challenges currently

evident in the juvenile justice system, Juvenile

Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice

aims to make a modest contribution to the

movement toward a rehabilitative, youth and

community-centered vision of juvenile

justice.

REFERENCES

Dilulio, J. (1995, November 27). The coming of the

super-predators. Weekly Standard.

Puzzanchera, C. (2009). Juvenile arrests 2009.

Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Justice:

Office of Justice Programs: Office of Juvenile

Justice and Delinquency Prevention.

Schlesinger, A., Jr., (1986). Cycles of American history.

Boston, MA: Houghton-Mifflin.

Zimring, F. (1998). American youth violence. New York,

NY: Oxford University Press.

Introduction xxv

Contributors

Linda L. Baker, PhD

Centre for Children and Families

in the Justice System

London, Ontario, Canada

Jessica Dym Bartlett, MSW, LICSW

Tufts University

Medford, MA

James Bell, JD

W. Haywood Burns Institute

San Francisco, CA

Marty Beyer, PhD

Independent Juvenile Justice and Child

Welfare Consultant

Cottage Grove, OR

Honorable Jay Blitzman, JD

Massachusetts Juvenile Court

Lowell, MA

Kathleen B. Boundy, JD

Center for Law and Education

Boston, MA

Paula Braverman, MD

Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical

Center

Cincinnati, OH

Edmund Bruyere, MS

Loyola University

Chicago, IL

Jeffrey A. Butts, PhD

City University of New York

New York, NY

Karen T. Craddock, PhD

Education Development

Center, Inc.

Newton, MA

Alison J. Cunningham, MA

Centre for Children and Families

in the Justice System

London, Ontario, Canada

Courtney Davis, MPP

New York University

New York, NY

Barry Dym, PhD

Boston University School of Management

Boston, MA

Marian Wright Edelman, LLB

Children’s Defense Fund

Washington, DC

Anne F. Farrell, PhD

University of Connecticut

Stamford, CT

LaTasha L. Fermin, MA

Tufts University

Medford, MA

xxvii

James Garbarino, PhD

Loyola University

Chicago, IL

Laura Garnette, MPA

County of Santa Clara Probation Department

San Jose, CA

Jesus Gerena

Family Independence Initiative/Hyde Square

Task Force, Inc.

Boston, MA

Lisa Goldblatt Grace, LICSW, MPH

My Life My Choice/Justice Resource

Institute

Boston, MA

Sean J. Goliday, PhD

CSR, Inc.

Arlington, VA

Jessica H. Greenstone, MS

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Peter W. Greenwood, PhD

Association for the Advancement of

Evidence-Based Practice

Agoura, CA

Kimberly E. Harris, PhD

Centre for Children & Families in the

Justice System

London, Ontario, Canada

Robert L. Hawkins, PhD

New York University

New York, NY

Kristi Holsinger, PhD

University of Missouri

Kansas City, MO

Angela Irvine, PhD

National Council on Crime and Delinquency

Oakland, CA

Francine H. Jacobs, EdD

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Leah Jacobs, MA, MSW

University of California

Berkeley, CA

Rachael Kaplan, MSW, LICSW

Clinical Social Worker

Brookline, MA

Joanne Karger, JD, EdD

Center for Law and Education

Boston, MA

Richard M. Lerner, PhD

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Raquel Mariscal, JD

Senior Consultant/Annie E. Casey Foundation

Watsonville, CA

Joel Miller, PhD

Rutgers University

Newark, NJ

Claudia Miranda-Julian, MS, LICSW

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Robert Morris, MD

University of California

Los Angeles, CA

Megan Kiely Mueller, MA

Tufts University

Medford, MA

xxviii C O N T R I B U T O R S

Diane M. Myers, PhD

Assumption College

Worcester, MA

Christopher M. Napolitano, MA

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Rachel Oliveri, MA

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Ellen E. Pinderhughes, PhD

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Anita Pritchard, PhD

Florida Atlantic University

Boca Raton, FL

Carolyn Reyes, MSW, JD

Legal Services for Children

San Francisco, CA

John K. Roman, PhD

The Urban Institute

Washington, DC

Timothy Ross, PhD

Action Research Partners

Brooklyn, NY

Marc Schindler, JD

Venture Philanthropy Partners

Washington, DC

Commissioner Vincent Schiraldi, MSW

Department of Probation

New York, NY

Kristina L. Schmid, MA

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Stan Schneider, MA

Metis Associates

New York, NY

Congressman Robert (Bobby) Scott, JD

U.S. House of Representatives

Washington, DC

Francine T. Sherman, JD

Boston College Law School

Newton, MA

Lola Simpson, MS

Metis Associates

New York, NY

Ken Tangvik, EdD

Hyde Square Task Force, Inc.

Boston, MA

Ila Deshmukh Towery, PhD

The New Teacher Project

Boston, MA

Susan Turner, PhD

University of California

Irvine, CA

Maryna Vashchenko, EdM

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Sabina E. Vaught, PhD

Tufts University

Medford, MA

Michael D. Wiatrowski, PhD

Center for Democratic Policing

Williamsburg, VA

Shannan Wilber, JD

Legal Services for Children

San Francisco, CA

Contributors xxix

SECTION I

FRAMING THE

ISSUES

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

1 CHAPTER

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System

MARTY BEYER

M arco is a serious 14-year-old whose parents,

born in Mexico, have been stably employed

for many years. Although his family is close, Marco

has faced numerous family problems, including the

death of his grandmother who took care of him, and

his parents’ preoccupation with the problems of his

older siblings, leading to his feeling sad and unloved.

Because his parents worked so hard, it felt ungrateful

for him to disparage them.

Marco’s parents had high aspirations for their

children. When his older siblings dropped out of

school and had children as teenagers, the pressure

was on Marco to be the one to graduate high school.

Marco did well in school and particularly loved

science. But he found his teachers were overly critical

of him—in his view, because they knew his siblings,

who had been problem students in the same school,

and because some had racist attitudes. When his

grades started dropping in eighth grade, the school

did not initiate any special supports. He started

spending time with dropouts, was suspended, and

then arrested for a fight in school; he was diverted

from the juvenile justice system but received no

services. His parents’ disapproval and his own

feeling that he was a school failure were difficult

for Marco to bear.

For several years, Marco had been increasingly

terrorized by gang violence in his neighborhood. He

witnessed the murder of a friend and worried every

time he walked down the street. Marco had been

seriously threatened three times in the 2 weeks before

this arrest. “I tried never to walk alone. If I did, I’d

run to a safe spot where there were people. You

didn’t have to look like a gangbanger. If you ignored

them, they would jump you. If you ran, they would

chase you. This is not the movies. In life, violence is

real. A lot of people have died in my neighborhood.

Death is always there.”

Marco did not talk to his family members or

friends about his sadness or fears. He did not realize

how intense the pressure was and how having to

contend with it alone undermined good decision

making. Marco is emotionally needy, like a younger

teenager, but he does not admit his desire for comfort

and protection. He started spending most of his time

with his brother and his friends, all several years

older and in a gang. As he got more scared, Marco

reluctantly went along with pressure from them to

join their gang. Marco did not realize the risks of

gang protection: “I now know that when I joined a

gang it was not a smart choice, but I thought I had to

have protection.” Working long hours with many

family responsibilities, his parents assumed Marco

was safe with his brother, and did not know that he

had joined a gang, used marijuana, and was

becoming alienated from school.

The day before ninth grade began, a gang leader

gave Marco, his brother, and a friend a ride home.

Unbeknownst to Marco, they were on their way to a

drive-by shooting. “At first, I thought it wasn’t

really going to happen. I realized it too late, but I

could have gotten out of the car. But I was

3

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

threatened. He pushed everyone around. These

things went on every day in the neighborhood,

shootings and beatings to get revenge. He was

mad about something done to him and he made

us take revenge. It made no sense. But it seemed the

only way out was to do what he ordered.” Marco

talked about how sad he felt for the victim and

expressed sympathy for the family. Marco did not

object to being blamed and took responsibility for

having bad judgment and not getting out of the car.

He knows it was wrong, and if he had seen any

choice, he said he would have left, but felt trapped

even though he never intended to hurt anyone.

How should the juvenile justice system

deal with Marco? What criteria should it use

to assess his culpability and impose an appro-

priate disposition? How does the system cur-

rently act in cases such as his?

Juvenile justice systems make most deci-

sions about youth based on age and offense.

Yet age tells us little about what is behind an

offense—for example, what precipitated it and

what its meaning is for that individual—since

each youth’s developmental progression is

unique, often indexed in only limited ways

to chronological age. The delinquent act itself

also tells us little about the youth, since the

contexts in which many offenses are committed

are so complex. The intricate weave of factors,

individual and contextual, that contributed to

Marco’s involvement in a drive-by shooting

illustrates how much more than age and offense

must be considered in designing an effective

rehabilitative service combination for him.

However, employing a developmental

framework allows for more hopeful and effec-

tive responses from the system and the com-

munity agencies that should be poised to help.

In this chapter, I propose a developmental

framework for making decisions regarding

court proceedings, detention, and services,

based on my training as a psychologist and

my years of experience working with youth in

juvenile programs and evaluating them for

court. Its foundation, and the organizing

premise of the chapter, is that the delinquent

behavior of adolescents must be understood as

resulting from their immature thinking and the

effects of trauma and learning disabilities, which

are ubiquitous among these youth. These core

components are first introduced briefly below,

and then I elaborate on each. I also argue for

including youth’s strengths, and assessing their

capacity for resilience within the context of

their families, peers, schools, neighborhoods,

and cultural communities at all points of the

decision-making process. The chapter con-

cludes with a demonstration of the richness

of a developmental framework in vignettes of

four system-involved youth, ages 13–16, with

a range of offenses; Marco’s story is also in-

cluded in the analyses.

CORE CONCEPTS

To the extent that juvenile justice decisions are

based on developmental concepts, these ap-

pear to be the outmoded, rigidly linear stage-

based, and noncontextual theories of many

years ago (Lerner & Steinberg, 2004). This

view of development does not consider

strengths, the effects of traumatic experiences,

and environmental influences on youth. As

a result, both in understanding the young

person’s behavior and in designing services

to change it, system decisions have not been

developmentally sound, in the complex ways

that we now understand development.

For example, even though there is con-

siderable research on the effects of trauma on

children (Osofsky, 2004), it has not penetrated

the system, perhaps because addressing the

effects of trauma on delinquent behavior is

not compatible with the simplistic view that

offending is a bad choice. Probation and

4 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

juvenile facilities assume that youth control

their behavior to avoid consequences and get

rewards. What this fails to take into account is

that some behavior is reactive to past victim-

ization, and that traumatized youth may be

unable to use rational decision making when

the memories and anxiety from traumatic

events are triggered.

The challenges of learning disabilities have

been well researched across academic and

applied fields. Unfortunately, the application

of research on learning disabilities, including

processing problems, executive function diffi-

culties, and attention deficits, appears to have

been confined to use in schools, not in the

many other realms of children’s lives. The

school—in either the juvenile facility or the

community—is expected to manage disabil-

ities as they pertain to education, rather than

helping everyone involved with the young

person understand that they affect the youth’s

behavior generally, and use this understanding

outside the educational setting. In juvenile

justice, disabilities are seldom used as a lens

to understand the offense or facilitate behavior

change. Instead, it is assumed that youth com-

prehend what to do and are simply being

oppositional and making bad decisions.

The notion that maturity should be as-

sessed as a distinct developmental process,

apart from chronological age, has a fairly

long theoretical history in developmental psy-

chology, but has only recently gained traction

in juvenile justice policy and practice (Ameri-

can Medical Association, 2005). Research has

demonstrated that adolescents are different

from adults (Owen-Kostelnik, Reppucci, &

Meyer, 2006; Steinberg & Haskins, 2008), but

justice systems treat teenagers as adults in many

ways (Bishop, 2000; McGowan et al., 2007).

For example, even intelligent teenagers cannot

appreciate the consequences of waiving their

Miranda rights. Most teenagers say that

although they were told they had a right to

remain silent, they believed they could not

refuse to answer police questions. Typically,

when they are asked what would happen if the

judge heard afterward that they would not talk

to the police, they respond that the judge

would believe they were guilty. These beliefs

demonstrate that they do not comprehend the

meaning of the right to remain silent and their

decision making is influenced by emotions

(Grisso et al., 2003).

Teenagers are also more vulnerable to

psychological manipulation than are adults.

In the police station without a lawyer, young

people may well give statements in response to

questions that reduce their self-confidence and

make them feel hopeless (Ofshe & Leo, 1997;

Warden & Drizin, 2009). While research has

found that adolescents 16 and older have

similar competence-related abilities to adults

regarding understanding facts about court pro-

ceedings (see Scott & Grisso, 1997, for a

review), these findings have been widely mis-

interpreted to mean that youth over 16 should

be considered adults. In fact, even 16- or

17-year-olds with normal intelligence are

often incapable of weighing alternatives, seeing

the risks of taking a plea or going to trial, and

looking into the future in discussions with their

lawyers; youth with learning disabilities are

even further compromised.

Developmentally sound juvenile justice

decisions must be based on more than re-

search on cognitive and psychosocial growth

in adolescence. The developmental frame-

work proposed here is comprehensive—

including immaturity as well as a clinical

perspective on trauma and learning disabil-

ities and using an ecological approach regard-

ing the contexts in which the teenager is

gradually maturing.

Let’s consider the several components of

immaturity first.

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 5

THE EFFECTS OF IMMATURITY ON TEEN BEHAVIOR

Adolescent development is not a smooth,

uniform, linear progression—there are differ-

ences in maturity among youth of the same age

and across domains within individuals. I have

sketched out in this section a number of ways

that immaturity affects behavior in these years.

Immature Thinking

In real life situations, particularly when influ-

enced by peers and/or under the influence of

substances, young people often have immature

thought processes, including not anticipating,

minimizing danger, reacting to stress, and seeing

only one option.

& Not anticipating. Adolescents often do

not plan or do not follow their plans

and get caught up in unanticipated

events. They usually view as “acci-

dental” the unintended poor conse-

quences of actions that adults could

have predicted. For example, a young

person could go with a group to an

event and, on the way, a friend could

have a conflict with a young person

outside the group; a fight might break

out, and several youth might be

arrested for an assault they never imag-

ined would have happened. Carrying,

and even using, a weapon does not

mean that a teen intended harm or

thought that he or she would use the

weapon. Often, teens feel driven to

self-protection and never picture an

injured victim. & Minimizing danger. Risk taking is typ-

ical of adolescents who seldom can

consider the worst possible outcomes

of their actions (Furby & Beyth-

Marom, 1992; Steinberg, 2008).

Youth do not perceive or weigh risks

accurately, and indeed, it has been

asserted that “it is statistically aberrant

to refrain from such [risk-taking]

behavior during adolescence” (Spear,

2000, p. 421). In comparison to

adults, teenagers attach different value

to the rewards that risk taking pro-

vides (Fareri, Martin, & Delgado,

2008; Scott & Steinberg, 2008).

Difficulty in managing impulses is a

normal characteristic of teens, partly

because they have more rapid and

extreme mood swings than do adults

(Scott & Steinberg, 2008). Impul-

sively defending a friend who is teased

or pushed can quickly escalate into a

situation a youth will regret but did

not view as risky. Similarly, youth get

in trouble with parents, school, and/

or the juvenile justice system for text-

ing they think is benign, and do not

realize can be interpreted as threat-

ening. Drugs and alcohol, also often

not seen as risky, lower inhibitions

and reduce teens’ abilities to use ma-

ture judgment; being high frequently

contributes to delinquent acts. & Reacting to stress. Stress affects the

ability to weigh risks and to override

impulses with rational thought, and

adolescents are more susceptible to

stress and emotional fluctuations

than are adults (Hampel & Petermann,

2006; Larson, Moneta, Richards, &

Wilson, 2002; Seiffge-Krenke, 1995;

Spear, 2000; Wills, Sandy, & Yaeger,

2001). Decision making can be even

more immature when a teen is scared,

particularly if he or she has been

mistreated in the past. A common

form of immature cognitive processes

6 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

in adolescents is reacting to threat that

adults might consider exaggerated.

For example, a young person with

no prior arrests or problems in school

who jumps a subway gate without

paying could get into a physical con-

frontation that leads to the serious

charge of assaulting a police officer.

Afterwards, his parents may find it

difficult to understand how he could

have felt so threatened. & Seeing only one option. Adolescents

only gradually develop the advanced

cognitive ability to weigh alternatives

simultaneously (Wigfield, Byrnes, &

Eccles, 2006). In situations where

adults see several choices, adolescents

may believe they have only one. It

is not unusual even for intelligent

adolescents to imagine only a single

scenario. When things do not unfold

as they imagined, because of their

immaturity, they behave as if they

are incapable of adapting with an-

other reasonable choice. For exam-

ple, a teenage girl who thinks she is

going shopping with a friend may be

surprised when her friend encour-

ages her to shoplift but may feel

unable to leave, go home, or shop

on her own.

Immature Identity

Identity development is among the central

tasks of adolescence (Erikson, 1959; Kroger,

2003). Becoming good at something, for

example, doing well in school, arts, sports,

or religious or cultural practices, is a corner-

stone in the development of a positive identity,

and helps it to solidify. Many system-involved

youth have not experienced success, particu-

larly in school; often, they feel marginalized.

Having an unformed identity makes them

more vulnerable to involvement with delin-

quent peers.

For most teenagers, belonging to a family

provides the basic architecture for identity

development. Family provides cultural,

religious, and other values that are important

to the teenager’s self-definition: sometimes

the youth’s values remain consistent with his

or her family, and sometimes he or she sepa-

rates from the family’s values. Identifying

with peers is another important aspect of

self-definition; group membership is neces-

sary for a young person to feel valued. The

process of developing a stable identity takes

time, during which young people need

approval from family and peers.

An ecological approach to understanding

teenagers in the context of all their relation-

ships—particularly family and peers—recognizes

that development is influenced in complex ways

by these interconnected contexts (Garcia Coll,

Akerman, & Cicchetti, 2000; Lerner, 2002;

Spencer et al., 2006). Conflicting identifications,

between two groups of peers or between family

and peer expectations, may cause unpredictable

behavior in a teenager, especially under stress.

Even protective families find it challeng-

ing to ensure positive friendships for their

teens, and a teen may have positive peers

and still get exposed, often in unplanned

situations, to peer coercion and/or pressure

from the desire for peer acceptance. Some

families think teens cannot be supervised,

and others, whose authoritarian tendencies

increase out of a desire to protect, instead

overlimit the teen’s autonomy, both with po-

tentially disastrous consequences (Dodge et al.,

2006; Putnick et al., 2008). It is difficult for

adults to help youth develop self-confidence to

resist peer pressure when the need to belong is

so strong. Families can be unaware when a

teen, who seems the same at home, becomes

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 7

more influenced by peers and negative school

and neighborhood environments. Further-

more, in some neighborhoods, resisting the

pressure to commit crimes or to seek protec-

tion from a gang itself puts the young person in

danger (Fagan, 2000).

& Racial and ethnic identity. As their social

networks expand, youth see them-

selves in multiple roles requiring

different self-presentations. Racial

stereotypes and cultural dissonance

make the process of achieving a stable

identity more difficult for youth of

color (Cross & Fhagen-Smith, 2001;

Luthar, 2003). Youth are vulnerable to

racial and ethnic marginalization.

Violence poses a complex series of

threats to resilience for Black males,

including aggression as an adaptive

response to deal with victimization,

which may lead to arrest and reinforces

negative stereotypes (Graham &

Lowry, 2004; Spencer et al., 2006). & Girl identity. Experts disagree about

how much the increase in arrests of

girls represents a change in behavior

as opposed to a change in society’s

responses to girls (Zahn, 2009). De-

velopmental research has identified

stressors on girls that make them

more vulnerable, especially during

physical maturation and school tran-

sitions. For example, many 11- and

12-year-old girls become less out-

spoken and more preoccupied with

perfection and fear being disliked;

and this may contribute to an endur-

ing sense of unworthiness affecting

their involvement in delinquent

acts (Beyer, Blair, Katz, Simkins, &

Steinberg, 2003; Brown & Gilligan,

1992; Chamberlain & Moore, 2002;

Hennessey Ford, Mahoney, Ko, &

Siegfried, 2004; Wood, Foy, Goguen,

Pynoos, & James, 2002a).

A connection to others is the

central organizing feature of develop-

ment in girls, and their relationship

focus and the struggle to be loyal,

including worries about abandon-

ment and disconnection, dominate

girls’thinking. Girls in juvenile justice

include first-time offenders who were

coerced by their older boyfriends.

Many teenage girls report violence

in their dating relationships. Though

some confide in a friend, almost none

talk to adults in their family or at

school about being victimized in

this way and the difficulty of extricat-

ing themselves. Traumatic experien-

ces predict delinquency and risky

sexual behavior, and most girls who

have experienced significant trauma

need, but do not receive, trauma

treatment—including many who

do not have PTSD diagnoses (Smith,

Leve, & Chamberlain, 2006; see also

Sherman & Greenstone, Chapter 7,

this volume). & Sexual orientation and gender identity.

Harassment for gender-nonconforming

appearance or behavior, a nonheter-

osexual orientation or nontraditional

gender identity can lead to a serious

loss of self-esteem (Galliher, Rostosky,

& Hughes, 2004). Homophobic dis-

crimination at school and in the com-

munity is common and hurtful to

teenagers and can lead to youth miss-

ing school or activities because they

feel unsafe (Majd, Marksamer, &

Reyes, 2009). Youth who experience

8 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

antigay victimization in middle or

high school are more than twice as

likely to be depressed and have sub-

stance abuse problems and three times

as likely to report suicide attempts

than lesbian, gay, or bisexual peers

who have not been harassed (Wilber,

Ryan, & Marksamer, 2006; see also

Garnette, Irvine, Reyes, & Wilber,

Chapter 8, this volume). Youth whose

parents reject their sexual orientation

and gender expression are more likely

to be depressed and suicidal; they may

end up living on the street, which may,

in turn, bring them into the juvenile

justice system (Ryan, Huebner, Diaz,

& Sanchez, 2009).

Immature Moral Reasoning

Much has been written about moral devel-

opment during adolescence, stressing youth’s

increasing responsibilities in relationships and

awareness of how others will judge one’s

actions (Eisenberg, Morris, McDaniel, &

Spinrad, 2009). The practical application of

adolescent moral development research to

real-life reasoning under stress is compli-

cated. Committing a delinquent act can be

misconstrued as an indication that the young

person did not know right from wrong

and/or lacked concern for others. But youth

may express strong family and religious values

and are frustrated that they cannot explain

why they used poor moral reasoning during

the offense. Adolescents are generally moral-

istic, insisting on what should be and in-

tolerant of unfairness (Smetana & Turiel,

2003). They may become involved in an

offense naively in order to right wrongs,

often out of loyalty. As a result, they may

not express an adult understanding of the

effect of their offense on victims, despite

the fact that their capacity for empathy

with others may not be impaired.

Next let’s turn to considering the role of

trauma in the lives of these youth.

THE EFFECTS OF TRAUMA ON TEEN BEHAVIOR

The incidence of posttraumatic stress disorder

(PTSD) among youth in the juvenile justice

system is up to 8 times higher than youth in the

community in general (Abram et al., 2004;

Kerig, Ward, Vanderzee, & Moeddel, 2009).

Among nonincarcerated youth seen in juve-

nile court clinics, one in nine met criteria

for PTSD (Brosky & Lally, 2004). In a study

of 50 delinquents, all but two had experienced

trauma, including repeated abuse and/or

parent death and/or abandonment; at least a

third were physically abused and a quarter

were sexually abused; more than half the

girls had been physically or sexually abused

(Beyer, 2006).

In my experience, trauma typically slows

down development in children and can inter-

fere with all aspects of a youth’s functioning.

While other children are growing emotionally,

the child coping with trauma is distracted from

normal developmental tasks and is occupied

with sadness and feeling powerless. Trauma

causes disturbances of emotional regulation,

social relationships, and attachment (Lieber-

man & Van Horn, 2004). Children who have

been abused or were not protected from

violence often blame themselves and have

trouble trusting others (Cohen, Mannarino, &

Deblinger, 2006).

Many youth in juvenile justice have in the

past been involved with child protective ser-

vices and some are in foster care when they are

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 9

arrested. Children who are exposed to dis-

rupted caregiving (separation from their fami-

lies and multiple foster homes) are at risk for

continued difficulty in emotional regulation

and deficits in social cognitive processing

(Price & Landsverk, 1998).

Depression Associated With Trauma

Depression is common but often not diag-

nosed in traumatized teenagers (Ney, Col-

bert, Newman, & Young, 1986). Their

behavior problems become the focus rather

than their underlying sadness, isolation, and

loss. Depressed children typically express self-

dislike, show distorted thinking, and have a

greater dependence on peers, but being de-

pressed is correlated with teacher and peer

ratings of unpopularity (Cicchetti & Toth,

1998). Often, young people come to juvenile

justice without having received trauma treat-

ment despite persistent depression, aggression,

and school difficulties (Wolfe, Rawana, &

Chiodo, 2006).

Aggression Associated With Trauma

Aggression can be a defense against the help-

lessness common among traumatized children.

Traumatized youth may misinterpret and be

offended by relatively benign things that

others say and react with combative self-

preservation. These young people often have

had difficulty since childhood modulating

their reactions and putting their feelings into

words. They react negatively to outside con-

trols and are often labeled oppositional (Ford,

Chapman, Hawke, & Albert, 2007; Wolfe et

al., 2006). Traumatized teens may not be able

to stop these reactions because they see con-

trolling adults as mean and unfair, to which

past abuse has made them acutely sensitive.

When adults threaten them, they reflexively

protect themselves; even if the adults believe

they are controlling a situation, the teen au-

tomatically reacts as if back in the position of

being victimized. When their feelings are

hurt, they are flooded with anger from the

past, which they are unaware is out of propor-

tion to the present provocation, and they lack

the ability to calm themselves. Unless adults

arrange an environment to meet their needs,

this predictable reflexive reaction will be pro-

voked repeatedly. Multiple placements cause

more loss and anxiety, provoking fear reactions

and reinforcing sensitivity to hostility, rejec-

tion, and perceived unfairness.

Externalizing behaviors—behavior prob-

lems in school, substance use, and truancy—are

correlated with extreme parental permissiveness,

and internalizing behaviors—depression, anxi-

ety, and self-destructiveness—are associated

with extreme parental psychological control

(Steinberg, Lamborn, Darling, Mounts, &

Dornbusch, 1994). Furthermore,

the problem-solving strategies that

boys bring to adolescent and adult

social situations are directly traceable

to the lessons learned from dads . . .

young boys who are aggressive and are

low in pro-social behaviors . . . have

fathers who are more likely to engage

in angry exchanges with them . . .

the [boys] who are most prone to

break down when the going gets

tough are those who have been raised

with the idea that to admit vulnera-

bility, even to themselves, is weak.

(Kindlon & Thompson, 1999, pp.

102–104)

Reactions to Bullying

Youth who have been chronically picked on

have low self-esteem and academic and peer

10 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

difficulties in school, leading to more teasing

and bullying (Horowitz et al., 2004). Bullying

keeps children from perceiving school as a safe

environment. Other students fear that by asso-

ciating with victims they may become targets.

Sometimes victimized children become bullies

themselves, and they tend to have more emo-

tional problems than those who are victims only

(Arseneault et al., 2006; Olweus, 1993).

Pathologizing Trauma-Related Behaviors

It is unfortunate that the effects of trauma on

youth are often overlooked or misunderstood

(see Sedlak & McPherson, 2010; see also

Baker, Cunningham, & Harris, Chapter 11,

this volume). The effects of trauma may sig-

nificantly interfere with the young person’s

life and put him or her at risk of delinquency,

even those whose symptoms do not meet the

PTSD criteria (Widom, 1994; Wood, Foy,

Layne, Pynoos, & James, 2002b) (see also

Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3, this vol-

ume). Adolescents with a history of trauma

have high rates of alcohol and substance

abuse; these youth rely on substances to escape

sad feelings and bad memories (Giaconia,

Reinherz, Paradis, & Stashwick, 2003).

Trauma is considered a significant risk factor,

accounting for numerous items in checklists

of factors connected to delinquency or dan-

gerousness (e.g., the Structured Assessment of

Violence Risk in Youth [SAVRY] and the

Massachusetts Youth Screening Instrument

[MAYSI-2]), but is seldom considered in

designing rehabilitative services. Too often,

symptoms from trauma are misinterpreted as

part of the character of the young person,

rather than a guide to what is behind behavior

that can be changed.

Finally, I briefly discuss the effects of

learning disabilities on the behavior of youth

in the juvenile justice system.

THE EFFECTS OF LEARNING DISABILITIES ON TEEN BEHAVIOR

About 17–53% of youth in juvenile justice

systems have learning disabilities, in comparison

to 2–10% in the overall child population

(Kazdin, 2000; Sedlak & McPherson, 2010).

Learning disabilities affect young people not

only in school, but at home and in the com-

munity, particularly in comprehending, follow-

ing directions, and establishing and maintaining

relationships. Learning disabilities include a

variety of problems in listening, remembering,

prioritizing, and strategizing as well as reading

and mathematics. Delinquents

have higher rates of neuro-

psychological deficits as reflected in

language, verbal intelligence, working

memory, and reading. Of special in-

terest are deficiencies in “executive”

functions that are served primarily by

the frontal lobes of the brain . . .

[including] abstract reasoning, goal

setting, anticipating and planning,

self-monitoring and self-awareness,

inhibiting of impulsive behavior,

and interrupting an ongoing sequence

of behavior in order to initiate a more

adaptive behavior (Kazdin, p. 53).

Attention deficit disorder (ADD) and

attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD)

are the most frequently diagnosed behavior

disorders of childhood. It is estimated that

at least 25% of adolescents (17% of males

and 21% of females) in the juvenile justice

system have ADHD, compared to 9% in the

overall child population (12% of males

and 5% of females; Eme, 2009). Distrac-

tibility and impulsiveness are prominent

characteristics of attention deficit disorders,

making these young people less able to stop

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 11

behaviors, which may contribute to delin-

quency (especially when they have immature

cognitive processes and are unable to see

alternative choices at the time of an offense).

Difficulties with social skills are also common

among children with attention deficits and,

in myexperience, often lead to indiscriminately

seeking acceptance (even from delinquent

peers). Some youth’s problem-solving skills

are compromised by not accurately per-

ceiving cues from peers and adults, typically

attributing hostility to others and believing

that aggressive acts will result in peer approval

(Dodge, 2003).

By the time the learning disability is

identified, many youth lack the basic skills

necessary to comprehend schoolwork and to

get along with others. Often, the youth who

is embarrassed by poor performance gets

into a negative cycle of attention seeking

that interferes with school participation.

Some youths’ problem-solving skills are

compromised by not accurately perceiving

cues from peers and adults, typically attrib-

uting hostility to others and believing that

aggressive acts will result in peer approval

(Dodge, 2003). Truancy from feeling picked

on by teachers and/or students and frustra-

tion with poor academic progress can begin

early in young people with learning disabil-

ities, and not attending school can lead to

delinquency.

STRENGTHS OF YOUNG PEOPLE AND THEIR ENVIRONMENTS

Youth have strengths that must be built on in

designing supports and services to meet the

needs driving their delinquent behavior

(Eccles & Gootman, 2002; see Lerner et al.,

Chapter 5, this volume). Often, youth can

be engaged in change when their strengths

are recognized. Their aspirations may be

connected to something they are or were

good at, and what may motivate them to

change is to get back on track toward achiev-

ing dreams. Although families are typically

blamed as the cause of delinquency, most

families also have strengths, and youth often

take it personally when their families are criti-

cized (see Jacobs, Miranda-Julian & Kaplan,

Chapter 10, this volume). Peers and neighbor-

hoods also receive blame for youth getting

involved in delinquency, but positive peers

can encourage the youth’s aspirations and

neighborhoods can offer significant support

(such as pastors, relatives, and other adults

and athletic and artistic opportunities) (see

Hawkins, Vashchenko, & Davis, Chapter 12,

this volume). Schools are seen as failing to

address youth problems before they drop out

or are suspended or expelled, but schools also

can meet youth needs with services that offer

youth the opportunity for success.

Through a developmental framework,

juvenile justice can avoid pathologizing and

instead identify the strengths and needs behind

each young person’s behavior. Rather than

viewing the young person as a “bad seed”

likely to become an adult offender, develop-

mentally sound services support the youth’s

resilience so he or she can outgrow un-

acceptable behaviors.

VIGNETTES OF YOUTH IN JUVENILE JUSTICE

The stories of four youth are presented

next, including brief descriptions of their

strengths; family, peer, school, and neighbor-

hood contexts; immaturity; trauma; and dis-

abilities. These vignettes demonstrate how a

developmental framework can guide our

understanding and treatment of these youth,

12 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

as well as our efforts to prevent system-

involvement for others. Marco’s story is

included, as well, in the analysis presented

in Table 1.1.

Dustin

Dustin is a quiet 13-year-old Native American

youth born on a reservation. His mother was

16, his father was incarcerated before his birth,

and he was raised by his grandmother. When

he lived with his mother, he periodically ran

away to his grandmother because of his moth-

er’s physical abuse. His mother married, and

they moved across the country to live with his

new stepfather when Dustin was in seventh

grade, shortly before the birth of his brother. It

was traumatic for Dustin to lose his extended

family and strong cultural roots. His stepfather

was young, had not parented before, and

favored his newborn; his mother’s life centered

around her husband.

Dustin adjusted surprisingly well to his new

school. He had several friends who lived nearby

and he spent most of his time in their homes.

The girl next door was his best friend, and he

felt “adopted” by her parents, who took him to

the water park and skating rink; he resented his

family for not caring enough about him to do

activities together. He worried about his step-

father’s drinking, which caused work and mar-

ital problems. His stepfather was furious when

Dustin protected his mother when he was

about to slap her. Dustin said his stepfather

hit him and constantly reprimanded him for

not doing household chores properly.

Dustin’s mother and stepfather criticized

him for getting poor grades, although he com-

plained that he worked on his homework longer

every afternoon than his friends. Initially, his

teachers attributed his academic struggles to their

assumption that the small reservation school he

had attended from first to sixth grades was

inferior. Because he was so “shy,” his trouble

concentrating and following directions was over-

looked, and they were surprised that on his first

standardized testing in late spring, Dustin scored

more than three grades lower than his classmates.

Although he was not referred for evaluation of

attention deficit (without hyperactivity) and/or

executive function deficits, Dustin was likely

eligible for special education services to address

disabilities, which would have improved his

grades and self-esteem.

During the summer, Dustin’s mother told

him they had to move, but not back to his

relatives. When he told his friend next door, she

cried and Dustin said he held back tears. He

was upset he would have to leave his friends and

their caring families and adjust to a new school.

The week of the offense, it came as a surprise to

Dustin that his mother was sending him to

live with a relative he did not know far from

both his grandmother and where his mother

was moving. He felt rejected, especially since

his stepfather said it was his disobedience and

poor grades that were making them send him

to relatives who could discipline him.

Early physical abuse, being separated from

family members, chronic disapproval, worrying

about his mother’s marriage, and the impending

move was a significant amount of trauma.

Dustin did not have anyone to confide in and

internalized his feelings. Leading up to his ex-

plosion, Dustin was under extreme stress that

compromised his typical immature thinking.

When he walked in the door that night, Dustin

said his mother immediately started yelling at

him. He heated up some food and was watch-

ing television. His stepfather yelled at him to

get off the couch and turn off the TV.

He was real mean about it. I was still

eating. He told me to hurry up. I got

up and moved so he could lie down

on the couch. I went into the kitchen

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 13

and put my dishes in the dishwasher.

Then he yelled at me because I had

turned the kitchen light on. It made

me mad. I was sick of being yelled at

and not allowed to watch TV in my

own house. I can’t explain what hap-

pened next. I grabbed a knife from the

dishwasher.

Without thinking, Dustin lunged at his step-

father, cutting him seriously before he ran out

of the house. Later, he understood that he had

“bottled up all that anger at my stepfather and

my mother and it all came out at once, but I

didn’t expect it.”

Behind Dustin’s aggression were compli-

cated unmet needs to:

& Understand that the loss and rejection

he experienced are not his fault; & Learn how to respond when criti-

cized and not overreact to rejection; & Learn how to express himself without

holding his feelings in until he erupts; & Feel successful in school; & Recognize the effects of his learning

disabilities on his concentration and

decision making; and & Not be separated from family.

These needs could be met by trauma

treatment, services to learn how to compen-

sate for his learning disabilities, coaching on

expressing his feelings and not overreacting,

and returning to live with his grandmother.

Peter

Peter is a childish, White 14-year-old who

was traumatized by abuse by his mentally ill

mother, and then by abuse in his foster home.

Later, he was moved to his father and step-

mother’s home. When he was in elementary

school, Peter ran away repeatedly because of

his father’s abuse. Child Protective Services

again placed him in a foster home for more

than a year. When he was returned, the school

complained that his father was not cooperative

in dealing with Peter’s academic and behavior

problems. Peter remembers being picked on

since second grade for being behind academi-

cally. As he got older, Peter was upset that he

was teased for being gay. He said he always

liked girls, but kids thought he was gay because

“I’m small and soft.” He felt unfairly treated

by the PE teacher and got Fs in PE because he

was being harassed in the locker room and

refused to change.

Peter’s arms are lined with scars. “I was

always cutting my wrists. My teacher saw it.

My dad saw it. No one did anything about it.”

Peter talked about being isolated and alone,

tolerating physical punishment by his father

and conflict with his stepmother. “I didn’t care

about anybody. I just wanted to be dead.”

Asked what made him get to that point in

eighth grade, he responded, “Thinking no one

cares, people making fun of me all the time.

My whole class made fun of me for being gay

and not being able to do math.”

Because of past trauma, Peter was un-

usually sensitive to criticism. He could not

articulate that he felt hurt when he was teased

and embarrassed about being unable to do his

schoolwork. After years of abuse, Peter expe-

rienced any “no” as another victimization

and he reflexively reacted to protect himself.

He had not learned how to prevent escalation

or how to calm himself down when he was

teased, cornered, pushed, or touched. Peter’s

IEP (Individualized Education Plan) was

blaming, focused on behavior control, and

reflected no understanding of trauma-driven

behavior. Peter got angry when he read his

behavior intervention plan (BIP): “Peter’s

motivation for inappropriate behavior and

language toward peers and teachers is

14 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

avoidance of work and attention seeking.” He

thought his IEP was wrong: “Why do they

think I avoid work? I go to school. I try to do

my work. I need help on a lot of things. I am

frustrated when I can’t get more help.”

After his arrest, a neuropsychological

evaluation found “a severe attentional dis-

order, a slow rate of information processing,

and memory and executive dysfunctions

which constitute a significant functional dis-

ability” that interfered with Peter’s school

performance as well as with interactions

with family and friends. For years he had

IEPs without the required evaluations, which

could have identified his disabilities in order

to design the proper combination of services

to ensure that his social skills, attentiveness,

reading, and math improved. Had instruction

in the give-and-take of communication, how

to avoid talking too much, how to read

others’ nonverbal cues, and how not to mis-

interpret rules as mistreatment been initiated

in the early elementary years when his social

skills deficits were first documented, Peter’s

behavior improvement might have prevented

being picked on. His early depression and

anxiety might have been reduced with

improved peer relationships, although these

were also symptoms of trauma that went

untreated.

The kids were picking on me, calling

me gay every day. The teacher heard

them and didn’t do anything. The PE

teacher yelled at me. The counselor

wouldn’t do anything. No one would

help. Nobody cared. A kid called me a

name, another kid tripped me as I was

walking to my seat. I got angry. My

teacher yelled at me to calm down. I got

more out of hand. She came toward

me, trying to corner me. When I get

angry, I don’t think. I was telling her to

leave me alone. She was yelling just

like my father. She pushed me. I told

her, “You better not touch me again.”

She pushed me against the cabinet.

I went ballistic. I pushed her down,

ran out of the school.

Behind Peter’s aggression were numerous

unmet needs to:

& Learn to separate his past victimiza-

tion from provocation in the present; & Learn to calm himself before reacting; & Understand his pool of anger and

hurt and learn to be less sensitive to

rejection and to express his anger

without hurting himself or others; & Understand his attention, processing,

and executive function difficulties; and & Be successful at something.

These needs could be met by trauma

treatment, services to learn how to compen-

sate for his learning disabilities, a home and

school where he is not maltreated, and guid-

ance for the adults to understand that their

actions might prevent most of his behavior

problems by avoiding power struggles and

deescalating before he gets out of control.

Brandon

Brandon is a bright, engaging African Ameri-

can 15-year-old from a loving family. His

mother is proud of her two older children

in community college and she is raising her

young great nephew who had been neglected.

Brandon’s father’s murder when Brandon

was young led to his family’s move out of a

high-crime area.

Brandon’s arrest for selling marijuana

shocked all of them. His siblings and mother

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 15

insisted that their family’s love, religious val-

ues, emphasis on school achievement, and

strong work ethic made it inconceivable that

any of the children could be a delinquent.

Family members expressed regret for not re-

alizing that his doing poorly in school and

hanging around with kids who were not suc-

cessful in school or athletics put him at risk.

Brandon kept secrets from his mother for

more than a year. His family said Brandon

remained the same loving, childish, entertain-

ing son and sibling at home, helping with his

cousin and doing chores. But when he was

out, he was using marijuana daily and paying

for it by selling marijuana.

Brandon’s life had changed significantly in

the past 2 years, in a negative direction in

several dimensions simultaneously.

& The loss of basketball. Brandon expe-

rienced a major, painful rejection

when he was not invited to continue

with the elite team he had been on for

years. He felt humiliated, and lost a

sense of belonging and identity that

was critical to him. He stopped play-

ing basketball altogether, believing his

future as an athlete was over. & Less attention from his mother. When he

was in seventh grade, his mother lost

her job and they had to move again.

Her great nephew required a lot of

her assistance when he was removed

from his mother and had to adjust to a

new family and school. Because

Brandon was not playing sports, he

spent less time with his mother, who

had been at all his games. & His brother’s leaving. When Brandon’s

brother left home, he lost the daily

friendship and guidance of the person

to whom he was closest in his family.

This marked the end of Brandon’s life

at home playing video games, since

his brother was his game partner from

second to seventh grade. & The loss of school as a place of success. For

Brandon, like many students, seventh

grade was a difficult adjustment—the

work was more challenging and he felt

the teachers expected too much. Al-

though in elementary school he had

met state standards, getting As and Bs,

in seventh grade Brandon was below

standard in math and reading, did not

like his teacher, and failed a class. In

eighth grade, he was absent 40 days (in

contrast to nearly perfect attendance in

elementary school), got Ds, and was

suspended for getting into an argu-

ment. Not wanting to burden his

mother, he kept his problems from her.

His brother told Brandon “to turn it

around. You are just being lazy.” A

friend’s parent was monitoring her

MySpace and complained to the school

that Brandon wrote threatening state-

ments about the assistant principal; he

was arrested, put on probation, and sus-

pended (even though he said he was

just joking). His probation officer de-

tained him for a week when he was

suspended in the first month of ninth

grade for having marijuana in his

pocket at school.

Unaware of the seriousness of Brandon’s

problems, his family viewed these as minor

“incidents” due to his being unfairly treated

at school and by probation. His mother was

angry at the school for singling Brandon out:

If he had been a White kid, the school

would have given him help a long

16 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

time ago. If he had been White, his

probation officer would have sent him

to a drug program, rather than lock-

ing him up in detention.

Brandon’s immature thinking included

not being able to anticipate the long-term

consequences of poor grades. He did not

imagine that each day his choices about his

schoolwork were taking him off the path of

high school graduation and going to college

on a sports scholarship. Brandon also mini-

mized the risks of his secret life. He was

smoking marijuana every day in ninth grade

and believed that marijuana was benign. Bran-

don said marijuana gave him a “mellow

mind,” and he liked being relaxed. The

only problem he saw with marijuana was cost.

Brandon also had an immature identity.

Prior to seventh grade, Brandon was a suc-

cessful athlete and student, staying close to his

family and home. But he lost some of his

family-centeredness and he lost his sports-

focused identity. Brandon did not want to

turn his back on his close friends, with

whom he had played basketball since elemen-

tary school. They smoked marijuana together,

were barely passing in school, and none were

playing high school sports. He was their sup-

plier, believing he would never get arrested

selling drugs just to people he knew.

Behind Brandon’s illegal behavior were

significant unmet needs to:

& Be successful at school; & Develop a stable, positive identity sup-

ported by successful peers at school; & Talk about how much he has missed

his father and brother; & Learn how to get a “mellow mind”

without using marijuana; and

& Learn how to anticipate consequences,

see risks, and make choices that will

allow him to achieve his goals.

These needs could be met by coaching on

getting involved with college-bound peers,

decision-making skills, returning to sports,

improving study habits, tutorial assistance,

college-preparatory summer programs, and

guidance for his mother in providing supervi-

sion and recognizing Brandon’s successes.

Kristi

Kristi is a 16-year-old biracial girl whose

grandmother said she was “the perfect child

until middle school: good grades, happy, nice

friends, loved sports. She loved her mother;

they had survived hard times together.” Her

parents’ arguments and bitter divorce and her

mother’s remarriage were hard on Kristi. She

missed having her father at home, and by the

time she was in fourth grade, the fighting

between her mother and stepfather was fright-

ening. “I was scared of him. He wasn’t work-

ing and was living off my Mom and me. I

couldn’t understand why she took him back

over and over.” Kristi developed an eating

disorder in sixth grade after her stepfather

was arrested for attacking her mother and

Kristi when she tried to get help.

Kristi’s soccer team was the center of her

life for years, and her mother, grandmother,

and father cheered for her at tournaments: “It

was hard work to be on a travel team. It was

an honor. We went to the state championship

and met girls from all over. We did so well. We

had so much fun.” After the game, Kristi and

her friends got caught drinking and their

coach kicked them off the team. “I was going

to try out for the high school team, but I gave

up. . . . It was a big mistake that I regretted.”

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 17

Her father talked about the vacuum that not

playing soccer caused in Kristi’s life, observing

that without the discipline of sports she

“became less motivated to do well in school,

had more worries about her weight, and did

not have her good group of friends.”

The combination of reactions to her

parents’ divorce and her mother’s involve-

ment in an abusive second marriage made

Kristi susceptible to an exploitive relation-

ship with an older male. With her worries

about her appearance, the loss of soccer, and

feeling less motivated academically, Kristi

was flattered by his attention, and minimized

keeping him a secret from her parents, who

would not have approved.

He was extremely moody, arguing

with people for no reason. He hit

me with his fists. He said the meanest

stuff to me. And then sweet talk me,

saying beautiful things. I told my best

friend I didn’t want to stay with him,

but I didn’t know how to break it off. I

was so depressed.

Kristi continued,

I was ashamed that I still loved him

and his sweet-talking and hoped our

good times would return. I didn’t ask

for help because I didn’t realize I was

over my head. I knew getting high

with him and skipping school to be

with him were wrong. But I thought I

could quit him anytime.

Kristi said she hid “how bad I felt about

myself ” and did not know how to get coun-

seling without burdening her mother. She

told herself that her substance use was not a

problem. She believed that she would get

serious about school again and achieve her

goal of college.

Lacking experience, Kristi did not cor-

rectly assess many danger signals: “He would

not let me go anywhere without him. His

mood swings were extreme and unpredictable.

He smashed things when he was angry.” His

obsession that afternoon with wanting to run

away with her was annoying, but she thought it

was “just talk” when he kept coming back to

the same subject for hours and was not satisfied

with her telling him she was not leaving home.

What Kristi did not know was that he had been

using meth that day. She was shocked when he

attacked her mother, stabbing her to death with

a kitchen knife when she got home from work:

“It was so quick; I was in shock, shivering and

not understanding what was happening.”

Threatening Kristi with the knife, he ordered

her to get her mother’s car keys and wallet and

made her drive to an ATM to withdraw the

limit in cash from her mother’s account.

When they were apprehended in her

mother’s car, it did not occur to Kristi that

the police would arrest her. She gave a simple

statement about what had happened:

I thought the police wanted informa-

tion about what he did. I didn’t try to

explain it to them. I didn’t understand

what happened myself. I thought they

knew I didn’t have any part in it and

were going to take me home.

Asked whether she told the police she had

been kidnapped, Kristi responded that she

thought kidnapping referred to a small child

or someone being tied up. She added,

I was forced the whole time. I wasn’t

dragged by my hair. But if I had

refused, he would have made me.

The look in his eyes was so threat-

ening. In the car he was holding the

knife. I didn’t have control, of course,

I never did with him.

18 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

Her boyfriend told the police it was Kris-

ti’s idea to kill her mother because she wanted

to run away from home. In her state, 16-year-

olds charged with murder did not have a

hearing where a judge would decide whether

they could be rehabilitated in juvenile court.

Kristi was held for many months in an adult

jail, fortunately supported by maternal and

paternal extended family, before she was

acquitted by a jury in an adult trial.

Behind Kristi’s involvement in an abusive

relationship were complex unmet needs to:

& Recover from her parents’ divorce

and her exposure to domestic vio-

lence, and understand the connection

between her worries about loss of

relationships and her eating problems

and use of substances; & Be proud of her academic performance; & Learn how to have a good dating

relationship without violence or

being controlled; and & Improve her ability to assess the riski-

ness of her choices.

These needs could be met by trauma

treatment, support from teachers and family

for good grades in school, and guidance in

deciding about whether to return to sports.

Commonalities Among These Young People

Of the five youths ages 13–16 arrested for a range

of offenses described previously, all had strengths.

Three had loving families and one had been

raised in the past by a loving grandmother. All

five needed, and had not received, trauma treat-

ment. The behavior for which they came to the

attention of the juvenile justice system (and one

of them to the child welfare system) was linked

to abuse, loss, harassment, and exposure to

violence. None of them understood the con-

nection between past trauma and their present

problems, even the two whose aggression was

directly related to prior victimization.

For two of the youth, their delinquent

behavior was associated with their untreated

learning disabilities. The other three did not

have disabilities, but had become alienated

from school and were not achieving as well

as they had in the past.

Immaturity affected all of their offenses. All

had immature thinking, minimized risk, and

were unable to anticipate the worst possible

outcomes of their behaviors. None of them

had the experience to realize that they needed

help and could not solve their problems them-

selves. One was helped by friends, one was loyal

to friends, two were pressured by older youth,

and one had poor peer relationships. All

expressed moral values and knew right from

wrong, but they were not rational and could

not use mature moral reasoning when caught up

in an offense they did not realize was going to

happen. The range of developmental character-

istics behind the behavior of these five youth is

presented in Table 1.1.

These portraits are quite different than the

standard files of system-involved youth might

suggest. Without minimizing the seriousness of

the acts these young people have committed,

each portrait attempts to explain how the youth

came to be in the situations that led them to

these actions, and based on that information,

what services would likely be successful in

building on their strengths and meeting their

needs so they can achieve adult lives of purpose.

They argue, in my view, for keeping youth out

of adult probation, jails, and prisons—allowing

them the opportunity to mature and to heal

within a juvenile justice system that can provide

developmentally sound support. The vignettes

also identify lost opportunities for intervening

before delinquent acts were ever committed.

A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 19

T a b le

1 .1 .

A D e v e lo p m e n ta l F r a m e w o r k fo r U n d e r st a n d in g F iv e S y st e m -I n v o lv e d Y o u th

D u st in

(A g e 1 3 )

M a r c o (A

g e 1 4 )

P e te r (A

g e 1 4 )

B ra n d o n (A

g e 1 5 )

K ri st i (A

g e 1 6 )

S T R E N G T H S

W an ts to

co m p le te

h ig h sc h o o l

N o p ri o r ar re st s o r su b st an ce

u se

K n o w s h u rt in g so m e o n e is

w ro n g

W an ts to

co m p le te

h ig h

sc h o o l

R e m o rs e fu l

W an ts fr ie n d s, n o n ab u si ve

h o m e

N o p ri o r ar re st s o r

su b st an ce

u se

W an ts to

go to

co lle ge

A th le ti c ta le n t

W an ts to

go to

co lle ge

N o p ri o r ar re st s

A th le ti c ta le n t

F A M IL Y C O N T E X T

A tt ac h e d to

e x te n d e d fa m ily

S tr o n g p o si ti ve

fa m ily

va lu e s

Fe lt cr it ic iz e d b y st e p fa th e r,

b e tr ay e d b y m o th e r

S tr o n g, ca ri n g fa m ily

D id n o t kn o w h o w to

p ro vi d e su p e rv is io n o r

e n co u ra ge m e n t

S e p ar at io n fr o m

m o th e r,

ab u se

in fo st e r h o m e ,

ab u se

b y fa th e r an d

st e p m o th e r

Y e ar s o f fe e lin g u n w an te d

S tr o n g, ca ri n g fa m ily

D id n o t re al iz e h e n e e d e d

m o re

su p e rv is io n an d h e lp

S tr o n g, ca ri n g fa m ily

D id n o t re al iz e sh e n e e d e d

m o re

su p e rv is io n an d h e lp

P E E R C O N T E X T

N o n d e lin q u e n t fr ie n d s

B ro th e r an d fr ie n d s in ga n g

P ic ke d o n e ve ry d ay

in

sc h o o lf o r 6 ye ar s

Fr ie n d s n o lo n ge r at h le te s an d

lik e ly to

d ro p o u t o f sc h o o l

D ai ly m ar iju an a u se

re q u ir e s $

N o n d e lin q u e n t fr ie n d s

e x ce p t h e r b o yf ri e n d

U n ab le to

le av e ab u si ve

b o yf ri e n d

S C H O O L

C O N T E X T

W e ll lik e d b y te ac h e rs

B e h in d ac ad e m ic al ly

N o te st in g fo r se rv ic e s

C ap ab le o f gr ad e -l e ve l

w o rk ,b u t al ie n at e d

Fe e ls te ac h e rs ar e

u n su p p o rt iv e

IE P fo r b e h av io r co n tr o l,

n o t fo r d is ab ili ti e s

Fe e ls n o o n e st o p p e d

m is tr e at m e n t

W as

an e x ce lle n t st u d e n t

W as

an e x ce lle n t st u d e n t

D e cr e as e d co n fi d e n ce

in

sc h o o l

N E IG

H B O R H O O D

C O N T E X T

L o ss o f re se rv at io n cu lt u re

S af e n e ig h b o rh o o d

T e rr ifi e d b y ga n g vi o le n ce

Is o la te d ru ra la re a

W o rk in g- cl as s n e ig h b o rh o o d

w it h in cr e as in g cr im e

L o w -c ri m e n e ig h b o rh o o d

IM M A T U R IT

Y Im p u ls iv e re ac ti o n to

cr it ic is m

D id n o t re al iz e an ge r an d

sa d n e ss co u ld e x p lo d e

D id n o t re al iz e h e n e e d e d h e lp

N o t e x ce lli n g at an yt h in g

M in im iz e d ri sk s o f jo in in g

ga n g

Fe lt h e h ad

n o ch o ic e b u t

to d o w h at w as

o rd e re d

D id n o t re al iz e h e n e e d e d

h e lp

N o t e x ce lli n g at an yt h in g

C an ’t an ti ci p at e

co n se q u e n ce s

D id n ’t w an t to

b e

p e rc e iv e d as

ga y

N o t su cc e ss fu la t an yt h in g

S e lf- d e st ru ct iv e b e h av io r

M in im iz e d ri sk s o f se lli n g

m ar iju an a

D id n o t re al iz e d ri ft aw

ay fr o m

p at h o f sc h o o la n d sp o rt s

D id n o t re al iz e h e n e e d e d h e lp

D id n o t w an t to

b e d is lo ya l

M in im iz e d ri sk s o f

b o yf ri e n d

M in im iz e d ri sk s o f al co h o l

an d m ar iju an a

D id n o t re al iz e sh e n e e d e d

h e lp

D e p e n d e n t

T R A U M A

P h ys ic al ab u se

S e p ar at io n fr o m

fa m ily

C o n st an t cr it ic is m

S tr e ss o f m o vi n g

D e at h s in fa m ily

P ar e n ts p re o cc u p ie d

C o n st an t fe ar fr o m

vi o le n ce

P re ss u re

to ac h ie ve

T o rm

e n te d b y te as in g

R e p e at e d ab u se

ca u se d

re fl e x iv e re ac ti o n to

th re at

D e p re ss e d

Fa th e r’ s m u rd e r

L o ss o f sp o rt s

M o th e r’ s jo b lo ss an d m o ve

B ro th e r le av in g

D iv o rc e

D o m e st ic vi o le n ce

at

h o m e

L o ss o f sp o rt s

D e p re ss e d

D IS A B IL IT

IE S

U n d ia gn o se d A D D an d /o r

e x e cu ti ve

fu n ct io n d e fi ci t

U n tr e at e d p ro ce ss in g,

at te n ti o n an d e x e cu ti ve

fu n ct io n d iffi cu lt ie s

20

Taking an ecologically oriented, trauma-

informed developmental view of who these

young people are, what they need, and what

they might yet become is a step toward provid-

ing them with the effective juvenile services

described in subsequent chapters.

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A Developmental View of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 23

2 CHAPTER

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement

KRISTI HOLSINGER

C onventional wisdom about juveniles and

delinquency control measures in this

country has evolved substantially over time,

yielding fragmented, contradictory, and at

times even chaotic, approaches to managing

juvenile delinquency—hardly a “system” in

any conventional sense and certainly “young”

in its development. In turn, shifting perspec-

tives on who these youth are and how they

should be treated have bedeviled attempts

to standardize how they and their offenses

are described and documented. Based on

nationally available data, this chapter presents

as full and accurate a portrait as possible of

these young people, at each stage of their

involvement with the juvenile justice system.

A brief review of the history of the develop-

ment and current operations of the system will

proceed to provide necessary context for the

data that follow.

THE HISTORICAL LEGACY OF THE JUVENILE JUSTICE SYSTEM

Some mark the beginning of the juvenile

justice system in the early 1800s, when states

began to supersede parental authority and

rights by institutionalizing “deviant” children,

often for cheap labor, however, still treating

them similarly to adult criminals (Mennel,

1972). An important counterdevelopment

occurred in 1841 with the advent of probation

for children; similar “child-helping” initiatives

soon followed with the creation of reform

schools. However, it was during the Progres-

sive Era when reforms that credited the age-

minority status of children, including the

establishment of the first juvenile court in

1899, became widespread.

The reformers of this period saw the main

goal of the juvenile justice court as treatment

and rehabilitation, not punishment. Delin-

quency was a condition that could be identi-

fied, treated, and cured, they argued, through

an individual analysis of the youth’s special

needs and circumstances. In response, the

court eliminated the punitive, adversarial,

and formalized procedures of the adult

criminal process and adopted more informal

proceedings characterized by greatly increas-

ing judicial discretion; as an unintended

consequence, many due process protections

afforded adults were eliminated.

Eventually, common belief held that the

juveniles were getting “the worst of both

worlds” (Kent v. United States, 1966, p. 556),

receiving neither the necessary help or treat-

ment promised by the juvenile court, nor the

procedural protection adults in the criminal

justice system enjoyed. Landmark cases heard

by the Supreme Court (e.g., In re Gault, 1967;

24

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

In re Winship, 1970) supported this contention,

and the rights of juveniles were greatly

expanded, institutionalizing some of the for-

mality of the adult system in the juvenile court.

Juveniles began to be treated more like adults

in other ways as well; for example, the 1980s

marked efforts by virtually every state to allow

easier transfer of youth to adult court (Feld,

1998; Torbet et al., 1996; see Sherman &

Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

Research in the 1960s and 1970s also

identified serious flaws in the system. Correc-

tional “treatment,” especially in institutions,

was punitive, harsh, and sometimes even sa-

distic (Holland & Mlyniec, 1995; President’s

Commission on Law Enforcement and Ad-

ministration of Justice, 2008; also see Beck,

Harrison, & Guerino, 2010, for a current

review and analysis of sexual victimization in

juvenile facilities), and minor offenders were

incarcerated alongside seriously delinquent

youth. In the 1970s, deinstitutionalization

(providing programs in community-based set-

tings rather than in institutions) and diversion

(keeping youth out of the system to begin with)

were promoted. The decriminalization and

deinstitutionalization of status offenses were

also encouraged, largely due to provisions in

the Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Preven-

tion Act of 1974.

By the 1980s, a score of social and demo-

graphic factors precipitated a shift away from

the long-standing posture of rehabilitation to

one reflecting a “get tough” mentality (Butts &

Mears, 2001). Crime control policies instituted

for juveniles included lowering the age limit

for juvenile court jurisdiction, the increased

use of preventative detention, the increased

transfer of juveniles to the adult system, a move

toward determinate sentencing for violent

offenders, and even the use of the death

penalty for certain crimes. Data linking these

get-tough measures with reductions in youth

crime have not been forthcoming; in fact, an

in-depth analysis in Florida found such puni-

tive measures to have a negligible impact on

juvenile crime rates (Frazier, Bishop, & Lanza-

Kaduce, 1999). Recent developmental re-

search on adolescent brain functioning also

suggests that youth do not have the same skills

as adults in weighing costs and benefits and

acting rationally (Scott & Steinberg, 2000).

These developments have called into question

the wisdom of the policy shifts of the 1980s

and 1990s.

Interestingly, both of these contradictory

approaches remain part of the current juvenile

justice system. States and counties vary greatly

in their ideological viewpoints on, and their

legislation concerning, juvenile crime; juve-

nile court practices are also determined by the

demographics and geography of states and by

the resources available for youth in a given

community (see Schiraldi, Schindler &

Goliday, Chapter 20, this volume). All this

leads to wide variation across the country in

the youth who are involved in the juvenile

justice system, which in turn produces broad

variation in selection and maintenance of both

person- and crime-specific data.

HOW JUVENILE CASES ARE PROCESSED

There are almost 3,000 juvenile courts in

operation in the United States (Krisberg,

2005). The number of delinquency cases

handled by them remained largely stable be-

tween 2000 and 2007, with approximately 1.7

million cases handled nationwide in 2007

(Knoll & Sickmund, 2010). As can be seen

from Figure 2.1, the juvenile court caseload

climbed steadily from 1960, when 400,000

cases were processed, to the peak year in 1997

with over 1.8 million cases (Puzzanchera &

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 25

Sickmund, 2009). Between 1997 and 2007,

there was an 11% decline in delinquency cases

(Puzzanchera, Adams, & Sickmund, 2011).

This decrease has been attributed to reductions

in juvenile violent crime and expanded laws

allowing for juvenile cases to be directly trans-

ferred to adult courts (Adams & Addie, 2010).

The juvenile justice process typically be-

gins with a referral, which can be handled

informally or formally, or diverted. Most juve-

niles (83% in 2007; Puzzanchera et al., 2011)

are referred into the system by law enforce-

ment, although many cases drop out of the

system through informal processing or diver-

sion. Other referrals come from schools,

parents, victims, probation officers, and social

service agencies, largely dependent on the

offense. For example, in 2002 non-law

enforcement referrals accounted for a small

percentage of property (9%), drug (10%) and

person offenses (13%), and a larger percentage

of truancy (86%), ungovernability (70%), run-

away (45%), and public order offenses (39%)

(Snyder & Sickmund, 2004).

Beginning in the 1990s, there has been a

trend of increased school referrals to juvenile

court as the result of zero-tolerance state

laws mandating referral of children to law

enforcement for certain school violations

(see Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume;

Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this volume;

Vaught, Chapter 15, this volume). An analysis

of school referrals in five states found that

four of the states experienced a greater pro-

portion of referrals from schools to juvenile

court in 2004 compared to 1995 (Krezmien,

Leone, Zablocki, & Wells, 2009). Initially

concerned with drugs, gangs, and weapons,

zero-tolerance laws have expanded to include

behaviors considered disruptive (Skiba, 2001).

This practice has led to a phenomenon

referred to as the “school-to-prison pipeline”

where certain groups of students, particularly

African American students, are put on a path-

way by schools into the justice system (Wald &

Losen, 1995; see Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14,

this volume).

The decision to detain a juvenile must

involve parental notification and a review by

an intake officer or a prosecutor to ensure

sufficient evidence to proceed. At this point

in processing, 44% of the cases are dismissed or

handled informally, while slightly more than

half (56%) result in formal intervention by the

court (Sickmund, 1988). Holding a youth for

an extended period of time (over 24 hours in

Figure 2.1 Number of Delinquency Cases, 1960–2005

Source: Adapted from Puzzanchera and Sickmund, 2008.

26 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

most states) requires a judicial decision and

typically is determined by whether the youth

is believed to be a harm to self or others; the

youth lacks a parent or guardian, which can

include homelessness or runaway status; or it is

believed the youth is unlikely to appear for

future court proceedings (Chesney-Lind &

Shelden, 2004). In 2005, detention hearings

resulted in 21% of youth being detained

(Snyder & Sickmund, 2004).

A delinquency case is handled in either

juvenile or criminal (adult) court. Between

1992 and 1997, 44 states and the District of

Columbia passed laws increasing the likeli-

hood a juvenile would be waived to adult

criminal court, either through changes in

the law or by giving judges and/or prosecutors

increased discretion (Allard & Young, 2002).

The criteria and process for waiver to adult

court are determined by state statute, but

largely reflect an individual or policy decision

about whether a youth or groups of youth are

likely to be rehabilitated by the services pro-

vided in the juvenile court (see Sherman &

Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

Less than 1% of all delinquency cases result

in judicial waiver, and about half are for person-

related offenses (48%), with the other half being

transferred to the adult system for property

(27%), drug-related (13%), or public order

offenses (11%) (Adams & Addie, 2010). This

offense distribution has changed considerably

when compared to transfers 20 years ago. In

1985, most cases involved property offenses

(53%), followed by person (33%), public order

(9%), and drug offenses (5%) (Adams & Addie,

2010). In 2007, approximately 8,500 cases were

waived to criminal court. Most waived cases

involved males (90%) over the age of 15 (88%)

(Adams & Addie, 2010). To date, research on

the use of waivers for juveniles is not supportive

of the practice, as there is no evidence that it

achieves reductions in recidivism or youth

crime, and in fact the practice may lead to

increased recidivism (Bishop, 2000; Bishop &

Frazier, 2000).

Because of waivers, youth are eligible to

receive life sentences. In 2008, the number of

juveniles serving life terms was 6,807, and,

depending on the source, between 26% and

37% of these youth have no chance of parole

(Human Rights Watch, 2008; Nellis & King,

2009). While virtually every state doles out life

terms (exceptions are Indiana, Maine, Ver-

mont, and West Virginia), more than 50%

of these juveniles are from five states: Califor-

nia, Texas, Pennsylvania, Florida, and Nevada.

Juveniles sentenced to life without parole are

most likely to come from the states of Penn-

sylvania, California, Michigan, and Louisiana.

In 2010 the U.S. Supreme Court held that a

sentence of life without parole for juveniles

in nonhomicide cases was unconstitutional

(Graham v. Florida, 2010; see Sherman &

Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

If a case proceeds in juvenile court, an

adjudicatory hearing is scheduled, and the case

is typically decided by a judge (see Figure 2.2

for the typical case flow in the juvenile justice

system). In juvenile court, a separate hearing

is held to determine the disposition of the

case. This separate hearing allows time for a

presentence investigative report to be filed

based on a probation officer’s assessment of

the unique needs and circumstances of the

juvenile and exists as evidence of the court’s

enduring goal of individualized treatment and

rehabilitation. A judge then determines the

disposition of the case, although input from

the prosecution, youth, and probation officers

can be presented (Snyder & Sickmund, 2006).

Two categories of offenses that come to the

attention of juvenile courts are criminal offenses

and status offenses, the latter of which are

behaviors deemed illegal based solely on the

minor status of the offender (i.e., running away,

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 27

truancy, consuming alcohol). Processing for

these two types of offenses is similar; however,

the Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Preven-

tion Act (JJDPA) of 1974 (P.L. 93-415, 88 Stat.

1109) and subsequent reauthorizations (1977,

1980, 1984, 1988, 1992, 2002) prohibit the use

of secure detention for status offenses. In the

JJDPA, states were required to use services

outside of the juvenile justice system, such as

group homes or shelter facilities run by family

or social services in lieu of juvenile court

residential placements. However, many status

offenders still find their way into detention and

placements through the valid court order

(VCO) exception, passed in 1980 and included

in subsequent reauthorizations. Under the

VCO exception, status offenders can be de-

tained if they violate a valid court order in the

form, for example, of a probation condition. In

2007, about 11% of all adjudicated status of-

fenders were in court ordered out of home

placement (Puzzanchera et al., 2010).

Due to the less serious nature of most

juvenile crime, the most common disposition

has always been, and remains, probation.

Probation or regularly scheduled meetings

between a probation officer and juvenile of-

fender results in 56% of cases adjudicated

delinquent and typically include other man-

dates such as drug testing, counseling, or

restitution (Sickmund, 2010). After reaching

a peak in 1997, the number of cases adjudi-

cated delinquent and sanctioned to probation

declined 17% by 2007 (Puzzanchera et al.,

2010). Probation, either for a fixed amount

or an open-ended amount of time, is termi-

nated once the specified conditions have been

met (Snyder & Sickmund, 2006). Regardless

Figure 2.2 Juvenile Justice System Case Flow Diagram

Source: Adapted from Snyder and Sickmund, 2006.

28 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

of the effectiveness of probation, its use suc-

cessfully allows a youth to avoid the many

negative consequences now associated with

incarceration (Bernburg & Krohn, 2003).

Twenty-five percent of offenders adjudi-

cated delinquent are placed in a residential

facility for a specified or indeterminate time,

which is the most severe outcome available for

juveniles within the juvenile justice system

(Sickmund, 2010). Approximately 95,000

youth are held in juvenile justice facilities

and publicly operated facilities house 69% of

juvenile offenders (Livsey, Sickmund, &

Sladky, 2009). In 2007, state-funded, postad-

judicatory, residential facilities cost an average

of $241 per day (American Correctional As-

sociation, 2008). The use of out-of-home

residential placements peaked in 1997 and

decreased 16% through 2007, with the largest

decreases taking place for property offenses

(34% reduction between 1997 and 2007)

and drug offenses (16% reduction) (Puzzan-

chera et al., 2010). Rehabilitative ideals typi-

cally coincide with an indeterminate sentence, in

which the juvenile is held until juvenile justice

professionals feel he or she is adequately

reformed, whereas a determinate sentence, which

is based on the offense and specific sentencing

guidelines determined by states, is more con-

sistent with “get-tough” practices (Forst,

Fisher, & Coates, 1985).

Upon release from residential facilities,

jails, and adult prisons, some form of juvenile

aftercare (referred to as parole in the adult

system) is typically available, but jurisdictions

vary greatly on the extent to which aftercare is

treatment oriented. From an accountability

perspective, there are usually conditions dur-

ing this time period, which, if violated, can

result in recommitment. In spite of very high

recidivism rates for system-involved youth,

aftercare is underdeveloped in most juvenile

justice systems (Mears & Travis, 2004).

Relying on institutions to “fix” juveniles

in the system is problematic, as abusive and

harsh conditions remain a reality (Beck et al.,

2010). A survey conducted by the Associated

Press found 13,000 claims of abuse from 2004

through 2007, but only a fraction of these is

confirmed, likely related to the positions of

authority held by adults in these environments

(Mohr, 2008). A 2010 report by the Bureau of

Justice Statistics based on the National Survey

of Youth in Custody (26,550 youth) found

that 12% (n ¼ 3,220) report experiencing one or more incidents of sexual victimization

by another youth or facility staff in the past

12 months (Beck et al., 2010). Staff sexual

misconduct accounts for the majority of the

incidents (85%), and boys report more abuse

by staff, while girls are at greatest risk for sexual

victimization by another youth (Beck et al.,

2010). These statistics are of particular con-

cern, given the higher rates of childhood

victimization that exist in the delinquent pop-

ulation compared to the general population

and the potential for additional traumatic

experiences in the girls’ lives.

OFFENSE TRENDS

Much of what is known about juvenile arrests

and offense trends comes from the Uniform

Crime Reports (UCR) compiled by the U.S.

Department of Justice through the Federal

Bureau of Investigation; these data are based

on reports submitted by law enforcement

agencies. In 2008, 95% of the total population

of law enforcement agencies was represented

by the UCR, making it the most comprehen-

sive data set on juvenile crime available (U.S.

Department of Justice, 2009). Nonetheless,

there are questions about the extent to which

the data represent an accurate picture of juve-

nile crime. The most frequent criticism has

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 29

been that the data are affected by discretionary

police policies and practices, such as the level

of police presence in a particular area. Further,

many juvenile crimes are committed that

never come to the attention of the police, a

statement particularly true for minor offenses.

Additionally, arrest statistics do not reflect the

guilt of an individual. As a result, when possi-

ble, it is important to examine multiple data

sources that use several different research

methodologies, in addition to arrest statistics,

in order to gain the most complete picture

possible of youth crime. 1

In 2009, the number of juveniles arrested

was 1,919,257, comprising 17.8% of the total

number of arrests for all ages (U.S. Department

of Justice, 2010). This number captures the

number of arrests, not the number of juvenile

offenders, and therefore includes multiple

arrests of the same person within the year.

Additionally, only the most serious offense

is recorded in cases where multiple crimes

are committed.

As shown in Figure 2.3 above, of all the

juvenile arrests, the vast majority (73.4%) were

for less serious felonies and misdemeanors (also

called “nonindex” or Part II offenses). Index

crimes (also referred to as Part I offenses) are

the eight serious, felony-level crimes of mur-

der, rape, robbery, aggravated assault, larceny-

theft (over $50), motor vehicle theft, and

arson. Approximately one quarter (26.6%) of

juvenile arrests were for index crimes (22.2%

for property index offenses and 4.4% for vio-

lent index offenses).

In 1980, approximately 7,400 juveniles

were arrested, a number that continued to

climb to its peak of approximately 9,400

in 1996 (see Figure 2.4). Ten-year trends,

from 2000 to 2009, indicate that arrest rates

of juveniles are down 20.2%, with greater

1 Other data sources available include large self-report

studies, which collect data from the youth themselves

(i.e., the National Youth Survey, www.colorado.edu/

IBS/NYSFS/, Monitoring the Future, www.monitor

ingthefuture.org), the National Crime Victimization

Survey, which gathers data from victims of crimes

(www.ojp.usdoj.gov.bjs), and Juvenile Court Statistics,

which are a compilation of records of cases handles by

juvenile courts (www.ojjdp.ncjrs.org).

Figure 2.3 Percentage of Juvenile Arrests by Offense Type, 2009

non-index

property index

violent index

Source: U.S. Department of Justice, 2010.

30 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

reductions seen in index property crimes

(down 20.3%) than in index violent crimes

(down 15.0%) (U.S. Department of Justice,

2010). From 2008 to 2009, juvenile arrests

fell an additional 2.4%, with a decrease in

violent index crimes (2.3%) and an increase

in index property crimes (1.6%) (U.S. Depart-

ment of Justice, 2010). Although the UCR has

been critiqued for reflecting enforcement prac-

tices, these reductions in arrests are substantiated

by the National Crime Victimization Survey

(NCVS), which finds serious violent and

property victimizations at their lowest levels

since 1973 (Bureau of Justice Statistics, 2008).

Between 2005 and 2007, the NCVS showed

reductions in violent crime (1.9%), personal

theft (11.1%), and property crimes (5%). 2

From large self-report studies that rely on

youth’s disclosure about law violations, several

other important factors about juvenile crime

are revealed (Elliott, Huizinga, & Ageton, 1985;

Nye, Short, & Olson, 1958; Williams & Gold,

1972). First, apropos to this method of data

gathering, unlike official data, self-report

surveys typically tap less serious, even trivial,

delinquent behaviors that are unlikely to come

to the attention of the police. This measure-

ment approach to juvenile crime showed that

minor acts of delinquency are common among

youth in the general population in all socio-

economic groups, thus questioning the social

class–delinquency relationship (Akers & Sellers,

2008). However, shortcomings of the available

data abound, particularly regarding their accu-

racy capturing more frequent and serious

offenses (Elliott & Ageton, 1980). This critique

has led to the development of studies that

identified a relatively small group of chronic

offenders who commit a disproportionate

amount of crime and delinquency (Blumstein,

Cohen, & Farrington, 1988).

An overwhelming strength of self-report

studies is the ability to test theoretical propo-

sitions by collecting a variety of data. For

example, the National Youth Survey, one of

the most comprehensive attempts to measure

delinquency through self-report survey

methodology, found that having delinquent

peers was the best independent predictor of

self-reported offending for early adolescence,

but not an important predictor in childhood

(Elliott & Menard, 1996). These data also

Figure 2.4 Arrests per 100,000 Juveniles, Ages 10–17, 1980–2008

Source: Adapted from Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention, 2009.

2 NCVS data are not specific to juvenile offenders, but

rather reports all victimizations regardless of the age of

the offender.

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 31

support the contention that juvenile crime has

been relatively stable over time (Osgood,

O’Malley, Bachman, & Johnston, 1989). Con-

trary to negative media representation, crime

by juveniles is at its lowest level in decades

(Krisberg, 2005). Reductions in the youth

crime rate have occurred despite slow, steady

growth in the juvenile population over the past

25 years. Although the juvenile population is

not the fastest growing segment of the popu-

lation, it increased by 10 million from 1984

(62.5 million) to 2008 (72.3 million), and is

projected to continue a slow increase through

2025 (Day, 1996).

Another valuable data source on system-

involved youth and the functioning of the

juvenile court is Juvenile Court Statistics,

now including 80% of U.S. juvenile court

activities (Sickmund, Sladky, & Kang, 2008).

These data provide information on the types

and dispositions of cases handled by the juve-

nile courts. In 2005, the referring offense for

juveniles was most often a property offense

(35.3%), followed by a public order offense

(27.9%). Violent or person offenses repre-

sented about a quarter of the cases (25.3%),

with drugs making up the smallest percentage

of cases (11.5%). Marked declines exist when

comparing property offenses committed by

youth over the past 20 years with less dramatic

increases seen in the remaining three offense

categories of person, drug, and public order

offenses (see Table 2.1).

Over the past 20 years, referrals have

become more likely to be handled formally

(55.9% in 2005, compared to 45.6% in 1985)

and more likely to result in adjudication (36.7%

in 2005, compared to 29% in 1985). The use

of detention has been slightly variable without

consistent trends, but the 20-year average is

20%, meaning 2 out of every 10 youth are held

in detention (Sickmund et al., 2008).

RISKS TO, AND STRENGTHS OF, SYSTEM-INVOLVED YOUTH

Historically, system-involved youth have been

characterized by their deficits, even among

those who have advocated for more humane

and rehabilitative approaches to addressing

delinquency. These deficits appear either as

actual conditions or limitations that are

documented at some point during involve-

ment with the system, or as “risk factors”—

characteristics of the individual child, his or

her family, or community that, as statistical

predictors, increase the likelihood of a youth

becoming delinquent. (See Braverman &

Morris, Chapter 3, this volume, for a

comprehensive treatment of risks implicated

in delinquency.) These risks do not predict

offending with certainty, but indeed, a host of

factors—for example, impulsive or aggressive

childhood behavior, or child maltreatment—

have been found to be statistically correlated

Table 2.1. Percentages of Selected Juvenile Court Referral Offense Types, 1985–2005

Year Person Property Drugs Public Order

1985 15.9 60.8 6.7 16.9

1990 19.1 58.4 5.3 17.3

1995 22.0 50.1 9 18.9

2000 23.0 39.8 11.5 25.7

2005 25.3 35.3 11.5 27.9

Source: Sickmund, Sladky, and Kang, 2008.

32 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

with delinquency. The effect of risk factors can

be cumulative, dependent on the timing in

which they occur in a youth’s development;

however, they also may be mitigated by exist-

ing strengths, or “protective factors,” in a

youth’s ecology.

The strengths perspective, also referred to

as a resiliency framework (Masten & Powell,

2003; Saleebey, 2005) and positive youth de-

velopment (Lerner, Taylor, & von Eye, 2002;

see Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this volume),

recognize the strengths in individuals, families,

and communities and seeks to collaborate

with, and utilize, existing resources outside of

the justice system. (See Beyer, Chapter 1, this

volume, for youth profiles that integrate both

strengths and risks.) Strengths are often con-

ceptualized as “protective factors” that can

counteract the negative effects of risk factors

in youth’s lives as well as promote prosocial

behavior in youth. They are defined as “those

factors that mediate or moderate the effect of

exposure to risk factors, resulting in reduced

incidence of problem behavior” (Pollard,

Hawkins, & Arthur 1999, p. 146). At times,

protective factors are the exact opposite of a

given risk factor, forexample, excellent academic

performance versus academic failure. They can

also be “characteristics or conditions that inter-

act with risk factors to reduce their influence”

(Office of the Surgeon General, 2001) but are

not necessarily “cures” to delinquency.

Although a full portrait of youth present-

ing both risks and strengths would help the

juvenile justice system develop more appro-

priate strategies for combating delinquency

and promoting better functioning, the system

remains largely deficit based. The strengths

of these youth are insufficiently identified,

measured, and utilized (Masten & Powell,

2003; see Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume;

Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this volume; Schiraldi

et al., Chapter 20, this volume).

THE DEMOGRAPHICS OF SYSTEM-INVOLVED YOUTH

Understanding exactly who are the youth

involved in the system is a complicated matter.

Any national-level descriptive demographic

profile of juvenile offenders results from offi-

cial data and therefore represents only youth

who are involved in the system, not all youth

who commit offenses and do not come to the

attention of the police, or those who are not

formally processed. Therefore, demographic

data related to age, gender, race/ethnicity, and

geography presented in this section focus on

youth who are processed in the juvenile justice

system. Additionally, disabilities and mental

health issues are reported, given their preva-

lence among this population.

Age

Each state determines the age at which a child

will be under the juvenile court’s jurisdiction.

Sixteen states specify a minimum age: 6 years

old (North Carolina), 7 years old (Maryland,

Massachusetts, and New York), 8 years old

(Arizona), and 10 years old (Arkansas,

Colorado, Kansas, Louisiana, Minnesota,

Mississippi, Pennsylvania, South Dakota,

Texas, Vermont, and Wisconsin), while the

remaining states do not specify an age but rely

on the common-law age of 7 for inclusion in

juvenile court (Snyder & Sickmund, 2004).

The oldest age for juvenile court jurisdiction

in delinquency matters ranges from 16 (New

York and North Carolina) to 18, with 17

being the age limit in 11 states. This has

been an issue on which states have recently

amended their laws, with the trend toward

raising the age of juvenile court jurisdiction

to 18, expanding youth’s access to the the

juvenile justice system rather than the adult

criminal justice system (Arya, 2011).

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 33

The UCR disaggregates arrest statistics by

age. Arrest data also indicate the mean age at

which youth are arrested for violent offenses

(18 years old) and property offenses (16 years

old) (U.S. Department of Justice, 2008). Data

on arrests of juvenile offenders under the age of

15 show that their involvement in serious

violent crime and serious property crimes is

sizable, 27% and 29%, respectively, and similar

for nonindex offenses (27%; see Figure 2.5,

above). The highest offense categories for this

age group within nonindex offenses are sex

offenses (47%) and vandalism (40%). Their

highest offense category overall is arson, where

they make up 56% of juvenile arrests. In terms

of violent index crimes, youth in the lower age

category are responsible for 34% of forcible

rape arrests and 31% of aggravated assaults.

Of the cases processed in juvenile court in

2005, juveniles under the age of 16 accounted

for 57% of all delinquency cases (4% under the

age of 12, 5% 12-year-olds, 10% 13-year-

olds, 17% 14-year-olds, 23% 15-year-olds)

(Sickmund, 2009; Sickmund et al., 2008).

This younger age group accounted for 64% of

all juvenilepersonoffensecases,59%ofproperty

offense cases, 54% of public order offense cases,

and42%ofdrugoffensecases(Sickmund,2009).

The rank ordering of these cases stays the same

when looking at the proportions of juvenile

cases processed of youth younger than age 14

(24% person offense cases, 20% propertyoffense

cases, 15% public order offense cases, and 8%

drug offense cases) (Sickmund, 2009).

Sixteen-year-olds make up the largest pro-

portion of juvenile court cases (24%), with

involvement lower for 17-year-olds (18%)

(Sickmund et al., 2008). There has been

very little change over time in terms of the

age representation in the juvenile court. The

most notable changes are a 20-year decrease in

the number of youth under the age of 12 (6.4%

in 1985 versus 3.8% in 2005) and slight in-

creases in the numbers of 16- and 17-year-olds

(Sickmund et al., 2008). In 2005, 15% of the

cases transferred to adult court were of youth

age 15 or younger, with the remaining 85%

being 16 or older; however, that profile has

Figure 2.5 Percentage of Juvenile Arrests Under Age 15, by Offense Type, 2008

Source: U.S. Department of Justice, 2009.

34 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

shifted to include younger transfers over time.

In 1985, only 7% of referrals were 15 years old

or younger (Adams & Addie, 2009).

Gender

Females’ involvement in crime is lower com-

pared to boys for the most serious crimes. Girls

make up 18.6% of index violent offense

arrests, 31.3% of index property offenses,

and 18.6% of the nonindex offenses. Notably,

females make up 69.6% of those arrested for

prostitution and 55.2% of those arrested for

running away. Based on the UCR, juvenile

female involvement has been slowly on the rise

over time. In 1980, girls made up 21% of

arrests, with recent data reporting that girls

make up 30% of all arrests in 2008 (U.S.

Department of Justice, 2009).

Between 2000 and 2009, arrest rates de-

creased 22.9% for boys and 13.1% for girls.

The reductions seen during this period are

most significant when looking at index prop-

erty crimes—down 29.2% for boys, but up

almost 1% for girls. Index violent crimes since

2000 are down 14.5% for boys and down

16.9% for girls (U.S. Department of Justice,

2010). The most significant changes in the

female percentage of arrests can be attributed

to increases in simple assaults (up 13% from

1980 to 2008), aggravated assaults (up 8%), and

larceny-theft (up 18%) (U.S. Department of

Justice, 1981, 2009). It is primarily for these

offenses that gender differences are narrowing.

However, detailed data analyses do not con-

clude that girls are becoming overall more

violent; rather explanations focus on how

changes, from law enforcement practices to

zero-tolerance policies in schools, are driving

the increase in girls’ arrests (Zahn et al., 2008).

Juvenile court statistics show that in 2007,

females made up about 27% of youth processed

in juvenile court, a number that has been also

on the rise since 1985, when girls made up 19%

of all court-involved juveniles (Sickmund et al.,

2008). For most offenses, female delinquency

cases have grown more or decreased less than

male delinquency cases (Snyder &

Sickmund, 2006). However, overall, males ap-

pear to be receiving harsher treatment than

females, which could be related to contextual

differences in offending, indicating more serious

typical offenses for males within broad offense

categories (Zahn et al., 2008). For example,

in 2005, males were more likely than females

to be detained (22.5% versus 16.6%), more likely

to be handled formally (58.9% versus 48.0%),

and more likely to be adjudicated delinquent

(39.1% versus 30.5%) (Sickmund et al., 2008).

Limitations in the data collected, such as

the absence of information on the seriousness

of the behavior or a youth’s court history,

both of which can influence case outcome,

require caution in making gender comparisons

(Snyder & Sickmund, 2006; see Sherman &

Greenstone, Chapter 7, this volume).

With the increased concern over how

status offenses are managed, a new problem

has developed, particularly with regard to the

processing of girls for whom status offenses

have always represented a larger proportion

of committing offenses compared to boys

(Chesney-Lind, 1997). When status offenses

are relabeled as criminal offenses or youth find

their way into the system for violating a valid

court order related to a status offense,

the deinstitutionalization of status offenses is

thwarted and what is known as bootstrapping

occurs. In bootstrapping, a status offense

becomes a delinquency through mechanisms

for enforcement of technical violations of

court orders or probation. Evidence exists

that girls are more likely than boys to be

detained for minor offenses such as technical

violation and status offenses (41% versus 25%)

(Sherman, 2005).

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 35

Race/Ethnicity

Table 2.2 below presents arrest data by race.

Native Americans (including Alaskan Natives)

and Asians (including Pacific Islanders) com-

prise small percentages of arrest totals consist-

ent with their representation in the

population, and Whites are typically the ma-

jority group for every offense. Several notable

exceptions exist where African American

youth are the majority group represented;

they are the serious violent offenses of murder

(58%), robbery (67.3%), and the nonindex

offenses of prostitution/vice (58.4%) and gam-

bling (92.7%). Given that African American

youth comprise 15% of the population under

18 years of age, they are overrepresented in

every crime category (with the exception of

alcohol-related offenses) compared to their

representation in the population (Federal

Interagency Forum on Child and Family

Statistics, 2009). White youth, 76% of the

Table 2.2. Percentages of Arrests for Persons Under 18 Years of Age, by Crime Type and Race, 2009

Crime Type White Black Native American Asian

Nonindex offenses 67.6 29.6 1.3 1.5

Other assaults 58.6 39.2 1.1 1.1

Forgery and counterfeiting 66.4 32.2 0.5 0.9

Fraud 61.9 36.0 1.1 1.0

Embezzlement 63.8 33.3 0.2 2.7

Stolen property; buying, receiving, possessing 54.6 43.6 0.8 1.0

Vandalism 78.4 19.2 1.2 1.2

Weapons (carrying, possessing, etc.) 60.7 37.3 0.8 1.2

Prostitution and commercialized vice 39.7 58.4 0.4 1.5

Sex offenses 71.2 26.6 0.8 1.4

Drug abuse violations 72.4 25.6 0.9 1.1

Gambling 6.8 92.7 0.0 0.5

Offenses against the family and children 73.9 24.3 1.3 0.4

Driving under the influence 92.0 5.1 1.8 1.2

Liquor laws 89.4 6.2 3.1 1.3

Drunkenness 88.5 8.7 1.9 0.8

Disorderly conduct 56.8 41.4 1.0 0.8

Vagrancy 71.5 27.3 0.4 0.7

All other offenses (except traffic) 69.2 28.0 1.1 1.8

Suspicion 42.3 57.1 0.0 0.6

Curfew and loitering law violations 60.8 37.1 1.0 1.2

Runaways 65.7 26.7 2.2 5.4

Index Violent Offenses 46.4 51.6 0.8 1.2

Murder and nonnegligent manslaughter 40.4 58.0 0.9 0.7

Forcible rape 63.4 34.5 0.8 1.3

Robbery 31.1 67.3 0.4 1.2

Aggravated assault 55.4 42.4 1.0 1.2

Index Property Offenses 63.9 33.2 1.2 1.7

Burglary 60.9 37.3 0.9 1.0

Larceny-theft 65.0 31.8 1.2 2.0

Motor vehicle theft 54.0 43.2 1.5 1.4

Arson 76.7 20.6 1.3 1.4

Total Arrests 65.9 31.3 1.2 1.6

Representation in the Population (2009) 77.2 16.2 1.5 5.2

Source: U.S. Department of Justice, 2010.

36 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

total juvenile population in the United States,

represent the vast majority of arrests for

the offenses of driving under the influence

(92.5%), liquor law violations (90.2%), and

drunkenness (88.7%) (Federal Interagency

Forum on Child and Family Statistics, 2009).

Fifteen percent of the juvenile popula-

tion in the United States is Hispanic; how-

ever, this number is distributed across racial

categories (22.5% of Native Americans are

Hispanic, while 17.4% of Whites, 4.7% of

African Americans, and 3.4% of Asians are

Hispanic) (National Center for Health Sta-

tistics, 2008). The percentage of Hispanic

youth under 18 years old is projected to

make the most significant gains in the U.S.

population, with one in four youth belong-

ing to this ethnic group by the year 2021,

compared to their current representation of

22% (Federal Interagency Forum on Child

and Family Statistics, 2009). Data on ethnic-

ity are not collected in the UCR or in

juvenile court statistics, so it is difficult to

provide a national profile of Hispanic youth

involved in the system.

Explaining the disproportionate treatment

experienced by minority groups is difficult,

but research suggests a complex interplay

between existing biases in the policies and

practices of law enforcement and justice

systems and social conditions that place youth

at increased risk for delinquency (Pope,

Lovell, & Hsia, 2002; see Bell & Mariscal,

Chapter 6, this volume; Vaught, Chapter 15,

this volume). A 1-day snapshot of youth held

in detention illustrates disproportionate mi-

nority contact, showing that in 2006, African

American youth were 6 times as likely to be

in detention compared to White youth.

Latino youth were more than twice as likely,

and Native American youth were almost

4 times as likely to be held in detention

compared with White youth (W. Haywood

Burns Institute, n.d.) (see Figure 2.6). African

American youth made up 33% of delin-

quency cases handled in 2007 (at 16% of

the U.S. population), although their repre-

sentation increases for person-related offenses

(41%) and public-order offenses (34%), and

decreases for property-related offenses (30%)

and drug offenses (25%) (Knoll & Sickmund,

2010).

Black youth are 12% more likely than

White youth to be formally processed and

9% more likely to be waived to adult court

(Knoll & Sickmund, 2010). Of all the youth

Figure 2.6 Detention Rates Trends by Race (per 10,000 youth)

0

5

10

15

20

25

30

1997 1999 2001 2003 2006

White African American Latino Native American

Source: W. Haywood Burns Institute.

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 37

waived to adult court, African American

youth made up 37% of the waivers, compared

with 59% of the waivers made up by White

youth; however, it is for person and drug

offenses that disproportionate minority num-

bers are most dramatic, as a greater percentage

of Black youth are transferred into the adult

system for these offenses than are White youth

(Adams & Addie, 2010).

Black youth are also 27% more likely to be

placed in a residential setting and 14% less

likely to be given probation compared to their

White counterparts (Knoll & Sickmund,

2010). In 2002, three fourths of the 4,100

juveniles admitted to adult prisons were youth

of color (Poe-Yamagata & Jones, 2007).

Seventy-seven percent of juveniles serving

life sentences are non-White, supporting

research showing the cumulative and increas-

ing disadvantage experienced by minorities

as they move through the juvenile justice

system (Nellis & King, 2009; Poe-Yamagata &

Jones, 2007; see Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6,

this volume).

Hispanic youth experience similar dis-

proportionate minority contact to African

American youth; however, these youth

have been deemed largely “invisible” due

to shortcomings in available data on ethnicity

(Arya, Villarruel, Villanueva, & Augarten

2009; Poe-Yamagata & Jones, 2007; see

Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume).

Fourteen states and the District of Columbia

participated in a study that found that Latino/

a youth were sent to detention and residential

facilities in the juvenile justice system more

often their White counterparts and for

longer periods of time (even when control-

ling for offense type and delinquent histories)

(Villarruel & Walker, 2002). Nationally, 32%

of youth incarcerated are Latino/a, based on

figures from the U.S Census Bureau data on

the incarcerated population in 2000 (Human

Rights Watch, 2002). Latino/a youth were

also transferred to adult court more fre-

quently than their White counterparts (Vil-

larruel & Walker, 2002).

Geography

The UCR does not break arrests down by

specific geographical region and age; how-

ever, arrest rates are highest for juveniles

who live in metropolitan areas, accounting

for 12.1% of all arrests versus 8.8% of all arrests

in nonmetropolitan areas (U.S. Department

of Justice, 2008). Within metropolitan areas,

juveniles make up 15.2% of all arrests in the

suburbs and that number increases to 16.8%

in cities. The highest rates of juvenile crime

involvement in serious violent crimes (17.2%)

and serious property crimes (26.8%) are found

in cities (U.S. Department of Justice, 2008).

Urban jurisdictions are also more likely than

nonurban areas to impose harsher disposi-

tions, a factor compounding minority repre-

sentation due to the concentration of

minority youth in urban areas (Snyder &

Sickmund, 2006).

The growth of the juvenile population has

not been, and is not projected to be, evenly

distributed among states. Between 2005 and

2015, Nevada, Arizona, Texas, and Florida are

expected to experience the largest increases in

their juvenile population. More than one third

of the states are projected to experience a

decline in this population, with North

Dakota, Vermont, New York, West Virginia,

Maine, and the District of Columbia project-

ing the most significant declines (U.S. Bureau

of the Census, 2005).

Disabilities and Mental Health Issues

Youth with disabilities are overrepresented in

the juvenile justice system, and this assessment

38 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

typically occurs once a youth is involved in the

juvenile corrections system. Having a disability,

however, can also affect a youth’s experiences in

the system (see Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume;

Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this volume).

For example, youth with disabilities may be

more likely to confess or to have problems

communicating with their lawyers (Muller,

2005). They are more likely to plead guilty,

be committed, and serve a longer sentence,

and less likely to have their sentence appealed,

be placed on probation, or be given some type

of diversion program (Muller, 2005).

Youth with emotional disabilities account

for about 8% of students with disabilities in the

school system; however, this number goes up

to 47% among a national sample of incarcer-

ated youth (Quinn, Rutherford, Leone,

Osher, & Poirier, 2005; U.S. Department of

Education, 2005). This condition is character-

ized by an inability to build or maintain

relationships, inappropriate behaviors or feel-

ings under normal circumstances, a pervasive

mood of unhappiness or depression, or a

tendency to develop physical symptoms or

fears related to personal or school problems

as defined by the Individuals with Disabilities

Education Improvement Act (2004). This

population typically experiences co-occurring

problems related to behavior, academics, drug

use, and mental health (Gagnon & Richards,

2008). Approximately 20% of youth with

emotional disturbances have been arrested,

or are in detention or on probation prior to

leaving school (Snyder & Sickmund, 2006).

Thirty-nine percent of youth incarcerated

in the juvenile justice system have learning

disabilities and almost 5% meet the classifica-

tion for mental retardation (Gagnon &

Richards, 2008). The majority of youth enter-

ing correctional and detention settings are

testing below skill level (66% below in reading

and 68% below in mathematics) (U.S.

Department of Education, 2006). Youth

with learning disabilities are three times

more likely to join a gang than youth who

are not disabled (Snyder & Sickmund, 2006).

Mental health concerns and needs are

also prevalent in this population. For exam-

ple, in a large-scale study of Chicago-area

youth in detention facilities, almost 60% of

males and more than two thirds of females

met the criteria for at least one psychiatric

disorder, and more than 40% of the sample

met the criteria for a disruptive behavior

disorder (Teplin, Abram, McClelland, Dul-

can, & Mericle, 2002). Significant variations

were found in race and gender with females,

non-Hispanic Whites, and older youth

showing higher rates of most disorders

(Teplin et al.). The connection between

disabilities and mental health needs of youth

in the juvenile justice system have been

inadequately studied and addressed (Gagnon

& Richards, 2008; see Braverman & Morris,

Chapter 3, this volume).

JUVENILE JUSTICE SYSTEM REFORM

A reform agenda in juvenile justice has clearly

begun to take hold but needs empirical

research to flourish (see Butts & Roman,

Chapter 24, this volume). Research is needed

in order to develop a more complete national

picture of youth as they move through the

system. If there were a rich and comprehen-

sive national data collection effort, “who

these kids and families are” might well help

drive reform and the implementation of new

strategies for intervention. At present, there

are many descriptive factors that are simply

not available that might better explain youth’s

initial involvement in the system, as well as

indicate how their circumstances change

Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 39

as they move through the system. Currently,

the diversity within juvenile court jurisdic-

tions and the lack of standardization make it

impossible to examine the effectiveness of

various sanctions, or to glean a national

picture of the youth, let alone identify the

best predictors of recidivism.

Some global deficiencies in current data

collection efforts even make it difficult to

determine the number of youth who are

actually involved in the system. For example,

the UCR and the juvenile court statistics are

incident based, as opposed to offender based.

This method of tracking incidents makes it

almost impossible to identify high-rate offend-

ers on a systemic level, let alone incidents

that have multiple offenders/defendants (see

Schneider & Simpson, Chapter 22, this vol-

ume). Similarly, the current method of

systemic-level data collection makes it difficult

to ascertain trends in less serious offenses, since

typically only the most serious offense or most

severe disposition is recorded. Likewise, cur-

rently reported statistics do not include the

seriousness of the behavior (which may not

match the charge all that well), contextual

offense variables, or a youth’s prior offenses

making cross-race and sex comparisons in

processing problematic, for example.

As previously mentioned, national level

data sources on system-involved juveniles do

not distinguish ethnicity, nor do they provide

information on youth involved with multiple

systems, particularly related to disability and

mental health. Moreover, most juvenile justice

and other youth agencies do not have the data

capacity to work across agencies to view youth

in their family and community contexts, leav-

ing an incomplete snapshot of youth in indi-

vidual systems (see Schneider & Simpson,

Chapter 22, this volume). Effective reform

requires the deeper understanding that greater

data capacity and research would provide.

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Youth in the Juvenile Justice System: Characteristics and Patterns of Involvement 43

3 CHAPTER

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System

PAULA BRAVERMAN AND ROBERT MORRIS

T his chapter begins with a detailed profile

of the physical and mental health of

youth currently in the juvenile justice system

and an overview of some of the salient findings

presented in these studies. The data offered

confirm, unsurprisingly, that these youth have

greater health challenges and less access to

quality health care than would be considered

acceptable in most communities in this coun-

try. Although juvenile justice involvement

may provide an opportunity to improve the

health of these youth by providing services that

may not be available or accessible at home,

being incarcerated can also compromise their

health and well-being.

Clearly, the more potentially efficacious

point at which to intervene is before youth

enter the system altogether. The second sec-

tion of this chapter, then, provides an ecologi-

cal view of the factors associated with both

juvenile delinquency and poor health status,

in an attempt to stimulate the thoughtful

development and implementation of primary

prevention efforts to address these two over-

lapping concerns.

OVERVIEW

Youth entering correctional facilities are a

high-risk, medically underserved population

(Council on Scientific Affairs, 1990; Golzari,

Hunt, & Anoshiravani, 2006) who commonly

present with unaddressed physical and mental

health needs at higher rates than the general

adolescent population (Forrest, Tambor,

Riley, Ensminger, & Starfield, 2000; Morris

et al., 1995; Sedlak & Bruce, 2010; Sedlak &

McPherson, 2010). Although many of their

health problems are the same as youth in their

age group (e.g., dermatologic, respiratory,

dental, gastrointestinal, genitourinary, and

metabolic problems), youth in the juvenile

justice system are at greater risk for other

medical issues. In part, this is because many

of these youth engage in high-risk behaviors,

including violence, substance abuse, and un-

safe sexual activity (Morris et al., 1995; Litt &

Cohen, 1974).

A recently published study summarized

data from the Survey of Youth in Residential

Placement (SYRP). This survey, conducted by

the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention (OJJDP), utilized audio computer-

assisted self-interview surveys from a repre-

sentative sample of 7,073 youth age 10–20

years in residential placement throughout the

United States in the spring of 2003 (Sedlak &

McPherson, 2010). This self-reported infor-

mation obtained directly from youth echoes

and confirms the other published studies in the

literature, which report on specific clinical

44

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

data obtained by health-care professionals. The

SYRP report also clearly demonstrates the

disconnect between the need for physical

and mental health services and the provision

of appropriately matched services for youth

in custody. In this chapter, we sketch out

the dimensions and characteristics of these

health needs.

PHYSICAL HEALTH

This section provides an overview of the

health needs of youth in custody. Where

available, more detail is provided on specific

physical health conditions.

Extent of Health Problems

Data from the SYRP provide an overview

of the extent of health needs among youth

in custody (Sedlak & McPherson, 2010).

Approximately two thirds of youth reported

a physical health-care need including dental,

vision, or hearing (37%); illness (28%); injury

(25%); and other unspecified physical health

problems (29%). Males were more likely than

females to report treatment needs related

to injuries while females were more likely

than males to report health-care needs related

to illness, vision, dental, and hearing. This

data are similar to other previously published

studies described below which, although not

in most cases nationally representative data,

provide additional detail not presented in the

SYRP report.

The most comprehensive study evaluating

the health issues of youth in the juvenile justice

system was published in 1980 and described

88,106 youth admitted over 11 years to a

secure detention facility in New York (Hein

et al., 1980). In that survey, 46% of youth

were found to have a medical problem. The

diagnoses ranged from minor dermatologic

complaints to traumatic injuries, drug over-

doses or drug abstinence, psychiatric issues,

and other body systems complaints. Particular

note was made of dental issues, positive tuber-

culosis tests, sexually transmitted diseases,

pregnancy, abnormal Pap smears, and signs

of abuse and medical neglect. Of the 3,353

teens admitted to the infirmary, 20% had

unresolved medical problems that required

follow-up after release from detention.

Two studies provide a national perspec-

tive on the risk taking behaviors that contrib-

ute to health problems among juvenile justice

youth. The first is a 1991 survey conducted by

the National Commission on Correctional

Health Care included 1,801 minors from

39 correctional facilities in the United States

(Morris et al., 1995). These youth were pre-

dominantly younger than age 18 (mean age

of 15.4 years old in short-term facilities and

15.8 years old in long-term facilities) and

had rates of substance abuse, trauma, sexual

activity without protection, suicidal ideation,

and violence that were higher than general

high school populations. The recently

published SYRP confirmed the high rates

of self-reported mental and emotional prob-

lems, substance abuse, and traumatic experi-

ences. This report included a comparison of

reported alcohol and drug use to data

from the 2003 National Survey on Drug

Use and Health demonstrating higher life-

time use among youth in custody (Sedlak &

McPherson, 2010).

Another recent study of 819 youth admit-

ted to a detention center in Alabama over an

18-month period in the mid-1990s found that

16.5% had been hospitalized prior to deten-

tion for sports injuries, trauma, or medical

reasons (Feinstein et al., 1998). Over one third

had medical problems related to trauma from

fights or stab and gunshot wounds. Of the

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 45

youth studied, 16.7% had received previous

treatment for mental illness, and 6.7% had

been treated for substance abuse. In addition,

6.4% reported being on a prescription medi-

cation at the time of admission. The most

common condition was asthma, with others

including orthopedic problems (scoliosis, frac-

ture), mental illness, pregnancy, and hearing

problems (chronic otitis media, perforated

tympanic membranes). Moreover, 10.6%

had a medical condition that required medical

follow-up after release. Similar results were

found among a broader sampling of youth in

15 detention and long-term facilities in the

Maryland Juvenile Justice System during the

same time period (Shelton, 2000). In that

study, over 45% had an identified medical

condition.

Specific Health Conditions

The following section provides more detail on

several specific health conditions.

Trauma As discussed by Feinstein et al. (1998), the causes of injury in these youth

are diverse (see Baker, Cunningham & Harris,

Chapter 11, this volume). Several additional

studies provide detail. In the 1991 National

Commission on Correctional Health Care

(NCCHC) study, almost 70% of youth had

been involved in at least one fight in the

previous year, and one quarter of these youth

had resulting injuries that required medical

care (Morris et al., 1995). Three quarters of

these youth reported that a weapon was in-

volved in at least one of these fights. Self-

injury was also common, with one fifth having

considered suicide, 15.5% making at least one

attempt, and 8.2% injured during an attempt

in the previous year. In the Maryland study,

almost one fifth had an injury, including burns,

musculoskeletal, and head trauma, with 12%

reporting lack of treatment for these injuries

(Shelton, 2000).

Additional detail about the nature of

traumatic events was provided by Woolf

and Funk (1985) in a review of almost all

the medical records (369) of 10- to 17-year-

olds who were admitted to a secure residential

facility in North Carolina over a 4.5-year

period beginning in 1978. One quarter of

these youth were female, and over half had an

injury requiring medical attention. One third

of injuries were sports related, 20% caused

by fights, 13% self-inflicted, 9% suicide

attempts, 8% vocational, 3% horseplay, and

11% designated as “other.” Musculoskeletal

injury (33%) was most common, followed by

scratches/bruises (27%). Fourteen percent

had lacerations requiring closure; 7% had a

fracture; and over one quarter required refer-

ral outside the facility for further evaluation.

The authors concluded that facilities must pay

attention to maintaining physical safety from

accidental and purposeful injury, including

suicide attempts.

Dental Dental issues also stand out as a significant health problem for youth in the

juvenile justice system. Bolin and Jones’s

(2006) study of a random sample, including

419 dental screenings conducted on 12- to 17-

year-olds from the Juvenile Detention Center

in Dallas County, Texas, between September

1999 and December 2003, found that one half

had untreated decay. High-urgency dental

problems, such as infection, tooth or jaw

fracture, pulpitis, or severe periodontal disease

with bleeding, were identified in 6.2% of

youth. Moderate-urgency conditions in

13.1% included cavitated asymptomatic decay

or moderate gingivitis. This study highlighted

the challenges in providing comprehensive

dental care to this population unless they are

long-term detainees.

46 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

Reproductive Health Youth in the juve- nile justice system engage in high-risk behav-

iors including unprotected sexual activity,

which place them at risk for sexually trans-

mitted diseases and HIV infection, as well as

pregnancy and parenthood. The following

sections provide additional information on

reproductive health issues among these youth.

Sexual Activity/Contraception Adolescents in the juvenile justice system have high rates of

sexual activity and sexually transmitted dis-

eases (STDs) compared to other adolescent

populations. The 1991 NCCHC study

found that most of these youth had four or

more lifetime sexual partners (Morris et al.,

1995), a rate much higher than reported

during that same time frame in the general

population of high school youth. Similarly,

STD incidence was double that of the gen-

eral population. Use of contraception or

condoms at last intercourse was reported

by three quarters of high school youth com-

pared to only one half of incarcerated youth,

and 40–50% of high school youth used

condoms as compared to less than one fifth

of incarcerated youth.

STD/HIV The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s (CDC) 2009 Sexually Trans-

mitted Disease Surveillance Report (CDC,

2010) found that the overall rate of chlamydia

positivity among detained adolescent girls age

12–18 was 14.8% (4.7% for females age 12 and

16.2% for those age 16) while adolescent boys

had an overall positivity rate of 6.6% (1.2% for

males age 12 and 10.1% for those age 18).

The overall rate of gonorrhea positivity for

females was 3.9% (1.8% for females age 12 and

4.4.% for those age 16), while the overall

positivity rate for males was 1.0% (0.1% for

males age 12 and 1.4% for those age 18). Rates

for syphilis, which are available in the 2007

Sexually Transmitted Disease Surveillance

Report (CDC, 2008a), were much lower,

with the median rate of a serologic positivity

of 0.2% (0.0–2.1%) for adolescent girls and

0.1% (0.0–0.9%) for adolescent boys. These

rates are similar to data collected in a compa-

rable study conducted between 1996 and 1999

(Mertz, Voight, Hutchins, Levine, & Jail STD

Prevalence Monitoring Group, 2002). Results

from one juvenile detention facility (Oh et al.,

1994) found that 50% of gonorrhea and 90%

of chlamydia infections were asymptomatic,

while another study (Mertz et al., 2002) found

even higher rates of asymptomatic infection,

with only 2.7% of those with chlamydia and

7.3% of those with gonorrhea having symp-

toms. These studies indicate that most STDs

will be diagnosed only by active screening.

Unprotected sex with multiple partners,

prostitution, injection drug use, and substance

abuse by incarcerated youth puts them at risk

for hepatitis B and C as well as HIV infection.

The high rate of STDs also increases risk for

HIV (CDC, 2008b; Elkington et al., 2008;

Harwell, Trino, Rudy, Yorkman, & Gollub,

1999; Kim, McFarland, Kellogg, & Katz,

1999; Morris, Baker, Valentine, & Pennisi,

1998; Teplin, Mericle, McClelland, & Abram,

2003). The rate of hepatitis B in incarcera-

ted adolescents ranges from 0–6% and the

prevalence of hepatitis C virus is 2–3.5%

(Weinbaum, Lyerla, & Margolis, 2003). Youth

aged 13–17 admitted to a juvenile detention

center in San Francisco between 1990 and

1995 showed an HIV-1 antibody–positive

prevalence of 0.32% among 2,780 tests con-

ducted (Kim et al., 1999). Serum specimens

collected between 1990 and 1992 from ado-

lescents in 33 correctional facilities found a

rate of 0.3% (range 0–6.8%) (Sweeney,

Lindegren, Buehler, Onorato, & Janssen,

1995). Despite the documented need for iden-

tifying youth with STDs, the 2004 Juvenile

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 47

Residential Facility Census reported that only

18.5% of facilities offered STD testing for all

adolescents on admission (Gallagher &

Dobrin, 2007). Further, 8.3% of facilities

did not make STD testing available, and

the rest provided testing only when it was

requested or deemed medically necessary.

Similarly, only 4.3% of the facilities tested all

youth for HIV, and 28.1% did not have HIV

testing available.

Pregnancy/Parenting Self-reported rates of parenthood among incarcerated teens are

higher than in the general adolescent popula-

tion. The nationally representative SRYP study

found that 14% of youth in custody in 2003

reported having a child. Males (15%) were

more likely to report having a child than

females (9%). This compares to rates of 2%

for males and 6% for females age 12–20 in the

general population. Of those who were already

parents, 12% were expecting another child

indicating a female who was currently pregnant

or a male whose female partner was pregnant.

Overall, 20% of both males and females in the

SYRP study were already parents or expecting

a child (Sedlak & Bruce, 2010).

These SYRP data add information to

other studies, which have found that approxi-

mately one third of teens in juvenile correction

facilities report that they have ever been preg-

nant (Lederman, Dakof, Larrea, & Hua, 2004;

Williams & Hollis, 1999). The 2004 Juvenile

Facilities Census study reported that at least

2.1% of girls are currently pregnant at any

particular point in time (Gallagher, Dobrin,

& Douds, 2007). Further in-depth study of

pregnancies in the juvenile justice population

is needed, since teen pregnancy rates vary by

race/ethnicity, geographic location, and socio-

economic level and are continuously evolving.

Fatherhood among adolescent males is also

an important issue that needs further

investigation. One study, of 125 adolescent

males age 14–17 incarcerated in a juvenile

correctional facility in 1994, found that one

quarter had fathered a pregnancy and of those

who were fathers, 41% had fathered more

than one pregnancy (Nesmith, Klerman, Oh,

& Feinstein, 1997).

Pregnancies in these youth are compli-

cated by underlying problems of substance

abuse, posttraumatic stress disorder, and

complex decisions about postdelivery options

(Hufft, 2004). In addition, these young

women may need an altered schedule with

additional rest and may have higher caloric

requirements. Most juvenile justice facilities

do not have arrangements for infant residency

or visitation, and the majority of facilities do

not have parenting classes (Breuner & Farrow,

1995; Hufft, 2004; see Pinderhughes, Crad-

dock, & Fermin, Chapter 9, this volume).

Attention must be paid to the potential for

postpartum depression and other psychologi-

cal consequences.

Despite these high pregnancy rates and

the constellation of health issues they raise,

the 2004 Juvenile Facilities Census found

that only 15–17% of all facilities had universal

pregnancy testing of all girls on admission

(Gallagher, Dobrin, & Douds, 2007).

Further, 4.5–6.6% did not provide pregnancy

testing, and the rest performed testing only

when it was deemed medically necessary

or requested by the adolescent. Prenatal ser-

vices are also lacking in some correctional

facilities and approximately one quarter to

one third of facilities had no obstetrical ser-

vices (Gallager, Dobrin, & Douds, 2007).

Another study with data from 430 facilities

in 41 states found that one third failed to

provide prenatal services and 60% of the

facilities with detained pregnant youth had

at least one obstetrical complication (Breuner

& Farrow, 1995).

48 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

MENTAL HEALTH AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE

Currently available studies indicate that ado-

lescents involved in the juvenile justice sys-

tem have rates of psychiatric and substance

abuse disorders that exceed those of the gen-

eral adolescent population (Desai et al., 2006;

Fazel, Doll, & Langstrom, 2008; Vermeiren,

Jespers, & Moffitt, 2006). Some authors have

suggested that the juvenile justice system

has become the placement of last resort for

youth with mental health disorders who are

not receiving care in their communities

(Martin, 2006; see also Beyer, Chapter 1,

this volume). The SYRP (Sedlak & McPher-

son, 2010) does not provide diagnostic data;

however, the report demonstrates the extent

of self-reported mental and emotional prob-

lems. More than 60% of youth reported being

easily upset, quick to lose their temper,

and often angry. Fifty-one percent reported

being unable to do what they wanted over the

previous several months because of worry or

being nervous and 52% felt lonely “too much

of the time.”

Determining the exact prevalence of these

mental health and substance abuse disorders,

including the specific subcategories of mental

health diagnoses, has been challenging. A

significant proportion of adolescents have

multiple diagnoses (comorbidity) and/or

co-occurring psychiatric and substance abuse

diagnoses. While there are no national preva-

lence statistics on specific mental health diag-

noses available for this population in the

United States, studies from both the United

States and other countries show prevalence

rates ranging from approximately 50% to

100% when disruptive behavior disorders are

included (Boesky, 2002). It is estimated that

approximately one quarter of youth in the

juvenile justice system have a severe mental

health disorder that requires immediate treat-

ment (Shufelt & Cocozza, 2006).

Study Limitations

The difficulty in determining the exact extent

of mental health and substance abuse problems

is related to the fact that most of the published

studies have limitations in study design and

data collection methodology (see Table 3.1). A

few of these limitations warrant further dis-

cussion. The timing of the reported evalua-

tions varied from the detention setting to

longer term facilities. This is important be-

cause the stress of incarceration may affect the

accuracy of mental health diagnoses, exacer-

bating various symptoms including suicidal

ideation and self-injury/mutilation behaviors

(Boesky, 2002).

In addition, the source of information is also

crucial and varies in these studies. Many studies

Table 3.1. Limitations and Variations Within the Literature on Reports About Mental

Health and Substance Abuse Disorders Among Youth in the Juvenile Justice System

� Data are specific to certain states and individual facilities or are from other countries. � Nonstandardized measures and different diagnostic instruments or techniques are used. � Sociodemographic variables such as age, gender, ethnicity, family environment, socioeconomic status, and criminal behavior are not comparable.

� The timing of the evaluation varies from recent detention to postadjudication settings. � Potential bias exists based on selection of youth referred for psychiatric assessment. � Input from parents or teachers is not always added to youth self-report. Sources: Boesky, 2002; Shufelt, 2006; Teplin et al., 2002; Vermeiren, 2006.

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 49

rely on self-reported impairment by youth,

which may not be as accurate as when observa-

tions by parents and others, such as teachers,

are included (Vermeiren et al., 2006). However,

information from other informants is not always

helpful. While one study found that one third of

parents added substantial new information (Ko,

Wasserman, McReynolds, & Katz, 2004), other

studies found that adolescents actually reported

higher rates of disorder and impairment than

did their parents (Ko et al., 2004; Kramer et al.,

2004). Certainly, reports from parents or other

adults may lead to incorrect diagnoses when

they include inaccurate or biased information

(Boesky, 2002; Ko et al., 2004; Kramer et al.,

2004). Parents and other adults may not be

cognizant of the adolescent’s behavior or symp-

toms or may deny existing problems or accept

different levels of behavior (Boesky, 2002;

Vermeiren et al., 2006).

The variation in sociodemographic vari-

ables between studies is important because

mental health disorders result from a combi-

nation of inherited biological or psychologi-

cal vulnerabilities, along with environmental

stressors and supports as well as individual

coping skills (Vermeiren et al., 2006). Studies

of small samples of girls or ethnic minorities

may significantly limit the interpretation of

data since mental health diagnoses vary by

gender and ethnicity (Shufelt & Cocozza,

2006; Teplin, Abram, McClelland, Dulcan, &

Mericle, 2002). Comparisons within and

between studies is also complicated by the

fact that these youth have been exposed to

different environmental experiences, which

may include family conflict, physical and

sexual abuse, domestic violence, neglect,

experience with the foster care system, paren-

tal mental health and substance abuse, expo-

sure to violence in their community, and

easier access to drugs and alcohol (Boesky,

2002; Vermeiren et al., 2006).

Prevalence

Youth in the juvenile corrections system have a

high prevalence of psychiatric and substance

abuse disorders, with noted differences in

rates when considering race/ethnicity and

gender. These disorders also do not occur in

isolation. Co-morbid psychiatric disorders

and co-occurring psychiatric and substance

abuse disorders have been documented in

multiple studies.

Overall Prevalence Based on a review of the worldwide literature from the 1960s

through the 1990s, Roberts, Attkisson, and

Rosenblatt (1998) found a mean prevalence

rate of 16.5% (range 6.2%–41.3) for mental

health disorders among adolescents in the

general population. This compares to estimates

of 50–100% of youth in the juvenile justice

system with mental health disorders when con-

duct disorder is included (Boesky, 2002). The

issue of whether to include disruptive behavior

disorders such as conduct disorder in the prev-

alence analyses has been raised in the literature

as an interesting issue, since conduct disorder

diagnoses may reflect behavior that the juvenile

will age out of naturally. When assessing self-

reported behavior among adolescents, delin-

quency is very common, and multiple studies

have demonstrated that the majority of adoles-

cents in the general population participate in

behaviors that would be considered delinquent

(Moffitt, 1993). These behaviors are usually

transient and part of the normal adolescent

development, which include imitation of anti-

social models/styles and social reinforcement.

In fact, most of the adolescent offenders (85%)

known to the criminal justice system stop

offending by age 28 and severe persistent

antisocial behavior over time is only found in

approximately 5% of males. Those youth with

early onset in childhood are more likely to be

50 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

persistent than those who begin these behaviors

during adolescence (Moffitt, 1993; Ruchkin,

Koposov, Vermeiren, & Schwab-Stone, 2003).

Until recently, the 1991 NCCHC study

was the only published multisite study in the

United States that identified self-reported sub-

stance use and mental health risk behaviors

among youth in corrections (Morris et al.,

1995). This study found that more than

80% of these youth had smoked cigarettes

and almost all had tried alcohol. Although

marijuana was the most commonly used illicit

drug, 25.6% of females and 13.1% of males had

used other drugs including injection drugs.

Suicidal thought in the previous 12 months

was not uncommon, with 21.8% having seri-

ously considered suicide, 19.5% having made a

plan, 15.5% with at least one attempt, and

8.2% having been injured by an attempt in the

previous 12 months.

The 2003 SYRP study (Sedlak &

McPherson, 2010) found that 85% of youth

had lifetime use of “any illegal drug,” and

50% had used an illegal drug other than mari-

juana. Lifetime alcohol use was reported by

74% of those surveyed, while 84% had used

marijuana/hashish, 30% cocaine/crack, 26%

ecstasy, 22% crystal meth, 19% acid/LSD, and

7% heroin. More than one half of these youth

reported being drunk or high on drugs multi-

ple times a week during the months leading

up to being in custody. In addition, one fifth

of those surveyed reported prior suicidal

ideation; 22% had past suicide attempts.

In order to better characterize the specific

mental health and substance abuse issues

among these youth, several recently published

studies have attempted to eliminate some of

the previous study design issues by using

randomly selected youth, including more

ethnic/racially diverse subjects, and using stan-

dardized screening and assessment instruments

(Shufelt & Cocozza, 2006; Teplin et al., 2002;

Wasserman, McReynolds, Ko, Katz, & Car-

penter, 2005; Wasserman, McReynolds,

Lucas, Fisher, & Santos, 2002). All of these

studies utilized versions of the Diagnostic

Interview Schedule for Children (DISC), a

highly structured psychiatric interview based

on the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual criteria.

The Teplin study, conducted between 1995

and 1998, involved 1,829 youth at the Cook

County Juvenile Temporary Detention Cen-

ter; Wasserman and colleagues’ studies, con-

ducted in 1998 and 2001, involved 991 youth

at probation intake in eight Texas counties and

292 youth in secure placement in New Jersey

and Illinois. Shufelt’s 2006 study included

youth from three previously understudied

areas—Louisiana, Texas, and Washington—

and involved over 1,400 youth from 29 differ-

ent programs and facilities with oversampling

of two understudied populations: Hispanic

and Native American youth.

A comparison of the results of these newer

studies shows consistent findings, including

prevalence rates within a smaller range of

45.7–70.4% for psychiatric and substance

abuse diagnoses. Both the Teplin and Shufelt

studies were able to demonstrate that the

prevalence rates were not explained solely

by disruptive behavior disorders, as both

authors similarly found that when conduct

disorder was eliminated from the diagnostic

categories, 60.9% (Teplin) and 66.3% (Shufelt)

of youth had a psychiatric or substance use

disorder. Shufelt found that 45.5% of youth

still had mental health diagnoses when both

substance use and conduct disorder were elim-

inated, indicating a high level of mental illness

in this population. Table 3.2 compares the

results of these studies.

Comorbid and Co-occurring Disorders Comorbidity of two or more psychiatric diag-

noses as well as co-occurring psychiatric and

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 51

substance abuse disorders have been docu-

mented in multiple studies in the United States

and other countries (Abram, Teplin, McClel-

land, & Dulcan, 2003; Atkins et al., 1999;

Dixon, Howie, & Starling, 2004; Domalanta,

Risser, Roberts, & Risser, 2003; Lederman

et al., 2004; Robertson, Dill, Husain, &

Undesser, 2004; Shufelt & Cocozza, 2006;

Teplin et al., 2002; Ulzen & Hamilton,

1998; Vreugenhil, Doreleijers, Vermeiren,

Wouters, & van Den Brink, 2004). In the

study by Shufelt and Cocozza (2006), 79%

of youth with a mental health disorder had two

or more diagnoses with 60% having three or

more mental health diagnoses. Further, 60.8%

of youth with a mental health diagnosis also

had a co-occurring substance use disorder, and

this association was more common among

youth with disruptive behavior disorders and

mood disorders. Youth with substance use

disorders commonly abuse multiple sub-

stances. McClelland, Elkington, Teplin, and

Abram (2004) found that approximately one

half of youth had one or more and one fifth

had two or more substance use disorders. For

those with an alcohol use disorder, 80% also

had a drug use disorder, and for those with a

drug use disorder, 50% also had an alcohol use

disorder. Youth who have substance use prob-

lems are more likely to engage in high-risk

sexual behavior, which places them at in-

creased risk for STDs and HIV/AIDS. This

increased risk includes youth with co-occurring

substance use and other mental health diag-

noses (Teplin et al., 2005).

Racial/Ethnic Differences Utilizing a standardized diagnostic tool, Teplin et al.

(2002) found that non-Hispanic whites had

the highest rates of mental health disorders,

and African American youth had the lowest.

Hispanic youth fell in between these two

groups. This difference, however, does not

mean that minority youth do not have mental

health/substance abuse treatment needs. In

fact, concern has been raised in the literature

that the actions of minority youth may be

considered simply criminal behavior rather

than the result of an emotional problem,

making it more likely for them to become

involved in the criminal justice rather than the

mental health system (Boesky, 2002). Success-

ful access to services may also be affected by

important racial and/or ethnic differences in

attitudes toward diagnosis and treatment of

mental health and substance abuse. Some

insight can be found from a qualitative study

utilizing focus groups of African American

youth in a detention center with diagnosed

mental health disorders (Shelton, 2004). Youth

in this study believed it was unacceptable to

have a mental health disorder, and some were

secretive about their experiences with mental

Table 3.2. Estimated Rates of Mental Health

Disorders from Studies Conducted 1995–2006

Disorder

Rate

Males %

Rate

Females %

Any Disorder 44.8–68.5 49.5–81.0

Any Affective 5.9–18.7 13.0–29.2

Major depressive 5.1–13 11.4–21.6

Any Anxiety Disorder1 17.4–26.4 29.0–56.0

Generalized anxiety 2.1–7.1 3.1–7.3

Panic disorder 0.3–4.8 1.5–3.0

Obsessive-compulsive 4.8–8.3 5.7–10.6

Separation anxiety disorder2 12.9–25.1 18.6–32.8

Any Disruptive Behavior3 20–44.9 20–51.3

ADHD 1.2–16.6 0.5–21.4

Oppositional–defiant 3.1–14.5 10.5–17.5

Conduct disorder 18.3–37.8 16.8–40.6

Any Substance Abuse 26.3–50.7 22–55.1

1 Only Teplin (2002) included “separation anxiety” in the data for the

“Any Anxiety” category. 2Separation anxiety disorder subcategory data is from Teplin (2002) and

Wasserman (2005). 3 Teplin (2002) did not include ADHD under the “Any Disruptive

Behavior” category; ADHD was reported as a separate category.

Note: All subcategories under the bolded “Any” headings are from Teplin

(2002) and Wasserman (2002, 2005).

Sources: Shufelt et al., 2006; Teplin et al., 2002; Wasserman et al., 2002,

2005.

52 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

illness, illustrating the need for awareness

about cultural issues in the diagnosis and treat-

ment of mental illness.

Low mental health service utilization

among African American and Hispanic youth

when compared to non-Hispanic white youth

was also addressed by Rawal, Romansky, Jenu-

wine, and Lyons (2004). They found a need

for addition services since all youth, regardless

of race or ethnicity, had low service utilization

rates. However, minority youth had evidence

of more multisystem needs, and African

American youth had higher scores for care-

giver problems including motivation to pro-

vide care. They note that lower mental health

service utilization among minorities may be

related to a culture that places a stigma on

mental health issues and relies on family mem-

bers and non-mental health professionals.

Gender Differences The better designed studies consistently found that females are

more likely than males to have any psychiatric

disorder, and specifically to be diagnosed with

internalizing disorders such as anxiety and

mood disorders (Shufelt et al., 2006; Teplin

et al., 2002; Wasserman et al., 2005). In

general, both females and males had similar

rates of substance use disorders. However,

within the category of substance abuse, Teplin

and colleagues (2002) found that females had

higher rates of a substance use disorder other

than alcohol or marijuana. Another problem

more commonly found among females is

physical, sexual, and emotional abuse (Mason,

Zimmerman, & Evans, 1998; McCabe,

Lansing, Garland, & Hough, 2002). These

findings were confirmed in the nationally

representative data in the SYRP report

(Sedlak & McPherson, 2010).

Victims of physical or sexual abuse engage

in riskier sexual behavior compared to their

peers who do not report abuse (Hayes, 2009;

Mason et al., 1998). As documented in data

collected in the 1991 NCCHC study, victims

of sexual abuse also had a twofold increased

likelihood of reporting a history of STD as

well as suicidal ideation, and suicide attempts

(Morris et al., 1995). As summarized in a

recent OJJDP report, when considering

both genders, rates of physical abuse vary

from 11% to 73%, while sexual abuse ranges

from 10% to 68% (Hayes, 2009). The SYRP

data showed that, in a nationally representative

sample, 42% of females and 22% of males

reported past physical abuse while 35% of

females and 8% of males experienced prior

sexual abuse (Sedlak & McPherson, 2010).

Specific Mental Health Disorders

Published studies provide additional informa-

tion on specific mental health disorders among

youth in the juvenile justice system.

Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)/ Dissociative Disorder Several studies have specifically addressed PTSD and trauma with

dissociation among delinquent youth. In

addition to having higher rates of PTSD than

general community samples, delinquent youth

also report significant histories of witnessing

and experiencing interpersonal violence.

Dissociative disorder, which is associated with

abuse and neglect, is also found in this popula-

tion (Abram et al., 2004; Carrion & Steiner,

2000; Cauffman, Feldman, Waterman, &

Steiner, 1998; Ford, Chapman, Hawke, & Albert,

2007; Steiner, Garcia, & Matthews, 1997).

Suicide Suicidal ideation and suicide attempts are a major concern for youth in

the juvenile justice system. Both the 1991

NCCHC study and 2003 SYRP found that

a history of suicidal ideation and attempts were

common in this population (Morris et al.,

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 53

1995; Sedlak & McPherson, 2010), and several

studies utilizing nationally representative sam-

ples have been published specifically address-

ing suicide within juvenile facilities. The first

was a national census of public and private

juvenile justice facilities in the United States

during the years 2000 and 2002, which found

that the leading cause of death in these facilities

was suicide (20 out of 62 deaths) (Gallagher &

Dobrin, 2006a). The second study included an

analysis of suicides between 1995 and 1999 in

public and private juvenile facilities and found

that staff should be aware of most suicidal

youth because a history of mental illness, as

well as a current diagnosis of depression, was

found in two thirds of victims and more than

onehalf were taking a psychotropic medication

(Hayes, 2009). In that study, hanging was the

method of suicide in virtually all (98.7%) of

the cases and two thirds of victims were in

single occupancy rooms. Approximately one

half of the deaths occurred between 6 PM

and midnight, which includes the time frame

youth were less likely to be alone. For those on

room confinement, they were most likely to

commit suicide during waking hours when

they should have been involved in other in-

teractive activities. This study suggests the

need for further research to better understand

the reasons for and role of confinement in

suicide attempts in juvenile facilities.

Reduction in suicides among juveniles in

confinement may be possible by suicide risk

screening and training staff in suicide preven-

tion, as these efforts resulted in lower rates of

suicide in the facilities described in an OJJDP

report (Hayes, 2009). This finding is similar to

that of Gallagher and Dobrin (2006b), that

facilities screening all youth within 24 hours of

admission had a lower suicide risk. Suicide

prevention strategies need to be improved, as

only one fifth of the facilities in the 2009

OJJDP report had the seven key components

needed for suicide prevention in juvenile

facilities (Hayes, 2009).

Psychotropic Medications There are no national data on the use of psychotropic med-

ications in the juvenile justice system, but data

from two studies conducted in Pennsylvania

and Oregon found that almost one half of

youth in detention facilities and over two

thirds in longer term facilities receive psycho-

tropic medication as part of their mental health

treatment plan. Although ideal treatment plans

for mental health issues may include psycho-

tropic medications, the length of stay, attitudes

of the parent and adolescent, and resources

for continuity of care need to be considered

in prescribing these medications (Desai et al.,

2006). The challenges of mental health screen-

ing, assessment, and continuity of care illus-

trate the complexity of designing and

implementing effective treatment for youth

in the juvenile justice system.

Health-Care Standards

Challenges exist in the provision of quality

health care to youth in correctional facilities.

The NCCHC has published standards for

health services for youth in correctional facili-

ties (NCCHC, 2004). However, data analyzed

by Gallagher and Dobrin from the Juvenile

Residential Facilities Census (2000, 2004; see

Gallagher & Dobrin, 2007) and Census of

Juveniles in Residential Placement (2003;

see Gallagher & Dobrin, 2007) found that

the overwhelming majority of facilities were

not accredited by NCCHC and that there

were significant deficits found when compar-

ing reported practices to NCCHC standards

(Gallagher & Dobrin, 2007). In addition, there

are challenges related to the continuity of care

between community health-care providers

and health-care providers in the correctional

54 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

system (Feinstein et al., 1998; Morris, 2001).

In part, continuity is made more difficult by

the prohibition on utilizing federal money

(i.e., Medicaid benefits) to treat youth while

they are incarcerated as well as, in many cases,

termination rather than suspension of benefits

resulting in a delay in reinstatement once the

youth is released back into the community

(Gupta, Kelleher, Pajer, Stevens, & Cuellar,

2005; Perez, Ro, & Treadwell, 2009).

FACTORS RELATING TO DELINQUENCY AND

HEALTH STATUS

We have just reviewed the literature on the

physical and mental health status and treatment

findings for youth in the juvenile justice sys-

tem. Overall, the research shows that in most

domains of physical and mental health, these

youth fare worse than their counterparts out-

side of the juvenile justice system. The fol-

lowing section begins to explain why that is,

and suggests responses, by reviewing the liter-

ature on factors associated with both delin-

quency and poor health status. These factors

range from the biologic to the cultural and

cover the ecological domains of individual,

family, community, and social institutions. As

these interrelated factors compound, the like-

lihood of delinquency may increase along with

the risk of poor health and reduced access

to health care. Thus, understanding them

is essential to preventing delinquency and

improving youth health.

Socioeconomic Status

Nearly 13 million children live in poverty

(National Center for Children in Poverty,

2009), and socioeconomic status affects both

health status and self-reported delinquency.

Emerson points out that relative child poverty

appears to be associated with health status,

particularly in the macroeconomic aspect of

the health of nations (2009). Child poverty is

associated with unintentional injuries, juvenile

homicide, low educational achievement,

dropping out of school, poor peer relation-

ships, feeling lonely, and mental health prob-

lems (Pickett & Wilkinson, 2007), all of which

also tend to be found in delinquent youth as

documented in the SYRP data (Sedlak &

McPherson, 2010).

Poverty is related to mortality risk, with

the highest risk for 18- to 27-year-olds whose

income is below the median of $20,190

(Rehkopf, Berkman, Coull, & Krieger,

2008). Adverse childhood experiences, such

as frequent moves often associated with

unstable socioeconomic circumstances, appear

to be related to various health risks such as

smoking and suicide (Dong et al., 2005).

Economically disadvantaged communities

with neighborhood violence and deviant peer

groups may put middle childhood youth at

particular vulnerability for antisocial behavior

(Ingoldsby & Shaw, 2002; Seidman et al.,

1998). Girls who live in poverty-stricken

neighborhoods and who are victims of

violence themselves are 2.2 times more likely

to have behaved violently in the past year

compared to girls who were not victimized.

Girls from neighborhoods with poverty and

homicides have higher rates of aggression

(Molnar, Browne, Cerda, & Buka, 2005).

Poverty is related to race and ethnicity in these

findings; in 2007, Black and Hispanic juveniles

were 3 times as likely to live in poverty as non-

Hispanic White youth (OJJDP, 2007).

More generally, Leventhal and Brooks-

Gunn reported the results of a comprehensive

review of research on the effects of neighbor-

hood residence on child and adolescent well-

being. High socioeconomic status (SES) led to

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 55

positive life achievement, while low SES and

residential instability was related to poor

behavioral/emotional outcomes (e.g., increas-

ed delinquency and problem behaviors in

adolescents) (Leventhal & Brooks-Gunn,

2000). Sampson (2003) elaborated on social

characteristics of communities and neighbor-

hoods as they affect health disparities in the

inner city. Both articles point to a need to

understand the functions of communities in

order to improve the health of their citizens.

This is particularly evident in a British study of

5- to 10-year-olds in deprived neighborhoods

who displayed higher levels of antisocial be-

havior at school entry and less improvement in

antisocial behavior between ages 5 and 10.

That behavioral finding was offset by neigh-

borhood collective efficacy but only in de-

prived neighborhoods, leading the authors to

suggest that neighborhood efficacy had a pro-

tective effect in young children (Odgers et al.,

2009; see Hawkins, Vashchenko, & Davis,

Chapter 12, this volume).

Race and Culture

Minority youth are disproportionately present

both in the delinquency system and in the

population of youth with reduced access to

health care and poor health. Although there is

a range of explanations offered, youth of color

are represented among arrests and delinquency

placements disproportionate to their presence

in the population, and this disparity permeates

the juvenile custody system including long-

term facilities (see Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6,

this volume). This disparity remained stable

over the last decade, with a slight decrease of

the minority population in custody from

62% in 1997 to 61% in 2003 (Snyder, 2008;

Snyder & Sickmund, 2006) and an increase in

2006 to 66% (OJJDP, 2007). Except for

Vermont, Black youth’s custody rates in 2003

exceeded rates for White youth across the states

(Snyder & Sickmund, 2006). Black youth

accounted for 38% of all youth in custody in

2003 (Snyder & Sickmund, 2006) and 41% of

all males in custody in 2006 (OJJDP, 2007).

Asian youth are an exception. In 1997, they

comprised 4% of the juvenile population but

only 2% of youth in secure detention (Hsia,

Bridges, & McHale, 2004), and in 2006, they

comprised 5% of the population but only 1% of

youth in secure placement.

Similarly, numerous studies report that

racial and ethnic minorities have poor health

and health care overall. For example, Shi and

Macinko (2008) examined changes in medical

care experiences between 1996 and 2002 for

various racial groups and found that, although

there were some fluctuations, racial minorities

reported difficulties accessing care, worse

health care, and worse health indicators that

further declined in 2002. Flores and Tomany-

Korman (2008a) found similar results, as did

Simpson and colleagues (2005) reviewing

2000–2002 data. The REACH 2010 Risk

Factor Survey conducted in 21 minority com-

munities showed that racial minorities had

substantially greater socioeconomic risk fac-

tors and health burden than the general U.S.

population, with type and degree varying some-

what among communities (Liao, Tucker, &

Giles, 2004).

The RAND Corporation in 2004

reported a wide range of socioeconomic,

health, safety, and educational disparities faced

by boys and men of color in California, all of

which could increase the risk of offending and

problems accessing health care. These in-

cluded higher poverty rates of 27% as com-

pared with 19% in the general population,

higher HIV/AIDS rates than White peers

(6.9 times higher for African Americans and

3.1 times higher for Latinos) and a higher

likelihood of being imprisoned. Educational

56 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

gaps compared to White youth, as evidenced

by a lack of a high school diploma, are twice as

high for African American youth and 7 times

as high for Latinos (Davis, Kilburn, & Schultz,

2009). Likewise, substantial health disparities

are found in Native American/Alaska Native

youth compared to the general population

(Castor et al., 2006). In a report on adolescent

health and youth of color, the National Asso-

ciation of Social Workers pointed out that

Native American youth have the worst health

of any racial group and highest rate of violent

death compared to “any other racial or

ethnic group” (Clark, 2001). Ethnic minority

youth also report less regular participation in

physical exercise.

A review of the scientific literature by

Elster, Jarosik, VanGeest, and Fleming (2003)

compared 31 studies addressing adolescent

racial and ethnic disparities in health care,

concluding that racial and ethnic disparities,

independent of socioeconomic status, exist in

selected areas of adolescent health care (Elster

et al.). Similar disparities for oral health are

found among racial/ethnic minorities (Die-

trich, Culler, Garcia, & Henshaw, 2008).

Flores and Tomany-Korman (2008b) observed

that children in non-English-speaking homes

experienced multiple disparities in medical

and oral health, access to care, and use of

services, adding another factor that relates to

the racial disadvantage in health care.

Engagement in psychiatric care in partic-

ular is an issue that may not just be related to

access (see Oliveri, Towery, Jacobs & Jacobs,

Chapter 18, this volume). Many Americans

are reluctant to take psychiatric medications

even though they are effective, and their re-

luctance may have cultural roots. Croghan’s

study found that the majority of respondents

would not take psychiatric medications (Crog-

han et al., 2003). This finding may help

explain some of the factors related to whether

detained youth continue on psychiatric medi-

cations when they are released. There are

ethnic differences in perspectives toward de-

pression in that African American and Latino

youth and their parents have less knowledge

about antidepressants and are less willing to

seek treatment (Chandra et al., 2009). Thus,

these negative factors are not confined solely

to delinquent youth, but rather result in poor

mental health outcomes in the communities

from which delinquents come.

Family Structure, Abuse/Neglect, and the Foster Care System

Family dysfunction, and specifically abuse and

neglect, can lead to involvement in the foster

care system. Youth in foster care (a number of

whom will transition to the juvenile justice

system) suffer poor health, and have chronic

medical conditions, mental disorders, and sub-

stance abuse problems (Currie & Tekin, 2006;

see Baker, Cunningham & Harris, Chapter 11,

this volume). In general, suffering greater

levels of abuse leads to a greater likelihood

of engaging in delinquency (Grogan-Kaylor,

Ruffolo, Ortega, & Clarke, 2008; Malmgren

& Meisel, 2004; Stewart, Livingston, & Den-

nison, 2008). However, the contribution of

foster care alone as a cause of delinquency and

poor health cannot be separated from

the various types of severity and duration of

abuse that lead to foster care placement.

An additional confounding element is the

appropriate disposition of foster children who

may commit minor offenses such as hitting a

staff member or fighting in a group home.

There is the tendency to send these children to

the juvenile justice system with no right of

return to the child welfare system. Ross,

Conger, and Armstrong (2002) discuss this

effect and suggest the need for a “human

services” model with the “objective of

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 57

achieving real working partnerships at the

front line (see Ross & Miller, Chapter 17,

this volume).

There is also a link between poverty

(Farrington, 1989; Kirk, 2008), family dis-

ruption (Kirk, 2008; Sampson & Laub, 1994)

and self-reported delinquency. Family dis-

ruption influences juvenile violence, leading

to three interconnected states—poverty,

family disruption, and violent delinquency

(Sampson & Laub, 1994). Children from

two-parent families are less likely to live in

poverty than children from single-parent

families, 8% vs. 17%. Single-mother house-

holds have much higher rates of receiving

public assistance (62%) and food stamps (61%)

compared to two-parent families, 32% and

23%, respectively (OJJDP, 2007).

Youth living with both biologic parents

are less likely to engage in problem behaviors

and crime regardless of whether the neighbor-

hood is well or poorly kept. In fact, family

structure predicts problem behaviors more

than does race or ethnicity (Snyder &

Sickmund, 2006). However, neighborhood

characteristics, including social networks and

Hispanic ethnicity, may influence parent-to-

child aggression, with physical aggression

leading to more severe child maltreatment

(Molnar, Buka, Brennan, Holton, & Earls,

2003). Hispanic and African American youth

are more likely to live in single-parent house-

holds (Snyder & Sickmund, 2006). In 2007,

57% of Black youth lived with one parent,

compared to 31% of Hispanic children and

23% of White children (OJJDP, 2007).

Characteristics of parental supervision can

help reduce delinquency so that a high level of

parental supervision is associated with low

delinquency (Fischer, 1983). Positive family

communication (i.e., open vs. closed commu-

nication) with a youth’s parents also helps deter

delinquency (Clark & Shields, 1997). Parents

of delinquent youth tend to lose control of

their children, as evidenced by their inability

to turn their children away from maladaptive

behaviors and toward prosocial activities. This,

in turn, can interfere with the parents’ effec-

tiveness in obtaining services for their children

because of parental feelings of helplessness and

inability to engage their children in agreeing to

attend services. The Smith Sterns (1999) sug-

gest that new approaches are necessary to

empower parents and enhance cooperation

between parents and social service agencies.

The pathway from foster care to the de-

linquency system is more pronounced among

youth of color. Youth of color make up the

majority of foster youth (Clark, 2001). Non-

White children, given in-home abuse avoid-

ance services as opposed to no services, had a

lower risk of juvenile corrections entry. How-

ever, youth receiving mental health services

had a high risk of entering the juvenile cor-

rectional system (Jonson-Reid, 2002). The

same author reporting on children receiving

child welfare services in California reported

similar outcomes for non-White children.

However, girls who experienced foster place-

ment or group home placement had higher

rates of involvement with the juvenile correc-

tions system than girls not placed out of home

(see, e.g., Sherman & Greenstone, Chapter 7,

this volume). Further, children who were

reported as neglected were more likely to be

incarcerated compared to those who were

reported as being physically or sexually abused.

The authors felt that children receiving no

services were at greatest risk for incarceration

(Jonson-Reid & Barth, 2000).

Education

Educational failure leads to unemployment

and possibly criminal behavior. Again, these

factors are interrelated, with poor education

58 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

leading to low SES, which is related to both

poor health and health access and to involve-

ment in the delinquency system.

Hispanic and African American youth

drop out of school more often compared to

White youth. In 2005, 2.8% of White, 7.3% of

Black, and 5% of Hispanic youth dropped out

of school (OJJDP, 2007). Youth who neither

attend school nor work have an increased risk

of engaging in high-risk and delinquent

behaviors (Snyder & Sickmund, 2006). Low-

income families, defined as those in the bottom

fifth income bracket, also have higher dropout

rates with 8.9% of low-income youth dropping

out compared to 1.5% of high-income families

who are in the top fifth income bracket

(OJJDP, 2007).

Biologic Factors

Intrinsic factors, such as genetic variations,

appear to contribute to behavioral traits lead-

ing to delinquent acts, and recent research

shows that the origins of adult illness and

behavioral abnormalities may be biologic

(Shonkoff, Boyce, & McEwen, 2009).

Youth who carry the short allele form of

the serotonin transporter–linked polymorphic

region (5-HTTLPR) gene that is found in 40%

of the general population are prone to impul-

sivity, low self-control, binge drinking, and

substance use (Brody et al., 2009). Other ge-

netic variations involving monoamine oxidase

A (Passamonti et al., 2006) and serotonin

(Lesch & Merschdorf, 2000) influence impulsive,

aggressive behaviors. Serotonin transporter–

promoting gene polymorphism is associated

with violence in relation to personality disor-

ders, impulsiveness, and childhood attention-

deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) (Retz,

Retz-Junginger, Supprian, Thome & Rosler,

2004). The combination of violent behavior,

impulsiveness, and ADHD also may be related

to dopamine D3 receptor gene polymorphism

(Retz, Rosler, Supprian, Retz-Junginger &

Thome, 2003). There are a number of other

genes that may be involved in antisocial behav-

ior combined with ADHD (Langley, 2009)

and ADHD and impulsivity (Ribases et al.,

2008). Finally, there appears to be a subset of

children with ADHD and antisocial behavior

associated with variations in the catechol-O-

methyltransferase (COMT) gene (Caspi et al.,

2008). Although these genetic variations ac-

count for a small number of incarcerated youth,

further research is likely to discover more of

these inborn tendencies to engage in delinquent

behavior. Some of these antisocial behaviors

that are genetically related may be modified

by prevention programs that can override the

genetic predisposition (Brody et al., 2009).

Magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) pro-

vides another tool to evaluate maturation and

disruption in brain function in normal adoles-

cence and pathologic states. Giedd and his

colleagues followed brain architecture during

childhood into early adulthood and found that

the brain continues to change through the

early 20s. The frontal lobes, where executive

functioning resides, is one of the last areas to

mature (Rhoghel & Giedd, 2006). These

authors point out that changes in the brain’s

structure and the size of various areas of the

brain correspond to enhanced strengths or

weaknesses in brain function such as memory

capacity. They also note that brain maturation

includes interactions between genetic, epige-

netic, and environmental factors. They define

environmental factors as both outside environ-

ment and internal “physiologic milieu.” Thus,

individuals who are stressed beyond their

capacity to cope will develop “compensatory

physiologic responses and behaviors that in

time may affect brain structures” (p. 726).

This can be part of a normal or abnormal

learning process.

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 59

Preliminary MRI studies of youth with

developmental disorders show consistent

changes in brain structure compared to con-

trols, although the physiologic meaning of

these changes is not well understood.

Childhood-onset schizophrenia, Williams

syndrome, ADHD, and fetal alcohol syndrome

all demonstrate abnormal brain morphology

with some areas of decreased size. Although

the abnormalities vary in these disorders, there

also are some similarities among them (Toga,

Thompson, & Sowell, 2006).

Although not directly related to these

neuroimaging studies, many authors have

measured various aspects of adolescent

decision-making processes compared with

that of adults. When engaged with peers,

adolescents are more likely than adults to

make decisions associated with increased

risk. This scenario, which is called “hot

cognition,” is compared to “cold cognition”

when decisions are made in controlled or

nonemotional circumstances (Gardner &

Steinberg, 2005). Modecki (2007) reviewed

the gaps in the maturity of judgment

literature and found that adolescents “display

less responsibility and perspective relative

to college students” (p. 89). There was no

difference between nondelinquent youth and

delinquent youth with regard to maturity of

judgment, but high-level-delinquency youth

have significantly lower maturity of judg-

ment compared to low-level-delinquency

youth (Modecki, 2007). Recent work utiliz-

ing functional MRI studies of normal ado-

lescents 11–13 years old find that sleep

deprivation may be related to compensatory

increases in reward-driven behavior, possibly

increasing risky behavior because of less

activation of the caudate (part of the ventral

striatum) that is related to reward-related

brain function (Holm et al., 2009). Thus,

there may be an interaction between brain

maturation and sleep deprivation, which is

often found in adolescents engaged in delin-

quent behavior at night.

A recent review of childhood roots of

health disparities amplifies the effects of poor

environment on young children, bringing our

understanding to a new theoretical plane. The

authors argue that the origins of adult illness

and behavioral abnormalities result from

biological disruptions caused by toxic stress

beginning prenatally and continuing through

childhood. Unless there are protective relation-

ships to buffer the effects of stress, the individual

develops maladaptive coping mechanisms that

are reinforced by permanent changes in the

brain and other organs. They further point out

that protective and stressful events affecting one

generation can have positive or negative effects

for several successive generations that are facili-

tated by epigenetic changes in DNA methyla-

tion and histamine modification of chromatin

in response to experiences that can influence the

next generation (Shonkoff et al., 2009). Al-

though not part of their argument, there is

the possibility of a multiplying effect in that

parents who have experienced severe childhood

trauma will pass on a genetic predisposition for

poor adaptation to stress and compound the

effect by lacking the ability themselves as parents

to provide supportive relationships to their chil-

dren. These children are likely to experience

substantial, perhaps “toxic stress” because they

remain embedded in the poor social climate of

their parents. At the extreme, the children expe-

rience child abuse, chronic neglect, emotional

abuse, extreme poverty, family violence, and

parental drug abuse (Shonkoff et al., 2009).

Shonkoff and colleagues (2009) also

point out the long-term effects of this stress

on personal well-being, including heart dis-

ease; high blood pressure; obesity; early aging;

pulmonary disease; depression; alcoholism;

teen pregnancy; smoking; anxiety; aggression;

60 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

and poor mental flexibility, memory, and other

cognitive processes. These observations lead to

an understanding that the poor health and

health disparities of many disadvantaged social

groups have an early biologic basis that be-

comes evident as the person ages and illumi-

nates the link between health disparities and

delinquency. They make a strong case for early

childhood interventions to reduce the risks of

both physical and mental health impairments.

They also point out that once these early

processes take effect, it is very difficult to

reverse the early biological damage.

A related article reinforces these concepts

and makes clear the difficulty in changing

behavior in delinquent youth. Abram, Choe,

Washburn, Romero, and Teplin (2009) fol-

lowed 1,653 youth for about three years after

detention and found significant functional

impairment across one or more of the eight

domains. One fifth (21.6%) of youth had

marked global impairment. Only 7.5% had

“no noteworthy impairment.” It would be

expected that those youth who had substan-

tial functional impairments would also have

problems accessing health care after being

released from detention. These data also re-

inforce the difficulties of changing behavior

and functioning that may have roots in early

childhood toxic experiences.

Poor compliance with health care may also

be related to the normal developmental course

of brain maturation discussed in the MRI

studies above. The associated lag in appropriate

and non-risk-taking decision making could

play a role in some youth not seeking health

care or not cooperating with health-care rec-

ommendations. This may be compounded by

poor parental supervision or disordered com-

munities, and these immaturity dynamics could

play a significant role in impeding the seeking

of health care because there is no outside

control on the youth’s behavior.

CONCLUSION

While additional national research is needed,

existing literature confirms the sense in the

field that youth in the juvenile justice system

fare worse than their counterparts in the gen-

eral population in most domains of physical

and mental health. This is explained in part by

the compelling confluence of demographic,

family, and youth traits related to both the

onset of delinquent behaviors and disparities in

health care. Youth from lower socioeconomic

strata, minority race and ethnicity, and disor-

ganized families, including abused youth, are

more likely to be involved in delinquency, and

the same elements impede health care.

Currently, it is not known if delinquent youth

receive worse health care than nondelinquent

youth of similar backgrounds. It may be that

both groups suffer equally because of their

social status. However, nondelinquent youth

may have more supportive functional family

structures that help ameliorate the risk of poor

health care.

At the time youth are incarcerated, there is

a window of opportunity to address their

existing health problems. However, although

the health needs of these youth become evi-

dent and need to be addressed when they

become involved in the juvenile justice sys-

tem, primary prevention efforts, which

address disparate socioeconomic and personal

health risk factors before youth are involved in

the justice system, may be most effective and

most likely will require multiple approaches.

Thus, it is important to view the causes and

remediation of poor health care in detained

and incarcerated youth from the broader per-

spective of their social, economic, and demo-

graphic origins. Efforts to improve the health

status of this underserved population may also

reduce the incidence of delinquency because

the etiology of both is similar. Universal health

The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 61

care and culturally sensitive care will address

some of the underlying health disparities

found in economically disadvantaged and/or

ethnic neighborhoods.

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The Health of Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 67

4 CHAPTER

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework

FRANCINE T. SHERMAN AND HON. JAY BLITZMAN

T hough we know that children have a set

of evolving needs and capacities linked

to their development, children’s law in the

United States is not organized around child

development or, in fact, any single organizing

theory. Instead, it is a patchwork of sometimes

contradictory provisions. After all, what de-

velopmental (or other) principle would restrict

a child’s ability to vote until 18, to purchase

alcohol until 21, yet sentence a 14-year-old to

adult prison for life without the possibility of

parole or allow him to waive his right to

counsel in a delinquency case?

Rather than reflecting a coherent vision of

society’s responsibility to children, children’s

law in the United States reflects history, a

particularly American vision of individual

rights, and the occasional nod to child devel-

opment. It is helpful to think of children’s legal

rights in two broad categories: autonomy-based

rights and needs-based rights (see Buss, 2004a;

Meyer, 2003; Woodhouse, 2001). Autonomy-

based rights pertain to children’s competencies

or their abilities to make decisions and act on

their own behalf—to be independent legal

actors. They include the rights to direct

one’s legal representation, make medical deci-

sions as a mature minor, exercise free speech,

contract, and enjoy procedural due process in

court and administrative matters. Needs-based

rights are rights to health, education, safety,

stable housing, and stable relationships; many

of which are discussed as children’s human

rights (United Nations Convention on the

Rights of the Child, 1989). Although auton-

omy and need are useful classifications, these

categories of rights are connected. For exam-

ple, a child’s right to liberty or to freedom from

unnecessary restraint is behind his or her

autonomy-based rights to counsel and formal

process in delinquency cases, but it is also

behind the needs-based right to rehabilitative

treatment should the child be found delin-

quent (Holland & Mlyniec, 1996).

Although its detailed analysis is beyond the

scope of this chapter, the United Nations

Convention on the Rights of the Child

(CRC) (1989), to which the United States is

not a signatory, codifies for the international

community this blend of need- and autonomy-

based rights. The CRC requires signatory

nations to provide education, health care, stable

homes, and a range of children’s needs. But the

CRC also requires consideration of the child’s

autonomy, limiting the exercise of parental

rights to be “consistent with the evolving

capacities of the child” and including children’s

independent rights to speech, religion, associ-

ation, and assembly (Melton, 2005).

In the United States, children’s law devel-

oped through a legal tradition in which chil-

dren were seen foremost as part of their

68

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

families, with rights historically contingent on

those of their parents (Cunningham, 2006).

Parents retain that authority over their chil-

dren unless parents are found to be unfit, at

which time the state steps in as parens patriae

(literally translated, “parent of country”), a

doctrine drawn from British common law

under which the state serves as parent to

protect and care for the child.

But in U.S. law the child’s, parents’, and

state’s rights coexist, each contributing in some

way to the rights of the others, and can be

viewed as rights in relationship to each other

(Buss, 2004b; Henning, 2006; Meyer, 2003;

Minow, 1986; Ross, 2003). For example,

children need their parents in order to fully

realize many of their individual rights. Parents

help children find lawyers to pursue their rights

and help them obtain health care and education,

and the law recognizes this, giving parents

authority to make most health and education

decisions for their children. Moreover, parents’

rights over their children’s decisions diminish as

the child matures, when the law increasingly

recognizes the child’s ability to make more of

her own decisions—for example, in areas of

health care, abortion, and, through counsel, the

conduct of any delinquency case. The state,

which exercises its authority as both police

power and parens patriae, is authorized by the

needs of the public (e.g., requiring parents to

immunize children and children to be immu-

nized) but also limited by the parents’ and child’s

rights. Thus, the rights of the child, parent, and

state function in relation to each other.

This chapter provides an overview of U.S.

law relating to children. Framed both in terms

of needs- and autonomy-based rights and the legal

dynamics among child, parent, and state, the

chapter describes how the law organizes

the world for children in the United States.

Like the other chapters in this volume, the

discussion focuses on children involved with

the child and family services, juvenile justice,

and other state systems as well as critical

institutions such as schools and health provid-

ers. The chapter discusses children’s law in

relation to each of these systems and institu-

tions independently and explores ways in

which the law crosses or should cross these

systems and institutions on behalf of children

and families. With this ecological frame in

mind, we acknowledge that children’s lives,

including their legal lives, are related to their

families, communities, and the social institu-

tions that surround them.

CHILD, PARENT, AND STATE

Children’s rights are contingent in significant

measure on their parents. As recently as 2000,

the U.S. Supreme Court acknowledged this,

upholding a Washington state statute allowing

a custodial parent to restrict grandparents from

visiting with her children. Although the Court

did not deny findings that the grandparents’

visitation had a positive effect on the children,

providing a “large, central, loving family . . . ”

(p. 61), the Court found that “ . . . [t]he

liberty interest at issue in this case—the inter-

est of parents in the care, custody, and control of

their children—is perhaps the oldest of the

fundamental liberty interests recognized by

this court” (Troxel v. Granville, 2000, p. 65,

emphasis added). In its holding, the majority

deferred to the parent’s decision about grand-

parent visitation, even in the face of a possible

contrary interest on the part of the child, who

was not separately consulted or represented

under the statutory scheme. In his dissent,

Justice Stevens suggested that the interest at

work may be the child’s:

While this Court has not yet had

occasion to elucidate the nature of a

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 69

child’s liberty interests in preserving

established familial or family-like

bonds . . . it seems to me extremely

likely that, to the extent parents and

families have fundamental liberty in-

terests in preserving such intimate

relationships, so, too, do children

have these interests, and so, too,

must their interests be balanced in

the equation. (Troxel, pp. 88–89;

Buss, 2003)

When parents are unfit, the state steps in as

parens patriae. The notion first appeared in U.S.

law in 1839 in Ex Parte Crouse, in which Mary

Ann Crouse’s father challenged her commit-

ment to the Philadelphia House of Refuge

for being “an incorrigible or vicious female

under the age of 18 years” (p. 1). Upholding

the commitment, the court wrote:

The object of charity is reformation,

by training its inmates to industry, by

imbuing their minds with principles

of morality and religion, by furnishing

them with means to earn a living, and,

above all, by separating them from the

corrupting influence of improper

associates. To this end may not the

natural parents, when unequal to the

task of education, or unworthy of it,

be superceded by the parens patriae, or

common guardian of the community?

(Ex Parte Crouse, 1939, p. 2)

The notion of the state as parens patriae was

first recognized by the Supreme Court in two

cases (Meyer v. Nebraska, 1923, and Pierce v.

Society of Sisters, 1925), upholding challenges to

the constitutionality of state statutes interfering

with the rights of parents to control their

children’s upbringing and education. Meyer

and Pierce, both cited approvingly in Troxel,

did not discuss the children’s independent

interests or rights. Concern about children’s

autonomy rights to be heard in court indepen-

dently of the state or parents is a relatively

recent development beginning, perhaps, with

Prince v. Massachusetts (1944), the prosecution

of a guardian for violating a child labor law

by permitting her 9-year-old ward to sell

Jehovah’s Witnesses periodicals in the evening.

Although the court upheld the conviction, the

case included references to the rights of chil-

dren to exercise their religion and notes that

“children have rights, in common with other

people, in the primary use of highways”

(p. 169). Ten years later, in the school de-

segregation case, Brown v. Board of Education,

children were the named plaintiffs, and in 1967

the Supreme Court held that children had the

right to be heard directly through their own

attorneys during the adjudicatory phase of

delinquency proceedings (In re Gault, 1967).

The role of counsel and the extent to

which children’s rights should be independent

of adults is still the subject of debate. Does

counsel have a responsibility to represent the

child client’s expressed wishes or should counsel

serve his or her view of the child client’s best

interests? What happens when a parent’s view of

what is best for her child, on a matter of

fundamental interest such as education or

health, conflicts with that child’s view? In an

often-cited dissent in Wisconsin v. Yoder (1972),

a case that reversed convictions of Amish par-

ents who had violated a compulsory school

attendance law, Justice Douglas argued that

“(w)hile the parents, absent dissent, normally

speak for the entire family, the education of the

child is a matter on which the child will often

have decided views” (p. 244). Although the

growing consensus is that lawyers for children

serve children best when they represent the

child’s expressed wishes, providing representation

comparable to that which an adult would

70 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

receive (Green & Dohrn, 1996), the relation-

ship between children’s and parents’ rights is a

continuing theme in children’s law.

The Interplay of Child, Parent, and State Rights in Juvenile Justice

The state’s role as parens patriae is clearest in the

child and family services system, where the

rationale for the case is the parents’ abuse or

neglect of their child. When youth are alleged

to be status offenders—committing acts that

are law violations only for children (e.g., tru-

ancy, incorrigibility, running away, underage

drinking)—or delinquent—committing acts

that would be criminal if the child were an

adult—the state exercises its authority both as

parens patriae and policepower. In these cases the

roles and rights of parents are less clear. While

the law increasingly requires parental involve-

ment in these cases (Henning, 2006), it also

blames parents and provides parents relatively

little protection or encouragement, although

the case can result in their loss of custody and

oneof the state’s goals is to assist the child andhis

or her family (see Jacobs, Miranda-Julian, &

Kaplan, Chapter 10, this volume).

As the rights of parents are deemphasized

in delinquency cases, the rights of youth are

emphasized but never equal to those of adults,

and they are often expressed in relationship to

their parents. In 1967 the Supreme Court

found that children charged with delinquency

and subject to possible placement in a

“training school” have a right to counsel

because they risk a loss of liberty protected

by the U.S. Constitution. This liberty interest,

and the procedural rights that flow from it,

belong to the child and not the parents (In re

Gault,1967). Almost 20 years later, the

Supreme Court found that children charged

with delinquency could be detained in locked

facilities with fewer procedural protections

than would be available to adults, reasoning

that, although a juvenile’s

interest in freedom from institutional

restraints . . . is undoubtedly substan-

tial . . . juveniles, unlike adults, are

always in some form of custody . . . .

They are assumed to be subject to the

control of their parents, and if parental

control falters, the State must play its

part as parens patriae. (Schall v. Martin,

1984, p. 256)

Thus, even in the delinquency system with

their individual right to liberty at stake, child-

ren’s rights are conceptualized in relation to

those of their parents.

Although the law in many states requires

that parents participate in the delinquency

process (e.g., attend hearings, contact proba-

tion, pay restitution for their children’s acts),

the juvenile justice process, despite its original

intent, is a crude tool for nurturing the parent–

child bond. Parental responsibility and parent–

child privilege laws illustrate this point.

Parental responsibility laws, which impose

civil, criminal, or quasi-criminal liability on

parents for the illegal acts of their children,

illustrate the conceptual difficulties inherent in

balancing parents’ rights and responsibilities

for their children once those children become

involved in the juvenile justice system. These

laws, which assume that parents are in some

way at fault for their children’s delinquency

and that they can be motivated to do better by

legal liability, have been around for decades

but, perhaps because they feel out of step with

the complex task of parenting, are rarely

enforced absent a high-profile case (Harris,

2006; Henning, 2006).

Parent–child testimonial privilege is an-

other area of inconsistent policy about parents

in relation to their children charged with

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 71

crimes. Unlike the spousal testimonial privi-

lege, which has a long history in common and

statutory law (Trammel v. United States, 1980),

as of 2006 only four states recognized a parent–

child testimonial privilege, which would

shield confidential communications between

parent and child (Henning, 2006). Scholars

have observed that the absence of a parent–

child testimonial privilege creates a situation in

which a child in trouble with the law would be

wise not to seek help and advice from her

parent. This runs counter to established legal

tradition protecting the privacy of families and

encouraging strong parent–child relationships,

as well as the philosophy of the juvenile court

to encourage parental responsibility for their

children and the child’s trust of their parent,

the juvenile justice process, and of their lawyer

(Henning, 2006; Ross, 2003).

As we examine the details of children’s

rights and the law governing child-serving

systems, we will continue to see a struggle,

with inconsistent results, among the interests

and rights of the child, parent, and state.

CHILDREN’S NEEDS-BASED RIGHTS

Although there is federal constitutional law

relating to children, most of the law governing

children’s rights is state-based, and so there is

significant state-to-state variation in children’s

law and practice (Blitzman, 2007). Federal

children’s policy is typically set through fund-

ing legislation, requiring states to approach

children’s issues in proscribed ways. Federal

constitutional law sets the floor for defining

and protecting children’s rights, leaving states

to pass laws complying with constitutional

minimums, but which may test constitutional

parameters (e.g., minor’s right to abortion)

or to imagine the ceiling and exceed

constitutional minimums in defining and pro-

tecting the rights of the child (e.g., broader

rights to appointment of counsel in juvenile

cases than are constitutionally required; state

laws requiring a jury in a delinquency adjudi-

cation although none is required under the

U.S. Constitution). The essentially local qual-

ity of children’s law and of the systems affecting

children makes for 51 local laboratories that

express community views about children and

the roles of parents and society in relation to

them (see Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this

volume).

Education

In San Antonio Independent School District v.

Rodriguez (1973), in the context of a school

funding challenge, the U.S. Supreme Court

held that there was no fundamental right to

education in the federal Constitution. While

all 50 states have provisions in their constitu-

tions establishing systems of public education,

only 20 states recognize education as a funda-

mental right (Blumenson & Nilsen, 2003; see

also Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this vol-

ume), and the extent of the right varies

(Hubsch, 1989; School Districts’ Alliance for

Adequate Funding of Special Education v. State,

2009). Even where states have established a

child’s right to education, parents exercise that

right, which is subject to restrictions imposed

by the state under its police power. While

parents have a long-standing federal constitu-

tional right to make decisions concerning their

children’s education, they do not have the

ability to direct their children’s education in

the face of reasonable state regulation. For

example, failure to send a child to school

can result in a finding of neglect and state

intervention into the family (see, e.g., Clon-

lara, Inc. v. Runkel, 1989; Ossant v. Millard,

1972; State v. Newstrom, 1985).

72 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

The state’s police power also provides

authority for schools to suspend and expel

students when they violate school rules or

criminal laws or, in some states, when they

are charged with a crime (Anderson, 2004;

Blumenson & Nilsen, 2002; Reyes, 2006).

Again, there is a great deal of state variation

both in expulsion laws and in the extent to

which alternative education is required or

available to expelled students. Because the

Supreme Court held that a student has a

property interest in public education, schools

must provide some procedural protections

before expulsion or other deprivation of edu-

cation (Goss v. Lopez, 1975). However, only a

small minority of states recognize some degree

of a right to alternative education for regular

education students who have been expelled

(Blumenson & Nilsen, 2003; Carroll, 2008).

Despite the lack of a federal constitutional

right to education, federal law sets educational

policy through legislation such as the Civil

Rights Act of 1964 (42 U.S.C. §2000a et seq. (1988), and Title I of the Elementary and

Secondary Education Act, also known as

No Child Left Behind (NCLB) (20 U.S.C.

§6301 et seq.). These laws condition federal funding for education on a range of policy-

driven requirements. NCLB, for example,

requires that 100% of students demonstrate

proficiently in reading and mathematics by

2014, showing “adequate yearly progress”

(AYP) along the way (No Child Left Behind,

§6316). This mandate sets education policy but is not actually a right to adequate educa-

tion held by any individual child and so is not

individually enforceable (i.e., a child who fails

state tests cannot sue his school district under

NCLB). However, NCLB contains provisions

that may be tools for lawyers seeking to

improve a child client’s education, such as

the ability of a student to transfer from a Title

I school that has not met adequate yearly

progress for 2 years in a row (No Child Left

Behind, §6316; Reichbach, 2004; see Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this volume, for a

detailed discussion of education law and juve-

nile justice).

Unlike regular education students,

students with disabilities do have a right to

education under the Individuals with Disabil-

ities Education Act (IDEA) (20 U.S.C. §1401 et seq.), which guarantees a “free and appro-

priate public education” (FAPE) to every child

with a disability in need of special education

services. IDEA applies fully to all children with

disabilities, including those in state systems

such as the juvenile justice system (20 U.S.C.

§§ 1412(a)(3)(A), (7); Blau & Allbright, 2006; see also Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this

volume). This includes the right of youth in

the justice system who have identified special

education needs to receive specialized instruc-

tion and necessary developmental, supportive,

and corrective services, and to be provided a

full substantive curriculum (20 U.S.C.§1401 (3)(A); see Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this

volume). Approximately one third of youth in

juvenile correctional facilities have been diag-

nosed with learning disabilities, which,

according to advocates and experts, under-

represents the actual population of incarcer-

ated youth with learning disabilities (Quinn,

Rutherford, Leone, Osher, & Poirier, 2005;

Sedlak & McPherson, 2010; see also Boundy

& Karger, Chapter 14, this volume).

Health

Like education, there is no clear legal right to

health care for children in the United States.

Children living in poverty—particularly poor

children who are foster children, children

in the juvenile justice system, and homeless

children—have difficulty accessing health

care; and their health needs often go unmet.

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 73

However, Medicaid, the State Children’s

Health Insurance Program (SCHIP, 42 U.S.

C. 1397aa, et seq. (2009)), the Foster Care

Independence Act (FCIA, 42 U.S.C.A. § 670 (1999)), and the 2010 Patient Protection and

Affordability Care Act (PPACA, PL111–148,

2010 HR 3590 (2010)) all have provisions

designed to expand health insurance coverage

for these populations of youth. The extent to

which these access goals are met vary consid-

erably, depending on how these laws are

implemented by the states (English, 2006).

Medicaid provides health insurance to

low-income families as well as to categories

of juveniles based on individual state plans.

Thus, in Massachusetts, for example, youth in

state custody are categorically eligible for

Medicaid (MassHealth), although that is not

the case in other states. Federal SCHIP (2009)

extended Medicaid benefits to children who

would not otherwise be income eligible, and

FCIA originally made youth between 18 and

21, who were in foster care at age 18, an

additional Medicaid-eligible group (English,

2006), which will be extended by PPACA,

beginning in 2014, to age 26 (42 U.S.C. §§ 2004, 10201).

However, the structure of Medicaid cov-

erage and reimbursement leaves coverage gaps

for children, particularly those involved with

state and county systems. For example, under

the “inmate exception” to Medicaid, “an

inmate of a public institution” is ineligible

for Medicaid reimbursement, and that eligi-

bility exception has been interpreted to apply

to youth in delinquency facilities both pre-

and post-adjudication, such as detention and

secure post-adjudication treatment (Burrell &

Bussiere, 2002; Gupta, Kelleher, & Cueller,

2005). As a result, teens who are Medicaid

eligible due to family poverty often have

their Medicaid suspended (or in some cases

terminated) when detained or incarcerated.

When these youth re enter the community,

they must apply to have their benefits rein-

stated, and because they often have little access

to assistance with this process, many youth

are not covered when they return to the

community.

A federal court in Massachusetts addressed

another common gap in Medicaid coverage

for youth, finding that state Medicaid provi-

sions failed to provide adequate medical assess-

ments and coordination of services for youth

with serious emotional disturbance as required

under the “Early and Periodic Screening,

Diagnostic and Treatment” (EPSDT) provi-

sion of the federal Medicaid law (Rosie D. v.

Romney, 2006). To reach this conclusion the

court, like other courts presented with the issue,

held that EPSDT provisions create private

rights that can be enforced in the courts through

a civil rights statute (42 U.S.C. § 1983; e.g., S. D. v. Hood, 2004). Rosie D. further found

that the state had failed to provide adequate in-

home behavioral support services for this pop-

ulation of children, necessitating instead, harm-

ful confinement in residential facilities (Perkins,

2009). The litigation resulted in a statewide

system of assessment and community-based

mental health services (CBHI).

The recent 2010 Patient Protection

and Affordability Care Act (PPACA, P.L.

111–148), and the Health Care and Education

Reconciliation Act (Recon. Act, P.L. 111–

152) expand health coverage for a number of

vulnerable populations of youth. In addition

to extending Medicaid eligibility to age 26

for former foster children (42 U.S.C. §§ 2004, 10201), they increase federal incentives to

states to maintain broad eligibility for children

under SCHIP (42 U.S.C. § 2101(a)) and require states to ensure that children who

do not qualify for Medicaid are enrolled in

a qualified plan through a state exchange

(42 U.S.C. §2101 (b)), simplifying the process

74 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

of enrollment for these children (42 U.S.C.

§2201; National Health Law Program, 2010). Thus, needs-based rights for youth to

education and health in the United States

are addressed through a patchwork of federal

and state laws and court decisions, and vary

considerably from state to state. This patch-

work is complicated for youth in the juvenile

justice system, who tend to have a concentra-

tion of education and health needs, which

often go unmet due to system fragmentation

(see Farrell & Myers, Chapter 21, this volume;

Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this volume).

For them, strategic use of federal laws

mandating the type of education and health

services states must provide to certain children

is particularly critical.

CHILDREN’S AUTONOMY- BASED RIGHTS

On issues of both education and health, courts

have developed children’s autonomy-based

rights as well as their needs-based rights. For

example, in education, issues of autonomy have

come up in free-speech cases and procedural

rights cases relating to school discipline. In

health,theyariseintheareaofconsenttomedical

treatment and abortion. Like all children’s law,

the cases and statutes in these areas reflect the

sometimes competing interests of the child,

parent, and state. We treat health-care decision

making next, as a case in point.

Health-Care Decision Making

We have recognized three reasons

justifying the conclusion that the

constitutional rights of children can-

not be equated with those of adults:

the peculiar vulnerability of children;

their inability to make critical

decisions in an informed, mature

manner; and the importance of the

parental role in child-rearing. (Bellotti

v. Baird, 1979, p. 634)

As a general rule, minors do not have the

legal right to consent to most medical proce-

dures, whether routine or emergency. This is

based on the belief that children’s judgment is

not sufficiently mature to make medical deci-

sions, and in the overarching legal principle of

deference to parents’ decision making about

their children’s upbringing, absent some

showing of parents’ inability to act in their

child’s interests. In Parham v. J. R. (1979), the

Supreme Court articulated this assumption,

upholding a Georgia law that allowed parents

to “voluntarily” commit their child to a state

mental hospital. The Court reasoned both that

children had limited decision-making ability

about medical matters and that parents gener-

ally have their children’s interests at heart.

The law’s concept of the family rests

on a presumption that parents possess

what a child lacks in maturity, expe-

rience, and capacity for judgment

required for making life’s difficult

decisions. More importantly, it has

recognized that natural bonds of af-

fection lead parents to act in the best

interests of their children. (p. 602)

Under the statutory scheme, which the Court

upheld, the admitting doctor safeguarded

against parents who might not have their

children’s best interests at heart.

Parham expressed the tension between

parents’ rights to raise their children and

children’s individual rights, as well as the

assumption behind much of children’s law—

that parents exercise their children’s rights

in their children’s interests. In this, we see

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 75

children’s and parents’ rights in relationship to

each other. The court in Parham clearly artic-

ulated the child’s emerging liberty interest:

“. . . we assume that a child has a protectable

interest . . . in being free from unnecessary

bodily restraint . . .” (442 U.S. 584, p. 601),

which was later developed in the delinquency

context in In re Gault (1967) to support pro-

cedural due process rights for children in

delinquency adjudications (Weithorn, 2005).

A number of exceptions to the general

rule that children cannot consent to medical

treatment have been recognized for youth

who are determined, by a physician or judge,

to be “mature minors,” and for certain classes

of health issues (Cunningham, 2006; Hart-

man, 2002; Mutcherson, 2005). State law

also provides for youth to consent to medical

care in areas of public health concern such as

reproductive health, communicable disease,

substance use, or mental health (e.g., Mass.

Gen L. Ann c. 21 §§12F; 12S). In these laws, public health concerns trump parental consent

requirements, because obtaining parental

consent may inhibit youth from accessing

needed treatment. Even the Health Insurance

Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA,

29 U.S.C.A. § 1181 et seq.), which controls access to medical records, gives 16-year-olds

authority to access and release their medical

information (2009).

In Planned Parenthood of Central Missouri v.

Danforth (1976) and Bellotti v. Baird (1979), the

Supreme Court considered the rights of a

minor to make the decision to terminate

her pregnancy. In Belotti, the Supreme Court

struck down a Massachusetts statute that

required parental consent for a minor to access

an abortion, holding that minors, like adult

women, have rights to reproductive choice.

However, the Court balanced that autonomy-

based right with its view of the minor’s

“inability to make fully informed decisions

that take account of both immediate and

long-term consequences” (pp. 633–634).

To accommodate limitations on a minor’s

decision-making ability while preserving her

reproductive rights, the Court held that

parental consent provisions are constitutional

as long as the law also provides for a “judicial

bypass,” providing the minor with an alterna-

tive to parental consent.

The law of children’s autonomy-based

rights in the areas of education and health

is, in many ways, a moving target in which

courts try to balance youth’s autonomy to

assert independent interests in education and

health with parents’ well-established right to

make decisions about their child’s upbringing.

Behind it all is the state’s interest in protecting

children and society. That state interest moves

to the foreground when we consider the law

that applies to children in the delinquency and

child and family services systems.

THE JUVENILE COURT AND CHILD-SERVING SYSTEMS

The first juvenile court was established in 1899

in Chicago, and the model quickly spread so

that by 1920 all but three states had some form

of separate court to address the needs of

abused, neglected, and “wayward” youth

(Ainsworth, 1991). The original vision did

not distinguish youth who were abused and

neglected from those who violated the crimi-

nal laws. Rather, these youth were collectively

seen as needing the “care and discipline” of the

state as a “kind, just parent” (see Ayers, 1997).

Youth who violated the criminal laws, like

youth who were abused or neglected, required

treatment and reform, not punishment.

The systems and laws addressing youth

charged with crimes, youth who are status

offenders, and youth who are abused and

76 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

neglected diverged through the 20th century

so that we currently have a continuum of legal

structures and rights. Youth who are charged

with crimes have the most extensive due process

rights, which, with some notable exceptions

(e.g., right to a jury), almost mirror the rights

of adult criminal defendants. These youth are

increasingly considered different from their

counterparts in the child and family services

system, who may have fewer due process rights

but are entitled to greater care and protection.

Children’s Liberty Interests and the State as Parens Patriae and Police Power

One thread of constitutional rights running

through the law relating to children in state

systems has to do with children’s liberty-

related interests—right to be free from re-

straint, freedom of movement, and freedom

of association. These appear in cases about

juvenile curfews, gang statutes, mental health

confinement, and conditions in facilities and

foster homes, and become central to the law

governing the juvenile justice system.

Courts acknowledge that the juvenile jus-

tice system reflects the “good intentions” (In re

Gault, 1967, p. 19) of the state as parens patriae,

and at times they defer to those intentions. In

these situations the state’s parens patriae role can

become conflated with the state’s role as police

power in preventing juvenile crime and pro-

tecting the public; though these are really

distinct, together they allow state conduct in

relation to juveniles that would not be allowed

for adults in the criminal justice system.

An illustration of this can be found in cases

allowing routine strip searches, without rea-

sonable suspicion, of youth detained in the

juvenile justice system (e.g., N. G. v. Connect-

icut, 2004; Smook v. Minnehaha County, 2006).

In these cases the federal courts held that,

because youth in the juvenile justice system

are particularly vulnerable and the state as

parens patriae is responsible for protecting

them, routine strip searches at detention

intake, after visitation, and when youth leave

and reenter the facility are lawful in the name

of child protection. In these cases, the courts

contrast the juvenile justice context with other

youth contexts such as schools (Safford v.

Redding, 2009) and immigration detention

(Reno v. Flores, 1993), finding the state’s inter-

est greater and the juvenile rights reduced in

the juvenile justice context. It should be noted

that Safford v. Redding (2009), in which the

Supreme Court found unconstitutional the

strip search of 13-year-old Savana Redding

by school officials who suspected her of hiding

ibuprofen in violation of school policy, was

decided by the Supreme Court subsequent to

the federal court decisions in the detention

strip search cases, and so may influence that

law in the future. For now, the detention strip

search cases provide a striking illustration of

the way the state’s twin interests in juvenile

justice as parens patriae and police power can

outweigh the child’s individual liberty interest.

Juvenile Justice: Social Welfare Versus Social Control

Asanyparentknowsandasthescientific

and sociological studies . . . confirm,

“[a] lack of maturity and an underde-

veloped sense of responsibility are

found in youth more often than in

adults and are more understandable

amongtheyoung.Thesequalitiesoften

result in impetuous and ill-considered

actionsanddecisions.” . . .Thesecond

area of difference is that juveniles are

more vulnerable or susceptible to

negative influences and outside pres-

sures,includingpeerpressure. . . . The

third broad difference is that the

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 77

character of a juvenile is not as well

formed as that of an adult. The person-

ality traits of juveniles are more transi-

tory,lessfixed.(Roperv.Simmons,2005,

pp. 569–570)

[D]evelopments in psychology and

brain science continue to show funda-

mental differences between juvenile

and adult minds. For example, parts

of the brain involved in behavior con-

trol continue to mature through late

adolescence. Juveniles are more capa-

ble of change than are adults, and their

actions are less likely to be evidence

of “irretrievably depraved character”

than are theactionsof adults.Itremains

true that “[f]rom a moral standpoint

it would be misguided to equate the

failings of a minor with those of an

adult, for a greater possibilityexists that

a minor’s character deficiencies will

be reformed.” (Graham v. Florida,

2010, pp. 2026–2027)

The tension between the juvenile court’s

twin missions to promote social welfare and

social control permeates the law of delinquency.

Juvenile delinquency proceedings increasingly

resemble adult criminal proceedings, yet they

are described in noncriminal terms. The juve-

nile is adjudicated delinquent, not found guilty, and

he or she is given a disposition, not a sentence. The

due process revolution of the 1960s and 1970s,

resulting in expanded autonomy rights for

youth, came at the cost of reduced dedication

in the law to rehabilitation as the exclusive

mission of juvenile justice. While juvenile jus-

tice still emphasizes rehabilitation as the goal,

an increased segment of youth charged with

crimes are tried and sentenced as adults, and in

their dispositions, many juvenile justice systems

couple rehabilitation with some measure of

retribution, incapacitation, and punishment.

There is a growing consensus that a juve-

nile’s right to counsel—developed in the

40-plus years since Gault—should look as

much like an adult lawyer–client relationship

as possible (Green & Dohrn, 1996; Blitzman,

2007). But how can we give children control

over their cases through client-directed, adult-

style representation, yet acknowledge that

their judgment is influenced by their still

immature status? This is a specific instance

of a paradox in youth law—we simultaneously

base policy on the notion that juveniles are

different from adults and the notion that they

should be treated the same as adults (see Poncz,

2008). The particular question of the younger

juvenile’s role vis-�a-vis counsel is addressed through the law of competency (to consult

with a lawyer and understand the proceedings)

(Dusky v. United States, 1960). Greater under-

standing of the meaning of competency for

juveniles, particularly for juveniles in adult

court, may help protect both the integrity

of the judicial process and the rights of the

child (Cauffman, 1999; Henning, 2006).

The shift from a purely parens patriae

framework for juvenile justice was part of

what has been called the “due process bargain”:

In exchange for procedural due process, courts

limited the youth’s second chances, a founding

principle of the separate juvenile justice system.

For example, although it was the norm in the

1960s, few jurisdictions now completely seal

juvenile records. Children are required

to register as sex offenders, as are adults, if

found delinquent for certain offenses; and

findings of delinquency now carry collateral

consequences such as school expulsion or

ineligibility for subsidized housing (Henning,

2004; Markman, 2008), which can dramatically

reduce a youth’s opportunities for a productive

future and have a significant impact on the lives

of parents and siblings. Despite these significant

consequences, in many juvenile courts the

78 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

culture continues to be casual and un-

accountable, and the defense bar less than zeal-

ous, reflecting the incorrect belief that a finding

of delinquency is a small price to pay for treat-

ment. To combat this view there have

been significant recent efforts to boost juvenile

defense capacity, recognizing that the stakes

are indeed high and special skills are needed

(Majd & Puritz, 2009; Sterling, 2009).

Procedural Due Process Youth have sig- nificant autonomy-based rights in juvenile

justice. Perhaps foremost among these is the

right to counsel at adjudication; in most juris-

dictions that has come to mean a right to

client-directed representation like an adult

(Madj & Puritz, 2009). Youth also have the

right to some procedural protections at a

judicial transfer hearing to determine whether

they will be tried in adult or juvenile court

(Kent v. United States,1966), and at the delin-

quency adjudication, juveniles have the right

to confront and cross-examine witnesses, to

receive detailed and timely notice of charges,

and to protection against self-incrimination

(In re Gault, 1967). Like adults, juveniles are

constitutionally protected against double jeop-

ardy (Breed v. Jones, 1975), and the standard of

proof for a juvenile delinquency adjudication

is the same as that for an adult criminal

proceeding—proof beyond a reasonable doubt

(In re Winship, 1970).

In deciding which of the adult criminal

due process rights are essential to a fundamen-

tally fair proceeding, and therefore must apply

to juvenile delinquency proceedings, the

Supreme Court balanced the need to preserve

the unique, rehabilitative quality of juvenile

proceedings, requiring procedural informality

and flexibility, with the need to protect the

liberty interest of juveniles that is at stake in

delinquency proceedings (In re Gault, 1967;

Breed v. Jones, 1975; In re Winship, 1970;

McKeiver v. Pennsylvania, 1971). Thus, rather

than import all adult procedural rights whole-

sale into the juvenile process, Supreme Court

jurisprudence examines each right separately

using this calculus.

In a plurality decision, which effectively

ended the due process revolution, the Court

concluded that juveniles charged with delin-

quency do not have a constitutional right to a

jury trial. In McKeiver v. Pennsylvania (1971)

the Court reasoned that a jury was not neces-

sary for fair fact finding and would constrain

the juvenile court’s distinguishing flexible and

informal character. The Court relied on the

assumption that the juvenile justice system is

oriented to rehabilitation and treatment; thus,

the potential deprivation of liberty is less than

that for adults in the criminal justice system,

requiring fewer safeguards. The holding in

McKeiver essentially returned discretion to

the states to design the contours of each

juvenile justice system, a minority of which

provide for a jury in juvenile cases through

statute or case law, though the number is

increasing (Birkhead, 2009; Blitzman, 2007).

Although there are other differences between

adult and juvenile procedural protections, such

as the lack of a bail right for most juveniles, the

absence of a jury right is perhaps the most

striking procedural difference between adult

criminal and juvenile delinquency proceed-

ings and has ramifications for charging, plea

bargaining, and the juvenile’s perception of the

fairness of the process.

The systemic tension over whether juve-

niles should have rights co-extensive with

adults or be treated more protectively at the

expense of some autonomy is ever present in

delinquency law. Most jurisdictions, for exam-

ple, allow a juvenile to waive his rights to be

protected from self-incrimination, to confess

to police in an interrogation without counsel

or a parent present, and to waive the right to

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 79

be represented by counsel at trial (Berkeiser,

2002; National Juvenile Defender Center,

2000–2006). While the law governing inter-

rogation and waiver of counsel must comply

with constitutional minimums, it varies by

state, reflecting local concern over crime

and the administrative inconvenience that

may result from increased procedural safe-

guards in the juvenile justice process. While

(as we have seen) upholding parents’ rights to

raise their children is a consistent thread in

children’s law, parents are surprisingly minor

players in the juvenile justice process (Hen-

ning, 2006; Ross, 2004; see Jacobs, Miranda-

Julian, & Kaplan, Chapter 10, this volume).

Although many states require parents to appear

in court, meet with probation, pay fees, and

participate in treatment (Henning, 2006; see

Greenwood & Turner, Chapter 23, this vol-

ume), in juvenile justice, parents’ interests in

raising their children and society’s interest

in promoting the parent–child relationship

are subordinate to the child’s liberty interest

and the state’s authority as parens patriae and

police power. In the juvenile justice process

the child, parent, and state too often become,

practically speaking, adversaries.

Interrogation At interrogation, juveniles may be particularly vulnerable, and there is

an active debate over whether their rights

require more (or different) protection than

that which is provided for adults. Currently,

most jurisdictions allow a juvenile to confess

to police without an attorney or parent

present. To determine whether the juvenile’s

confession is made “knowingly, intelligently

and voluntarily” (Fare v. Michael C., 1979,

p. 724), and therefore admissible in court,

courts must consider the “totality of the cir-

cumstances” surrounding the interrogation,

just as they do for adult defendants (Fare v.

Michael C., 1979). In this totality analysis, courts

consider the youth’s age, emotional state, men-

tal capacity, and whether his or her parent

is present, among other factors. In these juris-

dictions, a juvenile’s rights are essentially

coextensive with those of an adult, and, other

than considering youth as one factor within the

larger totality, the framework for conducting an

interrogation is not modified to accommodate

the unique context of childhood. Thus, if a

child, like an adult, requests counsel, the inter-

rogation must end. However, the police may

continue to interrogate a child even if he or

she asks for a parent to be present (except in

California; People v. Burton, 1971), even though

the request to talk with a parent may be the

child’s way of asserting his or her need for

adult support and would be a much more

natural request for a child to make than would

asking for a lawyer.

In contrast to this totality approach, a

minority of jurisdictions require a parent or

interested adult to be present at the interroga-

tion of a juvenile, regardless of the totality of

the circumstances surrounding the interroga-

tion (King, 2006). While this interested adult

or per se rule is ostensibly designed to protect

the juvenile and the integrity of the process,

most scholars believe it is inadequate protec-

tion against coerced confession. In fact, there

have been many instances in which parents

have encouraged children to confess, either

unaware of the jeopardy to their child, in

a parenting effort to encourage their child

to take responsibility, or out of their own

need to understand their child’s situation

(Farber, 2004; King, 2006).

Finally, a small minority of jurisdictions

has what is arguably the fairest and most

protective rule, requiring a lawyer to be pres-

ent at interrogation for a confession to be

admissible. The lawyer, directed by the youth

client, preserves autonomy rights and protects

the juvenile’s interest to be free from coercion

80 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

as well as the state’s interest in investigating the

crime and protecting the public (Feld, 2006).

Other accommodations to youth’s vulnerabil-

ities at interrogation include laws and policies

requiring that interrogations be videotaped

(Feld, 2006).

Applying the adult totality standard to

juvenile confessions, just like allowing juve-

niles to waive their right to counsel, provides

youth with a level of autonomy over critical

decisions that many argue is inappropriate and

inconsistent with their developmental abili-

ties (Grisso, 1981). The enormous risk to

youth and society of erroneous convictions

resulting from false confessions by juveniles

has been well documented (Drizin & Warden,

2009). Moreover, it is strikingly inconsistent

policy to allow youth to confess or waive

counsel without the advice of a parent or

attorney, but to give parents near complete

authority over all other critical decisions for

their teenage children. Yet that inconsistency

is a central feature of the law of juvenile

justice, where concerns about public safety

and juvenile crime tend to trump policies that

might better reflect youth development and

capacity (Cunningham, 2006).

The extent to which a juvenile’s age

should be considered in the interrogation

phase of the juvenile justice process is an

ongoing issue and is before the U.S. Supreme

Court in its 2010 term. In J.D.B. v. North

Carolina (2009) a 13-year-old special educa-

tion student was suspected of burglaries and

questioned by police in school without being

given Miranda warnings. J.D.B. provided

incriminating statements that resulted in a

finding of delinquency. The question before

the Court is whether and to what extent

age must be considered in determining

whether a youth is in custody for Miranda

purposes. In J. D. B., like in so many juvenile

justice cases, the Court is being asked to

accommodate juveniles within a body of

law designed for adults.

Detention Approximately 22% of youth brought before the court for delinquency

are detained (Puzzanchera, Adams & Sick-

mund, 2010), which generally refers to pre-

adjudication locked confinement, used to

ensure the juvenile’s appearance at trial and

prevent him or her from committing addi-

tional crime before trial. Adult criminal law

differs from juvenile law here. Adults have a

constitutional right to pre-adjudication bail,

but juveniles do not, although as of 2004,

16 states, by statute, provided juveniles with

a right to bail like that of adults (Moriearty,

2008; e.g., Mass. Gen. L. Ann. c. 119 39H;

Ga. Code Ann. § 15–11–47). In contrast to the law of adult detention, most juvenile

detention is considered preventative. Courts

decide at a hearing whether the juvenile is

likely to appear at trial, and whether he or she

poses a danger prior to adjudication; they then

detain on the basis of that determination.

However, without clear standards and ac-

countability for the detention decision, deten-

tion is overused, and although not technically

allowed, courts often consider the youth’s

needs along with the risks they pose in making

the detention decision. Thus, detention is used

disproportionately for youth who are minor

offenders and who violate conditions of

probation (Holman & Ziedenberg, 2006). In

Schall v. Martin (1984), the Supreme Court

upheld New York’s preventative detention

scheme, reasoning that detention is not as

extreme a deprivation for juveniles as it is

for adults because juveniles are “always in

some form of custody” (p. 265).

The Annie E. Casey Foundation’s Juvenile

Detention Alternatives Initiative (JDAI) is

a policy and programmatic response to the

overuse of detention and the awareness of

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 81

the long-term harm that detention can cause

for youth (Holman, & Ziedenberg, 2006). As

of 2009, JDAI was in 110 jurisdictions in 27

states, and the initiative has contributed to

reductions in detention utilization, improve-

ments in public safety, and reductions in dis-

proportionate minority contact with the

juvenile system (Mendel, 2009; see also Bell

& Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume; Farrell

& Myers, Chapter 21, this volume; Schiraldi,

Schindler, & Goliday, Chapter 20, this vol-

ume; Schneider & Simpson, Chapter 22, this

volume). Among its strategies, JDAI stream-

lines the court process, strengthens the defense

role, and brings objectivity to the detention

decision through the use of risk assessment

instruments and data-driven analysis of deten-

tion utilization.

Juveniles in the Adult Criminal Justice System An estimated 200,000 youth are tried, sentenced, or incarcerated as adults

every year across the United States, most for

nonviolent offenses; on any given day more

than 3,600 youth are locked up in adult

prisons (Campaign for Youth Justice, 2010;

Woolard, 2005). Adult sentences carry signif-

icant long-term costs for youth and society,

including a significant risk of victimization

and trauma for the youth, lack of education,

rehabilitative programming and family con-

tact, and a greater likelihood that youth will

reoffend than if they were retained in the

juvenile justice system (Centers for Disease

Control and Prevention, 2007). Although

racial and ethnic disparities (disproportionate

minority contact [DMC]) are a problem

throughout the juvenile justice system, those

disparities are particularly pronounced among

youth tried and incarcerated in the adult

system (Arya & Augarten, 2008; Campaign

for Youth Justice, 2010; see also Bell &

Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume).

Although chronologically minors, juveniles

under 18 are tried and incarcerated in the adult

system as a result of state laws that define the

jurisdiction of juvenile justice systems according

to criteria other than age. Waiver statutes (also

called transfer or certification) are how states define

which youth will be handled by the juvenile

justice system and which by the adult criminal

justice system. Thus, even though a youth

may be chronologically a minor, state waiver

laws define him or herout of the juvenile justice

system based on formulas that may include

offense, offense history, history of treatment

in the juvenile justice system, and availability

of social supports, as well as other factors

(Champion & Mays, 1991; Fagan & Zimring,

2000; Feld, 1998, 2003; Kent v. United States,

1964; Torbet et al., 1996). In one sense, waiver

laws represent the state’s judgment about which

youth are likely to benefit from the rehabilita-

tion offered in the juvenile justice system and,

therefore, on which youth the state should

expend its treatment resources.

Waiver laws are categorized by who makes

the jurisdiction determination: the legislature,

judiciary, or prosecution. Take the hypothetical

case of a 14-year-old juvenile charged with

armed robbery. Under legislative waiver, the

law might require that every juvenile 14 or

older who is charged with armed robbery be

tried and sentenced as an adult, automatically,

regardless of his or her individual circum-

stances. Under judicial waiver, the law might

provide for a hearing in which a judge would

make an individual determination as to

whether this juvenile poses a danger to the

public and is amenable to rehabilitation allow-

ing him or her to be retained in the juvenile

system. Under prosecutorial waiver, the pros-

ecution has the option of filing the case in

adult criminal court or in juvenile court based

on the prosecutor’s evaluation of what is in the

public interest or other criteria that might be

82 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

set out in statute. Over the past 20 years, every

state has modified its waiver laws in some way,

and many have amended their laws multiple

times, struggling to decide which youth de-

serve the benefits of the juvenile justice sys-

tem, thus largely defining the state’s overall

vision of juvenile justice (Blitzman, 2007;

Merlo, Benekos, & Cook, 1996).

Under the Juvenile Justice and Delin-

quency Prevention Act (JJDPA, 2002), states

must separate incarcerated juveniles from

adults; however, this does not apply to juveniles

tried as adults (§223(a)(10)(H)). Thus, in 2008 there were 2,484 juveniles serving sentences

of life without the possibility of parole in the

adult prisons. These youth were under 18 at

the time of their crimes and were tried and

sentenced in the adult criminal justice system.

Sixteenpercentofthemwere15or underwhen

they committed their crimes (Amnesty Inter-

national & Human Rights Watch, 2008).

In Roper v. Simmons (2005), the Supreme

Court declared the death penalty un-

constitutional when applied to juveniles

who were under 18 years of age at the time

of their crime (see also Stanford v. Kentucky,

1989; Thompson v. Oklahoma, 1988). In doing

so, the Court acknowledged that youth are

different from adults developmentally, making

the death penalty disproportional to any crime

a youth may commit. The Court made specific

developmental findings, that:

& Youth lack maturity and responsibil-

ity, which leads them to reckless and

impulsive behavior. & Youth are more vulnerable than adults

to outside negative influences, gener-

ally negative peer influences. & Youth are changing and do not yet

have fully developed characters or

personalities and so may grow out

of criminal behaviors.

These developmental findings echo the

principles that informed the juvenile court

initially, but from which juvenile justice had

been drifting beginning in the late 1980s.

Hopefully, Roper marks a return to a develop-

mentally informed juvenile justice policy in

which it becomes more difficult to try and

punish juveniles as adults, and in which laws

governing interrogation, detention, trial

rights, and sentencing reflect the reduced

capacity of juveniles while respecting their

rights to autonomy.

In Graham v. Florida (2010), the Court

extended the reasoning in Roper, and held that

a sentence of life without parole was un-

constitutional for juveniles in non-homicide

cases. In its decision, the Court reinforced the

Roper findings that juveniles are not as culpable

as adults as a result of their developmental

immaturity and went even further, acknowl-

edging developments in neuroscience that

show differences between adolescent and

adult brains that may inhibit juveniles’ abilities

to control their behavior. As of the decision

in Graham, there were 129 juvenile non-

homicide offenders serving life without parole

sentences (p. 2024).

Status Offenses

Status offenses are those offenses that apply

only to minors, such as truancy, running away,

underage drinking, or curfew violations. In

many states, some of these laws are grouped

together in comprehensive statutory schemes

with titles such as Children in Need of Ser-

vices (CHINS) or Persons in Need of Services

(PINS) (e.g., Mass. Gen. L. Ann. C. 119 §§ 21, 39E-39I). Under the JJDPA, status offend-

ers cannot be held in secure facilities with

delinquent youth unless they violate a valid

court order (VCO). That prohibition is called

the Deinstitutionalization of Status Offenders

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 83

(DSO) mandate, and results in dispositions for

these youth with child and family services

systems and not delinquency or youth correc-

tions systems (42 U.S.C.A. § 5633(B)). Despite the DSO mandate, juveniles are

detained for status offenses when they violate

a court order requiring certain behavior. This

has been referred to as “bootstrapping” de-

linquency onto a status offense, and has a

disproportional impact on girls who tend to

enter the juvenile justice system for misbe-

haviors such as running away and violating

court orders. These actions, then, trigger

detention even when the underlying offense

is a status offense (Sherman, 2005). Notably,

the JJDPA reauthorization bill, which passed

the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee in 2009

(S. 678), eliminates the VCO exception to

the DSO mandate, compelling states to ad-

dress status offending youth in family services,

and not juvenile justice systems. That bill,

however, did not become law and future

treatment by Congress of the VCO exception

remains to be seen.

Youth curfew ordinances are a type of

status offense that have proliferated in the

past 15 years, and have resulted in a number

of court challenges that are shaping the con-

tours of children’s rights. Juvenile curfews have

passed with a range of rationale—to reduce

crime and victimization, reduce gang vio-

lence, and assist parents’ efforts to control their

teenage children. The majority of studies,

however, show that juvenile curfews are

ineffective at reducing crime. Challenges to

juvenile curfews generally consider whether

juveniles have a constitutional interest in free-

dom of movement (or association) and

whether that interest is equal to that of adults.

The majority of courts (federal and state) that

have considered a juvenile curfew have found

that juveniles do have a fundamental constitu-

tional right to free movement. However,

courts vary in the precise formulation of

that right and their holdings as to whether

individual curfew ordinances are constitu-

tional (Herman, 2007; Jashinsky, 2007;

Kaminsky, 2003; see e.g., Commonwealth v.

Weston, 2009; Ramos v. Town of Vernon, 2003)

States vary on the extent of due process

required in a status offense case, where counsel

is not constitutionally mandated and the case

falls somewhere between delinquency and

abuse and neglect, often revolving around

parents’ difficulties handling teenage children’s

behaviors. A few states, like Massachusetts,

always provide counsel for the child and pro-

vide counsel for the parent if a loss of custody

is likely (In re Hillary, 2008).

Child Maltreatment

Every state has a statutorily proscribed system

for reporting, investigating, prosecuting, and

protecting children from maltreatment (abuse

and neglect). These systems are state created

and are not required under the U.S. Consti-

tution (Deshaney v. Winnebago County Depart-

ment of Social Services, 1989). Although they

vary somewhat across states, they are all

grounded in the states’ parens patriae authority

to protect and care for children when parents

are unable to do so, and they all reflect a

number of federal mandates. The guiding

federal statutes are the Child Abuse Prevention

and Treatment Act (CAPTA, 2003, 42 U.S.C.

A. § 5101(2003), which prompted more uniform definitions of child abuse and neglect,

mandatory reporting laws, guardian ad litem

(GAL) appointments and records confidential-

ity; the Adoption Assistance and Child Welfare

Act (2008, 42 U.S.C. 621), which required

states to make “reasonable efforts” to prevent

placement before removing children from

their homes, shifting the focus away from

removal and toward reunification and

84 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

placement prevention; and the Adoption and

Safe Families Act (ASFA, 1997, 42 U.S.C. 671

(2009)), which was designed to address in-

determinate foster care placements and

frequent changes in foster homes by mandat-

ing timelines for reunification or permanent

placement (adoption or kinship) of a child,

once child protection proceedings are initi-

ated. Each of these federal laws ties state

funding to implementation of the particular

act’s mandates through state law.

Although state laws and systems typically

have the dual missions of family preservation

and child protection, these can be in conflict.

Child welfare law in the United States cycles

through emphasis on removing children

from their homes for their protection and

keeping children in their homes for stability.

The systems have variously favored orphan-

ages, group homes, foster care, kinship care,

and adoption; they have been accused of

being under- and over-intrusive in families

and have been guided by social science and

public perceptions about “good” parenting

(Bernstein, 2001).

State laws typically set forth a system of

abuse reporting and investigation as well as a

system of services provided to willing families.

They also provide for a court process, which

can be initiated by an allegation that the child

is abused, neglected, or abandoned and that

the parent is unwilling or unable to accept and

benefit from social services. Statutory defini-

tions of abuse and neglect tend to be some-

what vague and ambiguous, making them

vulnerable to misuse in situations rooted in

family poverty or cultural issues, and some

have been challenged as vague in the courts

(Alsager v. District Ct. of Polk City, 1975). Like

in the juvenile justice system, children of color

are represented in the child protection system

disproportionate to their presence in the pop-

ulation, and experience multiple foster

placements and lack of permanency at rates

higher than their White counterparts. These

findings suggest, along with social inequities,

that existing laws may be too open to the

exercise of discretion without adequate stan-

dards. But others counter that they also reflect

the challenges of parenting for poor, stressed

families, many of whom are families of color in

urban areas (Bartholet, 2009; Chapin Hall

Center for Children, 2008).

All children who are the subject of mal-

treatment actions are supposed to be provided

representation of some sort as the result of

CAPTA, which mandates the appointment of

a lawyer or non-lawyer GAL in all child abuse

and neglect cases (Abrams & Ramsey, 2010;

Koh Peters, 2007). However, states differ as to

whether counsel acts as a lawyer, directed by

the child client as much as possible, or GAL,

representing the child’s best interest. There is a

general consensus that attorneys for youth in

delinquency cases should provide client-di-

rected representation, as they would for an

adult defendant. However, accommodating

age and youth development, many attorneys

for children in child abuse and neglect pro-

ceedings see their role as representing what

they perceive to be the best interests of the

child. Some state laws and rules support that

conceptualization, despite an emerging con-

sensus in the bar that client–directed represen-

tation is the child’s right (American Bar

Association, 2006, 2009). The role and pro-

fessional responsibility of attorneys for chil-

dren is the subject of ongoing discussion in the

profession, and a 2009 study found that in

child protection cases, many children still go

unrepresented (First Star & Children’s Advo-

cacy Institute, 2009).

The U.S. Supreme Court found that the

liberty interest at stake in a termination of

parental rights proceeding did not warrant

a constitutionally protected right to counsel

Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 85

for parents in all cases (Lassiter v. Department

of Social Services, 1981), but states provide

for court-appointed counsel by statute. In

Santosky v. Kramer (1984), the Court held

that the state must prove its case for a perma-

nent termination of parental custody by clear

and convincing evidence.

Rights to Treatment and Services: Conditions of Confinement for Youth

Although every state has a juvenile justice

system charged with rehabilitating youth

who commit crimes, and a child and family

services system including foster care and other

out-of-home programs to protect and provide

services to youth who are victims of parental

abuse or neglect, those systems often fail to do

what they are required to do and, in some

cases, can themselves be abusive to the youth

they are charged with protecting. Particularly

in juvenile justice detention and programs,

reports of failure to provide adequate mental

and physical health services as well as outright

abusive conditions—such as use of pepper

spray, excessive use of physical restraints, and

physical and sexual assaults of youth by staff—

occur too frequently (Soler, Shoenberg, &

Schindler, 2009). When such abuse occurs,

what laws protect youth, and how can they

hold systems accountable?

The law addressing children’s rights when

the systems fail has a constitutional dimension

through cases that have found that youth who

are in the juvenile justice, mental health, or

child and family services system have some

form of right to treatment, because treatment

is the reason for the youth’s confinement

(Holland & Mlyniec, 1995). Systems may

also be held accountable to provide services

to youth through federal statutes mandating

services or accommodations such as the Amer-

icans with Disabilities Act (ADA, 42 U.S.C.

§ 12132, et seq.), the Individuals with Dis- abilities Education Act (IDEA, 20 U.S.C.

§ 1400, et seq. (i) (2004)), or the Civil Rights for Institutionalized Persons Act (CRIPA, 42

U.S.C. § 1997). Although juvenile courts that place children in the custody of the family

service agencies or juvenile justice systems

may play a role in requiring specific place-

ments and services, in many states courts are

constrained from ordering child-serving agen-

cies to provide specific services by the doctrine

of separation of powers.

Youth who have not been convicted of a

crime cannot be subject to conditions that

amount to punishment, and, because a delin-

quency finding is not a criminal conviction,

this protection applies to all youth in the

juvenile justice system (Santana v. Collazo,

1983). Moreover, juveniles incarcerated in

the juvenile justice system have a right to

safety, adequate medical and mental health

care in custody, some due process protections,

access to their families and the courts, and to

education and other programming (Dale &

Soler, 2008; Soler et al., 2009; Youngberg v.

Romeo, 1982).

Although what we know about effective

juvenile treatment has grown considerably

over the past decade (see Beyer, Chapter 1,

this volume; Greenwood & Turner, Chapter

23, this volume: Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goli-

day, Chapter 20, this volume) and facilities and

courts can look to professional standards to

determine the contours of treatment in juve-

nile justice, identifying poor conditions and

enforcing reforms is complex. Youth often do

not have access to counsel once they are

incarcerated. Over the past two decades,

federal courts have become less hospitable to

conditions litigation, and youth are not legally

entitled to best practices but only to treatment

that satisfies minimal constitutional and statu-

tory standards (Dale & Soler, 2008). However,

86 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

increased federal Justice Department oversight

of conditions in juvenile facilities through

CRIPA, the development of performance-

based and other standards for youth detention

and corrections, increased awareness of youth

suicide in facilities (Hayes, 2009), enforce-

ment of the Prison Rape Elimination Act in

juvenile facilities (PREA, 45 U.S.C. §15601; Beck, Harrison, & Guerino, 2010), and the

Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention’s (OJJDP) 2010 publication of data

from the Survey of Youth in Residential

Placement (Sedlak & McPherson, 2010) all

point toward improved conditions and treat-

ment for youth in the juvenile justice system

(Soler et al., 2009).

CONCLUSION

The juvenile justice system is essentially a legal

system, with each youth’s initial involvement

marked by an alleged law violation that initi-

ates the legal process. Because the laws gov-

erning juvenile justice practices are a

patchwork of state and federal statutes that

attempt to reconcile the various, sometimes

competing, interests of youth, their parents,

and the state itself, many outside the system

simply cannot understand how it works—

indeed, they view it as virtually impenetrable.

This places informed participation in the pro-

cess beyond the reach of a significant percent-

age of youth and families who end up subject

to its decisions.

Children’s law is best understood when

categorized into needs-based and autonomy-

based rights, although these categories are to

some extent artificial and they are often re-

lated. In addition, children’s law strives to

balance the rights and interests of children

with those of parents and the state. Each has

a separate role to play, but each role operates in

relationship to the other two. Children have

similar rights to those of adults, but often to a

lesser degree; and children’s rights are always

framed by their families and the institutions

with which they are involved. Children in state

systems retain rights they have generally—

to some measure of free speech; freedom of

association, movement, special education;

some sort of health care—and, by virtue of

their system and court involvement, they have

additional rights—to counsel, some proce-

dural due process, some measure of treatment.

When children’s law is functioning properly, it

both protects and respects youth.

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Children’s Rights and Relationships: A Legal Framework 91

5 CHAPTER

A Vision for the American Juvenile Justice System

The Positive Youth Development Perspective �

RICHARD M. LERNER, MICHAEL D. WIATROWSKI, MEGAN KIELY MUELLER,

CHRISTOPHER M. NAPOLITANO, KRISTINA L. SCHMID, AND ANITA PRITCHARD

E ach year in the United States, millions of

adolescents become involved with the ju-

venilejusticesystem(seeSteinberg,2008a).For

some youth, this involvement begins and ends

with a warning; they are not taken into custody

and do not formally enter the system. Other

youth are indeed taken into custody one or

more times, and for some of these youth, there

may be eventual incarceration in the adult

criminaljusticesystem.Althoughthetreatment

of youth within the juvenile justice system is

generally dictated by the nature and seriousness

of the offense and the prior involvement of

youth with the system, it is also influenced by

the extant conception of these youth (Stein-

berg, 2008b; Woolard & Scott, 2009) and,

perhaps more fundamentally, by whether there

exists a developmental conception of youth

within the system (Scott & Steinberg, 2008).

Traditionally, a developmental perspective

has been absent within the juvenile justice

system (Schwartz, 2003; Scott & Steinberg,

2008; Steinberg, 2008b), especially a develop-

mental perspective informed by what we dis-

cuss later in the chapter as contemporary and

cutting-edge models of development. Such

models emphasize that mutually influential

relations between the developing person and

his/her complex (multilevel) ecology consti-

tute the basic process of human development

(Lerner, 2006; Overton, 2006, 2010). More-

over, young people, whether involved in the

juvenile justice system or not, have been seen

through a lens that regards healthy or positive

adolescent development as being reflected by

the absence of problems (Lerner, 2007). The

assumption guiding this general view of youth

is that adolescence is (because of biology) an

inevitable period of “storm and stress” and, as

such, a time when youth are both dangerous to

others and to themselves (Anthony, 1969;

Freud, 1969; Hall, 1904). There has been,

then, a purported universal, biologically based

shortcoming—a deficit—in their behavior

and development. This nature (or nativist)

deficit conception aligns with conceptions

of system-involved youth that reflect ideas

that transgressing adolescents need to be pro-

tected from themselves and from harming

society (Steinberg, 2008b). As noted later in

� The preparation of this chapter was supported in part by

grants from the National 4-H Council, the John Tem-

pleton Foundation, and the Thrive Foundation for

Youth.

92

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

the chapter, these ideas were linked in the

mid to late 1990s to the “superpredator”

depiction of young people in the system and

to adjudicating teenagers as adults.

This deficit view of youth may have been a

motivating factor in the separation of juveniles

from treatment within the adult criminal

justice system and the creation of the Ameri-

can juvenile justice system in 1899. Schwartz

(2003) has suggested that this deficit view

may have been a conceptually problematic

but, nonetheless, somewhat effective way to

protect children from “socialization” by adult

criminals.

Nevertheless, the deficit lens about ado-

lescent development is based on an erroneous

understanding of biological development, ig-

norance of extant data about adolescence, and

a misunderstanding about the nature and

strengths of youth development. Accordingly,

the purpose of this chapter is to describe the

nature and problems of the contemporary

juvenile justice system that arise as a conse-

quence of the counterfactual conception of

adolescence that has framed the treatment of

youth within the juvenile justice system

(Schwartz, 2003; Steinberg, 2008a, 2008b).

We place contemporary views about youth

within the context of the history of the con-

ceptions of young people that have been used

within the juvenile justice system. In turn,

building on recent calls for adopting a devel-

opmental perspective on juvenile justice

(Scott & Steinberg, 2008; Steinberg, 2008b;

Woolard & Scott, 2009), we provide a lens for

viewing youth development: the positive

youth development (PYD) perspective

(Lerner, 2005, 2009). We believe that the

PYD perspective capitalizes appropriately on

contemporary theory and research on adoles-

cent development and, as such, has profound

implications for the transformation of juvenile

justice policy and programs.

JUVENILE JUSTICE AND VIEWS OF YOUTH BEHAVIOR AND DEVELOPMENT: PAST AND CURRENT PERSPECTIVES

The United States created the concept of

juvenile justice based on an idea that has

developed slowly over the past 200 years—

that is, that youth are socially and develop-

mentally not as fully responsible for their

behavior as are adults before the law (Woolard

& Scott, 2009). With the onset of Andrew

Jackson’s presidency (1829–1837), penitentia-

ries were created to reform and rehabilitate

adult and juvenile criminals alike rather than

to punish them, as did prisons (Rothman,

1971). Following this model of rehabilitation,

reformers soon sought to remove children

from the presence of adults and provide a

different place for them in the justice system.

During this time, the first juvenile houses

of refuge were established, and attempts were

made to treat children accused and convicted

of criminal offenses differently from adults

(Dean & Repucci, 1974; Fox, 1970). With

the creation of the first reformatories in the

1830s until the creation of the first juvenile

court in Illinois in 1899, various approaches

were taken for the care and treatment of

children in the custody of the law. Public

and private institutions attempted to mimic

idealized visions of families or provide pastoral

settings outside the “corruption” of the cities.

Order, discipline, and hard work were

the vision for the care of delinquent youth.

However, these initiatives were imperfect

experiments, and periodic investigations re-

vealed that children in the court-ordered care

of adults were typically treated poorly and

harshly—a situation that some might argue

continues to exist today.

In the late 19th century, with the emer-

gence of the field of social work and new ideas

A Vision for the American Juvenile Justice System: The Positive Youth Development Perspective 93

regarding the causes of delinquency, the

juvenile court evolved as a legal and social

institution. The moral crusaders of this period

had the view that children in trouble with the

law were the product of flawed social environ-

ments (Platt, 1969). The settlement house idea

was imported from England, and community

centers were created as a place to bring some

order to the slums and to solve the problems of

overcrowding, labor exploitation, alcoholism,

public health failure, and the myriad of related

problems (Addams, 1910). These problems

were viewed as social pathologies reflecting

the emergent disease theory of medicine. So-

cial work emerged as an area of professional

specialization that sought to ameliorate the

conditions that were thought to cause crime

and delinquency.

In 1899, Illinois became the first state to

establish a statutory basis for juvenile courts,

with most states following soon thereafter.

The juvenile court developed a structure

and language that differentiated it from the

adult justice system. It was designed to be

therapeutic and not punitive and, in theory,

it was the antithesis of the adult criminal justice

system. The medical model was adapted and

applied to the treatment of social problems;

this language of “treatment” became com-

monplace in dealing with juvenile delinquents

(Smith, 1911). Certainly, this approach was

more benign than the placement of juveniles

in the adult system. Nevertheless, many of

the reforms were often implemented poorly,

and the treatment of juveniles in reform

schools began to resemble the treatment of

adults in minimum and medium security

prisons (Feld, 1999).

By the mid-1960s, however, events

occurred in both the legal system and in

academe to change the landscape of juvenile

justice law and the treatment of juvenile

offenders. Scott and Steinberg (2008) note

that this conceptual landscape had remained

largely unchanged throughout the first half of

the 20th century. In regard to the legal system,

the President’s Commission on Law Enforce-

ment and the Administration of Justice (1967)

provided a comprehensive examination of

how both adult and juvenile justice were

administered in the United States, as questions

were emerging about whether the system

protected the legal rights of juveniles and

whether the actions of the juvenile justice

system were in fact benign. In 1967, the

Supreme Court case In re Gault challenged

the historically informal court proceedings

typical of juvenile cases (Scott & Steinberg,

2008), when Gerald Gault, a 15-year-old

youth, was adjudicated in regard to making

an obscene telephone call (see Schwartz, 2003,

for a discussion of the impact of the Gault

decision). He had been sentenced to a juvenile

facility that was the equivalent of a medium

security prison for the remainder of the time

he was a juvenile. This case was the first to

provide juveniles with the basic constitutional

protections afforded to adults.

In regard to academic events, Hirschi’s

(1969) social control theory of delinquency

used what may be termed sociogenic, or social

mold (Elder, 1998) ideas (about socialization

and social learning) to account for the advent

of delinquency in a young person’s behavioral

repertoire. From the standards of contempo-

rary developmental theory, which we have

already noted are linked to relational, systems

notions of mutually influential exchanges

between developing individuals and their

complex (multilevel) and changing contexts,

Hirschi’s theory reflects an outdated, split

conception of the causes of behavior and

development in the course of human life

(Lerner, 2006; Overton, 2006, 2010). Simply,

Hirschi’s model (and others like it, e.g.,

Hirschi & Gottfredson, 1980) is based on a

94 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

counterfactual separation of organism and ec-

ological developmental processes (Overton,

2006). Nevertheless, at the time of its presen-

tation, the model of Hirschi was within the

mainstream of social and behavioral science,

which adhered to such Cartesian, split con-

ceptions (Overton, 2010).

Although Hirschi’s views about the bases

of delinquency issues evolved (Hirschi &

Gottfredson, 1980), his work nevertheless

continued to reflect the split notion of human

functioning that is today seen as inadequate

within developmental science (Lerner, 2006;

Overton, 2010). Nevertheless, at the time, his

work was certainly useful in eliciting other

discussions of the defining characteristics of

delinquent youth and the source of these

characteristics. Historically, then, Hirschi’s

work was a precursor of ideas about the

nature of the development of delinquency.

In addition, his work provided a basis for

discussions in the literature of whether the

characteristics of treatment in juvenile insti-

tutions provided a good fit with the attributes

of delinquent youth.

In addition Wolfgang, Figlio, and Sellin

(1972), examined the offenses of a cohort of

youth born in Philadelphia in 1944 and found

that involvement with the justice system

among these youth was common; almost

half of the youth had at least one contact. A

progressively smaller number of youth, about

6%, accounted for almost half of the offenses.

The juvenile justice system apparently had

little impact on the behavior of these youth.

From this work, the idea of the chronic of-

fender was born.

During the 1980s it became clear that,

generally, prisons and juvenile institutions had

punishment and incarceration as their primary

purpose, and, as a consequence, the goal of

rehabilitation was significantly reduced. This

shift reflects what has been repeated historical

variation between an emphasis on punishment

and an emphasis on rehabilitation. The empha-

sis found within any particular period may

reflect the larger zeitgeist pertinent to societal

concern with issues of social order. By the

1980s, the idea of “Do the crime, do the time”

was applied to juveniles who were now treated

as the developmental equivalent of adults; these

youth were incarcerated in the adult criminal

justice system, although separated from adult

prisoners until they themselves became adults

(Redding, 2005). Moreover, many states

revised their statutes allowing juveniles to be

waived or transferred to the jurisdiction of the

adult criminal justice system.

This treatment was reinforced by works

such as that of Dilulio (1995), who coined the

term juvenile superpredator to describe youth

who were so primal, amoral, and violent in

their behavior that he believed there was little

society could do with them except to incar-

cerate them and “throw away the key,” again

reflecting a theoretically atavistic and counter-

factual Cartesian, split conception of the

bases of human behavior and development

(Overton, 2010). Although here one empha-

sized the nativist (nature) basis of youth

behavior, this conception also had racial over-

tones, in that youth of color comprised the

major proportion of children and adolescents

then involved in the juvenile justice system

(see also Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this

volume).

Today, however, the laws that transfer

juveniles to the punishments of the adult court

are being questioned. A consistent finding is

that those transferred to the adult system are

more likely to reoffend than those who

remain in the juvenile system (Lanza-Kaduce,

Lane, Bishop, & Frazier, 2000). Indeed,

because imprisonment undermines important

developmental tasks, including social matura-

tion, Scott and Steinberg (2008) argue that

A Vision for the American Juvenile Justice System: The Positive Youth Development Perspective 95

many young offenders “are not headed for

careers in crime—unless correctional inter-

ventions push them in that direction” (p. 25).

Is there, then, a different model of youth

that can recast their treatment within the

juvenile justice system? Can this model be

expected to reduce youth crime, and, in

turn, promote positive individual and social

behavior? We believe that the answer is yes.

We discuss such a model next and then

consider its implications for transforming

the juvenile justice system.

THE CONTEMPORARY STUDY OF ADOLESCENCE AND THE

EMERGENCE OF THE POSITIVE YOUTH DEVELOPMENT (PYD)

PERSPECTIVE

The scientific study of adolescent develop-

ment was founded by Granville (G.) Stanley

Hall (1844–1924) who, in 1904, published the

first text on adolescence, a two-volume work

entitled: Adolescence: Its Psychology and Its Re-

lations to Physiology, Anthropology, Sociology,

Sex, Crime, Religion, and Education. Hall

launched the study of adolescence with a

theory that saw the period as one marked

by “storm and stress.” Hall believed that

“ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny”: The

changes that occur in a person’s life mirror

the changes that occurred in the evolution of

the human species. (This view is also called the

theory of recapitulation.) Human evolution, he

believed, involved changes that moved

humans from being beastlike to being civi-

lized. Adolescence corresponds to the period

in evolution when humans underwent this

change. Therefore, adolescence is a time of

overcoming one’s beastlike impulses.

Hall’s (1904) conception gave birth to what

we noted earlier is a nativist, deficit model of

adolescence. Predicated on a split notion

that separates the nature and nurture sources

of behavior and development, Hall believed

that the biological- or evolutionary-based

“nature” of human development gave rise

necessarily to storm and stress during the

adolescent period; there was, then, a biologi-

cally based deficit in the ability of youth to

manifest overall civilized, serene, and stress-free

behavior.

Few scientists believed the specifics of

Hall’s theory of recapitulation. However,

his prominence in American psychology

did influence the general conception that

scientists—and society—had of adolescence

as a time of upheaval and stress. Other

scholars studying adolescent development

adopted, in their theories, Hall’s idea that

adolescence was a necessarily stressful period.

For example, Anna Freud (1969) viewed

adolescence as a universal period of develop-

mental disturbance that involved upheavals in

drive states, in family and peer relationships,

in ego defenses, and in attitudes and values.

Similarly, Erik Erikson (1968) spoke of ado-

lescents as enmeshed in an identity crisis.

In short, scientists defined young people as

“at risk” for behaving in uncivilized or prob-

lematic ways and therefore as being danger-

ous to themselves and to others. For much of

the 20th century, most writing and research

about adolescence was based on this deficit

conception of young people. This language is

mirrored in the “risk” factors for adolescents

offered by the Office of Juvenile Justice and

Delinquency Prevention in their comprehen-

sive strategy. The failure to negotiate adoles-

cence allegedly created “deficits.”

Typically, these deficit models of the char-

acteristics of adolescence were predicated on

biologically reductionist models of genetic or

maturational determination (e.g., Erikson,

1968), and resulted in descriptions of youth as

96 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

“broken” or in danger of becoming broken

(Benson, Scales, Hamilton, & Sesma, 2006),

as both dangerous and endangered (Anthony,

1969), or as “problemstobemanaged” (Roth &

Brooks-Gunn, 2003). For instance, Anthony

(1969) noted that adolescents were “lost,” that

is, unable to find a positive place for themselves

in society and, as such, they were both

“dangerous,” in that they did not behave in

manners supporting societal institutions or the

social order, and “endangered,” in that they

were acting in manners that, by failing to sup-

port society, would in fact harm the viability of

thevery institutions that nurtured and protected

them. Similarly, Anna Freud (1969) noted that

the inevitable biological changes of puberty

resulted in adolescents moving strongly away

from (indeed even rejecting) parental attitudes

and values and, in turn, adopting what she

specified were the antithetical views of the

peer group.

As a consequence of the prevalence of

these deficit conceptions, if positive develop-

ment was discussed in the adolescent develop-

ment literature—at least prior to the 1990s—it

was implicitly or explicitly regarded as the

absence of negative or undesirable behaviors

(Benson et al., 2006). A youth who was seen as

manifesting behavior indicative of positive

development was depicted as someone who

was not taking drugs or using alcohol, not

engaging in unsafe sex, and not participating

in crime or violence.

However, by the late 1990s and early

2000s, developmental science began to give

increasingly greater attention to a new,

strength-based conception of adolescence la-

beled the positive youth development (PYD)

perspective (e.g., Damon, 2004; Larson, 2000;

Lerner, 2004, 2007; Lerner & Steinberg,

2009). The emergence of this view of adoles-

cence was linked to biology and comparative

psychology.

Origins of the PYD Perspective

The roots of the PYD perspective are found in

the work of comparative psychologists (e.g.,

Gottlieb, Wahlsten, & Lickliter, 2006;

Schneirla, 1957) and biologists (e.g., Novikoff,

1945a, 1945b; von Bertalanffy, 1933) who had

been studying the plasticity of developmental

processes that arose from the “fusion” (Tobach

& Greenberg, 1984) of biological and contex-

tual levels of organization. The ideas of fusion

and of plasticity derive from what we have

noted earlier in the chapter is the contempo-

rary, cutting-edge focus of developmental the-

ory on the relational developmental system,

that is, on the mutually influential relations

between the developing individual and his/her

ecology (Lerner, 2006; Overton, 2006, 2010).

These relations involve links between the

neurological (e.g., brain) and psychological

(e.g., cognitive, emotional, and motivational)

facets of the person and the features of his/her

natural and designed ecology (e.g., the family,

school, and the institutions of civil society),

the physical setting, and the historical context.

Given that history (temporality) is an “arrow”

that cuts through all levels that are integrated

(“fused”) within the relational, developmental

system, there is always a potential for system-

atic change (“plasticity”) in the behavior and

development of the individual.

Although these ideas about the impor-

tance of multiple levels of organization (those

within the individual, such as physiology or

cognition and those in the ecology, such as the

family, educational institutions, and historical

events) together acting to shape the nature and

positive or negative direction of development

across life arose in the study of biology and of

nonhuman species (e.g., Gottlieb et al., 2006;

Tobach & Schneirla, 1968), they began to

impact the human developmental sciences in

the 1970s (Cairns & Cairns, 2006; Gottlieb et al.,

A Vision for the American Juvenile Justice System: The Positive Youth Development Perspective 97

2006; Lerner, 2002, 2006; Overton, 2006).

Examples are the theoretical papers by Over-

ton (1973) and by Lerner (1978) that discussed

the nature–nurture controversy (i.e., the de-

bate about whether the source of development

was to be found in biological or environmental

influences or in some combination of the two

sets of influences). These authors argued that

the debate could be resolved by taking an

integrative, relational–developmental systems

theoretical perspective about nature (e.g., ge-

netic) and nurture (e.g., socialization, educa-

tional) influences on human development.

As we will explain in more detail below,

these discussions about the systemic relations

among variables from all levels of organization

involving organisms (individuals) and their

physical and social world have resulted in

the last several decades in both the elaboration

of what we have already noted to be relational

developmental systems theories of human de-

velopment (Overton, 2010) and, in turn, on a

strength-based view of adolescence. As we

shall note, if the developmental system is

plastic, then a fundamental strength of any

facet of the system—the individual, for

instance—is that there is some potential for

change in behavior across life. Therefore,

given the presence of at least some plasticity

across life, what one may see in a person’s behavior

at one point in his or her life is not what one might

necessarily see at a subsequent point, if one were to

change the relations within the developmental system.

Plasticity means, then, that changes in the

system could be linked to the enhancement

or improvement in behavior (or, if changes in

the system of relations are not supportive of

positive growth, then there may of course be

negative changes in behavior; a system that is

open, or plastic, in regard to changes for the

better is also open to changes for the worse).

Today, developmental science includes a

range of diverse instantiations of developmental

systems theories, ideas that are applied to indi-

viduals across the life span and to adolescents

in particular (e.g., see Brandtst€adter, 2006; Bronfenbrenner & Morris, 2006; Magnusson &

Stattin, 2006; Rathunde & Csikszentmihalyi,

2006; and see Lerner, 2006, and Lerner &

Steinberg, 2009, for other examples). However,

all instances of these models share several core

ideas, which we now discuss.

Defining Features of Developmental Systems Theories

As we have noted already, developmental sys-

tems theories have arisen in response to

conceptions of development that split apart

the variables (e.g., biological and social) and

levels of organization (e.g., the individual, the

institutions of society, history) that comprise

the ecology of human life (Bronfenbrenner &

Morris, 2006; Overton, 2010). Prior to the

emergence of developmental systems theories,

the study of human development and, indeed,

the social and behavioral sciences more

generally, were dominated by conceptions

framed by modern, Cartesian thinking that

reduced (or split off) the complexity of the

system of influences involved in human life

(ranging from the inner biological to the outer

physical and historical) into one variable that

was “real” (e.g., a gene, socialization, or social

control); other variables were regarded as

epiphenomenal or derivative. Developmental

systems theories “reject all splits,” and consti-

tute an instance of postmodern thinking

that views the bases (the causes) of human

behavior as associated with the configuration

of relations across all levels of organization

within the human development system, as

they exist within a specific period of time

(Overton, 2006).

Accordingly, within all developmental

systems theories the concept of developmental

98 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

regulation indicates that the character (the form

or pace) of the course of development (i.e., the

regulation of development) involves mutually

influential relations among variables from the

levels of the system, and not one variable from

one level (e.g., a gene from the biological level

of organization) producing change in other

variables (or levels). There is, then, a bi-

directional influence among levels, repre-

sented in general as Level 1 ! Level 2. When these developmental regulations in-

volve relations between individuals and their

contexts, the relation may be represented as

individual ! context relations. In addition, when these developmental

regulations between individuals and contexts

benefit both components of the relation, when

the relations are salutary for both the person

and his/her setting, then adaptive developmen-

tal regulations exist. For instance, when the

individual contributes to the institutions of

civil society (e.g., by voting or by becoming

civically engaged more generally) that, in turn,

afford the person the opportunity to pursue

his/her individual talents and positive inter-

ests, then an adaptive developmental regula-

tion would exist (Lerner, 2004).

We have noted that because of the integra-

tion of temporality (history—or the continuous

changes associated with the “arrow of time”)

within the developmental system, the develop-

mental system is characterized by the potential

for plasticity in individual !context relations. This plasticity allows an optimistic approach to

the study of human development. If develop-

mental science can find combinations of indi-

vidual and context that can capitalize on

plasticity and change to better the course (the

trajectory) of behavior, then all individuals have

some chance for improvement in their behavior

across life.

The combinations of individuals and set-

tings that could result in positive development

constitute a virtually open set. There may be as

many as 70 trillion potential human genotypes

(a genotype is the set of genes that are received

at conception) and—in the development of

an individual (a phenotype)—each genotype

may be coupled across life with an even larger

number of social experiences, for example,

different families, peer groups, neighbor-

hoods, social policies, physical ecological con-

ditions, and historical events (Hirsch, 2004).

Therefore, from a developmental systems per-

spective, the diversity of people—the specific

life paths they take and the specific outcomes

of their development—becomes a prime focus

for developmental research and application

(Lerner, 2004; Spencer, 2006). Because of

plasticity, all people possess a fundamental

strength—the capacity to change—and, be-

cause of diversity, all people have an individual

pathway through life that can, if conditions of

person and context are adequately aligned,

result in more positive behavior (Benson

et al., 2006). Accordingly, ideas that seek

to characterize all individuals or purported

subgroups of individuals (e.g., “predator

juveniles”) as the same and as not having

any potential for positive change are egre-

giously flawed. Such ideas reflect counter-

factual assertions about the nature of human

development and are predicated on obsolete,

split ideas that ignore the plastic and diverse

character of human development.

It is in the linkage between the ideas of

plasticity and diversity that a basis exists for

the extension of developmental systems think-

ing to the field of adolescence, and for the

field of adolescence to serve as a “testing

ground” for ideas associated with develop-

mental systems theory. This synergy has had

at least one key outcome, the forging of a new,

strength-based vision of and vocabulary for

the nature of adolescent development. In

short, the plasticity–diversity linkage within

A Vision for the American Juvenile Justice System: The Positive Youth Development Perspective 99

developmental systems theory and method has

provided the basis for the formulation of the

PYD perspective.

Components of the PYD Perspective

Beginning in the early 1990s, and burgeoning

in the first half-decade of the 21st century, a

new vision and vocabulary for discussing

young people has emerged. These innovations

were framed by the developmental systems

theories that were engaging the interest of

developmental scientists. Moreover, these in-

novations were propelled by the increasingly

collaborative contributions of researchers

focused on the second decade of life (e.g.,

Benson et al., 2006; Damon, 2004; Lerner,

2004), practitioners in the field of youth de-

velopment (e.g., Floyd & McKenna, 2003;

Pittman, Irby, & Ferber, 2001), and policy

makers concerned with improving the life

chances of diverse youth and their families

(e.g., Cummings, 2003; Gore, 2003).

These interests converged in the formu-

lation of a set of ideas that enabled youth to be

viewed as resources to be developed, and not

as problems to be managed (Roth & Brooks-

Gunn, 2003). These ideas may be discussed

in regard to two key hypotheses. Each

hypothesis is associated with two subsidiary

hypotheses. The first hypothesis pertains

to the measurement of PYD. The second

focuses on the relations between individuals

and contexts that, within developmental sys-

tems models, provide the basis of human

development.

Hypothesis 1: PYD Is Comprised of Five Cs Based on both the experiences of practitioners and reviews of the adolescent

development literature (Eccles & Gootman,

2002; Lerner, 2004; Roth & Brooks-Gunn,

2003), “Five Cs”—Competence, Confidence,

Connection, Character, and Caring—were

hypothesized as a way of conceptualizing

PYD (and of integrating all the separate indi-

cators of it, such as academic achievement or

self-esteem). The definitions of these Cs are

presented in Table 5.1.

These Five Cs were linked to the positive

outcomes of youth development programs

reported by Roth and Brooks-Gunn (2003).

In addition, these “Cs” are prominent terms

used by practitioners, adolescents involved in

youth development programs, and the parents

of these adolescents in describing the charac-

teristics of a “thriving youth” (King et al.,

2005).

Table 5.1. Definitions of the Five Cs of Positive Youth Development

Competence. Positive view of one’s actions in domain-specific areas, including social, academic, cognitive, and vocational. Social

competence pertains to interpersonal skills (e.g., conflict resolution). Cognitive competence pertains to cognitive abilities (e.g., decision

making). School grades, attendance, and test scores are part of academic competence. Vocational competence involves work habits

and career choice explorations and entrepreneurship.

Confidence. An internal sense of overall positive self-worth and self-efficacy; one’s global self-regard, as opposed to domain-specific

beliefs.

Connection. Positive bonds with people and institutions that are reflected in bidirectional exchanges between the individual and

peers, family, school, and community in which all parties contribute to the relationship.

Character. Respect for societal and cultural rules, possession of standards for correct behaviors, a sense of right and wrong

(morality), and integrity.

Caring (or Compassion). A sense of sympathy and empathy for others.

Sources: Lerner, 2004; Lerner et al., 2005; Roth and Brooks-Gunn, 2003.

100 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

Hypothesis 1A: Contribution is the “Sixth

C”: A hypothesis subsidiary to the

postulation of the “Five Cs” as a means

to measure (operationalize) PYD is that

when a young person manifests the Cs

across time (when the youth is thriv-

ing), he or she will be on a life trajec-

tory toward an “idealized adulthood”

(Csikszentmihalyi & Rathunde, 1998;

Rathunde & Csikszentmihalyi, 2006).

Theoretically, an ideal adult life is

marked by integrated and mutually

reinforcing contributions to self (e.g.,

maintaining one’s health and one’s abil-

ity therefore to remain an active agent

in one’s own development) and to

family, community, and the institutions

of civil society (e.g., families, neighbor-

hoods, schools, religious groups, etc.;

Elshtain, 1999; Lerner, 2004). In other

words, contribution is conceived of

as giving (being generous) to self and

others. The contributing person keeps

herself healthy and fit, so as not to be

an unnecessary liability to or an un-

necessary user of the resources of

others and, as well, helps family

members without any coercion, assists

neighbors without any compensation

to do so, and helps keep the institu-

tions of civil society strong by, for

instance, volunteering to help others

(e.g., through food or clothing drives)

and acting to support the institutions

of democracy (e.g., by working to

enhance voter registration, by sup-

porting political debate, and by vot-

ing). An adult engaging in such

integrated contributions is a person

manifesting adaptive developmental

regulations (Brandtst€adter, 2006). Hypothesis 1B: PYD and risk/problem

behaviors are inversely related: A second

subsidiary hypothesis to the one

postulating the Five Cs is that there

should be an inverse relation across

development between PYD (e.g., the

Five Cs) and behaviors indicative of

risk behaviors or internalizing and

externalizing problems (e.g., delin-

quency, substance use, depression,

aggression). That is, this hypothesis

suggests that as evidence for positive

behavior increases, there should be

fewer indications of problematic

behaviors. Simply, the idea is that

increases in good things are associated

with decreases in what is bad.

This idea was forwarded in par-

ticular by Pittman and her colleagues

(e.g., Pittman et al., 2001) in regard

to applications of developmental

science to policies and programs.

In essence, the hypothesis is that

the best means to prevent problems

associated with adolescent behavior

and development (e.g., depression,

aggression, drug use and abuse, or

unsafe sexual behavior) is to promote

positive development.

The status of empirical support for Hypothesis

1: Findings from a national longitudi-

nal investigation, the 4-H Study of

Positive Youth Development (Lerner

et al., 2005), support these hypotheses.

The study, which currently includes

about 7,000 youth from 41 states,

involves longitudinal assessment of

adolescents beginning in Grade 5

(at about age 10) and is currently

designed to follow youth through

Grade 12. The study provides evi-

dence for the existence of the

Five Cs of PYD, for the existence of

the “Sixth C” of Contribution,

and for positive relations among these

A Vision for the American Juvenile Justice System: The Positive Youth Development Perspective 101

Cs (Lerner et al., 2005). Indeed, PYD

in an earlier grade predicts Contribu-

tion in subsequent grades (e.g., Jelicic,

Bobek, Phelps, J. V. Lerner, & Lerner,

2007).

Similarly, findings from the 4-H

Study show that there are inverse

relations between the Cs and the

risk/problem behaviors discussed

above (Jelicic et al., 2007), although

this relationship is more nuanced than

originally hypothesized. For example,

Phelps et al. (2007) and Zimmerman,

Phelps, and Lerner (2008) found that

PYD and risk/problem behaviors

follow different trajectories over

time; that is, the patterns of change

associated with these outcomes differ

among individuals. Whereas some

youth show inverse relations between

trajectories of PYD and risk/problem

behaviors, other youth show increases

in both dimensions and still others

show decreases in both.

These findings, that youth have

diverse combinations of trajectories

of positive and problematic behaviors,

indicate that both prevention and pro-

motion efforts must be pursued in

terms of the policy and programs di-

rected at youth. For instance, in regard

to the juvenile justice system, these

findings indicate that even among

youth who show a history of risk/

problem behaviors, including (within

the 4-H Study data set) bullying,

delinquency, or substance use, there

may be substantial evidence of PYD

and, as well, Contribution. Accord-

ingly, there may be strengths—and

the basis for positive change—among

even those youth who show trajecto-

ries of marked risk/problem behaviors.

Hypothesis 2: Youth-Context Alignment Promotes PYD Based on the idea that the potential for systematic intraindividual change

across life (i.e., for plasticity) represents a fun-

damental strength of human development, the

hypothesis was generated that, if the strengths

of youth are aligned with resources for healthy

growth present in the key contexts of adoles-

cent development—the home, the school, and

the community—then enhancements in posi-

tive functioning at any one point in time (i.e.,

well-being; Lerner, 2004) may occur. In turn,

the systematic promotion of positive develop-

ment will occur across time (i.e., thriving; e.g.,

Lerner, 2004; Lerner et al., 2005).

Hypothesis 2A: Contextual alignment in-

volves marshaling development assets: A

key subsidiary hypothesis to the no-

tion that aligning individual strengths

and contextual resources for healthy

development is that there exist, across

the key settings of youth development

(i.e., families, schools, and communi-

ties), at least some supports for the

promotion of PYD. Termed develop-

mental assets (Benson et al., 2006),

these resources constitute the social

and ecological “nutrients” for the

growth of healthy youth.

Hypothesis 2B: Community-based programs

constitute key developmental assets:

There is broad agreement among

researchers and practitioners in the

youth development field that the con-

cept of developmental assets is impor-

tant for understanding what needs to

be marshaled in homes, classrooms,

and community-based programs to

foster PYD (Benson et al., 2006;

Lerner, 2007). In fact, a key impetus

for the interest in the PYD perspec-

tive among both researchers and

102 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

youth program practitioners, and thus

a basis for the collaborations that exist

among members of these two com-

munities, lies in ascertaining the na-

ture of the resources for positive

development that are present in youth

programs, for example, in the literally

hundreds of thousands of after-school

programs delivered either by large,

national organizations, such as 4-H,

Boys and Girls Clubs, Scouting, Big

Brothers/Big Sisters, YMCA, or

Girls, Inc., or by local organizations

(see Dym, Gerena, Tangvik, & Bar-

tlett, Chapter 19, this volume).

The focus on youth programs is

important not only for practitioners

in the field of youth development,

however. In addition, the interest in

exploring youth development pro-

grams as a source of developmental

assets for youth derives from theoreti-

cal interest in the role of the macro-

level systems effects of the ecology

of human development on the course

of healthy change in adolescence

(Bronfenbrenner & Morris, 2006); in-

terest derives as well from policy makers

and advocates, who believe that, at this

point in the historyof the United States,

community-level efforts are needed to

promote positive development among

youth (e.g., Cummings, 2003; Gore,

2003; Pittman, et al., 2001).

The status of empirical support for Hypothesis 2:

Once again, findings from the 4-H

Study of Positive Youth Development

lend empirical support to expecta-

tions associated with Hypothesis 2.

For example, Theokas and Lerner

(2006), and Urban, Lewin-Bizan,

and Lerner (2009) found that greater

ecological assets (e.g., mentors,

opportunities for learning and recrea-

tion, etc.) were positively related to

PYD and negatively related to prob-

lem/risk behaviors, such as depres-

sion. In addition, in all settings

involving youth (families, schools,

and the community) the assets most

associated with high levels of PYD

and Contribution and with low

levels of risk and problem behaviors

were people: large quantities of qual-

ity time with parents; access to a

competent, caring teacher; and posi-

tive and sustained relations with a

mentor or significant other. Further-

more, Zarrett et al. (2009) explored

the association between patterns of

involvement in community-based

programs and PYD. Findings from

this study indicate that participation

in youth development programs—

marked by the presence of a positive

and sustained relationship with a

mentor; life skills building activities;

and opportunities for youth partici-

pation in, and leadership of, valued

family, school, and community

activities—was related to PYD and

youth contribution, even after con-

trolling for the total time youth spent

in other out-of-school time activities,

such as sports (Zarrett, et al. 2009).

Possible Implications for Juvenile Justice

There may be several implications of the PYD

perspective for juvenile justice. First, it is clear

that people can make a difference in the lives of

youth involved in different developmental

trajectories. Therefore, programs that involve

the presence of positive adults in the lives

of youth (e.g., mentoring programs) may

be useful. Second, it may be that strengths

A Vision for the American Juvenile Justice System: The Positive Youth Development Perspective 103

(i.e., the potential for some plasticity) exist

even among youth marked by considerable

engagement in risk/problem behaviors; as

such, there may be merit in searching for

combinations of individual attributes and con-

textual resources that can capitalize on these

strengths to promote more positive develop-

ment among such youth (see Butts, Bazemore,

& Meroe, 2010). Especially if a young person

spends a significant amount of time with a

caring, committed, and capable adult who is

inculcating life skills and youth participation

and leadership in positive, valued activities,

then it may be that both PYD and Contribu-

tion may be increased and risk/problem be-

haviors may be decreased. Although the

necessary data to support these implications

remain to be collected, the evidence in sup-

port of the PYD perspective suggests the

potential importance of such research.

Conclusions About the PYD Perspective

Replacing the deficit view of adolescence, the

PYD perspective sees all adolescents as having

strengths (by virtue of their potential for

change). The perspective suggests that in-

creases in well-being and thriving are possible

for all youth through aligning the strengths of

young people with the developmental assets

present in their social and physical ecology.

Although still at a preliminary stage of

progress, there is growing empirical evidence

that, with some important qualifications, the

general concepts and main and subsidiary

hypotheses of the PYD perspective find empir-

ical support (Lerner, Phelps, Forman, &

Bowers, 2009; Lerner, 2005, 2009). Given

this evidence, it is useful to provide some

concluding comments about the links between

the PYD perspective and the innovations we

believe need to be made in America’s juvenile

justice system.

TOWARD A PYD FRAMEWORK VISION FOR JUVENILE JUSTICE

In light of the evidence from the 4-H Study, as

well as from other research pertinent to the

PYD perspective (see Lerner et al., 2009, for a

review), it is clear that all youth have strengths

and that, by aligning their strengths with

resources for healthy development found in

their homes, schools, and communities, the

positive development of all young people may

be enhanced. We support, then, Steinberg’s

(2008b) call for adopting a developmental

perspective in regard to juvenile justice, but

would add that such adoption should involve a

strengths-based formulation, such as the PYD

perspective. As evident in other chapters in

this volume (e.g., Schiraldi, Schindler, &

Goliday, Chapter 20, this volume), it is both

important and gratifying to note that such

efforts are beginning to occur in jurisdictions

across the country.

As we have explained, using the PYD

perspective in regard to juvenile justice

policies and programs would encourage policy

makers to view youth as assets to be enhanced

instead of viewing youth within the juvenile

justice system as “problems to be managed”

(Roth & Brooks-Gunn, 2003). In turn, using

the PYD perspective as a lens for specific

program initiatives would add credence to

the recommendations of Scott and Steinberg

(2008), who suggest that programs that reflect

the individual ! context relational system model framing the PYD perspective are espe-

cially effective (see Butts et al., 2010). For

instance, they note that programs that

strengthen social supports with adults and

family members and programs that take a

developmental systems approach (e.g., a multi-

systemic therapy program) may be particularly

beneficial (Greenwood & Turner, Chapter 23,

this volume).

104 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

In sum, consistent with the work of

Steinberg and colleagues (Scott & Steinberg,

2008; Steinberg, 2008a, 2008b; Woolard &

Scott, 2009), we are proposing that juvenile

justice and delinquency prevention be moved

from a deficit and nondevelopmental model of

youth to a model based on the positive youth

development perspective. Although society

will continue to demand accountability for

the delinquent and criminal acts committed

by youth, the goal of juvenile justice should be

to promote and sustain positive development

of youth.

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108 F R A M I N G T H E I S S U E S

SECTION II

UNDERSTANDING

INDIVIDUAL

YOUTH

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

6 CHAPTER

Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice

JAMES BELL AND RAQUEL MARISCAL

R acial and ethnic disparities is one of

the most intransigent and disturbing

issues facing juvenile justice in the United

States (Nellis & Richardson, 2010). While

comprising approximately 38% of the popu-

lation eligible for detention, the overrepresen-

tation of youth of color in secure confinement

has increased to almost 70% over the past

decade (Mendel, 2009) (see Figure 6.1). These

startling increases in disparities for youth of

color occurred while arrest rates for serious

and violent crimes declined by 45% (Nelson,

2008).

While current data collection methods

could be significantly improved, we know

enough about the overrepresentation of youth

of color to be sufficiently alarmed. According

to the most recent data, African American

youth are treated more harshly at all stages

of the juvenile justice system, resulting in a

cumulative disadvantage. While only 16% of

the African American youth population are of

sufficient age for detention, they represent

28% of juvenile arrests, 37% of detained youth,

and 58% of youth admitted to state adult

prison (National Council on Crime and

Delinquency, 2007; see Holsinger, Chapter

2, this volume).

Although the number of cases contained

in local and national data sets is a significant

undercount, research reveals similar disparities

for Latino youth. The National Center on

Figure 6.1 Increasing Overrepresentation of Youth of Color in Detention Centers

43

62

69

0

10

20

30

40

50

60

70

80

20062003199919951985

Youth of Color as a Percentage of Total U.S. Detention Population

56

65

Sources: Census of Public and Private Juvenile Detention, Correctional and Shelter Facilities, 1985–1995; OJJDP Statistical Briefing Book, Census of

Juveniles in Residential Placement Databook, 1999, 2003, and 2006.

111

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Juvenile Justice analyzed 2005 data from the

National Juvenile Court Data Archive and was

able to provide only limited data on Latino

youth because only 13 of 42 jurisdictions

consistently reported ethnicity data. Never-

theless, the data accounted for approximately

63% of the nation’s Latino youth population.

The data revealed, in order of rising disparity,

that Latino youth were 4% more likely than

White youth to be petitioned; 16% more likely

than White youth to be adjudicated delin-

quent; 28% more likely than White youth

to be detained; 41% more likely than White

youth to receive an out-of-home placement;

and 43% more likely than White youth to be

waived to the adult system (Arya et al., 2009).

Although no two juvenile justice systems

are exactly the same, there are several decision

points within the juvenile justice process at

which the overrepresentation of youth of

color is commonly measured (see Holsinger,

Chapter 2, this volume). Some key decision

points prior to judicial appearance include

“cite and release,” arrest, diversion after arrest,

referral to a detention facility, and admission to

detention. At each key decision point, juvenile

justice professionals exercise judgments about

how the young person and his or her family

should be handled. Monitoring these decision

points, pursuant to federal policy, reveals that

youth of color are funneled deeper into

the system for behaviors similar to their

White counterparts, when controlling for

offenses (Nelson, 2008). For example, data

reveal that White youth are more likely to

be diverted from formal processing than are

youth of color. Additionally, more youth of

color are referred and admitted to detention

than are their White counterparts for similar

behavior (National Council on Crime and

Delinquency, 2007).

In this chapter, we examine major ele-

ments of disparities by race, ethnicity, and

ancestry in the juvenile justice system, and

deconstruct its drivers in order to engage

appropriate responses to the way justice is

lived by children, families, and communities

of color. We first provide an overview of the

history and current thinking about racial and

ethnic disparities in the juvenile justice system,

beginning with the role federal policy has

played defining this issue and a summary of

the literature concerning the causes of dispar-

ities. We then review the historic treatment of

youth of color in the U.S. juvenile justice

system, demonstrating that current disparities

in treatment draw from this historical legacy.

Next, we discuss how contemporary policies

that purport to be race neutral actually operate

to disadvantage Black and Latino youth.

Finally, we examine promising policies and

practices for reducing racial and ethnic dispar-

ities, demonstrating that juvenile justice sys-

tems can operate with fairness and equity for

all young people.

FRAMING THE DISPARITIES DISCUSSION

The modern history of identifying and ana-

lyzing disparities has largely been defined by

the Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Preven-

tion Act ( JJDPA, 2002). Through the JJDPA

and Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention (OJJDP) funded research and pub-

lications, the federal government has played a

central role in defining the scope, reasons, and

responses to race and ethnic disparities in the

U.S. juvenile justice system (Pope & Leiber,

2005). Federal attention to this issue has

broadened over the years, from focusing on

confinement (disproportionate minority confine-

ment, DMC) to assessing disparities at each

phase of the system, or contact (disproportionate

minority contact, DMC).

112 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

The earlier JJDPA of 1974 was designed

to influence state juvenile justice policy by

providing monetary incentives for compliance

with federal mandates. Toward that end, it

dictated two core requirements that states

had to meet to receive funding: remove

offenders from adult pretrial lockup and de-

institutionalize status offenders. In 1988 Con-

gress amended the JJDPA, requiring each state

to address the issue of disproportionate minor-

ity confinement in secure facilities, but the Act

did not make this a core requirement. The

1992 reauthorization elevated this to a core

requirement tied to future funding eligibility.

In 2002, Congress amended the JJDPA once

again, this time broadening the DMC core

requirement. States were directed to address

disproportionate contact of youth of color with

the juvenile justice system, not just their con-

finement in secure detention (Bell & Ridolfi,

2008). This change from confinement to con-

tact acknowledged that disparities exist at

other stages of the juvenile justice system

and broadened the required inquiry to all

decision points, while arguably taking the

focus off confinement, the most oppressive

locus of disparities. While recognizing the

presence of race and ethnic disparities at

all stages of the juvenile justice process,

our primary emphasis in this chapter is on

confinement—the actions of policy makers

that deprive youth of their liberty through

confinement in secure facilities.

As part of its effort to set policy addressing

DMC, since 1993 OJJDP has funded state

and federal research documenting the extent

and nature of DMC and has provided tools

to states seeking to address disparities. Under

the JJDPA, states are required to address DMC

by identifying the extent to which minority

youth are confined, assessing the reasons

for disproportionality, developing strategies

to address the causes of disproportionality,

and evaluating the effectiveness of these

strategies as they are implemented (Pope &

Leiber, 2005).

To support the shift in mandate from a

focus on confinement to one on contact, the

2002 reauthorization of the JJDPA also shifted

the methodology for determining overrepre-

sentation of youth of color in the juvenile

justice system from the Disproportionate Repre-

sentation Index (DRI) to the Relative Rate Index

(RRI). While the DRI compared the percent-

age of youth of color at a specific decision

point with a percentage of the youth of color

in the general population, the RRI compares

the rates of youth of color’s contact with the

juvenile justice system at a particular decision

point with the corresponding percentage of

White youth at the same decision point. In

other words, the RRI does not take into

account the presence of each group of youth

in the population as a whole, but rather com-

pares White youth and youth of color at each

decision point through the youth’s contact

with the juvenile justice system to the per-

centage of White youth and youth of color at

the previous decision point (Ridolfi, 2004).

While the RRI provides a more detailed

analysis, focusing on decision points through-

out the juvenile justice process (Moriearty,

2008), because the RRI no longer considers

the population of White youth and youth

of color as a whole, the results can understate

the social significance of the disparity. In

essence, the number loses some of its context.

For a clearer picture of how youth of color

are experiencing detention, the rates of overall

detention among White youth and youth

of color should be calculated in addition to

the RRI.

Regardless of the methodology, most of

today’s data fail to disaggregate by ethnicity,

which has the unfortunate consequence of

classifying Latino youth as “White” or the

Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice 113

ever amorphous “Other.” This practice makes

Latino youth invisible and significantly under-

counts the levels of racial and ethnic disparities

present in the juvenile justice system

(Villarruel & Walker, 2002). Disproportionate

minority confinement analysis has centered on

a Black and White paradigm, suggesting to

local jurisdictions they are “allowed” to

address only the disparate treatment of one

racial/ethnic group at a time and ignoring

a massive demographic shift over the past

decade, during which the number of Latino

youth in this country has almost doubled

(Pew Hispanic Center, 2007).

Despite federal attention to race and eth-

nic disparities since the late 1980s, the problem

persists, raising real questions about the effec-

tiveness of federal leadership (Leiber, 2002).

OJJDP’s oversight of state compliance with the

DMC mandate has been inconsistent, with

few states penalized for failures to comply;

other states have documented disproportion-

ality, but have failed to develop and implement

remedial plans (Moriearty, 2008). Moreover,

the JJDPA was last re-authorized in 2002, and

its DMC provisions would benefit from

amendments consistent with what has been

learned in the field since that time (Nellis &

Richardson, 2010). Finally, while the DMC

mandate began in 1992, other federal youth

policy has been inconsistent with that man-

date. As this chapter shows, throughout the

1990s, while claiming concern for dispropor-

tionality through the DMC mandate, federally

driven “get tough” policies such as drug-free

zones and zero tolerance increased the dis-

proportional representation of youth of color

in the juvenile justice system.

Explaining Disparities

While the fact and extent of race and ethnic

disparities through the juvenile justice system

are well established, there continues to be

discussion about the cause. Two theories

have been proposed over the years: differential

offending and differential treatment (Bishop, 2005;

Nellis & Richardson, 2010; Piquero, 2008).

Differential offending considers race and

ethnic disparities in the juvenile justice (and

criminal justice) systems the result of different

patterns and rates of offending among youth

by race and ethnicity (Bishop, 2005). In con-

trast, differential treatment explains that dis-

parities result from differences in the treatment

of White youth and youth of color at each of

the discretionary decision points within the

juvenile justice system. Differential treatment,

the view advanced by OJJDP (Tracy, 2005), is

consistent with the way disparities increase as

juveniles move deeper into the juvenile justice

system. Research shows that racial differences

become larger as juveniles move from arrest to

detention, formal processing, out-of-home

placement, and waiver into the adult system,

experiencing the cumulative effect of justice

system decisions (Piquero, 2008).

While there may be a debate over which

theory explains these disparities, it is un-

disputed that youth of color are present at

each stage of the justice system in numbers

disproportionate to their presence in the pop-

ulation, and these disparities increase as

youth move further along the juvenile justice

process (Piquero, 2008). Differential offending

alone cannot explain the nature and extent

of race and ethnic disparities that are well-

documented in the juvenile justice system.

Studies have found that youth of color are

more likely than their White counterparts to

be arrested and referred by police for formal

processing; be securely detained; receive

harsher dispositions; and be transferred into

the adult criminal justice system (see Bishop,

2005, for a review of the literature). Rates of

out-of-home placement in secure facilities for

114 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

youth of color adjudicated for drug offenses

are a case in point. An analysis of 2003 data

found that 73% of adjudicated drug offense

cases involved a White youth, while White

youth were 58% of drug offense cases resulting

in out-of-home placement and 75% of cases

resulting in formal probation. In contrast, 25%

of drug offense cases involved an African

American youth, while African American

youth were 40% of adjudicated drug offense

cases resulting in out-of-home placement and

22% of drug offense cases receiving formal

probation (National Council on Crime and

Delinquency, 2007).

Steen, Bond, Bridges, and Kubrin’s (2005)

qualitative studies of court officials’ percep-

tions of similarly situated White and Black

youth suggest that officials’ race-based biases

are a factor contributing to disparities. Based

on an examination of court records, they

found that court officials had different percep-

tions and explanations for the motivations of

Black and White youth in court. They were

more likely to explain the delinquent behavior

of Black youth by internal factors, such as

having a lack of meaningful life goals or need-

ing to be held accountable, while similar

behavior of White youth was explained in

relation to external factors such as having a

difficult family life. Thus, the Black youth

himself was perceived more negatively than

the White youth (Bridges & Steen, 1998;

Steen et al., 2005).

Bishop (2005) notes that while race and

ethnic disparities exist in the adult criminal

justice system, they are more pronounced in

the juvenile justice system where social factors,

along with traditional criminal justice factors

such as offense and offense history, are part of

the decision-making process at every stage

except adjudication. In this chapter we

show that since before its official start in

1899, the juvenile justice system’s social

welfare mission has been a pillar of structural

racism. The history of disparities in the juve-

nile justice system illustrates a progression of

policies and practices that has resulted in

embedded racial and ethnic inequities. Indeed,

the trend in the United States has been to

criminalize the very nature of adolescence,

in the name of social welfare, with youth of

color bearing the brunt of what is actually

social control (see Boundy & Karger, Chapter

14, this volume; Jacobs, Miranda-Julian, &

Kaplan, Chapter 10, this volume; Vaught,

Chapter 15, this volume).

A HISTORICAL LEGACY OF DISPARITIES

Disparate treatment of young people of color

has deep historical roots in our nation, and

contemporary disparities are a clear extension

of those early roots. From the earliest days,

structural de jure race-based policies and prac-

tices significantly influenced the treatment of

children (Bell & Ridolfi, 2008). Simply put,

many key policies and practices, and the

assumptions about youth that undergird

them, are racialized; understanding that his-

torical legacy is critical to improving the

current system.

The Early 1800s to Early 1900s

In the early 1800s, the number of people living

in cities doubled as the U.S. economy transi-

tioned from subsistence farming to wage labor.

The poverty faced by many Americans during

this time proved an inescapable reality for

untold thousands of youth living in America’s

rapidly expanding cities. Children who previ-

ously were responsible only for household

chores on farms were now expected to help

their parents survive, leading them to struggle

Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice 115

in factories or leave home entirely and make

their own way (Grossberg, 2002). Increased

mobility, disease, and weakening familial net-

works contributed to delinquency, as young-

sters turned to petty crime as a means of

financial support (Feld, 1999). Local govern-

ments reacted with harsh penalties and began

establishing structures to manage the arrest,

detention, and “treatment” of wayward youth,

forming the early elements of the modern

juvenile justice system (Krisberg, 1993).

Concerned citizens began a campaign

aimed at fighting the rising numbers of home-

less and wayward youth across the nation.

Their efforts were formalized as early as

1817, with the founding of the Society for

the Prevention of Pauperism (Krisberg, 2005).

However, creating a community organization

to prevent pauperism was not intended to “lift

all boats.” Indeed, scholars have observed that

“the motivation of the reformers of the 19th

century, whatever they overtly stated or im-

plied, was one of social control of deviant

elements of the increasingly heterogeneous

society” (Frey, 1981, p. 10). This effort was

led by men of high social status whose primary

motivations were to prevent social disorder,

protect their class status, and maintain what

they believed to be the “moral health of the

community” (Krisberg, 1993).

This attitude led to New York City’s

enactment of legislation regarding “children

who beg.” This new legislation empowered

officials to apprehend any child under 15 years

of age who was found “soliciting charity”

(Laws of New York, Ch. CCCXXXI,

1824). Almost immediately after passage of

this legislation, the first juvenile institution

in the country was opened in New York

City. The New York House of Refuge opened

its door with six White boys and three White

girls. Soon, other cities would follow, includ-

ing Boston and Philadelphia. Immediately

after the establishment of Houses of Refuge,

a pattern of racial exclusion emerged when a

separate “colored section” of the New York

House of Refuge was created. Exclusion of

Black children from such services was justified

under the rationale that expenditures on Black

children wasted resources and “it would be

degrading to the White children to associate

them with beings given up to public scorn”

(Mennel, 1973, p. 17). When a Mississippi

legislator proposed opening a reform school

for Black children, the bill lost on the grounds

that “it was no use trying to reform a Negro”

(Oshinsky, 1996, p. 47). The prevailing senti-

ment was that “white taxpayers refused to

‘waste’ money on the needs of ‘incorrigible’

young blacks” (Oshinsky, 1996, p. 47).

When Houses of Refuge begrudgingly

began to admit children of color, services

proved meager and insufficient. As a result,

African American children were dispropor-

tionately confined in adult jails and prisons.

Indeed, in just a short time, 60% of the children

(under 16) being held at the Maryland peni-

tentiary in Baltimore were African American.

Similarly, approximately 50% of children in the

Providence jail were African American, and all

children under 16 in the Washington, DC,

penitentiary were African American (Curry,

1981). A similar pattern emerged within insti-

tutions designed to serve Mexican American

youth. While officials recognized that most

Spanish-speaking youth had not attended

school beyond the primary grades, they were

reluctant to provide these youth with the edu-

cational skills necessary to improve their life

chances. Mexican American youth were rele-

gated to segregated Mexican schools, “designed

to keep backward, over-age, and underedu-

cated Spanish-speaking youth among their

own kind” (Chavez-Garcia, 2006).

While the attitudes expressed above re-

flected bias and bigotry, they did not have the

116 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

force of law. However, soon thereafter, the Ex

parte Crouse decision in 1838 gave legal sanc-

tion to institutionalizing young people as an

instrument of social control. Mary Ann

Crouse’s mother placed her in the Philadelphia

House of Refuge claiming that Mary’s con-

finement was warranted because her “vicious

conduct rendered her beyond [her mother’s]

power” (Ex parte Crouse, 1839). Mary’s father

sued, seeking his daughter’s release on the basis

that detention of a minor without a trial by

jury violated the Constitution. The court

denied her release, holding that “The House

of Refuge is not a prison, but a school. Where

reformation, and not punishment, is the end, it

may indeed be used as a prison for juvenile

convicts who would else be committed to a

common goal” (Ex parte Crouse, 1839).

The holding emphasized the legal doctrine

of parens patriae, Latin for “parent of the

country.” The court posed the rhetorical

question, “May not the natural parents,

when unequal to the task of education, or

unworthy of it, be superseded by parens patriae,

or common guardian of the community?”

(Ex parte Crouse, 1839). Underscoring state

supremacy over and above the rights of parents,

the court held that when the parents are

“unsuitable,” their natural parental rights are

revocable (see Sherman & Blitzman, Chapter 4,

this volume).

Then, as now, Ex parte Crouse would have

a devastating effect on all children, and par-

ticularly children of color. For example, in

Native American communities traditional jus-

tice sought to instill a sense of harmony

and reconciliation to the misbehaved child

and to the victim using a restorative approach

(Poupart, Redhorse, Peterson-Hickey &

Martin, 2005). Typically, family meetings

were held with the perpetrators and victims

in order to balance victim compensation, per-

petrator punishment, and community stability.

As a result, restorative justice reconciled vic-

tims’ rights and community safety, and pro-

moted personal relationships. Using Ex parte

Crouse as authority, officials derided and dis-

missed restorative justice traditions and

replaced them by subjecting Native youth to

long hours of labor and prison as a conse-

quence for wrongdoing (Poupart et al., 2005).

The doctrine of parens patriae continues to be a

justification for misuse of the juvenile justice

system purportedly to meet the needs of youth

(Bell, Lacey, Ridolfi, & Finley, 2009; Nellis &

Richardson, 2010).

The Juvenile Court Era

The rehabilitation versus punishment debate as

framed by Crouse continued into the 1900s

with the formation of the juvenile court. The

foundation for the development of the coun-

try’s first juvenile court was laid by the creation

of Hull House in Chicago, Illinois, by Jane

Addams in the late 19th century. Hull House

was established as a humane response to

the existing houses of refuge, and represents

a defining moment for rehabilitation as the

guiding principle of the juvenile system.

On April 14, 1899, the Illinois legislature

enacted “An Act for the Treatment and

Control of Dependent, Neglected and Delin-

quent Children,” and the first juvenile court

opened on July 3, 1899, without a courthouse,

detention center, or public funds for salaries

(Tanenhaus, 2002). Under the Juvenile Court

Act, a court separate from the adult system

would hear the cases of delinquents under the

age of 16. This court would stress “the child’s

need and not the deed,” and the goal would be

to rehabilitate rather than punish the child

(Spring, 1998). However, then as now, there

has never been a clear definition of what is

considered “rehabilitation” or what is consid-

ered “punishment.” Consistently, juvenile

Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice 117

justice professionals have been given authority

and discretion to make decisions about chil-

dren, youth, and families measured by ill-

defined principles.

From the very beginning of the juvenile

court era, juvenile justice practitioners con-

tinued to confine Black children in adult

prisons, and excluded them from the protec-

tions extended to White juveniles in the

juvenile court. By 1910, the proportional

representation of Black male juveniles doubled

(27.5%) while the representation of Black girls

nearly tripled (39%) (Ward, 2001). Latinos did

not fare well in the juvenile court era either.

In fact, Los Angeles newspapers negatively

portrayed Mexican American youth, and

police were quick to target them as gang

members, placing them in institutions in large

numbers (Sherman, 1943).

In looking back on the first portion of the

20th century, the old adage “be careful what

you wish for” aptly summarizes the progres-

sion of the juvenile court system. While

created to protect children from the adult

criminal system, its perception as a milder

intervention meant that more children entered

its sphere. As the juvenile justice system pro-

gressed from mere idea to full-fledged bu-

reaucracy, over time the distinction between

rehabilitation and punishment blurred.

The seminal Supreme Court decision of In

re Gault (1967) addressed abuses in the juvenile

justice system and began a critical examination

of the juvenile court. In Gault, the Supreme

Court found a significant gap between the

rehabilitative rhetoric of the juvenile court

and its practical reality. Although not willing

to discard the juvenile court experiment, the

Supreme Court held that the Constitution

required significantly enhanced procedural

protections for juveniles, including a right to

counsel, protection against self-incrimination,

and the right to cross-examine witnesses (see

Sherman & Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

Feld (2005) describes the court prior to Gault

as a “nominally rehabilitative social welfare

agency” (p. 123), which the Supreme Court’s

procedural decisions began to transform into a

more formal structure.

In 1974 Congress passed the JJDPA, which

prohibited detention of youth with adults,

prohibited detaining status offenders in secure

facilities with delinquent youth, and established

alternatives to detention. The JJDPA and

OJJDP supported research and stimulated

state reform consistent with the rehabilitative

vision of the juvenile justice system.

Gault began a period of rehabilitation and

expanded procedural safeguards for young

people. During this period, the system served

mostly White youth, whose numbers greatly

increased with the inclusion of status offenses

in data collection (i.e., truancy, curfew viola-

tors, and runaways). With the growth of

White youth in the system, youth of color

represented a smaller proportion of the overall

juvenile justice population (U.S. Department

of Justice, 1987).

This focus on rehabilitation prompted by

Gault and the JJDPA would be short lived.

The move away from the child-oriented re-

habilitative approach in juvenile justice began

in the early 1980s, when the public feared an

epidemic of ruthless youth criminal activity.

During a time when overall crime rates were

dropping, violent youth crime spiked for a

short period, inspiring a few influential aca-

demics like James Q. Wilson and John Dilulio

to incorrectly predict that we would soon be

facing a population surge of “superpredators,”

youth of color with no moral conscience

who believe committing a crime is a rite of

passage and who would not fear the stigma of

arrest or the pain of imprisonment (Deitch,

Barstow, Lukens, & Reyna, 2009). Policy

makers and the media picked up this notion.

118 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

These dire and inaccurate predictions were

strikingly racialized, with James Allan Fox

noting that the population growth among

White youth would be modest, while the

population growth among Black youth would

be much more significant (Soler, Schoenberg,

& Schindler, 2009).

Although juvenile crime declined begin-

ning in 1995 (Nelson, 2008), these false pre-

dictions and the attendant media frenzy

resulted in the enactment of “get tough”

policies in states throughout the country. It

is no coincidence that this attempt to respond

to “public safety” has resulted in a greater

impact on youth of color. While these policies

and practices, embedded in federal, state, and

local laws, appear to be race neutral, they are

discriminatory in effect, driving youth of color

into the juvenile justice system.

THE MYTH OF RACE NEUTRALITY IN POLICY AND PRACTICE

A few policies notable for their impact on

youth of color are drug-free zone laws,

antigang laws, zero tolerance in schools, and

transfer of youth to adult court. All of these

policies are the result of legislation during the

late 1980s and through the 1990s that either

created the policies (zero tolerance) or modi-

fied existing policies (transfer to adult court) to

increase their discriminatory effect while appearing

race neutral. These policies are formalized in

state law and have become accepted practice,

with sweeping ramifications for the juvenile

justice process and its youth.

Drug-Free Zones

In the 1980s, states began increasing penalties

for drug offenses committed in prohibited

zones surrounding schools and other public

and quasipublic locations (Gaudio, 2010).

Legislatures imposed these enhanced penalties

for activities in areas ranging from 300 feet

to 3 miles surrounding schools or other public

locations (e.g., public housing), regardless of

whether schoolchildren were involved in, or

the target of, the drug offense. The enforce-

ment of drug-free zones in densely populated

urban areas, which are disproportionately pop-

ulated by youth of color and where much of the

residential area is within a school or public

housing zone, resulted in a large increase in

youth of color in the juvenile justice system

(Greene, Pranis, & Ziedenberg, 2006). Thus,

drug-free zone legislation had the effect of

both increasing the perception of being “tough

on crime” and increasing racial and ethnic

disparities within the juvenile justice system.

In fact, racial and ethnic disparities in drug

arrests are well established beyond those asso-

ciated with drug-free zones and have been

attributed to a number of enforcement strate-

gies, such as an enforcement focus on low-

level drug dealers within minority communi-

ties and the relative visibility of drug activity in

urban neighborhoods of color (Bishop, 2005).

This differential enforcement has been attrib-

uted to the media-fueled perception that drug

crime is focused in urban African American

communities. A related illustration of how

legal reforms in drug enforcement and transfer

have a discriminatory impact occurred in

Chicago in the 1990s when the Illinois legis-

lature amended its transfer law, making adult

prosecution of 15- to 16-year-olds charged

with drug crimes within 1,000 feet of public

housing mandatory. Like the research on the

impact of drug-free school zones, a study

of the resulting transfers over one year found

that all of the transferred youth were African

American (Bishop, 2005; Clarke, 1996).

A 2006 Justice Policy Institute (JPI) report

found that across three states that had

Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice 119

implemented drug-free zone laws, urban

communities of color were disproportionately

affected by prohibited zones, and enforcement

of the laws had little or nothing to do with

protecting children. A case in point is Massa-

chusetts’s drug-free zone statute. Research on

the implementation of Massachusetts’s statute,

enacted in 1989, found the following:

& Seven out of 10 drug-free zone inci-

dents occurred when school was not

in session. & Less than 1% involved sales to youth. & Eighty percent of defendants who

received mandatory, enhanced sen-

tences under the statute were Black

or Latino, even though 45% of those

arrested were White. & While roughly 80% of all arrests took

place within a school zone, only 15%

of Whites were charged with an

eligible offense compared to 52% of

non-White defendants. & In a state where Whites comprise

80% of the resident population,

Blacks and Latinos comprise nearly

80% of those convicted of drug-free

zone violations (Greene, Pranis, &

Ziedenberg, 2006).

Moreover, JPI’s analysis suggested sharp

disparities affecting both youth and adults of

color in the way drug-free zone laws were

enforced (Greene et al., 2006). The seemingly

race-neutral intent of the laws, that is, pro-

tecting children from drug-related activities,

disproportionately affected youth of color.

Gangs

Another contributor to the current overrepre-

sentation of youth of color in confinement was

the proliferation in the 1990s of anti-“gang”

legislation. Although gangs pose a public

safety issue for those communities that expe-

rience them, antigang laws cast a wide net

and often criminalize the very nature of youth

behavior. Young people “hang out” or social-

ize in groups with peers who might be friends,

family, or extended family. Stereotypes about

which youth are associated with gangs can

affect police decisions about who to stop

and who to arrest (Villarruel & Walker,

2002). For example, familia and extended

families are very important in the Latino cul-

ture, where it is not uncommon for a young

person who is not a member of a gang, or

affiliated with a gang, to have a cousin or

friend who may be a gang member. A study

of Latino youth in California found that 84%

of youth reported having family, friends, or

acquaintances in gangs, even though only 10%

of youth personally reported being in a gang

or “crew” themselves (Arya et al., 2009).

In many jurisdictions the mere act of two

youth being out and about together can easily

result in their being stopped, photographed,

and identified as “gang associates” by the

police. In many states the information gath-

ered from law enforcement’s gang profiling is

entered into “gang databases.” The criteria for

being placed on these lists are often vague,

including criteria like “hangs around with

gang members” (Villarruel & Walker, 2002).

Moreover, living in the same barrio as a

suspected gang member can lead to being

labeled as an “associate.” Youth and families

of color are often segregated in neighborhoods

of concentrated poverty that are characterized

by high unemployment, poor schools, and

deliberate disinvestment. This disadvantage is

compounded when they are more likely to

have their behavior criminalized because of

their race, ethnicity, and place of residence.

For these reasons and a complex of others,

youth of color are particularly at risk of being

120 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

classified as gang members. Results from the

2001–2004 National Youth Gang Center’s

annual survey showed that law enforcement

agencies reported gang members being 35.7%

African American, 48.2% Latino, and 9.5%

White. By contrast, results of the National

Longitudinal Survey of Youth, found that

42% of White youth, 27% of African Ameri-

can youth, and 24% of Latino youth reported

being gang involved (Greene & Pranis, 2007).

The contrast between law enforcement data

showing the greatest gang involvement among

youth of color and the youth self-report data

showing the greatest gang involvement among

White youth, highlights the problem with

relying exclusively on law enforcement data

and may speak to how bias, stereotyping, and

intolerance of adolescent behaviors leads to

the categorization of youth of color as gang

members.

Zero-Tolerance School Policies

Like enforcement of drug-zones and gang

laws, youth of color comprise a dis-

proportionate share of public school students

referred to the juvenile justice system under

zero-tolerance policies [American Psycholog-

ical Association (APA), 2008; see Boundy &

Karger, Chapter 14, this volume; Vaught,

Chapter 15, this volume]. Zero tolerance de-

scribes harsh, predefined mandatory conse-

quences, such as suspension or expulsion,

imposed by schools for a violation of school

rules, without regard to the seriousness of the

behavior, mitigating circumstances, and with-

out consideration of context. Zero-tolerance

rhetoric became widespread in the 1990s. It

was initially a response to drug enforcement

and then became more widespread in reaction

to media reports about gangs and school

shootings, even though school crime rates

were stable or declining by the time these

policies were implemented (APA, 2008;

Peterson & Schoonover, 2008).

One initial appeal of zero tolerance was

the perception that because these laws were

objective and therefore apparently race neu-

tral, they might be fairer to youth of color

and other students, who had been overrepre-

sented in school disciplinary proceedings.

However, a decade of research reflects

the opposite result. African American stu-

dents have been consistently overrepresented

among students who are suspended and

expelled, a finding that cannot be entirely

explained by economic disadvantage. Nor

are there data supporting the assumption

that African American students exhibit higher

rates of disruption or violence that would

warrant higher rates of discipline. Rather,

African American students may be disciplined

more severely for less serious or more subjec-

tive reasons such as lack of teacher preparation

in classroom management, or lack of teacher

cultural competence, or racial stereotyping

(APA, 2008; see Boundy & Karger, Chapter

14, this volume).

The lack of a single definition of zero

tolerance illustrates the ad hoc nature of these

policies, which are codified as federal law but

have the ability to change at the state or school

district level. For instance, the Gun-Free

Schools Act of 1994 (Gun Free Schools Act,

20 U.S.C. §7151, GFSA) required schools to expel any student who brings a firearm to

school for a calendar year. Subsequent changes

in many state laws and local school district

regulations broadened the GFSA focus on

firearms to many other kinds of “weapons,”

such as a fourth grader who brought a two-

inch Lego “weapon,” along with his Lego

policeman to school. The principal considered

the toy worthy of suspending the student,

although the local Department of Education

advised that the toy need only be confiscated

Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice 121

and returned to the child’s parents at the end of

the day (Padnani, 2010).

Schools’ reliance on zero tolerance has

resulted in an increased connection between

schools and the juvenile justice system, in-

cluding increased police presence in schools

and increased referrals to the juvenile justice

system for infractions that were once handled

in school (Skiba et al., 2006; Wald & Losen,

2003; see also Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14,

this volume; Vaught, Chapter 15, this vol-

ume). The result is what has been called the

school-to-jail pipeline, which has a dis-

proportionate impact on youth of color

(Wald & Losen, 2003; see also Boundy &

Karger, Chapter 14, this volume). U.S.

Department of Education data indicate that

Black students are suspended at higher rates

than White students. In 2006, approximately

15% of Black students were suspended as

compared with 5% of White students, and

approximately 0.5% of Black students

were expelled compared with 0.1% of White

students (Planty et al., 2009).

Juvenile justice practitioners and reform-

ers throughout the country offer plentiful

case data of youth of color referred to the

juvenile justice system for school-based mis-

behaviors that have historically been handled

by school personnel. Stories in the media

abound about the abuses of zero-tolerance

policies. Like many of the reforms beginning

in the 1990s, zero tolerance is an expedient,

seemingly race-neutral way for schools to

wash their hands of any trouble, real or

perceived, large or small. Youth of color

face disparities in referral to the juvenile

justice system through policies like zero

tolerance, while at the same time this “get

tough” attitude is mirrored in the courts

through the expansion of legislative and pros-

ecutorial transfer laws once youth enter the

juvenile justice the system.

Transfer to Adult Court

The last two decades have seen a continued

criminalization of delinquency, including

expanding the ways youthful offenders are

tried and punished as adults in the criminal

justice system. Over this time, there has been

an expansion of legislative and prosecutorial

transfer, approaches that take the decision

about whether to try and treat a youth in

the juvenile justice system out of the hands

of the courts where individual and contextual

circumstances can be considered. We have also

seen reductions in the age at which youth can

be tried as adults in many states (see Sherman

& Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume). Against

this backdrop, national and jurisdiction-

specific data demonstrate that youth of color

are transferred to adult courts far in excess of

their proportion of the overall cases processed

by juvenile systems (Burgess-Proctor, Holtrop,

& Villarruel, 2007). In 2002, three out of four

of the 4,100 new admissions of children under

18 years of age to adult prison were youth

of color (National Council on Crime and

Delinquency, 2007). In 2005, of those youth

transferred to adult court through judicial

waiver, 39% were Black youth, who comprise

58% of juveniles admitted to adult prisons and

28% of youth arrests. Disparities among

Black youth become greater further into the

criminal justice system, and even at arrest,

they far exceed the 16% that they comprise

in the youth population nationwide (Arya,

Augarten, & Shelton, 2008).

Latinos are over 40% more likely than

White youth to be waived to the adult crimi-

nal justice system and nearly twice as likely to

be waived to the adult system for an offense

against a person. A significant percentage of

Latino youth are at risk of being tried as adults

or are being held in an adult jail by virtue

of where they live. Thirty-seven percent of

122 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

Latino youth ages 10–17 live in one of the 13

states where the maximum age of juvenile

jurisdiction is 16 or 17, in contrast to the

majority of the country where juvenile juris-

diction ends at 18. In these 13 states, regardless

of how minor the crime, the young person

will automatically be prosecuted in the adult

criminal justice system (Arya et al., 2009; see

Sherman & Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

State data are even more striking. Accord-

ing to a 2007 report, in California, Black

youth are 4.7 times and Latino youth are

3.4 times as likely to be transferred into the

adult system as White youth. In Connecticut,

youth of color are less than 30% of the

population but 80% of young men in adult

corrections; in Wisconsin, youth of color are

approximately 15% of the state population but

are 7 out of 10 youth in adult jails and prisons

(Campaign for Youth Justice, 2007).

These statistics reflect policies and prac-

tices that hearken back to the 19th century

when Black youth were placed in the adult

criminal justice system as intentional segrega-

tion from their White peers in the juvenile

justice system. Today, the overrepresentation

of youth of color in youth justice systems is

the result of deliberate policy decisions often

supported by weak science and anecdote.

These inequities result from structural com-

ponents in our schools, communities, and

justice systems, and reflect conscious decisions

about who will “suffer abuse and who will be

shielded from harm.”

The Role of Local Practice

The history of change in the juvenile justice

system suggests that racial and ethnic inequities

are by design and not accident. The inequities

are the result of a legacy of structural elements,

rather than individual bias and racism. While

shifts in policies and practices may appear in

the guise of race neutrality, the shifts and their

target—youth of color—were intentional.

Indeed, Michelle Alexander, in The New

Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Color-

blindness (2010), explores the role of the crim-

inal justice system in creating and perpetuating

a racial hierarchy in the United States.

Structural elements, similar to those that

influence national policy, also influence local

policies and practices in the juvenile justice

system. Within each local juvenile justice

continuum, there is a wide range of daily

discretionary decisions that are formalized

and highly influential to the future of youth.

They include, for example, local decisions

about when to detain youth for placement

failures, warrants, or violations of probation

(W. Haywood Burns Institute, 2009). In

making these local decisions, systems often

fail to consider the racial, cultural, or geo-

graphic contexts for youth of color and their

families, and that failure can lead to local

practices that drive youth of color into deten-

tion systems disproportionately, unfairly, and

contrary to the stated goals of local systems.

A typical example of local practice having

a discriminatory effect is as follows: A youth is

released at intake on the condition that she or

he report to a youth-serving program on a

daily basis. The young person has no trans-

portation to the program and would have to

walk through a couple of neighborhoods to

get to there. One neighborhood in particular

is a little rough, with a reputation for con-

fronting anyone who is an “outsider.” Because

the youth fears for her or his safety, the young

person decides not to report to the program.

Program staff immediately report the youth as

AWOL, and the youth is subsequently picked

up by his or her probation officer and held

in secure detention for placement failure. In

this case, failing to consider the geographic

reality of a seemingly race-neutral policy

Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice 123

results in a differential impact on poor youth of

color, propelling them deeper into the system.

Unabated and ill-conceived policies and

practices continue to be implemented both

nationally and locally in response to adolescent

misbehavior. This familiar pattern of criminal-

izing kids for typical adolescent behavior

affects youth of color disproportionately,

perpetuating the myth of race neutrality in

policy and practice. Taking responsibility for

racial equity means being willing to acknowl-

edge that our nation’s enduring patterns of

racial disparity are inconsistent with our ideals

and thus unacceptable. It also means demon-

strating the will to challenge norms or values

that may seem to be “normal” or “race

neutral” in our culture and political economy

(Lawrence, Sutton, Kubish, Susi, & Fulbright-

Anderson, 2004).

THE URGE TO PROVIDE AND PROTECT: LOW-RISK,

HIGH-NEED YOUTH

The juvenile justice system has become the

default system—the warehouse—for low-risk,

high-need youth whose needs should have

been served, or should currently be served,

by other public systems (see also Beyer, Chap-

ter 1, this volume). This structural failure

drives many youth of color into the juvenile

justice system (see Ross & Miller, Chapter 17,

this volume; Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday,

Chapter 20, this volume). We know that up to

70% of youth in the juvenile justice system

have a mental health disorder, while more

than 20% have a serious mental illness (see

Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3, this volume;

Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this volume).

Rates of posttraumatic stress are high among

detained youth (Rich et al., 2009), and many

youth in the juvenile justice system have

substance abuse issues, often in combination

with mental health issues (see Braverman &

Morris, Chapter 3, this volume). School fail-

ure and its consequences in terms of suspen-

sion, expulsion, and dropping out represent

another pervasive need among youth in the

justice system (see Boundy & Karger, Chapter

14, this volume; Vaught, Chapter 15, this

volume).

When these needs go unmet in the com-

munity, there is evidence that youth of color

are referred to the justice system (Bell et al.,

2009). A 2007 study by the American Psy-

chological Association (Pottick, Kirk, Hsieh,

& Tian, 2007) found that youth of color were

often given diagnoses that led to confinement.

The report found a disparity in clinicians’

judgments of mental disorders between mi-

nority and nonminority youth. Controlling

for context and clinicians’ characteristics,

clinicians were less likely to identify a mental

health disorder in Black or Latino youth than

in White youth. One possible explanation was

that when clinicians were faced with antisocial

behavior, they were diagnosing White youth

with mental disorders and directing them to

treatment, while diagnosing minority youth

with behavioral issues and directing them to

the juvenile justice system.

Improving the capacity of the juvenile

justice system to deliver mental health services

is not a legitimate solution because the juve-

nile justice system is not an appropriate venue

for delivering mental health services to youth

(Grisso, 2008). Similarly, the juvenile justice

system alone is not equipped to respond to the

needs of low-risk youth with substance abuse

issues. In 2006, nearly 10% of youth 12–17

reported being actively engaged in drug use.

Research shows that there is a direct connec-

tion between drug and alcohol abuse among

youth and trouble with the law for youth

who are disproportionately from low-income

124 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

communities and communities of color. In

2008, more than 23.1 million people ages

12 or older needed treatment for a drug or

alcohol problem. Of these, only 2.3 million

(0.9% of persons aged 12 or older and 9.9% of

those who needed treatment) received treat-

ment at a specialty facility (Substance Abuse

and Mental Health Services Administration,

2009). Many of these are youth who ended up

in detention.

Similarly, differential treatment has been

observed in physical health care. Trauma, or

as John Rich describes it—adversity—is one

health issue that impacts justice system in-

volvement (Rich et al., 2009; see Braverman

& Morris, Chapter 3, this volume).

Dr. Nadine Burke posits that the clinical

effects of childhood trauma need to be given

more attention as a serious medical epidemic

and significant contributor to overincarcera-

tion of youth of color (N. Burke, personal

communication).

The preceding discussion documents the

presence, extent, and some of the reasons for

racial and ethnic disparities in juvenile justice

systems. Overcoming these dynamics neces-

sarily involves confronting the structural na-

ture of race, ethnicity, and institutional inertia.

We know from innovative work around the

country in a variety of jurisdictions that prog-

ress can be made—that systems can be oper-

ated fairly and equitably while maintaining

public safety (Nellis & Richardson, 2010).

A Positive Future

In spite of the structurally biased nature of the

juvenile justice system, both systemic and

programmatic reforms that promote equity

are being implemented throughout the coun-

try. Sites throughout the country have estab-

lished that these reforms have effectively

reversed the traditional practice of reliance

on detention, demonstrated that detention

and equity reforms are effective public safety

strategies, and provided empirical evidence

that the existence of racial and ethnic disparit-

ies is not an intractable fact of life (Bell et al.,

2009; Mendel, 2009; Nellis & Richardson,

2010).

Fundamental to successful system reform

are collaborative and data-driven strategies to

change the way adults in the juvenile justice

system operate—that is, collaboratively utiliz-

ing data to conduct critical self-examination of

policies and practices and how they impact

youth of color. Developing objective decision

making along the juvenile justice continuum

is an essential component of reform, as is

the need for intentional and determined lead-

ership to level the playing field for youth

of color. Similarly, successful programs

demonstrate racially and culturally responsive

components that promote opportunities

for positive youth development and that

strengthen families and communities.

The Annie E. Casey Foundation’s Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative

For almost two decades, the Annie E. Casey

Foundation’s Juvenile Detention Alternatives

Initiative (JDAI) has worked with jurisdictions

throughout the nation to safely reduce reliance

on secure detention. As of 2009, approxi-

mately 110 local jurisdictions in 27 states

and the District of Columbia were imple-

menting JDAI’s core strategies to establish

more effective, efficient, safe, and equitable

systems (see Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday,

Chapter 20, this volume). A recent evaluation

of JDAI documents its progress making funda-

mental changes to juvenile justice systems

through alternative policies, practices, and

programs (Mendel, 2009; Nellis & Richardson,

2010).

Race, Ethnicity, and Ancestry in Juvenile Justice 125

JDAI’s theory of change is based on eight

core strategies, including: collaboration, collec-

tion and utilization of data, objective admission

screening, alternatives to secure detention, case proc-

essing reforms, flexible policies and practices to

address “special detention cases” (e.g., violations

of probation, writs/warrants, and awaiting

placement), ensuring safe and appropriate con-

ditions of confinement, and strategies and inno-

vations to reduce racial and ethnic disparities.

Working on implementing the eight core strat-

egies through a racial and ethnic lens to identify

and analyze points of disparities, JDAI sites were

among the first in the country to demonstrate

reductions of racial and ethnic disparities

(Hoytt, Schiraldi, Smith, & Ziedenberg,

2002). This was accomplished through the

implementation of systemic and programmatic

changes targeted at reducing the reliance on

secure detention for youth of color. JDAI

jurisdictions making significant gains demon-

strate that no specific strategy is more important

than the tangible commitment, political will,

and leadership of system personnel to achieving

racial and ethnic equity. Results include signif-

icant and measurable outcomes in the safe

reduction of detention admissions, average

daily population (ADP), and average length

of stay (ALOS), as well as increased use of

alternatives to detention for youth of color

(JDAI Results Reports, 2009; JDAI site quar-

terly reports, unpublished data).

W. Haywood Burns Institute for Juvenile Justice Fairness and Equity (BI)

Another organization that has achieved posi-

tive, measurable results reducing disparities is

the W. Haywood Burns Institute for Juvenile

Justice Fairness and Equity (BI). BI’s method-

ology brings officials from law enforcement,

legal systems, and child welfare together with

community leaders, parents, and children, and

takes them through a data-driven, consensus-

based approach to change policies, procedures,

and practices in the juvenile justice system that

result in the disproportionate detention of

youth of color and poor children.

BI’s work in more than 40 jurisdictions

throughout the United States provides empir-

ical evidence that solving disparities and dis-

proportionality is possible. BI has achieved

measurable reductions in disparities by fash-

ioning institutional responses to policies and

practices impacting youth of color such as

zero tolerance, “failures to appear,” warrants,

and inordinate lengths of stay in detention

(Hernandez, 2006).

Models for Change DMC Action Network

The John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur

Foundation’s Models for Change initiative is

another national initiative working on racial

and ethnic disparities. Through improved

data and intentional and targeted interven-

tions, Models for Change states are working

to promote fair and unbiased juvenile justice

systems that treat youth, sharing knowledge

and accelerating progress in the reduction

of racial and ethnic disparities in the juvenile

justice system. The Models for Change DMC

Action Network was launched in 2007 to

bring together teams from select local juris-

dictions, expose them to the latest thinking

among national experts, and give them an

opportunity to learn from one another about

effective ways to reduce the disproportionate

contact of minority and ethnic youth with

the juvenile justice system.

Each site is implementing at least two

“strategic innovations” that are likely to have

an impact on reducing the disproportionate

contact of minority youth locally. Sites will

track their implementation experiences, and

results will be shared with their colleagues

126 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

and the field. Strategic innovations include: (1)

improvements in the tracking and reporting of

data, (2) enhanced cultural competency and

community responsiveness of staff, (3) divert-

ing preadjudicated youth, and (4) expanding

postdisposition culturally relevant alternatives

to incarceration.

CONCLUSION

Over two centuries ago, German philosopher

Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller in-

troduced his immutable law of events, stating

“into today already walks tomorrow.” As pro-

fessionals, scholars, practitioners, and commu-

nity members vested in the future of the next

generation, we cannot allow the overincarcer-

ation of youth of color to go unchecked. Our

mandate must be to create fair, equitable, and

humane approaches for children in trouble

with the law, which have positive, service-

oriented interventions and consequences, and

maintain public safety.

Civil rights leader Cesar Chavez once said

that “the love for justice that is in us is not only

the best part of our being but it is also the most

true to our nature.” Justice demands that we

be ever vigilant about who suffers and who is

shielded from harm. All young people deserve

to be treated equally and fairly by the systems

that mean to serve and protect them. It is

everyone’s job to work tirelessly to achieve

this goal.

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130 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

7 CHAPTER

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story

FRANCINE T. SHERMAN AND JESSICA H. GREENSTONE

O ver the past two decades, the proportion

of girls in the juvenile justice system has

steadily increased; from 1999 to 2008, arrests

of girls decreased less than their male coun-

terparts in almost every offense category, and

for some crimes, arrests of girls increased

while those of boys decreased (Puzzanchera,

2009). Reacting to this growth and to the

recognition that juvenile justice systems were

designed for male offenders, since 1992 the

Juvenile Justice Act has mandated that juris-

dictions examine their systems and develop

plans for providing needed gender-specific

services to address the prevention and treat-

ment of delinquency in this growing female

population. This federal call to action has

prompted research leading to a much deeper

understanding of girls’ developmental needs,

the circumstances that bring girls into contact

or render them at risk of being in contact

with the juvenile justice system, and how

these needs and circumstances influence girls

once they are in the system (Acoca, 1999;

Bloom & Covington, 2001; Cauffman, 2008;

Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention [OJJDP], 1998; Sherman, 2005).

We now can identify a constellation of de-

velopmental and societal factors pushing

girls into the juvenile justice system. We

are also learning that public systems play an

inadvertent role in criminalizing girls’ behav-

ior, and can work against girls’ successful

reentry into the community and independent

adult life (Sherman, 2005).

This chapter examines a “typical” case

of a multisystems-involved teenage girl,

“Grace,” considering the role gender-responsive

principles played in case decisions and ser-

vices in the child welfare, delinquency, and

legal systems. By examining how the respec-

tive players in Grace’s case viewed her and

reached decisions in her case, and how Grace

herself views these decisions, we hope to shed

light on how systems might understand and

implement gender-responsive principles so

as to improve their structure and services

for girls.

We begin with a review of the literature

describing the social characteristics of girls in

the juvenile justice system and the ways these

factors predict their system entry, including

the role system practices and policies play in

girls’ entry and course of stay in the juvenile

and criminal justice systems. Next, we de-

scribe our case study methodology, including

the gender-responsive principles that frame

our analysis. We then introduce Grace and

analyze the interview data from Grace’s case

study using the framework provided by litera-

ture on gender responsiveness.

131

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

SYSTEM-INVOLVED GIRLS: CHARACTERISTICS

AND PREDICTORS OF SYSTEM INVOLVEMENT

The literature on the role gender plays in

youth system involvement describes disparities

in the degree and way girls and women are

affected by particular social circumstances or

problems (Mead, 2001). 1 It demonstrates how

risk factors and difficult life circumstances are

often interrelated (Ravoira, 2005), with these

variables continuing to influence one another

throughout the life span. In this review we

focus on family discord, victimization, mental

health problems, and risky sexual behaviors be-

cause delinquent girls are disproportionately

affected by these problems. We also examine

the quite extensive literature suggesting that

girls are differentially affected by some of

the structures, policies, and practices common

in youth-serving systems; the literature con-

cludes, as do we, that gender-responsive pro-

grams, services, and policy reform are critical

to achieving better outcomes for these girls.

Family Discord

While there is a tendency for family distress to

be present in the lives of both female and male

delinquent youth, female delinquent youth

are more likely to come from family environ-

ments characterized by strife (Lederman,

Dakof, Larrea, & Li, 2004; Timmons-Mitchell

et al., 1997). Tension in parent–child relation-

ships that sometimes becomes violent can result

in girls being arrested for assault or domestic

battery (Sherman, 2009; Zahn, Brumbaugh,

et al., 2008), or for status offenses such as

running away (Acoca, 1999; Chesney-Lind

& Okamoto, 2001). Family-based risk factors

may also include lack of communication

(Bloom, Owen, Deschenes, & Rosenbaum,

2002ab), experiencing the death of a parent or

sibling, and lack of stability leading to foster

care or other arrangements (Acoca, 1999).

Conversely, one study identified family

strengths, such as good communication and

structure, as a major protective factor for girls

(Bloom et al., 2002b).

As a result of living in these homes, girls

are likely to enter the child protection system,

which can be a pathway into the delinquency

system. In their study of the links between

foster care and detention, Conger and Ross

(2001) found that youth in foster care in

New York were more likely to be detained

by the juvenile court than nonfoster youth,

after controlling for offense and demographics.

This “foster care bias” was significantly more

pronounced and more difficult to remedy

for girls than boys, so that 20% of the girls

detained during the study were in foster care

as compared with 10% of the boys. The re-

searchers attribute this to girls frequently going

AWOL from foster placement, leading them

into detention, due to both a lack of appro-

priate alternatives and laws allowing secure

detention for violations of a valid court order

in a status offense case (Juvenile Justice and

Delinquency Prevention Act [JJDPA], 2002).

Even detention decisions based on more

objective risk assessment instruments can be

biased against girls who are given additional

points for histories of running away and re-

sulting warrants, making it more likely that

they will be detained (Sherman, 2005).

Victimization

While there has been a good deal of variance

in empirical findings of the proportion of

delinquent and system-involved girls who

1 Portions of this section originally appeared in Jacobs,

Oliveri, and Greenstone (2009).

132 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

have suffered sexual abuse and resulting

trauma, the evidence is unequivocal that a

history of abuse and posttraumatic stress dis-

order (PTSD) affects a significant number

of girls in this population (Chesney-Lind &

Okamoto, 2001; Lederman et al., 2004; see also

Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3, this volume)

and is often a catalyst for their interactions

with the criminal justice system (Acoca,

1999; Chesney-Lind & Okamoto, 2001).

Early sexual abuse is common among girls

victimized by commercial sexual exploitation

of children (CSEC), the subject of significant

federal and state attention since 2000. In 2008,

girls comprised 76% of juvenile prostitution-

related arrests (Puzzanchera, 2009), and girls

victimized by CSEC are routinely detained

in the juvenile justice system despite general

recognition of their victimhood and the

trauma associated with detention (Lynch &

Widner, 2008; Sherman, 2005). Juvenile jus-

tice system involvement in these cases results

from the lack of alternatives, an overemphasis

on law enforcement, fear for the welfare of

girls who are victims of CSEC, and the failure

of systems to collaborate toward cross-system,

gender-responsive solutions (see Sherman &

Goldblatt Grace, Chapter 16, this volume).

Zahn, Hawkins, Chiancone, and

Whitworth, (2008) contend that while girls

are more likely to have experienced sexual

assault, rape, or sexual harassment, suffering

neglect or physical or sexual abuse is a risk

factor for delinquency for both boys and girls.

Some find, though, that a history of abuse

during childhood or adolescence is a more

powerful predictor of delinquent behavior

for females (Cauffman, 2008). Abuse histories

in girls may be linked to mental health dis-

orders such as depression and anxiety disorders

(Bloom, Owen, & Covington, 2003; Good-

kind, Ng, & Sarri, 2006; Sherman, 2005), or

may manifest in girls as externalizing disorders

such as aggressive behavior (Sherman, 2005).

Abusive experiences in the past may also

affect girls’ emotional adjustment and their

ability to trust others, and may be a factor

in substance abuse (Bloom et al., 2002b).

Victimization and trauma is also a major catalyst

leading girls to run away from home, which is

a frequent cause of arrest for female delinquents

(Bloom & Covington, 2001; Chesney-Lind &

Okamoto, 2001); some claim, indeed, that the

system is punishing girls for being victims of

abuse (Goodkind et al., 2006).

Victimization in the home has become a

pathway into the delinquency system for girls

as an unintended result of changes in law

enforcement practices for domestic violence.

Zahn, Brumbaugh, and colleagues (2008) at-

tribute the increase in girls’ arrests for assaults

over the last decade in part to this change

in law enforcement practices. From 1999

through 2008, girls’ arrests for assault increased

12%, while boys’ arrests declined 6%, and

girls’ arrests for aggravated assault declined

17%, while boys’ arrests declined 22%

(Puzzanchera, 2009). While same-sex peers

are the most common victims of both girls’

and boys’ aggression, family members are the

second most common victims of girls’ aggres-

sion, confirming that much of girls’ violence

occurs in the context of a chaotic home. At the

same time, many jurisdictions require arrest or

detention when police are called to a home for

domestic violence, and many in law enforce-

ment report arresting teenage girls involved

in home violence rather than arresting the

mother, who has responsibility for other

children. These reports are confirmed by de-

tention data that show girls comprising a larger

proportion of detentions for domestic vio-

lence and assaults than of detentions overall

(Sherman, 2009). Through these mechanisms,

girls’ victimization is criminalized, driving

them into the juvenile justice system.

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 133

Mental Health Problems

Multiple studies conclude that mental health

problems are central in the lives of a large

segment of the female delinquent population.

Mirroring the general population, females

involved in the juvenile justice system are

more likely than their male counterparts to

be affected by psychological illness (Alemagno,

Shaffer-King, & Hammel, 2006; Cauffman,

Lexcen, Goldweber, Shulman, & Grisso, 2007;

Sherman, 2005; Teplin, Abram, McClelland,

Dulcan, & Mericle, 2002; Timmons-Mitchell

et al., 1997; see also Braverman & Morris,

Chapter 3, this volume), and this disproportion

is significantly exacerbated in the juvenile jus-

tice population (Cauffman et al., 2007). Girls

are especially affected by internalizing disorders

such as depression and particular anxiety dis-

orders (Corneau & Lanctot, 2004; Lederman et

al., 2004; Teplin et al., 2002; Zahn, Hawkins, et

al., 2008). Unlike trends in the nondelinquent

population, female offenders also outnumber

male offenders in rates of externalizing disor-

ders (Cauffman, 2008). A high incidence of

comorbidity of mental health disorders has

been found in several studies (see Braverman

& Morris, Chapter 3, this volume).

The presence in the delinquency system of

significant numbers of youth, and particularly

girls, with mental health disorders is associated,

in part, with the failures of child welfare, mental

health, juvenile justice, and public health

systems to identify and treat these youth in their

communities.Thosefailureshavebeenlinkedto

inadequate state Medicaid plans (Rosie D. v.

Romney, 2006), poor mental health screening

(see Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3, this vol-

ume), and an ongoing failure of youth-serving

systems to cross traditional agency lines to

develop comprehensive care plans and wrap-

around community-based services for youth

(see Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this volume).

Risky Sexual Behavior

Girls in the delinquency population often

engage in risky sexual behavior that may be

explained in part by their high rates of sexual

abuse (Bloom et al., 2002b; Goodkind et al.,

2006; Kelly, Owen, Peralez-Dieckmann, &

Martinez, 2007). Girls’ first and subsequent

sexual interactions are often with an older

male partner (Acoca & Dedel, 1998; Guthrie,

Hoey, Ravoira, & Kintner, 2002; Lederman

et al., 2004). Sexual debut may also occur

at young ages among system-involved girls;

in one study involving girls ages 12–18 who

were at risk for recidivism, the mean age for

first sexual intercourse was 13.9 years (Guthrie

et al., 2002). Evidence on safe sex practices

and rates of sexually transmitted diseases is

inconclusive, yet these issues are undoubtedly

a major concern among youth in this popula-

tion (Lederman et al., 2004).

Race and Class

Incarcerated girls and their male and adult

counterparts are disproportionately people of

color, especially African American and Hispanic

(Acoca, 1999; Bloom & Covington, 2001;

Chesney-Lind & Okamoto, 2001; see also

Holsinger, Chapter 2, this volume) and fre-

quently come from high-poverty backgrounds

and communities (Bloom & Covington, 2001).

Thus, the role of race and class in girls’ pathways

into the juvenile justice system is important

to consider.

GRACE’S CASE STUDY

Case study analysis investigates, in depth,

a contained example, or examples, of a

phenomenon of interest to understand char-

acteristics and processes that might pertain

134 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

beyond that example; cases that are considered

“typical” are commonly chosen (Stake, 1995;

Yin, 1994). Consistent with this principle,

Grace was chosen because her story reflects

many of the elements and predictors of system

involvement described in the literature.

This was a mixed-methods case study

utilizing legal and state agency records and

qualitative interviews as data. Agency, court,

and attorneys’ records were reviewed to con-

struct a timeline of the major events in Grace’s

case. The records provided historical data and

baseline knowledge about the case, and al-

lowed us to develop preliminary hypotheses

regarding the relevance of Grace’s gender in

various case components. However, records

alone would not have provided sufficient ma-

terial for this study because we were interested

in the role of gender, which was not an

explicit focus of the records (Hodder,

2003). In addition, Grace’s voice was not

chronicled in written records, and her sub-

jective experiences as a system-involved girl

were essential to our study of the role of

gender and gender-responsive principles in

her case (Mason, 2002). In addition to

Grace, four key players in Grace’s case were

invited to participate in semi-structured inter-

views, the protocols for which were informed

by the records as well as the literature on

gender-responsive principles.

Interviewees reflected on past experien-

ces, and in the process of doing so engaged in a

reinterpretation of those experiences through

their current knowledge (Lawler, 2002). Inter-

views with Grace developed her personal

narrative, her views of the system and its

representatives with whom she interacted,

and the role of gender-responsive principles

in her case. Through interviews with Grace’s

caseworkers from the juvenile justice and fam-

ily service systems, a juvenile justice system

administrator at the time of her case, and one

of her attorneys, we sought to gain insight into

whether and how gender-responsive princi-

ples were incorporated into decisions made in

her case and what might have been improved.

In total, seven interviews with six individuals

were conducted between July and September

2009.

We used qualitative data analysis software to

code interview transcripts and aid in theory

building (Weitzman, 2003), identifying themes,

and conducting interpretive analyses of the

connections among the themes and the links

within these themes across data sources (Ryan

& Bernard, 2003). Within this chapter, we

present quotes from our interviews as examples

of those themes (Ryan & Bernard, 2003) we

consider representative of the viewpoints

expressed by study participants (Mason, 2002).

Grace’s Story

Grace is, in many ways, typical of girls

described in the literature. She is African

American and lived as a young girl with her

family in a housing project in a large north-

eastern city. Her father was not named on her

birth certificate and not involved in her child-

hood, although she knows who he is. Her

family is close-knit, comprised of her mother,

two sisters, an aunt and uncle, a grandmother,

and cousins, all of whom live in close prox-

imity to one another.

Those who have worked with Grace have

described her as intelligent, outspoken, and

caring. Her family and friends look to her as a

support and confide in her. She is the first to

identify and speak out against injustice, and

despite the difficulties she presented as a client,

her caseworkers remember her fondly and

describe her as kind, engaging, and resilient.

Her childhood with her mother—who

was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, abused

drugs, and neglected her daughters—was

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 135

marked by chaos and violence. Many reports

of abuse and neglect were filed with the state

Department of Family Services 2 (DFS) and

social services were provided to the family.

When Grace was 11 years old, she and her

sisters were removed from her mother’s cus-

tody and given to their maternal grandmother,

who had a drinking problem and was later

arrested for assaulting Grace with a hammer. A

report of abuse was filed, and shortly thereafter

they were removed from her home. They

were often placed in separate foster homes.

For the next 2 years, Grace and her sisters

moved in and out of foster care and their

grandmother’s home. Their mother had little

to do with them during this period.

Grace, who has since been clinically diag-

nosed with a mental health issue, became

identified for her difficult behaviors by the

agency and courts. She was moved among

foster homes in part because her behaviors

were difficult for foster parents to manage.

When Grace turned 14, she was placed in

foster care in a city 2 hours distant from her

family home. She perceived this placement, far

from her family, as punishment, and began to

have more serious behavioral problems.

Shortly after this placement, she was

charged with assault and battery on a public

employee and disturbing school assembly. It

was her first, and would be her only, delin-

quency or criminal charge. She was expelled

from school and, following an incident in

which she stepped in front of a bus, was placed

in a psychiatric hospital for evaluation.

Grace was placed on probation and moved

back to her home city, living in a series of

foster homes, emergency shelters, and residen-

tial placements. She received education in the

residential placements but not when she was

in the community. Grace would frequently

run from her foster homes to her grand-

mother’s home. During this time, she became

pregnant and miscarried. The case began to

focus more on her mental health as her be-

haviors became more clearly dangerous to

herself. Because her probation conditions

were to comply with DFS, the court found

her in technical violation of probation and

committed her to the Department of Juvenile

Justice (DJJ). Grace was now 16 years old.

For the next 18 months, DFS and DJJ

struggled over control of Grace’s case. Grace

continued to be placed in a series of foster

homes and residential placements, but now she

was also placed in secure detention when she

technically violated her release conditions by

running away or breaking curfew. Despite this,

she continued to run to her grandmother’s

home with the resulting warrants and deten-

tion. During the 2 years from ages 15 to 17,

Grace was placed 44 times and spent 426

days—over half that period—in detention.

During this time, the agencies made spo-

radic efforts to enroll her in education or

career training programs and otherwise direct

her toward a productive future. She was

enrolled in an alternative school from which

she was regularly suspended for “ . . . unsafe

behavior, verbal inappropriateness, refusal

to follow directions, and creating an unsafe

environment . . . ” (DFS records). She was

also seen by a psychiatrist and placed on

medication for depression, which was becom-

ing more acute.

Seven months before she turned 18, Grace

attempted suicide and, at her request, was

placed in a hospital psychiatric unit where

she remained until her 18th birthday. During

these 7 months, DFS and DJJ were joined by

the hospital and the Department of Mental

Health staff in the struggle over Grace. Upon

her hospitalization, a law school clinical

2 The agency names, like the parties’ names, have been

changed to preserve anonymity.

136 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

program also began representing her to seek

education services and plan for her transition

to adulthood.

At age 18, Grace “aged out” of the system

but agreed to post-18 services with DFS.

Although she was seeking funding for inde-

pendent living, she was placed in a foster home

with conditions, and 6 months later DFS

terminated her over-18 services for an alleged

violation of those conditions.

Grace is now 24 years old. She has two

children and lives with them in an apartment

in her home city. The children attend day care

when Grace is attending a trade school, where

she is doing well in her studies. Her mother

and sisters are a regular feature in her life and

continue as both a source of support and a

drain on her limited resources.

GENDER-SPECIFIC AND GENDER-RESPONSIVE: GUIDING PRINCIPLES

The terms gender-responsive and gender-specific

are often used interchangeably in the literature

and, at a basic level, describe services that strive

to satisfy girls’ unique developmental needs,

personal characteristics, and life circum-

stances. 3 In the case of delinquent girls, this

includes understanding their pathways into the

system, the multiple risk factors associated

with their system involvement, and how these

factors interact with one another (Bloom &

Covington, 2001; Bloom et al., 2003; Morgan

& Patton, 2002; OJJDP, 1998; Ravoira, 2005;

Sherman, 2005). Programs defined as gender-

responsive are not only characterized by serv-

ing a population that is all female or by having

female staff (Acoca & Dedel, 1998; Ravoira,

2005; San Francisco Commission on the Sta-

tus of Women, 1999); they also recognize

unique experiences associated with being a

female in the juvenile justice and related youth

systems and deliberately use this knowledge to

inform all components of the program

(Bloom et al., 2003; Morgan & Patton,

2002; OJJDP, 1998; San Francisco Commis-

sion on the Status of Women, 1999). Services

are delivered with empathy for the past and

current challenges faced by participants, with

an emphasis on the importance of relationships

for girls (Bloom et al., 2003). Although some-

what diluted in the 2002 reauthorization,

since 1992 Congress has endorsed the need

for gender-responsive approaches through the

JJDPA (2002).

Core Considerations in Girl-Targeted Programs and Practices

There are several overlapping principles for

gender-responsive practices and programming

in the juvenile justice population, some

of which derive from empirical studies or

observations emerging from applied work

(see, for example, Acoca, 1999; Bloom,

Owen, Deschenes, & Rosenbaum, 2002a;

Mead, 2001; Ms. Foundation for Women,

2000, 2001; Ravoira, 2005; San Francisco

Commission on the Status of Women, 1999;

Wheeler, Oliveri, Towery, & Mead, 2005).

Others are rooted in theoretical perspectives

related to female development (see Bloom &

Covington, 1998; Bloom & Covington, 2001;

Goodkind, 2005; Maniglia, 1996). Still others

are drawn from secondary analyses of empiri-

cal data collected by other researchers.

Gender-responsive principles for girls’

services in the juvenile justice system include

safety and safe spaces, attention to relationships,

and a collaborative approach wherein power is

shared across systems and with the girl. These

3 Portions of this section originally appeared in Jacobs,

Oliveri, and Greenstone (2009).

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 137

are the gender-responsive principles about

which we asked research participants when

thinking about their agency’s involvement

in Grace’s case.

Safety and Safe Spaces Creating safe and supportive spaces is a key dictate of girl-

focused programs and services, but how

safety is defined varies. One dimension of

safety is physical (Bloom & Covington, 1998,

2001; Bloom et al., 2003; Mead, 2001;

Morgan & Patton, 2002). Women and girls

are subjected to various forms of male violence

in private and public spaces (Mead, 2001),

including unwanted sexual contact (Alemagno

et al., 2006). Considering the prominence

of abuse victimization and trauma among

system-involved girls, it is especially important

that features of juvenile justice treatment

programs, services, and practices do not mimic

or perpetuate qualities of abusive relationships

or conditions that many young female delin-

quents have experienced in their lives (Acoca

1999; Bloom et al., 2003; Goodkind, 2005;

Sherman, 2005). Same-sex staff and supervi-

sion are important elements to consider

in creating a safe environment for female

offenders (Sherman, 2005).

Emotional and intellectual safety should also

be considered. Within the program environ-

ment and the system, participants should feel

comfortable expressing their emotions, be-

liefs, goals, and fears, contributing their ideas

and exploring new points of view and areas of

interest. Safe and nurturing environments

allow opportunities for building skills that

are consistent with girls’ interests, but that

are not limited to those traditionally associ-

ated with being a girl. Female-focused pro-

grams and services can then encourage

individual growth and development instead

of being driven by stereotypes (Levick &

Sherman, 2003).

Attention to Relationships Developmen- tal research on girls has emphasized the role

of relationships and care in girls’ perspectives

on what is important in life and the choices

they make at critical moments. Due partly to

their socialization into caretaking roles, re-

search suggests that women tend to protect

their bonds with others, choosing connection

over independence (see, for example, Brown

& Gilligan, 1992; Chodorow, 1974; Gilligan,

1982). In their recommendations for gender-

responsive programming and practices, many

refer to this research, urging that programs

for girls and juvenile justice system practices

consider the centrality of relationships in

girls’ lives by providing opportunities for

connection with adult individuals and ser-

vices in the program context itself, and

in girls’ communities (Bloom & Covington,

2001; Bloom et al., 2002a, 2003; Hubbard &

Matthews, 2008; Maniglia, 1996; Morgan &

Patton, 2002; San Francisco Commission on

the Status of Women, 1999; Sherman, 2005).

These may be lacking if girls’ family lives are

chaotic or troubled (Alemagno et al., 2006;

San Francisco Commission on the Status of

Women, 1999).

Collaboration and Shared Power The principle of collaboration and shared power

applies both to sharing power with youth and

to collaboration across systems.

Regarding collaboration with youth, this

principle includes allowing girls to participate

in program design and leadership—indeed,

having their input guide its course (Denner &

Griffin, 2003; Mead, 2001; Morgan & Patton,

2002; Ms. Foundation for Women, 2001;

Wheeler et al., 2005). Bloom and Covington

(2001) contend that gender-responsive pro-

grams should aim to empower their partici-

pants. Goodkind and colleagues (2006)

recommend programs to help girls not only

138 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

cope with the negative effects of trauma, but

also develop a sense of agency and control over

their lives. Correspondingly, Sherman (2005)

and Goodkind (2005) argue that such pro-

gramming should be strengths focused, not

deficits focused. This can include the active

involvement of girls in decision making about

their treatment course (Sherman, 2005), so

that girls act in collaboration with staff to

determine appropriate services.

Collaboration and shared power across

systems is important in girls’ cases because

many are simultaneously involved with more

than one youth-serving system, having a set of

needs that cross traditional agency lines. Bloom

and colleagues (2003) also encourage partner-

ships with community organizations to provide

multilevel support to female offenders aimed at

their life circumstances and challenges, which

is critical to their successful reentry and long-

term success in their communities. Given girls’

multiple needs, the failure to work across sys-

tems has been shown to result in detention of

girls disproportionate to their male counter-

parts and to their conduct (Conger & Ross,

2001). While service delivery across systems

and in collaboration with communities is

difficult (see Farrell & Myers, Chapter 21,

this volume; Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this

volume), states’recent use of Medicaid support

for juvenile justice–related evidence-based

practices that involve multiple state and county

agencies seems promising (Hanlon, May, &

Kaye, 2008).

GENDER-RESPONSIVE PRINCIPLES IN GRACE’S CASE

This section examines the role of gender-

responsive principles in Grace’s case. Specifi-

cally, the themes of safety, relationships, and

collaboration and shared power are discussed.

Quotations from Grace’s interviews organize

our analysis.

Safety: “You Really Do Lose Yourself Through All the Chaos”

The system representatives interviewed about

Grace’s case, including DFS, DJJ, detention,

and her lawyer, each underscored ensuring

Grace’s safety as a guiding principle in their

decision making, but in their emphasis on her

physical safety as opposed to emotional safety,

they differed from Grace. She defined safety:

Like a shield of protection obviously,

that’s what safety is I guess. You don’t

have to worry about being alone or

being scared, if you are scared, there’s

someone to speak to. . . .

Moreover, although system informants

expressed concern with Grace’s emotional

safety—that she feel safe—their understanding

of what feeling safe meant to her was limited.

Physical Safety Informants agreed that the greatest risks to Grace’s physical safety were

her running away, hurting herself (self-cutting

or suicide attempts), and sexual exploitation.

Although Grace did not perceive these factors

to be risks at the time, in retrospect she

acknowledges them and even credits DJJ

with pulling her back from the brink: “DJJ

keeping me off the streets was a big plus

because I was aiming to die.”

DFS and DJJ tightened rules and used

detention in an effort to keep Grace physically

safe, trying to “keep her close and being a little

more strict” (DJJ caseworker). Both the DFS

and DJJ caseworkers described their agencies’

reactions to Grace’s safety risks similarly, con-

flating caring for her with being tough and

strict. The DFS caseworker stated:

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 139

Due to her serious history with regards

to risky behaviors and things like that,

the system always wanted to react in a

way that really, you know, came down

hard on her, sheltered her or made

rules for her that she had to follow.

Similarly, the DJJ caseworker stated:

I think we were hard on Grace be-

cause of the worry we had with her

safety, so we had higher expectations

for her. So a girl who was a runaway,

who doesn’t have the cutting or the

suicide and those things going on,

you’re gonna . . . consider them a

runaway with emotional issues, but

her, we tried to keep, I remember, as

tight of a rein as possible because

[of] being concerned about every-

thing from pregnancy to possible

prostitution.

This focus eclipsed all other case goals, fed

a crisis mentality in Grace’s case management,

and restricted forward movement in her edu-

cation and her ability to exercise autonomy in

decision making. For example, DJJ placed

Grace in a DJJ school located in its day report-

ing center, although Grace wanted to enroll in

the public school. The DJJ caseworker de-

scribed the decision as a reaction to concerns

over Grace’s physical safety.

Although the system was trying to protect

her, Grace felt increasingly vulnerable and

powerless in the face of what she saw as

arbitrary system restrictions. Her explanation

for running away, a behavior perceived as

dangerous by the system and one that caused

escalating restrictions, illustrates this:

Why did they move me all the way to

[a city two hours from my home]?

That’s how I felt, you just up and

snatched me one day and moved me

away. I didn’t get any warning or

anything, I had to just completely

separate from my family, like even if

they weren’t the greatest family,

they’re still my family and I wanted

to stay closer to them than some

strange new place because it felt like

forever to get there and then, I don’t

know, I never saw it as a safety con-

cern, but now, it’s like I’m an adult

and it’s like, anything could have

happened to me. But I still always

ran away.

For Grace, emotional safety and physical

safety cannot be disentangled, but neither was

stable, and emotional safety in particular was

largely absent during her teens. Her feelings of

isolation and vulnerability colored her expe-

riences, dictating much of her behavior. Al-

though her early childhood at home clearly

played a role, Grace blamed system practices

for her feelings of lack of safety.

Emotional Safety Grace’s definition of safety is informed by her experience as a

foster child:

You really do lose yourself through all

the chaos. I say chaos because you’re

jumping from one place to another,

you’re sleeping in one bed to another

bed. Then you have, you know, one

DFS [placement] to another DFS

[placement], one judge to another

judge, one court system to another

court system, and then you’re locked

up. It’s dizzy[ing]. Have you ever been

in a fight, and you don’t even know

you’re fighting? . . . My life went so

fast, and it could have went a little

140 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

slower, if someone had stopped and

slowed me down a little bit.

Those frequent moves frightened her be-

cause they were unpredictable; they separated

her further from her family; and many of the

foster parents did not provide emotional nur-

turance when Grace needed it. She

describes the impact of these frequent and

unpredictable residential moves on her sense

of well-being:

. . . it’s like now you’re feeling

lonely, you’re just, I don’t know,

you’re a feather in the wind, wher-

ever you land for that moment is

where you stay until the wind blows

again. You’re on the go, you have no

idea where you’re going, and you

have no idea how long you’re gonna

be there, but you’re there until it’s

time to go. Because it’s always time

to go. . . .

Although she acknowledges that hers

“weren’t the best family,” and that living

with her mother could be dangerous, she

wanted to be with her family and, as a

system-involved teen, ran to her grandmother

or to be closer to her sisters. Despite their

limitations, she felt safe with her family be-

cause they were a known quantity and she

could be herself with them:

I would prefer to be with my family

more than a foster home. I mean you

could sleep easy, not feeling like

someone is gonna do something, or

you don’t know what is gonna happen

next, and plus you know what to

expect from your family, aside from

someone new you’re like, “Oh God, I

have to start all over.”

When she expressed vulnerability or

asserted herself, Grace describes her foster

parents and the family services system as re-

jecting her. Thus, she could not express the

feelings of loneliness and depression she was

having for fear of additional placements. “I’ve

been in foster homes where I cut myself and

they’re like, ‘Oh no, you can’t stay here.’ And

it’s like, ‘next.’ So I just ran away. They didn’t

care, not the foster parents anyway.” Showing

her real personality as an outspoken teenager

seemed to lead to problems as well.

I got kicked out of her foster home.

This is when I was supposed to be

taking college courses. My plan was

to go to [name of college]; I had

straightened up. This was after I asked

to go to the hospital; usually they

have to fight me to go. I asked to

go, I spent all these months in the

hospital, I get out, I’m doing the right

thing, I’m taking my medication, I

just got a job at Walgreens, I’m not

smoking weed. I’m doing the right

thing. But because all of us girls are

so scared, everyone has a voice but

everyone is scared to confront the

foster mother. So, me, I’m the leader,

I’m gonna say it, because I’ve been

going through this long enough, you

know. So I speak up, she calls the

DFS worker, which I didn’t even

know changed. I get kicked out of

the foster home.

Grace came to believe that her changes

in placement were prompted by her self-

expression, whether of sadness or indepen-

dence, and this further threatened her feelings

of emotional safety as well as prompted in-

security about her identity. She felt punished

for speaking out or expressing her fear and

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 141

sadness, as it always seemed to result in a

placement change.

Grace’s description of the system person-

nel with whom she felt safe highlighted the

value she placed on authenticity and on people

who took the time to understand who she

really was. Here, she describes a nurse in the

psychiatric hospital:

I forgot her name, I just still call her

the army nurse because she never

cracked a smile and I wrote a few

composition notebooks back to

back, what was gonna be my book,

and it was like maybe five composi-

tion notebooks that I just wrote, and

she was the only one that read it . . .

because they didn’t have a therapist

there at the hospital at the time, and

she looked at me when my sisters

came and she’s like, ’cause I had to

give them money to come see me at

the hospital basically, and she’s like,

don’t let the way other people are

change who I am. Now mind you,

she never smiles or says anything to

anyone, it’s “If I say get in the room,

get in the room, or you’re going

down.” She had no problems doing

restraints, but I felt safe with her.

Similarly, though she says her commit-

ment to DJJ was a bad experience because it

resulted in months of lost time in detention,

she says she felt safe in detention because she

did not face rejection from the staff for being

herself, and did not have to conceal her iden-

tity with girls who shared her experiences.

. . . when you’re locked up, you have

no choice but to be you. I mean if

you want to spaz out then go for it,

you know you’re just going to be

restrained . . . and then they talk

you back down. DFS, on the other

hand, you spaz out, you’re gone.

There is no one to rub your back

or try to understand or help you

understand what’s going on with

you, I mean you’re just gone. And

you’re in the next place, no one goes

over what just happened and you’re

in the next place.

The director of detention saw that Grace

was struggling without an outlet for her feel-

ings but was constrained because, although

Grace spent many months in detention, the

facility was not designed for treatment:

. . . she kind of conformed, but I

think as she wasn’t really addressing

what was really going on with her or

the system in general wasn’t really

addressing it, and detention isn’t the

place to address that, I mean we’re not

treatment, that’s not our service. She

started to struggle more and more.

Although DFS, DJJ, and her attorney

recognized that Grace did not feel safe, they

could not appreciate the enormity of her fears

and the many ways in which fear influenced

her behavior. Her attorney recognized that

Grace’s traumatic family experiences contin-

ued to affect her deeply:

Grace is still grieving the loss of her

family and nobody got that. It never

was about Grace having been taken

from her mother and then taken from

her grandmother and all of the losses

she had experienced, and separated

from her sisters, and it was all about

her deficits. So I think that somebody

who was more connected to . . . her

142 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

community could have, there’s no

guarantee, but could have been able

to see her assets and try to build on

those assets.

Her DJJ caseworker connected her need

for emotional safety to her need for stability,

particularly a stable placement. She believed

Grace would find that stability only with her

family but was constrained by DFS (which

did not support family placement) and the

housing authority (which prohibited Grace

from living with her grandmother in subsi-

dized housing).

The DFS caseworker also saw Grace’s

need for nurturing and saw that as a particu-

larly strong need for girls. She believed that

the system did not provide it because they

viewed Grace as a criminal (despite her

minor delinquency). Despite that view,

however, the caseworker did not connect

her need for a nurturing relationship to

her feeling unsafe.

The disparity between the system’s pri-

mary focus on physical safety and Grace’s pri-

mary focus on emotional safety led to neither

being sufficiently addressed, and to system

measures that led Grace to perpetuate the

very behaviors the system aimed to thwart,

such as running away and self-harm. These

measures also alienated Grace, making her feel

vulnerable to rejection and unable to be her-

self, feelings that fueled dissatisfaction with

system decisions, and tensions in her relation-

ships with system representatives.

Relationships: “It Felt Like the Whole World Just Left Us Naked”

Relationships play a central role in Grace’s

system experiences and are closely associated

with her struggles with identity and emotional

safety. The central role of relationships in

Grace’s life may be rooted in the early loss

of her mother and family and her moves in and

out of foster homes and detention. Those in

the system who worked with Grace recog-

nized the centrality of relationships for her,

and for girls generally, yet the system’s judging

and rule-bound approach to services made it

difficult for individuals working with her to

form relationships that Grace saw as authentic

and valuable. The systemic challenges to au-

thentic relationships were unfortunate, both

because they proved counterproductive to

Grace’s success and because, at least in Grace’s

case, those relationships would have been

relatively easy to establish and nurture: All

our informants seemed genuinely to like her

for her many endearing qualities as well as her

strength of personality and apparent resilience.

It is as though the system got in the way

of these individual relationships rather than

having facilitated them.

Loss of Family Relationships Grace’s own accounts, as well as those of her agency work-

ers and her attorney, suggest that her experi-

ence of abandonment by her mother and

later her grandmother, and the instability of

her family life, were replicated throughout

her system involvement, as she was moved

from placement to placement in the system.

Grace describes the early underpinnings of her

need for supportive and reliable relationships:

. . . that’s where the depression came

from, feeling like I was lonely. . . .

You lose hope really easy when you

don’t have someone. I mean your first

love is your mother’s, I mean that’s

where you spend your first nine

months . . . same heartbeat, you’re

sharing it all. When your mother

gives up on you at such a young

age, it’s like a chicken, you know

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 143

the baby chicken, you don’t have fur

at first, it’s like you’re naked to the

world. Your mother’s wings are sup-

posed to keep you warm and pro-

tected until you, you know, develop

those feathers. It felt like the whole

world just left us naked.

Through Grace’s frequent moves within

the system, she repeatedly relived this loss,

loneliness, and experience of abandonment.

From Grace’s perspective, these moves were

the result of foster parents and caseworkers

seeing her as flawed or at fault, a notion that

was largely corroborated by those who worked

with Grace during her system involvement.

Her DFS caseworker remembered:

. . . she would say that she wants to go

to [a job training program] and every-

one would get behind it and there were

allsortsoflogisticalthingsthatneededto

be worked out and we’d work really

hardonitandthenIthinkshewouldjust

change her mind or she would call one

dayand belike, “That’s not what I want

anymore. Now I want to do this.” And

shewas a little bit scatteredabout it,and

so that made the system sort of react,

“Oh now we did all this work and now

you’regonnachangeyourmindafterwe

did all that.” You know what I mean?

That’s what ended up happening to her

alot,soIthinkintheend,itjustbecame

about safety. It just became about her

following the rules and if she didn’t, she

was out, that type of thing.

In a similar vein, her attorney described:

. . . [Grace] exhausted people and

they got fed up with dealing with

her contentiousness if they knew

her or not. I think they would, you

know, collaterals would hear from the

DMH worker [who] I’m sure got an

earful from the caseworker who

maligned Grace for her demands, so

nobody took the time, nobody who

might have stepped out to the plate,

took the time to kind of get to know

her, I felt, and advocate for her.

Institutional Obstacles Institutional ob- stacles to effective relationship building were

apparent in Grace’s case as well. For one, the

regulatory nature of most relationships Grace

had with individuals in the system compro-

mised their genuineness. There was no one

whose role it was simply to build a relationship

with her, mentor her, or provide her emo-

tional support; rather, every relationship was

characterized by unequal power, wherein sig-

nificant consequences loomed when she dis-

obeyed system rules. As explained by Grace’s

DFS caseworker:

. . . all of her connections were

about people that set rules for her

and it was whether or not she fol-

lowed those rules. I mean she had a

DJJ worker, a DFS worker, all these

different foster homes, or all these

different staff members at programs,

and I remember her trying to foster

relationships and she’d try to foster

relationships with people and, you

know, someone had to come down

hard on her and tell her that she broke

a rule and sort of tighten up the system

on her. It was never an authentic

thing.

Grace suffered in this void of genuine

personal connections, of relationships that

were unconditional, wherein she would not

144 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

face rejection for not following rules that

seemed to her to be unduly punitive or to

present her with unfair choices. Her over-

arching characterization of the agency repre-

sentatives she encountered throughout her

system involvement was that of a lack of effort

or interest in knowing the “real” her but,

rather, an effort to change who she was.

Within these relationships, she felt misunder-

stood and sometimes voiceless. She stated:

. . . try to understand this part of me,

please hear what I’m not saying, not

try to put your interpretation of what

you want me to be inside my head.

Let me tell you who I am because I’m

forgetting who I am because you’re

moving me around too much, I don’t

know.

Grace rarely saw her DFS caseworkers.

The role had high turnover, and Grace says

she was often not informed when her case-

worker changed. One caseworker with whom

Grace did have a longer-term relationship,

who was interviewed for this study, went on

maternity leave at a critical juncture in Grace’s

case, when she was turning 18 and would “age

out” of the system. In retrospect, everyone

agreed this was a significant setback for Grace,

who may have weathered the transition better

had this caseworker been available to her. As

her attorney explains:

Grace gets a new caseworker, and I

don’t know the level of experience

this caseworker had, but she was

going by the book and Grace doesn’t

do things by the book, and so that

was a critical event that really set

Grace up to have the voluntary

[post-18 services] fall apart. I mean

that was certainly one piece of it.

There were other things, too. Where

she was placed was not a great foster

home for her. You know, the truth is

she needed a lot more support than

she thought she needed and that she

wanted to have, and part of it was

resources, what the department has

to offer.

Throughout her system involvement

Grace rarely felt there was a good fit between

her and the adults responsible for her.

According to Grace, decisions made in her

case were channeled through the foster

parents with whom she was placed, rather

than through her caseworkers. Due to her

lack of connection to, and negative feelings

about, the majority of her foster placements,

this contributed to feelings of powerlessness

and vulnerability; Grace felt like things were

being done to her, without an opportunity

to influence decisions that were made about

her life.

Positive Relationships in the System Although Grace’s relationships with system

representatives were often contentious, she

also seemed to inspire in many of these

same adults feelings of empathy and a belief

in her potential to succeed, and motivation to

help her. Her DJJ caseworker recalled:

I remember I worried about her a lot,

like she was one of those girls you

think about when you go home.

You think about all of them, but

you think about her because of her

ability to be warm and friendly, and

also care about you as a person. You

know, generally some kids hate their

caseworkers. She cared about me, like

she’d always ask about my daughter,

things like that.

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 145

Study informants described Grace as a

young woman who clearly sought personal

connections with others. She had stories to

tell, and wanted someone to listen to, and help

her work through, the emotions they surfaced.

Her attorney reflected that when she first met

Grace, Grace shared with her that she had

miscarried twins. This immediately forged a

personal dimension in their relationship. Her

attorney explained:

I mean I think she wanted me to react

to her pain. She wanted me to be

sympathetic to it and I was. I mean

it was, I was thinking, “Oh my God.

Thank God” that she wasn’t pregnant

with twins and that was adding to the

list of the things that she had to deal

with. She was telling me about it

because people around her weren’t

grieving with her, so yeah, definitely.

I think that was true with Grace in

every interaction. It was first about

the emotional; it was first about “This

is what’s happened to me. I am so

upset.” And it was always important

for my first response to her to be “Oh

Grace, I am so sorry,” and then “what

happened?” And not just “I’m so

sorry” and get down to business.

We needed to really talk and process

this, and I was willing to do it.

Caseworkers also found themselves natu-

rally inclined to provide her with emotional

support and guidance. Finding this balance

was complicated both for Grace, due to the

conditional nature of these relationships, and

for these agency representatives, and there was

no consensus on what an appropriate inter-

personal relationship with a client should look

like. All our informants strove for a balance

between respect for professional boundaries

and support in their relationships with Grace.

The former director of detention struggled

with aspects of the relationship between Grace

and her DJJ caseworker. She perceived the

caseworker as:

. . . trying to befriend, more than be

the person of the rational decision

making, or the person that a client

can bounce an idea off and sort of get

an answer that has some structural

reasoning to it or play the devil’s

advocate, you know those kinds of

things, that sort of talking, commu-

nication, and interaction because

even not being able to say no or

not being able to set limits with

clients, especially with a client like

Grace, I think is as detrimental as

anything else.

While this particular relationship seemed

problematic from an administrator’s view-

point, Grace describes it as one of the most

trusting and positive relationships she had

during her system involvement. Not surpris-

ingly, Grace enjoyed relationships in which

individuals stuck by her despite her imperfec-

tions, taking this as an indication that they

accepted her for who she was, including her

troubled parts. About the DFS caseworker

with whom she had the longest relationship,

she said:

I’m almost getting ready to turn 18.

I’m like “Thank you.” Because she

was hard, but she didn’t leave us.

Everyone else did. There were case-

workers that left and didn’t even say

anything. You didn’t even know that

you had a new caseworker ’cause they

never met with you, and I’m like

seriously, honestly, that happened so

146 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

many times I can’t even count ’cause

I never even met them, they just

passed through. But the ones that

stuck around sometimes were okay,

some good, some not so great, most

not so great, but [DFS caseworker]

in the end, I had to give it to her,

like, “Okay, I applaud you ’cause you

stuck it through. You cared.” Sort of

like a test.

Grace considered this caseworker’s dedi-

cation atypical, compared to her experiences

with other caseworkers and with foster

parents:

I was in a foster home and I used to

cut myself. When she came upstairs

and she saw the cuts on my arms she

says, “Okay we gotta figure some-

thing out.” I’m believing this lady

cares about me and that she’s gonna

try to help me and make it better, so

I get sent to DJJ, and my freedom

was taken because I was a depressed

child. . . . She calls me and says, “Oh

honey, I’m sorry,” and I’m like it’s

because I’m not who she wanted me

to be, the foster kid who doesn’t give

her a problem.

Not only did Grace feel that she could not

count on foster parents to stick by her

through the tough times, but she felt they

rejected her and punished her because of her

mental health challenges. The message to

Grace seemed to be that regardless of her

life circumstances, there was no room for

error within this system.

Grace deeply valued authenticity in rela-

tionships with system adults, which she de-

fined as “being real” with her and allowing,

even demanding, her to be real with them.

Whereas with others in the system the condi-

tional nature of the relationship was at the

forefront, exacerbating Grace’s feeling that she

could not express her true self, the individuals

that Grace viewed as authentic made her feel

that she could be herself without risk of

rejection or desertion. Some of the staff mem-

bers whom she remembered particularly

fondly are also those she described as being

tough with her, forcing her to consider the

potential consequences of her actions:

It felt real. The conversation was

always real, it wasn’t sugarcoated or

“Oh, I feel bad for you.” You know,

it’s “Okay. Let’s work on this. This is

what we have to do now ’cause you

don’t want to end up dead, do you?”

And it’s like a reality check and some-

times you listen, sometimes you

don’t. . . .

However, she also appreciated when these

individuals acted in ways she considered to be

exceptional:

When I ran away, [the DJJ supervisor]

gave me two days to come back. Now

mind you, I already should’ve been

back and I should’ve been locked up.

He goes to my grandmother’s house,

off record, because he wants to bring

me in his self, he doesn’t want the

police to come and get me. He wants

him and [the DJJ caseworker] to be

the ones to come and get me. . . .

In the preceding quote, Grace describes an

instance in which a staff member went out of

his way to treat her with dignity. Other exam-

ples include staff members visiting her when

she was receiving care in a psychiatric hospital,

taking her out to eat when she was pregnant,

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 147

or giving her their own money to buy herself

clothing. These acts signaled to Grace that

they saw her as a person, not just a case,

and that they genuinely cared about her.

She says of her attorney:

. . . she brought my son before he was

born so many boxes of things, and this

was her money. This isn’t, this isn’t

somebody else’s money, so you know

other people care about you. Because

you don’t have to do it but you do it,

and I never felt like I was looked at

like a charity case.

Examining the role of relationships in

Grace’s case underscores the importance of

deliberate and thoughtful systemic attention

to positive, stable relationships for girls. The

quality and benefit of the relationships Grace

had with agency representatives seemed

entirely dependent on the individual working

directly with her and, thus, that individual’s

own beliefs about the importance of their

relationships with young clients and the scope

of her/his role, as well as her/his personal

biases about Grace.

Collaboration and Shared Power: “When I’m Complaining, I’m Not Cooperating”

Grace’s experience with the systems was

characterized more by friction and dis-

empowerment than by collaboration and

shared power.

Collaborating and Sharing Power With Grace Grace felt that all the decisions in her case were made for her and happened to

her, out of her control and without her input.

She felt stripped of any agency or power over

her life, and she explains her running away, in

part, as a way of taking back some control.

Grace told us that she felt that DFS and DJJ

regarded her as:

. . . a lost ship in the system, in the

computer system. Once you’re in,

you’re the enemy. Even if it’s not

your fault, I mean the things that

happened to me with my mother,

you know, the abuse that I took, I

was 8, you know; it wasn’t my fault.

But, growing up, DFS they didn’t

look at it like that. Everything my

sisters did, everything we did was a

problem.

The DFS caseworker agreed that the sys-

tem’s lack of trust in Grace, whether warranted

or not, made it impossible to share power

with her:

It was always a setup to ask her to

comply with all these probation rules

because she was just emotionally not

able to do it, you know, she had been

so sort of traumatized, she had a hard

time complying with rules 100%. She

would really try, but she’d end up in

these crazy situations that got her into

trouble. It’s almost like, you get the

label of being on probation, and then

you’re a rule violator for probation,

but you’re in DFS custody and then

you’re not following the rules of

placement. It all snowballs, and she

just got the reputation of being a kid

that just broke rules.

It is striking that though Grace has many

positive things to say about many people in the

system, when she is asked about whether they

shared power with her or collaborated with

her on decisions, her answer is unequivocally

negative:

148 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

I don’t think that they would be happy

with that, not just because, you know,

being a female, but just being a child

in general. Why would they want to

give you that power? They make the

better decisions, you don’t. They

know what’s good for you.

The absence of any power or control over

decisions in her life contributed to her feeling

detached from what was happening, and left

with unanswered questions all these years later:

I honestly just went through DFS.

I just, what happened during the pro-

cess is just like a raindrop falling on the

ground. It’s there, it dissolves there,

you know, and then there’s another

drop here, and then there’s another

drop here. It’s just, there’s drops all

over the place. The dried-up part is

just you leaving that part alone, it’s

over now, it’s a new drop. But you

don’t get a full understanding of why

you stayed there, I don’t know how to

explain it. You know, like you don’t

get a full understanding of why it

happened.

Although Grace has a mental health diag-

nosis that required treatment over the years,

she viewed mental health intervention suspi-

ciously, as she did most other system interven-

tions. To her, use of psychiatric medication

was another way the system tried to quiet her

down and avoid engaging her in meaningful

ways:

. . . psychiatrists was just giving me

medications. DFS was my legal guard-

ians, they had to say yes or no, so I’m

guessing they said, “Yeah, drug her

up,” whatever is going to keep her

quiet so we don’t have to keep run-

ning back to the foster homes, do it.

Her lawyer shared Grace’s view of the

autocratic system decision making and attrib-

utes it to a punitive mind-set and the inability

of individuals in the system to step back and act

with professional distance. The lawyer

describes the system approach to offering

services as

. . . grudging. I just can’t even

emphasize that enough. All of these

meetings were designed to say, “We

don’t like you, we don’t think that

you’re gonna do what we expect you

to do, but here, this is the agreement,

so let’s see how you do because we

don’t have any confidence that you

can actually succeed.”

Grace’s attorney continues,

. . . any young woman who speaks

her mind, expressing herself, and you

know sometimes it’s not infrequently

about unhappiness about their situa-

tion, that’s not encouraged. I mean

you can do it, if you do it in a one-

on-one with the caseworker and the

caseworker feels that you have been

assuaged by her comforting words or

whatever. But if that doesn’t really

satisfy you, they don’t really want to

hear from you. The last thing that I saw

in that meeting to hammer out the

[post-18] voluntary services agreement

was collaboration. It was all about

“This is what we offer; this is the

best we can do. This is what we offer

everybody, and you’re not gonna get

anymore, so just take it or leave it.”

Basically, that was very much their

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 149

approach to it, and shared power, this

was all about Grace being brought to

her knees and being told, “If you want

this, this is what we’ll give you. But

don’t expect us to bend on this.” The

dynamic in those meetings were (sic) all

“dump on Grace” meetings. It was one

person after another just sort of listing

all of the things Grace hadn’t done and

never any discussion of why she hadn’t

done them. If she hadn’t done them,

what else could she do, what else could

be offered to her that might make it

possible for her to succeed? There

was no collaboration at all, and that’s

where her frustration came over years

of not having her voice heard. I just

don’t think that’s the model.

The DFS and DJJ caseworkers said they

valued the gender-responsive element of

shared power and collaboration, but ap-

proached it in a somewhat unilateral way,

reporting having tried unsuccessfully to have

Grace “buy in” to decisions they made. The

DJJ caseworker stated:

So we would always kind of say, “Well

these are the things you want, this is

what you’re gonna have to do to get

them,” and we’d try to help her

through it. . . . I think Grace person-

ally didn’t feel like we were on the same

page as her. And maybe I’m wrong,

maybe I’m not, I think she every day

kind of felt a little differently about

what our role was and how we were

trying to help her. I definitely recall her

one day trusting us and wanting us to

help her, and then another day not.

And I don’t think that’s just the bipolar

thing, I think it’s in general, any kid in a

system like that, you’re trying to set

these goals and you have these people

that actually also have the authority to

bring you into custody, it’s like kind of

that awkward balance.

Despite their intentions, the caseworkers

report, Grace’s inability to stick to a plan and

the many small setbacks along the way inevi-

tably derailed progress. It is clear, however,

that there was no formal mechanism for mak-

ing collaborative decisions with her. The

extent to which Grace participated in deci-

sions about her case was contingent on the

personalities and philosophies of the individ-

uals involved.

Not surprisingly, in contrast to her general

view of system decision making, Grace felt

that having a good lawyer was empowering:

[My attorney] cares so she’s fighting

for me and I’m just sitting there with

happy tears in my eyes, I’m so happy

someone is sticking up for me. It’s not

just my voice that’s being blocked,

you know like I’m not being heard.

. . . And to have someone that’s by

your side telling you you’re worth it

and it’s not right . . . who’s doing

it for free, and they’re really fighting

like they’re getting paid for it, it’s

like wow.

Collaborating and Sharing Power Across Systems Grace, like many girls in the juve- nile justice system, was under the jurisdiction

of more than one state system simultaneously.

She was in the custody of DFS as a result of a

child protection case, committed to DJJ as a

result of delinquency, for a year she was under

the supervision of the Probation Department,

and she was also placed in a Department of

Mental Health (DMH) facility briefly as a

result of her bipolar disorder. These agencies

150 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

each had responsibility for a portion of the

services, and so their ability to collaborate

was critical to effective service delivery (see

also Farrell & Myers, Chapter 21, this volume;

Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this volume).

However, during Grace’s teens, these agencies

fought among themselves over who had

responsibility for her placements, and this

contributed to Grace spending a total of

264 days over 2 years in secure detention,

although after her first offense she was never

charged anew.

This lack of cross-system collaboration

and shared power appeared to be the result

of (a) a lack of clarity among the caseworkers

about who was legally responsible for which

portion of services; (b) poor interpersonal

relationships among the responsible agency

caseworkers and supervisors, resulting in staff

personalizing decisions; (c) limited resources;

and (d) a lack of mechanisms for information

sharing. Indeed, when Grace discussed the

two primary systems in her life, DFS and

DJJ, she was almost like a child of bickering

parents, having to choose a favorite, suffering a

loss of confidence and trust in them as a result.

In Grace’s view, DJJ was generally in the

right and DFS was in the wrong, making it

even more difficult for her to trust DFS’s

decisions in her case:

The DJJ system, I feel like they cared a

lot more than DFS, and that’s a little

weird because you’re confined with

DJJ, you’re locked away. But they

cared more. DJJ fought with DFS

to find me placements because some-

times, if DFS couldn’t find me a

placement, they’d just throw me in

DJJ custody.

Regardless of whether Grace’s under-

standing of responsibilities across the agencies

was accurate, their public disputes and her

caseworkers’ willingness to blame the other

agencies seemed to contribute to Grace’s

mistrust of the system and feelings of power-

lessness and lack of safety.

Agency informants in this study differed

in their views of who had responsibility for

finding Grace placements. The attorney, DJJ,

and Grace thought DFS was responsible, and

DFS and the judge (who was not involved in

Grace’s case but was rather commenting on

the general rule) thought the primary respon-

sibility fell to DJJ. It is likely that both DJJ and

DFS had responsibility at different points in

the case, but the lack of clarity among the

line staff and supervisors about each agency’s

responsibility could only have contributed to

the difficulties they had collaborating across

systems.

In addition, agency policies made cross-

system collaboration more difficult in ways

large and small, all of which appeared to

hurt Grace. The DFS caseworker stated:

The clothing money? It was sup-

posed to be paid out from the DFS

system. We’re supposed to be sup-

porting the child, so we’re supposed

to pay for their clothing and their

birthday money, and the child has a

legal right to that money under the

state law and there is no way to pay

between the DFS system and the DJJ

system. . . . So she would miss all

these payments, which was sort of

the sad thing about her case is she

never had clothes, she never had her

hair done, she never had all these

things that would make a young

woman successful. And that’s sort

of what I meant in the beginning

about they didn’t really take care of

her, nurture her like a girl.

The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 151

Different agencies’ foci and the degrees of

discretion allowed among caseworkers may

have also contributed to conflicts. DJJ infor-

mants said they may have considered a place-

ment with Grace’s family, but DFS, which was

involved as a direct result of Grace’s family’s

inability to care for her, would not consider it.

The agencies did not negotiate through these

differences.

Along with different foci, the agencies

often also operated with different information.

Even within DJJ there was little information

sharing, so the detention facility knew little

about Grace, although the DJJ case file likely

contained much more (see Schneider & Simpson,

Chapter 22, this volume). This lack of infor-

mation sharing contributed to disjointed case

planning. The former director of detention

explained:

In detention, you go with very little

information. You can go with a lot of

self-disclosed information from the

client in terms of what Grace tells

us basically, but you also get a “Mit”

[custody order from the court] and it

says something on it like “assault and

battery,” and that’s all you have; you

don’t have what the circumstances

were. There’s always more informa-

tion than what you get, and so you go

with that and trying to get to a point

where we understand that there was a

history of mental health in her family.

I don’t think that’s something we ever

knew until the very, very end.

The absence of shared power and collab-

oration in the decision-making process was a

striking feature of the years Grace spent

involved with DFS and DJJ and was the result

of the mutual lack of trust between Grace and

these systems as entities, a rigid “take it or

leave it” approach to service provision, and

an overall accountability approach to case

planning that blamed Grace for her failures

and used those failures as a reason not to share

power with her. There was also a lack of

collaboration across systems, marking Grace’s

case with cross-system squabbles about who

was responsible for various pieces of her case,

limiting the resources available to her, and

putting her in the middle of system turf

disputes and conflicting policies.

CONCLUSION

Juvenile justice policy should not be made on

the basis of any single case. However, case

study analysis can deepen our understanding

of how individuals interpret a shared expe-

rience, and that understanding, in turn, can

form the basis for further study and analysis

with individuals in similar circumstances.

Through this process, it is our hope that

Grace’s case study, along with others like it,

might lead to policies more connected to the

young women the youth systems are meant

to serve.

Over the past decade, a consensus has

begun to emerge about the particular needs

and pathways of girls in the juvenile justice

system and the gender-responsive approach

to services and systems that might address

those needs. Three core gender-responsive

elements—physical and emotional safety, rela-

tionships, and collaboration across systems and

with young women—are acknowledged in

the literature as central to effective programs

and policies for system-involved girls. We

chose to tell Grace’s story with reference to

these gender-responsive elements because

they facilitated the narration and highlighted

themes in Grace’s experience to which policy

makers should attend.

152 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

Though this case study suggests many

profitable areas for further research and

policy reform, there are a few core, over-

arching findings. Most broadly, it is clear that

however well-meaning adults in the system

are, the girls involved will make their own

meaning of their experiences, reflecting their

preferences about process and solutions.

Their perspectives are critical to successful

policies. Second, Grace’s story highlights

the importance of a developmental focus,

emphasizing girls’ needs and strengths rather

than focusing on their crimes and misbehav-

ior. Finally, Grace’s story is a poignant re-

minder that regardless of our adult view of

the quality of girls’ families, young women

in Grace’s situation seek and need family

connection, and the systems charged with

their care must find ways to support them

in that quest.

Grace was in the custody of the youth

systems from 1999 to 2003, and policies

related to much of what characterized her

tour through the systems are beginning to

evolve. In 2011 there is increasing attention

to placement instability and its profound

impact on youth in the child welfare and

juvenile justice systems. There is also move-

ment toward reducing reliance on detention

and increasing reliance on community-based

programming (see Schiraldi, Schindler, &

Goliday, Chapter 20, this volume). There

is a growing emphasis on positive youth

development (see Lerner et al., Chapter 5,

this volume) and intensive, individualized

services in juvenile justice and child welfare

systems, which might have removed the

negative quality of so many of Grace’s system

interactions (see Beyer, Chapter 1, this vol-

ume). These are reasons to hope that the

system experiences of girls today might be

improved from those experienced by Grace.

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The Role of Gender in Youth Systems: Grace’s Story 155

8

CHAPTER

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System

LAURA GARNETTE, ANGELA IRVINE, CAROLYN REYES, AND SHANNAN WILBER

M ost youth, regardless of sexual orienta-

tion or gender identity, are supported

by their families and peers as they progress

through the series of developmental changes

that mark adolescence (Erikson, 1968), in-

cluding the establishment of gender identity

and the exploration of sexuality (Silbereisen,

Eyferth, & Rudinger, 1986). Unfortunately,

many lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender

(LGBT) youth experience social stigma and

abuse from their families and peers, inter-

rupting normative development and threat-

ening mental and physical health. This social

stigma and abuse leads to a series of negative

outcomes for some LGBT youth: school

failure and truancy, family conflict, place-

ment in group and foster homes, homeless-

ness, and involvement in the juvenile justice

system. Indeed, LGBT youth in the juvenile

justice system are more likely than their

heterosexual and gender-conforming peers

to have been abused and neglected by family

members, to have been placed in out-of-

home care, to have run away from placement,

and to have been detained for running away

(Irvine, 2009).

This chapter provides a framework for

understanding healthy adolescent develop-

ment, the ways that social stigma and abuse

can derail healthy adolescent development,

and the harmful effects of detention. It

presents new research on the links between

social stigma and abuse and juvenile deten-

tion. It also provides policy and program-

matic recommendations for meeting the

needs of this vulnerable and mostly invisible

population.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF SEXUAL ORIENTATION AND GENDER IDENTITY IN ADOLESCENTS

Adolescence is the transition from childhood

to adulthood and is marked by profound

social, emotional, and physical changes

(Lerner & Steinberg, 2009; see Beyer, Chap-

ter 1, this volume; Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this

volume). The development of healthy sexuality

and integration of a positive gender identity are

among the critical developmental tasks youth

must undertake during this time (Christopher,

2001; Gagnon & Simon, 1973; Impett &

Tolman, 2006). Creating an environment in

which youth feel safe exploring and disclosing

their emerging sexuality and gender identity

promotes well-being, positive self-esteem, and

self-care, all of which are essential components

156

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

in reducing risk and increasing healthy behav-

iors (Wilber, Ryan, & Marksamer, 2006).

Sexual orientation and gender identity are

distinct aspects of an individual’s identity. Sex-

ual orientation refers to a person’s enduring

emotional, romantic, sexual, or affectional

attraction to members of the same or different

sex. It exists on a continuum, from exclusively

heterosexual (attraction to members of a differ-

ent sex) to exclusively homosexual (attraction to

members of the same sex), with degrees of

bisexuality (attraction to same-sex or other-sex

people) in-between (American Psychological

Association, 2009). Gender identity refers to a

person’s internal, deeply felt sense of being

male, female, or something other or in-

between (Eckes & Traunter, 2000). Every

person has a gender identity. Typically, one’s

gender identity is consistent with his or her

anatomical sex. However, transgender individ-

uals have a gender identity that is different

from their assigned birth sex. The term trans-

gender also describes people whose gender

expression does not conform to societal

norms, though not all gender-nonconforming

individuals identify as transgender.

Child and adolescent development re-

search indicates that gender identity is firmly

established in early childhood (Brill & Pepper,

2008; Wilber et al., 2006). Just as gender-

conforming youth have strong gender identi-

ties before starting kindergarten, some youth

self-identify as transgender as early as pre-

school (Mallon & DeCrescenzo, 2006; Wilber

et al., 2006).

Sexual orientation is similarly established

at a young age (Ryan & Diaz, 2005). Like

heterosexual youth, lesbian, gay, and bisexual

youth usually become aware of their sexual

orientation based on their thoughts and emo-

tions long before they have their first sexual

encounter. Recent research shows that chil-

dren are “coming out” (disclosing their sexual

orientation to others) at younger ages than

in previous generations (Ryan & Diaz, 2005).

Ryan and Diaz (2005) found that many youth

report awareness of their sexual orientation

by age 5, while the average age of first aware-

ness of same-sex attraction is about 10 years

and of self-identification as gay or lesbian is

about 13 years.

Although a considerable debate exists

about the origin of sexual orientation, the

prevailing scientific understanding is that it

is the result of a complex interaction of bio-

logical and environmental factors and is an

inherent part of a person’s being (American

Psychiatric Association, 2009; American Psy-

chological Association, 2009; Frankowski,

2004). Even though some people may choose

not to act on their feelings or to self-identify

as lesbian, gay, or bisexual, experts agree that

individuals with same sex attraction cannot

change their sexual orientation any more

than heterosexual people can change theirs

(American Psychological Association, 2004).

Similarly, consensus exists among the

health professions that a person’s gender iden-

tity is a deep-seated, inherent aspect of human

identity; efforts to change gender identity are

ineffective and likely to cause significant harm

(Israel & Tarver, 1997; Mallon, 1999). Some

professionals have tried unsuccessfully to

“cure” individuals using techniques designed

to alter their cross-gender identification.

These techniques are sometimes referred to

as reparative therapies or aversion techniques.

However, the medical and psychological pro-

fessions view efforts to alter a person’s core

gender as both futile and unethical (Israel &

Tarver, 1997; Mallon, 1999).

There is clear consensus among all main-

stream health and mental health professionals

that LGBT identity represents a normal aspect

of human experience (Klein, 2000; Mallon

& DeCrescenzo, 2006; Wilber et al., 2006).

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 157

Over 35 years of scientific research demon-

strates that lesbian, gay, and bisexual identities

fall within the range of normative sexual de-

velopment and are not associated with mental

disorders or emotional or social problems; nor

are they caused by prior sexual abuse or other

trauma (American Psychological Association,

2004; Herek & Garnets, 2007). According to

the American Psychiatric Association, child-

hood sexual abuse does not appear to be more

prevalent among children who grow up to

identify as lesbian, gay, or bisexual (LGB)

than it is among their heterosexual counter-

parts (American Psychiatric Association, 2009).

Even though LGB youth are no more likely to

experience childhood sexual abuse than their

heterosexual peers, many LGBTadolescents do

experience sexual abuse and trauma after com-

ing out to individuals in their families, com-

munities, schools, and other institutions (Earls,

2002; Savin-Williams, 1994).

Research similarly confirms that no in-

herent connection exists between a person’s

sexual orientation and the likelihood of sexual

offending (Goldman, 2008; Jenny, Roesler,

& Poyer, 1994; McConaghy, 1998). Studies

using a variety of psychological measures in-

dicate that gay individuals are not more likely

than heterosexuals “to possess any psycholog-

ical characteristics that would make them less

capable of controlling their sexual urges, re-

fraining from the abuse of power, obeying

rules and laws, interacting effectively with

others, or exercising good judgment in han-

dling authority” (Herek, 2009).

Additionally, transgender individuals in

general do not have serious underlying psycho-

pathology that causes or influences their trans-

gender identity. Studies have documented that

the incidence of reported mental health prob-

lems for transgender individuals undergoing

treatment is similar to that in the general

population (Brown, 2007; Cole, O’Boyle,

Emory, & Meyer, 1997). The research is clear:

Though faced with challenges rooted in stigma

that are not experienced by most of their non-

LGBT counterparts, LGBT youth are in no

way “sick,” “damaged,” or “depraved.”

SOCIAL STIGMA AND ASSOCIATED RISKS TO WELL-BEING FOR

LGBT YOUTH

LGBT youth reach the same developmental

milestones as their heterosexual and gender

normative counterparts, but face additional

challenges associated with living with a

stigmatized identity. They must cope with

familial, social, educational, and community

environments in which victimization and ha-

rassment are common. LGBT-related stigma

has social, behavioral, and health-related con-

sequences that can increase risk behaviors,

such as substance abuse and unprotected sex,

and intensify psychological distress and risk for

suicide (Ryan & Futterman, 1998). Juvenile

justice professionals working with LGBT

youth must be aware of these unique contex-

tual issues in order to provide appropriate,

individualized services to these youth.

Social Stigma

Despite the gains made by LGBT individuals

in the area of civil rights and increased visi-

bility in the media, there is still profound

societal stigma associated with LGBT identi-

ties. Society continues to uphold hetero-

sexuality and gender-conforming behavior

as “normal” and label all other human

expressions as inferior, at best. In an environ-

ment in which same-sex attraction and

gender-nonconforming behavior is heavily

158 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

pathologized, children learn at a young age

which behaviors are acceptable and rewarded

and which ones are best hidden or repressed.

This is the context in which adolescents are

expected to work toward creating a stable

identity and becoming healthy and produc-

tive adults. This type of social stigma makes

these already difficult developmental tasks

seem insurmountable to many LGBT youth

(Hill & Willoughby, 2005; Martin, 1995).

Morrow and Messinger (2006) explain that

Developing a positive identity within

a heterocentric social environment

can be especially challenging for

LGBT youth in that there are often

severe social penalties, such as ostra-

cism, taunting, even violence, for not

conforming to socially approved dat-

ing practices and gender expression

norms. (p. 178)

Harassment at School

Many LGBT youth do not find acceptance,

or even safety, in schools. A 2003 national

survey of self-identified LGBTyouth aged 13

through 20 (Kosciw, 2004) found that 90% of

respondents heard homophobic remarks in

their schools frequently or often; approxi-

mately 20% heard homophobic remarks

from faculty or staff at least some of the

time; three quarters of youth felt unsafe in

their schools, primarily because of their sexual

orientation or gender expression; approxi-

mately 20% experienced physical assault be-

cause of sexual orientation; more than 10%

experienced physical assault because of their

expressed gender identity; and over half of the

students reported that their property had been

deliberately damaged or stolen in the past year.

Similarly, the National School Climate Survey

(Kosciw, Diaz, & Greytak, 2007) indicated

that 86.2% of respondents experienced harass-

ment at school in the past year and 60.8% felt

unsafe at school because of their sexual orien-

tation. An extensive state survey of high school

students found that LGBTyouth are more than

twice as likely to report having been in a

physical fight at school in the previous year

and 3 times more likely to report having been

injured or threatened with a weapon at school

in the past year than their non-LGBT peers

(Massachusetts Department of Elementary and

Secondary Education, 2006).

Failure to intervene to protect LGBT

students who experience abuse and harass-

ment on school campuses leads to higher

rates of truancy and school failure. LGBT

youth are more likely than non-LGBTyouth

to skip school because they feel unsafe; and

19% of LGBT students reported that they had

missed school in the past month because they

felt unsafe, compared to 5.6% of non-LGBT

students (Massachusetts Department of Ele-

mentary and Secondary Education, 2006).

LGBT youth who are victimized in school

are also at risk of school failure and dropping

out of school, which significantly increases

their chances of becoming involved in the

juvenile justice system and negatively affects

their prospects for a successful transition to

adulthood. In fact, research conducted by the

Center for Labor Market Studies at North-

eastern University, and released in October

2009, has identified a series of employment,

earnings, income, and social difficulties faced

by the nation’s young adults lacking regular

high school diplomas or their equivalent. The

researchers found that 1 in 10 male high

school dropouts were in juvenile detention

or jail as compared to 1 in 35 high school

graduates (Sum, Khatiwada, McLaughlin, &

Palma, 2009).

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 159

Family Rejection

Many LGBTyouth find little, if any, sanctuary

from societal condemnation in their homes.

Parents are often upset when their child dis-

closes that he or she is lesbian, gay, or bisexual

or behaves in a manner that is gender non-

conforming (Clatts, Davis, Sotheran, &

Atillasoy, 1999; Hyde, 2005; Owen, Heineman,

& Gerrard, 2007; Ray, 2007; Robson, 2001).

Negative responses vary widely, from dis-

approval to abuse (Cochran, Stewart, Ginzler,

& Cauce, 2002; Saewyc, Pettingell, & Skay,

2006; Valentine, 2008; Witbeck, Chen, Hoyt,

Tyler, & Johnson, 2004). One study found that

45% of parents were angry, sick, or disgusted

when first learning of their child’s sexual

orientation or gender identity (Martin,

1996). Many parents compare the sense of

loss and devastation they feel upon learning

their child is LGBT to mourning their child’s

death (Ryan & Futterman, 1998). Another

study showed that approximately 30% of

LGBT youth in foster care have been physi-

cally abused by family members as a result of

their sexual orientation or gender identity

(Sullivan, Sommer, & Moff, 2001).

Researchers Ryan and Diaz (2005) from

the Family Acceptance Project—the first

major study of LGBT adolescents and their

families—have documented the impact of

family responses to children’s emerging

LGBT identities on the young people’s health

and mental health. Not surprisingly, they

found that family acceptance is an important

protective factor, and family rejection has

serious negative outcomes for LGBT youth.

LGBT young people whose families rejected

their sexual orientation or gender identity

during adolescence were much more likely

to experience significantly higher rates of

depression, suicidality, substance abuse, and

risk for HIV infection than their peers with

accepting families. Family acceptance and

rejection also had a significant impact on

self-esteem, access to social support, and life

satisfaction (see Baker, Cunningham, & Harris,

Chapter 11, this volume). Because families play

such a critical role in child and adolescent

development, it is not surprising that negative

reactions from parents and caregivers in re-

sponse to their children’s LGBT identity would

have such a harmful impact on their children’s

risk behaviors and health status as young

adults (Ryan, Huebner, Diaz, & Sanchez,

2009). In contrast, family support, along with

self-acceptance, has been found to mediate the

impact of the victimization on mental health

and suicidalityof lesbian, gay, and bisexual youth

(Hershberger & D’Augelli, 1995).

Homelessness

As a result of being forced out of their homes

due to conflict related to their sexual orienta-

tion or gender identity, LGBT youth are

disproportionately represented in the home-

less youth population (Cochran et al., 2002;

Milburn, Rotheram-Borus, Rice, Mallet,

& Rosenthal, 2006; Ray, 2007; Solorio,

Milburn, Anderson, Trifskin, & Rodriguez,

2006; Sullivan et al., 2001; Van Leuwen et al.,

2006). The National Network of Runaway

and Youth Services estimates that between

20% and 40% of homeless youth are LGBT

(Woronoff, Estrada, Sommer, & Marzullo,

2006). These young people may be on the

run from abusive families and/or foster care

placements where they experienced verbal and

physical abuse because of their real or per-

ceived sexual orientation or gender identity.

Once on the street, LGBT youth have

limited resources for help or protection.

For example, New York City has approxi-

mately 7,000 homeless LGBTyouth but only

26 beds specifically allocated to LGBT

160 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

individuals (Guzder, 2005). Many shelters

exclude LGBT youth. Other shelters enroll

LGBT youth in programs that attempt to

change their sexual orientation or gender

identity. Staff in some shelters have physi-

cally threatened or sexually assaulted LGBT

youth. One third of LGBT youth who are

homeless or in the care of social services

experienced a violent physical assault when

they came out to staff (Ray, 2007).

With extremely limited resources, LGBT

youth who are homeless often commit

“survival crimes,” such as prostitution, theft,

or drug sales, in order to gain adequate hous-

ing and food (Anderson, Freese, & Penn-

bridge, 1994; Cochran et al., 2002; Gaetz,

2004; Majd, Marksamer, & Reyes, 2009; Na-

tional Alliance to End Homelessness, 2009;

Ray, 2007; Van Leuwen et al., 2006). Home-

lessness also exposes LGBT youth to increased

risk of victimization, including assault, rob-

bery, and rape. Among high-risk homeless

youth, LGBT homeless youth report the high-

est rates of victimization, risk, and health

concerns (Cochran et al., 2002).

The Child Welfare System

Given high rates of child abuse and neglect

among LGBT youth, the child welfare system

assumes custody of many of these youth

(Berberet, 2006; Mallon, 1992; Ray, 2007;

Sullivan et al., 2001; Thompson, Safyer, &

Pollio, 2001; Van Leuwen et al., 2006). Un-

fortunately, child welfare officials often cate-

gorize LGBT youth as “difficult to place”

because many group and foster homes refuse

to house and care for LGBT youth (Sullivan

et al., 2001). Transgender youth, in particular,

have difficulty accessing placements and are

especially vulnerable to abuse when in place-

ment (HCH Clinicians’ Network, 2002). If

placed, many LGBT youth are subject to the

same disapproval, abuse, and neglect they

endured in their families and in homeless

shelters. In response, these youth find them-

selves back on the street and vulnerable to

incarceration for running away, theft, and

prostitution.

LGBT YOUTH AND THE JUVENILE JUSTICE SYSTEM

LGBTyouth enter the juvenile justice system

for numerous reasons, many of which are

unrelated to their sexual orientation or gender

identity. However, as with all youth, it is

important to understand the ways in which

the social context of individual LGBT

youth—one marked by societal, familial, and

peer rejection—may impact the youth’s path-

way into the juvenile justice system (see Beyer,

Chapter 1, this volume).

While the marginalization of LGBT

youth has been documented in the family,

schools, and child welfare system, until re-

cently researchers have failed to link these

experiences to incarceration. Making these

links has been difficult because juvenile justice

systems do not collect data on the sexual ori-

entation or gender identity of the youth they

serve (see Holsinger, Chapter 2, this volume;

Schneider & Simpson, Chapter 22, this vol-

ume). New research provides empirical data

documenting how the rejection and abuse

experienced by LGBT youth in their families,

schools, shelters, and group and foster homes

ultimately leads them to become involved in

the juvenile justice system (Irvine, 2010).

New Data on LGBT Youth in the Juvenile Justice System

A recent study provides quantitative data on

how many LGBT youth are in the juvenile

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 161

justice system and whether LGBTyouth have

different patterns of incarceration when com-

pared with heterosexual youth (Irvine, 2010).

Irvine (2010) distributed 2,300 surveys to

youth detained in juvenile facilities in the

western, southern, and midwestern regions

of the United States. Twenty-one hundred

surveys were returned (a 91% response rate).

Respondents varied in age, and race and ethnic

identity. The age of respondents ranged from

11 to 21, with a mean age of 16 years. Within

the sample, 34% (n ¼ 665) of respondents identified as African American; 30% (n ¼ 575) of respondents identified as Hispanic, Latino,

Chicano, Mexican, or Mexican American;

18% (n ¼ 345) of respondents identified as White or Caucasian; 4% (n ¼ 76) of respon- dentsidentifiedasNativeAmerican;1%(n¼27) of respondents identified as Japanese, Chinese,

Samoan, or Pacific Islander; and 13% (n¼ 245) of respondents identified with multiple racial

or ethnic categories or a racial or ethnic

category other than those reported above

(Irvine, 2010).

Respondents also varied by sexual orien-

tation, gender identity, and gender expression.

Eighty-five percent of respondents reported

heterosexual sexual orientations and gender

conformity. Of respondents, 15% reported

having lesbian, gay, or bisexual sexual orienta-

tions, questioning their sexual orientations,

having a transgender gender identity, or having

a nonconforming gender expression (Irvine,

2010). These findings varied across respondents

who identify as boys and girls. Compared with

11% of boys, 27% of girls reported being

LGBT (Irvine, 2010).

The disclosure of sexual orientation also

varied across race and ethnic identity. This

variation provides evidence that dispels a com-

mon myth among juvenile justice professio-

nals. While many juvenile justice professionals

assume that most LGBT youth are White and

middle class, the data from this survey show

that of youth in the juvenile justice system,

an equal proportion of White, Latino,

and African American youth are lesbian,

gay, bisexual, or questioning: Ten percent of

White, Latino, and African American respon-

dents are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or questioning.

An even higher proportion of Asian, Native

American, and youth with multiple ethnic or

race identities disclosed that they were lesbian,

gay, or bisexual or questioned their sexual

orientation: Twelve percent of Asian, 24%

of Native American, and 18% of respondents

with mixed race or “other” race and ethnic

identities identified themselves as lesbian, gay,

bisexual, or questioning.

The proportion of LGBT youth in the

juvenile justice system may surprise many

justice professionals. LGBT youth remain

largely hidden within the juvenile justice sys-

tem because most LGBT youth conform to

gender norms and secure detention is not

seen by youth as a “safe place” to disclose

their sexual orientation. Sexual orientation

and gender identity interact in very complex

ways. A girl may have a lesbian sexual orien-

tation, but may wear her hair, dress, and

behave in a way that is considered feminine

and that follows gender norms for girls. An-

other girl might have a heterosexual sexual

orientation, but may wear her hair, dress, and

behave in a way that is considered masculine

and different from gender norms for girls.

The research findings (Irvine, 2010) show

that 85% of youth have heterosexual sexual

orientations and are gender conforming; 3% of

youth have heterosexual sexual orientations

and behave in gender-nonconforming ways;

3% of youth have lesbian, gay, or bisexual

sexual orientations and behave in gender-

nonconforming ways or question their sexual

orientations; and 9% of youth have lesbian,

gay, or bisexual orientations or question their

162 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

sexual orientations and behave in gender-

conforming ways. In other words, there are

youth who have heterosexual sexual identities

but appear in gender-nonconforming ways.

These youth probably experience varying

degrees of mistreatment within the juvenile

justice system because of the way they look. At

the same time, the majority of LGBTyouth in

the juvenile justice system wear their hair,

dress, and behave in ways that are consistent

with the norms of the gender assigned to them

at birth. Because their appearance and behav-

ior are consistent with the expectations of

juvenile justice professionals, many of these

youth remain “invisible” to the juvenile justice

system unless they disclose their sexual orien-

tation or gender identity.

The findings from this new research re-

inforce the existing literature on school bully-

ing, family rejection, homelessness, and

involvement in the child welfare system by

demonstrating that, when compared with het-

erosexual and gender-conforming youth,

LGBT youth in the juvenile justice system

are twice as likely to have a history of home

removal, twice as likely to have a history of

living in foster and group homes, twice as likely

to have a history of homelessness, and twice as

likely to be detained in a secure juvenile facility

for running away (Irvine, 2010). However,

while existing research studied LGBT youth

who have disclosed their sexual orientation or

gender identity and have accessed social

services, this new study surveyed many

LGBTyouth who continue to hide their sexual

orientation and gender identity.

Table 8.1 presents findings from this new

survey. Among heterosexual and gender-

conforming youth in the juvenile justice

system, 11% have been removed from their

home by a social worker, compared with

24% of LGBT youth in the juvenile justice

system. Among heterosexual and gender-

conforming youth in the juvenile justice

system, 18% have lived in a group home

or foster home, compared with 33% of

LGBT youth in the juvenile justice system.

Among heterosexual and gender-conform-

ing youth in the juvenile justice system, 17%

have been homeless, compared with 37% of

LGBT youth in the juvenile justice system.

All three differences are statistically

significant.

Data from the surveys also document

different detention patterns for LGBT youth

when compared with heterosexual and

gender-conforming youth. Table 8.2 on the

following page reports the percentage of het-

erosexual and gender-conforming and LGBT

youth detained for eight different types of

offenses: violent offenses; weapon offenses;

property offenses; drug and alcohol offenses;

running away; prostitution; and truancy,

warrants, or probation violations.

These data show that the juvenile

justice system detains heterosexual and

Table 8.1. Home Removal, Group Foster Home Placement, and Homelessness Among Detained Youth

Outcome

Heterosexual and

Gender-Conforming

Youth

LGBT

Youth

Statistically

Significant

Differences

Have you ever been removed from your home by a social worker? 11% 24% YES (p < .000)

Have you ever lived in a group home or foster home? 18% 33% YES (p < .000)

Have you ever been homeless after being kicked out of home or

running away?

17% 37% YES (p < .000)

Data Source: Annie E. Casey LGBT Youth Survey, 2008 (A. Irvine, Principal Investigator).

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 163

gender-conforming and LGBTyouth at simi-

lar rates for violent, weapon, property, and

drug- and alcohol-related offenses. However,

the juvenile justice system detains LGBTyouth

much more frequently for running away;

prostitution; and truancy, warrants, and pro-

bation violations. Among heterosexual and

gender-conforming youth in the juvenile jus-

tice system, 12% are detained for running

away, compared with 30% of LGBT youth

in the juvenile justice system. Among hetero-

sexual and gender-conforming youth, 1% are

detained for prostitution, compared with 9%

of LGBT youth. Among heterosexual and

gender-conforming youth in the juvenile jus-

tice system, 11% are detained for truancy,

warrants, or probation violations, compared

with 18% of LGBT youth in the juvenile

justice system. Thus, the juvenile justice sys-

tem detains LGBT youth for nonviolent of-

fenses at twice the rate of their heterosexual

and gender-conforming peers.

These data help paint a picture of a typical

path from home to detention. As LGBTyouth

are removed or ejected from their homes, they

are often placed in group or foster homes not

equipped to meet their needs. The initial

placement is followed by a cycle of placement

failures, running away, homelessness, and sur-

vival crimes that make these youth even more

susceptible to punishment from law enforce-

ment agencies. Detention for these particular

offenses punishes LGBTyouth for the conflict

they experience at home, in group and foster

home placements, at school, and in homeless

shelters.

HARMFUL POLICIES AND PRACTICES DIRECTED AT LGBT

YOUTH IN THE JUVENILE JUSTICE SYSTEM

Whether or not they are physically identifia-

ble, LGBTyouth in the juvenile justice system

are subject to harmful practices at every stage

of the delinquency process. LGBTyouth who

are gender nonconforming or open about

their gay or lesbian identities often face dis-

criminatory practices and abuse. LGBTyouth

who do not disclose their identity, or are not

perceived to be LGBT, are also harmed by the

juvenile justice system through inaccurate risk

assessments and homophobic policies and

practices. In fact, policies and practices that

marginalize or penalize LGBTyouth harm all

youth by tacitly discouraging them from

exploring their own emerging identities and

by conveying the message that being different

is unacceptable.

Table 8.2. Detention Patterns of LGBT Youth

Type of Offense

Heterosexual and

Gender-Conforming Youth

LGBT

Youth

Statistically Significant

Differences

Violent 17% 21% NO

Weapon 14% 17% NO

Property 24% 27% NO

Alcohol/drug 22% 21% NO

Running away 12% 30% YES (p < .000)

Prostitution 1% 9% YES (p < .000)

Truancy, warrant, or violation

of probation

11% 18% YES (p < .013)

Data Source: Annie E. Casey LGBT Youth Survey, 2008 (A. Irvine, Principal Investigator).

164 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

Risk Assessments at Arrest

When a youth is suspected of committing a

delinquent act and is arrested, the police

officer can release the youth to a parent or

guardian or deliver the youth to secure cus-

tody. In most jurisdictions, once the young

person arrives at the detention center, insti-

tution staff determine whether the youth

remains in secure confinement or is released.

Best practice for secure detention facilities is

the use of a validated, objective risk instru-

ment to assist in making this determination

(Stanfield, 1999; Steinhart, 1999). The risk

instrument assesses many domains of the

youth’s life to determine whether he or she

is at risk of harming someone in the commu-

nity or failing to appear in court. Two critical

elements of a risk assessment are home and

school functioning. These sections document

relationships between youth and their family

members or guardians, academic perform-

ance, and school attendance—precisely the

areas in which many LGBTyouth experience

the most conflict (Estrada & Marksamer,

2006; Irvine, 2009; Valentine, 2008). Conse-

quently, LGBTyouth with low criminality are

more likely to be held in secure detention

because of family discord and poor school

attendance (Irvine, 2010).

At booking into detention, LGBT youth

are often reluctant to disclose the true reasons

for their difficulty at home and at school,

making them more vulnerable to secure con-

finement even when they pose no objective

risk to public safety. A common juvenile

justice system response to a youth with low

criminality who is unable to return to his or

her parents or caregivers—either because of

refusal on the part of the caregiver or because

the home lacks the appropriate support or

protection—is placement within the child

welfare system. Although this response is a

well-intentioned effort to allow the youth to

remain in a less restrictive environment than

secure detention, it does not address the core

problem of family turmoil over the youth’s

sexual orientation or gender identity.

The recent findings from the Family

Acceptance Project demonstrate that a fam-

ily’s acceptance or rejection of its LGB child

serves as a significant indicator of the youth’s

future physical and mental health (Ryan

et al., 2009). Critically important for profes-

sionals working with LGB youth, the re-

search also shows that caregivers who are

ambivalent or conflicted about their LGB

children’s identity are receptive and inter-

ested to learn how their words, actions,

and behaviors affect their children’s health

(Ryan et al., 2009). This research suggests

that with proper training, professionals work-

ing with this population can have a profound

effect on family functioning by educating

caregivers on the significant physical and

mental health risks to their child that are

directly associated with family rejection. Pro-

gressive reforms in juvenile justice systems

uniformly support working closely with fam-

ilies to repair conflicts in the home and

improve the youth’s prospects upon release

from the system. The research from the

Family Acceptance Project underscores the

importance of working closely with the fam-

ilies of LGB youth.

Detention

Juvenile detention facilities are required to

meet certain minimum standards regarding

the care of youth in their facilities. Under

the United States Constitution, youth in the

care and custody of the state have an affirma-

tive right to safety, which imposes a corre-

sponding duty on the state to provide

protection from harm (Alexander S. v.

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 165

Boyd, 1995). Incarcerated youth also have

the right to be free of unreasonably restric-

tive conditions of confinement (Milonas v.

Williams, 1982). Facilities may not subject

detained youth to practices that “amount to

punishment” (Bell v. Wolfish, 1979, p. 535)

or that “substantially depart from accepted

professional practice” (Youngberg v. Romeo,

1982, p. 314). In addition to constitutional

requirements, state statutes and regulations

govern policies and practices in detention

facilities, and often subject facilities to licens-

ing standards and periodic monitoring. Pro-

fessional standards, including the standards

promulgated by the National Commission

on Correctional Health Care (2004) and

the American Correctional Association

(2007), provide further guidance on generally

accepted professional practices.

LGBT youth are vulnerable in secure de-

tention (Valentine, 2008). Findings from the

first National Survey of Youth in Custody

(NSYC), representing approximately 26,550

adjudicated youth held nationwide in state-

operated and large locally or privately operated

juvenile facilities, revealed startling results. In

the first national survey on sexual victimization

among youth in juvenile facilities, an estimated

12% of youth in state juvenile facilities and

large non-state facilities (representing 3,220

youth nationwide) reported experiencing one

or more incidents of sexual victimization by

another youth or facility staff in the past

12 months or since admission, if less than

12 months. Youth with a sexual orientation

other than heterosexual reported significantly

higher rates of sexual victimization by another

youth (12.5%) compared to heterosexual youth

(1.3%) (Beck, Harrison, & Guerino, 2010).

LGB youth who have disclosed their sexual

orientation or youth whose appearance or

expression does not conform to gender norms

are often subject to ridicule, harassment,

differential treatment, and sexual and physical

assault (Majd et al., 2009). Moreover, recent

surveys of juvenile justice professionals indicate

that many facilities “manage” LGBTyouth by

isolating them from the general population—

either to protect LGBTyouth from their peers

or toprotecttheyouthinthegeneralpopulation

from contact with LGBT youth (Majd et al.,

2009). Child advocates working with LGBT

youth in custody have exposed these practices

through lawsuits and system reform efforts

(Estrada & Marksamer, 2006).

In a recent case, R.G. v. Koller (2006),

filed on behalf of three LGBTyouth detained

in the Hawai’i Youth Correctional Facility

(HYCF), the plaintiffs alleged that they were

subjected to constant verbal, physical, and

sexual harassment by their peers and facility

staff. They further alleged that the facility staff

responded to this behavior by isolating the

LGBT youth. The federal court determined

that HYCF officials acted with deliberate

indifference and violated due process by failing

to intervene to protect the youth and by

permitting the abuse to continue. The court

further found that use of isolation to “protect”

LGBT wards violated acceptable professional

standards and constituted unconstitutional

punishment (R.G. v. Koller, 2006).

Whether or not they disclose their sexual

orientation or gender identity, LGBTyouth are

subject to high levels of stress. They must either

hide their sexual orientation or gender identity

inanefforttoblendinwithpeersordisclosetheir

identities and risk harassment, isolation, and

even physical harm. Even in a program as suc-

cessful and progressive as the Center for Young

Women’s Development in San Francisco, it

typically takes approximately 4 months for a

young woman to disclose her lesbian or

bisexual identity to staff (M. Sanchez & L.

Garnette, personal communication, February

2005). The preadjudication period can be

166 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

especially daunting for LGBT youth. If they

decide not to disclose their sexual orientation

or gender identity, it is impossible to have an

open relationship with their defense attorney,

probation officer, or custodial staff. The profes-

sionals working with these youth make recom-

mendations and decisions, which often have a

significantandlastingimpactonayoungperson’s

life, based on partial or inaccurate information.

Disposition

Disposition in the juvenile system is equivalent

to sentencing in the adult system. Some youth

are sentenced to secure detention. Other

youth are placed on probation. Although pro-

bation is an alternative to secure confinement,

the youth is responsible for meeting the terms

of probation that have been set by the juvenile

court. If the youth violates any terms of his or

her probation, he or she may be returned to

detention.

There are several ways that standard dis-

positions adversely affect LGBT youth. Pri-

mary terms of probation, among other orders,

normally require youth to obey all laws, follow

their parents’ directives, participate in coun-

seling, and attend school. Yet LGBTyouth in

the juvenile justice system are more likely to be

bullied and harassed at school and experience

conflict at home. Court orders that mandate

staying at home and attending school as con-

ditions of probation place LGBT youth in an

untenable position, forcing them to choose

between remaining in an unsafe environment

or violating a court order. These probation

conditions also place LGBT youth at higher

risk of secure detention because LGBT and

gender-nonconforming youth are more likely

to be detained for running away and truancy

than their heterosexual, gender-conforming

peers (Irvine, 2010).

LGBT youth are more likely to be in-

appropriately classified as sex offenders than

are their heterosexual and gender-conforming

counterparts. For example, some courts have

ordered LGBT youth with no sex offense

history to submit to risk assessments designed

to predict the likelihood of future sex offend-

ing or undergo sex offender treatment even

when no indications of risk exist (Majd et al.,

2009). These dispositional orders likely stem

from the misconception that all LGBT youth

are predatory.

Other courts order LGBT youth to

undergo counseling to address or change their

sexual orientation or gender identity. Al-

though every major health and mental health

organization has condemned “reparative

therapy” as ineffective and harmful, many

case plans still contain some provision aimed

at “curing” LGBT youth (Majd et al., 2009).

MARK’S STORY

Mark is a gay young man who spent most of his adolescence in the juvenile justice system in California. By his 18th

birthday, Mark had served more than two years of cumulative time in the local detention center. Even though he

spent much of his formative adolescent years with the detention staff, he never disclosed his gay identity. In 2004,

as a 25-year-old man, Mark shared his experience with juvenile justice professionals from across the country at an

Annie E. Casey Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative national conference in San Francisco. When describing

why he denied his true identity while involved in the system, he said, “It’s just not cool to be gay in this

environment. . . . It’s not an open, free-thinking, comfortable, nurturing place to be. It is one that encourages

stereotypes and macho-ism. And what more intimidating place to be for those who want to keep a secret” (JDAI

All-Site Conference, 2004).

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 167

Postdisposition

If LGBT youth in the juvenile justice system

are not flourishing in their homes or schools,

the court is likely to order placement in an

alternative school or home setting. On the

surface, this may seem like an appropriate

option for a struggling teen. Indeed, positive

alternatives often allow youth to make better

choices, create new interests, develop posi-

tive peer relationships, and redefine them-

selves in prosocial ways. Problems arise,

however, when postdispositional alternatives

are not competent to serve LGBTyouth. The

lack of competent postdispositional alterna-

tives often results in placement of LGBT

youth in settings that are more restrictive

than their offense history justifies. Many of

these youth languish in detention for no

legitimate reason, awaiting placement in an

appropriate program that may not even exist.

Prolonged detention is harmful to youth

in many ways. Detained youth are at height-

ened risk of abuse, injury, and suicide and are

cut off from prosocial connections to the

community (Majd et al., 2009). Detained

youth are also less able to assist in preparing

for trial, less likely to make a positive impres-

sion on the judge, and more likely to receive

harsher dispositions than nondetained youth

(Holman & Zeidenberg, 2006; Majd et al.,

2009). Of even greater consequence is the fact

that the most significant correlate for future

criminal behavior is prior detention, and

youth who are incarcerated are more likely

to recidivate than youth who are supervised in a

community-based setting, or not detained at all

(e.g., Holman & Ziedenberg, 2006). A study of

youth incarcerated in Arkansas (replicated

numerous times) found not only a high recidi-

vism rate, but that the experience of incar-

ceration is the most significant factor in

increasing the odds of recidivism (Benda &

Tollet, 1999).

RECOMMENDATIONS

Social scientists have documented a pernicious

cycle of abuse, neglect, and sexual exploitation

experienced by many LGBT youth. School

victimization, family rejection, and homeless-

ness are all by-products of LGBT-related social

bias and stigma. Any of these experiences can

contribute to the involvement of LGBTyouth

in the juvenile justice system. Cumulatively,

these experiences deepen and unnecessarily

prolong the involvement of LGBT youth in

the system, and contribute to the dispropor-

tionate number of LGBTyouth in the system.

Understanding the context for LGBT

youth should help juvenile justice professionals

assess behaviors of individual LGBTyouth and

assist in creating individualized dispositional

plans that include recommendations that cor-

respond with the needs of the youth.

The following policy and programmatic

recommendations are addressed to juvenile

justice personnel and programs, and are drawn

from experience, research, and existing litera-

ture on LGBT youth in the justice system.

& Group or foster homes, schools, de-

tention facilities, and treatment pro-

grams serving juvenile justice youth

must create and maintain an inclusive

culture that accepts and nurtures youth

of different race, ethnicity, ability, lan-

guage, immigration status, gender

expression, gender identity, and sexual

orientation. Creating this environ-

ment requires leadership from manag-

ers and supervisors; reinforcement in

individual supervision, staff meetings,

and agency materials; appropriate in-

tervention when staff or youth violate

these principles; and respectful behav-

ior between adult peers and between

adults and youth.

168 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

& Programs serving youth should: & Display signs and art in all areas

where youth convene showing all

types of family structures and youth. & Create and implement a written

policy, which youth read and

sign, stating there will be an inclu-

sive atmosphere for all youth. & Facilitate group sessions for youth

focused on sexual orientation and

gender identity. Examples used in

the group should be diverse, either

scenarios the youth can relate to or

that challenge the youth to empa-

thize with peers who are struggling

with these issues. & Juvenile justice agencies and the ju-

venile court should develop and im-

plement formal policies that prohibit

discrimination against youth in the

system based on their actual or per-

ceived sexual orientation or gender

identity. Line workers should ensure

that all youth in the system receive a

copy of the policy in a form that they

can understand. The policy should

also include specific guidelines for

working with transgender youth, ad-

dressing issues such as hormone treat-

ment, grooming, name and pronoun

use, and privacy.

& Probation departments should revise

terms of probation to avoid un-

necessarily subjecting LGBT youth to

incarceration when the youth are un-

safe at home or in school. Probation

departments or courts should offer

youth, parents, and caregivers counsel-

ing with a provider experienced work-

ing with LGBTyouth to reduce family

discord (Majd et al., 2009). & Juvenile justice agencies and juvenile

courts should work together to de-

velop and provide training to all bench

officers, court staff, probation staff,

attorneys, detention personnel, and

community partners providing pre-

vention programs and alternatives to

detention. Training should include a

review of vocabulary and definitions

relevant to LGBT youth, an explora-

tion of myths and stereotypes regard-

ing LGBT youth and adults,

developmental issues and adaptive

strategies for LGBTyouth, promoting

positive adolescent development and a

review of the coming-out process,

a discussion of how stigma related

to sexual orientation and gender iden-

tity can be related to the reason youth

are involved in the juvenile justice

system, issues and challenges unique

GIRLZPACE

One program that has excelled in inclusiveness of LGBT youth is “GirlZpace,” administered through the Santa

Cruz, California, Juvenile Probation Department. The program is funded with federal Title II funds that pass

through the state to address gender-specific issues. GirlZpace has created three neighborhood based “safe

spaces” in the form of evening programming for girls on probation or at risk of being involved in the juvenile

justice system. The staff mirrors the demographic makeup of the youth, including lesbian staff who are open

about their sexual orientation. In one area of the county, the girls voted to allow gay-identified boys to

participate in the program. All forms that youth fill out to participate in GirlZpace have demographic questions

that include sexual orientation and gender identity. All staff assigned to this program receive extensive training

in work with diverse populations.

Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 169

to transgender youth, approaches to

working with the families of LGBT

youth,and community resourcesavail-

able to serve LGBT youth and their

families (Wilber et al., 2006). & Courts and probation departments

should develop subcontracts with

service providers to ensure safe envi-

ronments that include language spe-

cifically setting forth the agency’s

expectations and requiring the con-

tractor to maintain and report out-

come data. Reports from contractors

should include who was referred to

the program and which youth were

successful or unsuccessful, disaggre-

gated by gender, ethnicity, age, and

sexual orientation, when possible.

Contracts should convey the clear

expectation that the treatment pro-

vider is responsible for the youth’s

success in the program. Agencies

should specifically prohibit the use

of reparative therapy or aversion tech-

niques with LGBT youth.

CONCLUSION

While most youth are supported by their

parents and friends as they navigate through

adolescence, many LGBT youth experience

social stigma, abuse, and neglect within their

families and peer groups. This isolation can

lead to negative outcomes for LGBT youth

such as school truancy, dropping out of high

school, placement out of the family home,

running away from home or placement,

homelessness, and survival crimes such as

prostitution. As such, social stigma creates a

pipeline from home into the justice system

and secure detention for LGBTyouth. In fact,

15% of youth in the juvenile justice system

are LGBT, a statistic that is the same for

White, African American, and Latino youth.

Notably, most of these LGBTyouth behave in

gender-conforming ways and are, therefore,

invisible to juvenile justice professionals unless

youth disclose their gender identity or sexual

orientation.

Unfortunately, LGBT youth are often

mistreated at various points within the juvenile

justice system, creating additional layers of

trauma for detained youth: LGBT youth are

often inaccurately assessed for risk in areas tied

to school and home functioning, harassed and

abused by institutional staff and peers, rejected

by parents and forced into out-of-home place-

ments, and placed in alternatives to detention

and out-of-home placements that are not

competent to serve LGBT youth. This on-

going mistreatment and rejection also creates a

cycle of detention when LGBT youth are

harassed and abused, run away multiple times,

are assigned to higher level out-of-home

placements, or sentenced to longer periods

of detention.

This harmful cycle can be interrupted

by following a number of best practices.

Juvenile justice systems can foster an inclusive

culture and develop formal policies that

clearly prohibit discrimination and outline

equitable treatment practices. Systems can

also provide training for juvenile justice

stakeholders such as probation officers,

judges, public defenders, district attorneys,

and community-based organizations in order

to reinforce the importance of the equitable

and inclusive treatment of LGBT youth.

Over time, jurisdictions will ideally recog-

nize how LGBT youth have been driven

into the juvenile justice system and, in re-

sponse, create a broad spectrum of services

that help them move beyond the social stigma

they have experienced in most realms of

their lives.

170 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

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Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) Youth and the Juvenile Justice System 173

9 CHAPTER

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System

Toward Developmentally and Socioculturally Based Provision of Services

ELLEN E. PINDERHUGHES, KAREN T. CRADDOCK, AND LATASHA L. FERMIN

A dolescent parents in the juvenile justice

system represent a culturally diverse

population for whom societally based oppor-

tunities for optimal transition into successful

adult functioning are limited. Faced with the

consequences of two distinct actions that may

prematurely propel them into adult-level

situations—becoming pregnant and the com-

mission of a delinquent or criminal act—

these young adults need services and policies

that are developmentally and socioculturally

informed. This chapter addresses the gaps

that exist in our understanding of adolescent

parents’ risks for entry into the juvenile jus-

tice system, the impact on parenting of cur-

rent services and policies associated with

juvenile confinement, and the developmental

and identity issues with which confined ad-

olescent parents contend. After a synopsis of

the demographics of adolescent arrests and

confinement, we briefly provide the theoret-

ical perspective that guides the subsequent

examination of risks, current services and

policies, and adolescent identity issues before

concluding with a discussion of implications

for enhancing services and policies for this

diverse population.

WHO AND WHERE THEY ARE: A BRIEF DEMOGRAPHY OF ADOLESCENTS IN THE

JUVENILE JUSTICE SYSTEM

Despite a decreasing trend in juvenile arrests

over the past 10 or more years (Sourcebook of

Criminal Justice Statistics, 2004; U.S. Depart-

mentofJustice,2008),adolescentscontinuetobe

arrested and confined in alarming numbers,

especially minority youth. In 2007, adolescents

accounted for just over 25% of the U.S. popula-

tion, but their arrests for certain crimes are dis-

proportionate to that figure. Forexample, while

comparable percentages were arrested for lar-

ceny–theft and property crimes, approximately

48% of those arrested for arson were adolescents

(see also Holsinger, Chapter 2, this volume).

Historical race disparities in juvenile arrest

rates continue, with 67% of juveniles arrested

being White, and almost 31% being Black, 1

1 Because not many studies reviewed in this chapter

differentiate among racial and ethnic subgroups (e.g.,

African American and African Caribbean, or Cuban,

Puerto Rican, and Dominican), we refer to all youth of

African descent as “Black,” all youth of European

American descent as “White,” and youth of Hispanic

descent as “Latino.”

174

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

although Black youth comprise 16% of all

youth. Among juveniles arrested for violent

crimes, almost 51% were Black. These dispari-

ties generally hold irrespective of population

density; among juveniles arrested for any crime

in metropolitan areas, 68% were White and

32% were adolescents of color, and among

juveniles arrested in suburban areas, 28%

were youth of color. Although juvenile arrests

for any crime in nonmetropolitan jurisdictions

did not reflect this race disparity, arrests for

robbery did, with 53% being Black.

Recent data on juvenile custody rates

reflect even greater racial and ethnic disparities

in how systems treat adolescents (OJJDP

Statistical Briefing Book, 2006). Rates of con-

finement among Black youth are twice as high

as Latinos and over 4 times as high as Whites.

Among males, the disparity is staggering:

Black males are confined at rates more than

twice as high as Latinos and almost 5 times as

high as Whites. Although the disparities

among females are lower, nonetheless, Black

females were confined 2.5 times more than

Latinas and over 3 times more than White

females (see Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this

volume; Holsinger, Chapter 2, this volume).

Adolescent parents are also dispropor-

tionately represented in confinement settings.

Unfortunately, there are no national statistics

on the percentage of confined adolescents

who are parents (OJJDP Statistical Briefing

Book, 2006); however, specific analyses or

studies document this disproportionality. Al-

though adolescent fathers comprise 4% to 7%

of the juvenile nonoffender population

(Unruh, Bullis, & Yovanoff, 2004), fatherhood

rates range from 25% to 28% among the

juvenile offender population (Bullis, Yovanoff,

Mueller, & Havel, 2002; Unruh et al., 2004).

Analyses of state-level statistics point to higher

rates of confinement among adolescent moth-

ers. For example, in Florida, 35% of

incarcerated adolescent girls had been preg-

nant, and 10% currently in residential pro-

grams were parents (e.g., Patino, Ravoira, &

Wolf, 2006).

A Theoretical Lens: Into the World of Our Adolescents

Given the demographics of youth and adoles-

cent parents in the juvenile justice system and

the structural inequities that, for so many

youth, serve to foreclose their development

and heighten the likelihood of delinquent

acts, it is critical that we examine experiences

of adolescent parents in the juvenile justice

system through a lens that can facilitate a

deeper and more comprehensive understand-

ing. Typically, ecologically based theories

(e.g., Bronfenbrenner, 1979, 1989) are in-

voked to explain the person-context fit that

results in adolescents engaging in delinquent

acts and being placed in juvenile institutions or

prison. 2 Through these perspectives, the field

understands the impact of multilevel con-

straints on adolescent positive development.

For example, structural/systemic influences

include differential arrest and adjudication

rates and differential educational resources

(e.g., Gorman-Smith, Tolan, Zelli, & Hues-

mann, 1996). Community-level influences

can be characterized by neighborhoods

with high concentrations of poverty, un-

employment, and crime; high rates of residen-

tial instability; and low levels of community

cohesion (e.g., Sampson & Groves, 1989).

Family-level influences include high levels of

stress associated with limited or no income,

2 Although adolescents convicted of serious crimes may

be placed in prisons, we will use the term institution for

both juvenile institutions and prisons. Likewise, we will

use the term confinement to cover juvenile confinement

and incarceration. Exceptions will be made when citing

or quoting others.

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 175

uncertain employment, and so on, that under-

mine parental monitoring and warmth (e.g.,

Gorman-Smith et al., 1996).

Although these ecological perspectives are

necessary, we believe that a nuanced under-

standing of adolescent parents in the juvenile

justice system and their needs would benefit

from an ecologically based approach that

emphasizes how youth make meaning of their

experiences in the larger sociocultural con-

text. Spencer’s Identity-Focused Cultural–

Ecological perspective (ICE; Spencer, 2001,

2006) provides such a lens. A full description

of this perspective and the related theoretical

framework, Phenomenological Variant of

Ecological Systems Theory (P-VEST; Spencer,

2006) is beyond the scope of this chapter;

however, a brief synopsis is provided below.

The ICE model places contextual influ-

ences and individual functioning within a

phenomenological frame, emphasizing the

importance of seeing another person’s world

in its totality—one’s experiences, contextual

influences, and perceptions and actions—

through that person’s eyes. Although the

model can be applied flexibly across the life

span and to diverse populations, it is especially

relevant for ethnic minority or low-resource

youth. According to Spencer (2001), youth are

extremely aware of, and highly sensitive to,

their contextual influences, especially the per-

ceptions and inferred evaluations of them by

others. This hypersensitivity, in combination

with a “hyperawareness of self ” (2001, p. 55),

can predispose youth to perceive and react to

contextual influences in ways reflective of

their sociocultural status. For example, these

adolescent females and males may perceive

police presence in the neighborhood quite

differently than would adolescents of different

racial/ethnic backgrounds. Unfortunately,

among ethnic minority and low-resource ado-

lescents who are affected by structural

inequities, as well as by community and fam-

ily-level risks, some may infer disrespect from

others and respond with behaviors that feel

self-empowering in the moment, but that are

potentially self-destructive (Spencer, 2001)

and dangerous to others.

A related perspective offered by Robinson,

Ward, and colleagues, suggests that such be-

haviors reflect sub-optimal resistance to the

structural inequities, or marginalization that

beset ethnic minority and low-resource ado-

lescents (e.g., Craddock, 2007; Robinson &

Howard-Hamilton, 1994 Robinson & Ward,

1991; Ward, 1996). This perspective, psycho-

logical resistance to marginalization, identifies the

several layers of societal inequity confronting

some youth, including: (a) marginalization as

adolescents by a society that views them as

irresponsible, threatening, and sometimes

dangerous; (b) marginalization as members

of an impoverished population through edu-

cational, employment, and income barriers;

and/or (c) marginalization as people of color

through racism and discrimination. Adoles-

cents must contend with the marginalizing

forces that act on them throughout their life-

times and are particularly salient at critical

stages of their development.

Contending responses—here, resistance

strategies—feature different levels of function-

ing: Optimal resistance reflects an approach,

grounded in liberation-oriented strategies,

that focuses on challenging and confronting

the marginalizing circumstances in order to

succeed, despite them. It involves an awareness

of oneself, one’s setting, and related influences,

and seeks a solution that will benefit the indi-

vidual (and perhaps others) in the long term.

Suboptimal resistance reflects an approach, based

in survival-oriented strategies, that focuses on

enabling one to “get through” the margin-

alizing circumstances. It often lacks a full

awareness of self and the context, emphasizes

176 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

short-term or immediate relief, and may in-

clude denial, isolation, or avoidant functioning.

Youth who tend to engage in suboptimal

functioning as a means to resist and “push back”

are likely to be more at risk for self-destructive

and delinquent behavior. The complexity of

the psychological resistance framework is such

that both optimal and suboptimal resistance

strategies often coexist within an individual,

with one form often emerging as more domi-

nant over the other. The nature of youth’s

contexts, as well as how they perceive them-

selves operating within those contexts, can

have great bearing on which forms of resist-

ance manifest, when, and the degree to which

they emerge (Craddock, 2007).

Thus, an understanding of the functioning

of, and outcomes for, adolescents in the juve-

nile justice system is enhanced by a focus on

youth’s perspectives (see also, for example,

Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume; Sherman &

Greenstone, Chapter 7, this volume). As an

example, Spencer asserts that studies that spe-

cifically focus on predictors of delinquency

(e.g., parenting behaviors; Rosenbaum, 1989),

and do not include youth’s perceptions of those

predictors, fail to provide an understanding of

a potentially important link (i.e., a mediating

mechanism) between those predictors and

youth’s delinquent behaviors that would be

a target of intervention. In short, as Spencer

notes, “the ways in which minority youth

perceive their environments and cope with

contextual stressors may mediate the relation-

ship between structural barriers and out-

comes” (2001, p. 54).

The empirical literature on adolescent

parents in the juvenile justice system is particu-

larly sparse and therefore insufficient to provide

an understanding of their experiences and

needs. This review, then, draws on several im-

portant studies of adolescents of color in the

juvenile justice system, some of whom are

parents (e.g., Nurse, 2002; Parra-Cardona,

Sharp, & Wampler, 2008), and qualitative

studies of adult-aged parents who are incarcer-

ated (Enos, 2001; Golden, 2005). Because of

the theoretical importance of individuals’ lived

experiences and perspectives (Spencer, 2006),

the review features studies that give voice to

those who have faced incarceration or con-

finement (see also Vaught, Chapter 15, this

volume).

ADOLESCENT PARENTS AND RISK FOR ENTRY INTO THE JUVENILE

JUSTICE SYSTEM

Delinquency is multidetermined, with several,

often converging, individual, family, and com-

munity risk influences. A thorough review of

these influences is beyond the scope of this

chapter and can be found elsewhere (see, e.g.,

Conduct Problems Prevention Research

Group [CPPRG], 1992; Yoshikawa, 1994;

see also Baker, Cunningham, & Harris, Chap-

ter 11, this volume; Bruyere & Garbarino,

Chapter 13, this volume). This chapter will

address influences most likely to correlate with

risks for adolescent pregnancy.

Individual Risk

At the most proximal level, individual youth

functioning can escalate into juvenile/criminal

behavior. Despite their physical development,

adolescents’ cognitive capacities may remain

somewhat immature (e.g., Hains, 1984;

Reppucci, 1999), thus posing the risk for

impulsive and poordecisions. Academicfailure,

school truancy, and dropping out are precursors

to entry into the juvenile justice system (e.g.,

Sharp & Simon, 2004; Stouthamer-Loeber &

Wei, 1998). Teen parenting also is associated

with school disengagement, dropping out, and

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 177

delinquency; however, the directionality of

these relations is complex. Some studies point

to teen parenting as a risk for poor academic

achievement and a correlate with substance

abuseand crime(e.g.,Allen, Philliber,&Hogg-

son, 1990; Brindis, 1993; Foster, Hagan, &

Brooks-Gunn, 2008).

Faced with the competing demands of

parenthood and educational achievement,

some adolescents disengage or leave school,

exacerbating their risk for entry into the juve-

nile justice system. Moreover, with few skills

and qualifications, adolescent parents will have

fewer chances for employment and income to

support themselves and their children. Thus,

adolescent parents are at considerable risk for

illegal activity. Recent studies in England point

to academic disengagement as the precursor to

risky sex and adolescent pregnancy (e.g., Bonell

et al., 2005; Hosie, 2007). Yet other studies of

incarcerated teen mothers note that once preg-

nant, some teens initially drop out of school,

only to become motivated anew to resume their

education (e.g., Zachry, 2005). Overall, the

literature suggests that teen parenting greatly

influences behavioral decisions in multiple

ways. Certain decisions reflect the suboptimal

functioning described earlier, such as disengag-

ing from school and engaging in behaviors that

can lead to arrest. Other decisions reflect more

optimal functioning, for example, when teen

parenting motivates the young parent to chal-

lenge her/his current circumstances, pursue an

education, and avoid negative activity.

Family and Community Risk

Generally, family risks include intergenerational

patterns of incarceration and absence, problem-

atic parenting in early to middle childhood,

low parental monitoring in adolescence, and

abusive parenting (e.g., Chamberlain, Leve,

& DeGarmo, 2007; CPPRG, 1992; Hawkins

et al., 1998). Incarceration among previous

generations paves the way for youth entry into

the juvenile justice system. Adolescents whose

parents have been incarcerated are more at risk

for delinquent activity (Murray & Farrington,

2005). For example, in the 1998 National

Council on Crime and Delinquency (NCCD)

study, approximately 54% of the girls’ mothers

had been arrested, and 46% of their fathers

were in jail or out of contact (Acoca, 1999).

Greene and Peters found that sons of adolescent

mothers were 2.7 times more likely to become

confinedthanotherboys(1998,ascitedinSharp

& Simon, 2004).

Unfortunately, childhood abuse also

exacerbates youth risk for delinquency and

confinement (e.g., Abrams & Aguilar, 2005;

Ehrensaft, 2005; see also Baker, Cunningham,

& Harris, Chapter 11, this volume). Whether

physical abuse (Salzinger, Rosario, & Feldman,

2007) or sexual abuse (Feiring, Miller-Johnson,

& Cleland, 2007; Sigfusdottir, Asgeirsdottir,

Gudjonsson, & Sigurdsson, 2008), media-

tional links between child abuse and delin-

quency have been documented for both girls

and boys. Salzinger and colleagues (2007) ob-

served that links between abuse and delin-

quency were mediated through relationships

with parents and moderated by access to delin-

quent peers and abusive behavior with peers.

Using a community sample of over 9,000

Icelandic boys and girls, Sigfusdottir and col-

leagues (2008) found that anger mediated links

between sexual abuse and delinquency. With a

sample of 160 adolescents—predominantly

girls—who had documented histories of

sexual abuse, Feiring and colleagues (2007)

noted that the link between abuse and delin-

quency was mediated through self-stigmatiza-

tion processes. However, evidence does suggest

that female delinquents are disproportionately

more likely than their male peers to experience

trauma and sexual abuse (e.g., Lederman,

178 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

Dakof, Larrea, & Li, 2004). Moreover, for

females, the effects of trauma on subsequent

delinquency are more significant (see Cauffman,

2008, for review).

At the community level, neighborhoods

with low social capital—few friendship net-

works, poorly supervised adolescents and teen

peer groups, and low levels of community par-

ticipation—are associated with high rates of

antisocial behavior, crime, and delinquency

(e.g., Ingoldsbyet al., 2006; Sampson & Groves,

1989). For girls living in high-risk environ-

ments, early adolescence poses a high risk for

victimization. This is a developmental period

when girls are most likely to be beaten, stabbed,

shot, or raped (Acoca, 1999). Related statistics

indicate that among young girls the use of drugs

and alcohol, school suspension, and running

away often happen between ages 13 and 14, as

does their first arrest (Acoca, 1999). Among

boys, young adolescent exposure to risk-

amplifying circumstances is also prevalent.

Many young male offenders come of age sur-

rounded by poverty and violence in their

neighborhood and families, “sacrificing much

of their childhood” (Inderbitzin, 2009, p. 454).

Early adolescence for girls and boys is a highly

influential stage of development that poses

many risks within their sociocultural context.

Asaresultof,or inresponseto,victimizationand

exposure to violent and violating experiences,

maladaptive functioning occurs, increasing the

risk for adolescents’ entry into the juvenile

justice system. In sum, as Spencer (2001) noted,

these converging community influences can

serve to foreclose on adolescents’ identity pro-

cesses,trackingthemtowarddelinquentactivity.

Sociocultural Variation in Risk at All Ecological Levels

The risk for juvenile justice system entry varies

due to gender and race. Among adolescent

parents, gender is associated with differential

risks for juvenile justice system entry. The first

2 years of fatherhood are notably the most

risky time frame for delinquent acts by

adolescent fathers, relative to nonfathers

(Stouthamer-Loeber & Wei, 1998). Among

females, the relation between pregnancy and

delinquent activity is more complicated. As

noted by Hope, Wilder, and Watt (2003),

much of the research literature on adolescent

sexual activity points to significant positive

relations between teenage pregnancy and

delinquency. However, using data from the

National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent

Health (Add Health; Udry, 2003), Hope and

colleagues (2003) demonstrated that pregnancy

outcomes were linked differentially to delin-

quency: Adolescent girls who chose mother-

hood were no more likely to engage in

delinquent activity than were girls who were

never pregnant, whereas adolescents who chose

abortion or adoption were more likely to

engage in delinquent activity. These researchers

suggest that adolescent parenthood can offer

young mothers an opportunity to develop

new levels of responsibility and expand their

identity processes and thus avoid delinquent

behaviors. Despite this important distinction

in pregnancy outcomes and delinquency,

adolescent mothers remain disproportionately

represented in juvenile facilities.

Racial and ethnic disparities in the num-

bers of adolescents in the juvenile justice

system are multiply determined and appear

to involve both differential systemic response

and differential behavior (Piquero, 2008). His-

torical racial and ethnic differences in the

treatment of youth within the juvenile justice

system (e.g., Stehno, 1982; see also Bell &

Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume) continue

into the 21st century. Piquero’s cogent review

of the literature includes statistics from the

National Council on Crime and Delinquency

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 179

(NCCD, 2007), revealing that systemic dis-

crepancies can be found at each point in the

processing of criminal activity: arrests, court

adjudication, and length of confinement. For

example, rates of detention are highest among

Black youth, followed by Latino, and then

White youth. Latino youth and Black youth

are confined 112 and 61 more days than are

White youth, respectively. Although Black

youth tend to commit more serious crimes,

when detained for the same offense, Black

youth are more likely to be charged and

removed from the home than are White youth

(Hartney & Silva, 2007; Piquero, 2008; see

also Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume).

Community-based responses differ as well

for adolescents who are repeat offenders. In-

deed, in a study of the predictors of referral for

mental health services among adolescent of-

fenders, Lopez-Williams, Stoep, Elena Kuo,

and Stewart (2006) noted race differences in

the relation between prior confinement and

mental health symptoms and receipt of mental

health services: a positive relation was found

among White youth, whereas no relation was

found among Black youth. In short, Black

offenders with higher levels of psychopathology

were less likely to receive mental health services

than were their White counterparts.

In sum, multilevel sociocultural risks such

as those discussed here result in a cascade of

problematic functioning that culminates in

juvenile justice system entry. The system’s

impact is discussed next.

THE IMPACT OF THE JUVENILE JUSTICE SYSTEM ON ADOLESCENT

PARENTS AND PARENTING PROCESSES

Once in the juvenile justice system, adolescent

parents face influences from multiple

ecological levels that affect their ability to

maintain a parental relationship with their

children. These influences include detention

facility policies that undermine parent–child

contact and lack of programming to support

parents, child welfare policies designed to

address the needs of children facing the absence

of parents, and their familial contexts outside

confinement that may not support parenting.

Maintaining Contact With Children While Incarcerated

Parents and children who are separated must

depend on regular in-person contact in order

to maintain their relationships. Such contact is

especially important for young children,

whose cognitive and emotional systems lack

the maturity to retain memories of their par-

ents that can sustain them for long periods of

time. Thus, opportunities for frequent visita-

tion with physical contact, nurturance, and

play are essential for maintaining the parent–

child attachment. Institutional policies about

visitation—hours, number of visitors, and fre-

quency of visits—limit parents’ access to their

children (Enos, 2001; Golden, 2005; Nurse,

2002). Nurse observed that adolescent fathers

in California Youth Centers were denied visi-

tation privileges during their first few weeks in

confinement. Implemented as a security mea-

sure, this restriction disconnects adolescent

fathers from their children during a period

of heightened anxiety within the parent–child

system and extended family system. As one

adolescent father noted,

She knows who I am, she knows I am,

she knows I’m her father, but I see it

in her sometimes. She . . . feels I’m

kind of a stranger in a way. She has

that look in her eyes like she’s kind of

confused whether she should come

180 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

and hug me. She treats me like a

stranger sometimes ’cause she doesn’t

really know. . . . That hurts me

’cause I look at her like I’m her

dad, you know. (Nurse, 2002, p. 74)

Some facilities may function like adult

prisons and restrict physical contact as well

(Hairston, 2002). Limits on the number of

hours, number of visitors, and frequency of

visits further hinder the maintenance of a

parent–child relationship. Many facility poli-

cies serve as disincentives for children to visit.

For example, some facilities prohibit toys or

other materials during visits; others require

strip searches after visits that can include in-

fants’ diapers. Consequently, adolescent par-

ents report that facing nothing to do, their

children do not want to visit (Nurse, 2002).

The requirement that young women under

the age of 18 have a notarized letter from their

parent/guardian authorizing the visit can limit

visits between children and their young

mothers. Noisy visiting rooms providing little

privacy can also function as a disincentive

(Enos, 2001; Thompson, 2008).

Thelocation ofconfinementfacilities limits

access for visiting, as well. According to a

Department of Justice report (Mumola,

2000), over 50% of mothers in state prison

never received a visit from their children;

more than 60% of parents at state facilities

were held over 90 miles from their most recent

preincarceration residence.Infact,from1997 to

2004, there was a slight increase in the percent-

age of parents reporting never having had a visit

(Schirmer, Nellis, & Mauer, 2009). Despite

recent attempts to place inmates closer to their

families, for many, the nearest prison has been

over 1 hour away (Schirmer et al., 2009). These

facilities typically are in locations with limited

public transportation, leaving families depen-

dent on private transportation.

My incarceration was painful and

traumatic for my children. I was in

a correctional center, a four-hour

drive from my home, which made

it nearly impossible for my family to

bring my children to see me. It will

take them years to heal from this

separation. They felt abandoned and

hurt . . . (Golden, 2005, p. 114)

Policies such as those described above

reduce physical contact, visitation, and

engagement between adolescent parents and

children, and are inconsistent with practice

guidelines that have been developed by the

Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative

(JDAI) to improve conditions in juvenile fa-

cilities (Soler, Shoenberg, Arya, & Burrell,

2006). These restrictive policies undermine

adolescent parents’ maintenance of a positive

parenting identity. How adolescents respond

to these constraints may reflect processes re-

flective of ICE (Spencer, 2001). For example,

adolescent parents may view them as another

example of an unfair and uncaring system and

make choices (e.g., noncompliance) with del-

eterious effect on their subsequent short-term

parenting (e.g., restrictions on visitation). Se-

rious long-term consequences for their rela-

tionships with their children may ensue.

Differential Gender Effects of Confinement Policies

Whereas both adolescent fathers and mothers

may experience the sting of constraining visi-

tation policies, it is likely that mothers suffer

the consequences more deeply. “Men can be

criminals but mothers should be different. We

shouldn’t be out of control and a lot of us are”

(Enos, 2001, p. 77). This young mother’s

perspective about the higher standard to which

mothers should be held reflects her acceptance

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 181

of differing societal expectations about the

roles of mothers and fathers. There is a pro-

nounced parental gender disparity among in-

carcerated parents in where their children live:

Incarcerated fathers are more than 3 times as

likely as incarcerated mothers to have their

children live with the other parent (Dallaire,

2007). Mothers face termination of parental

rights more frequently than do fathers because

fathers typically leave the child’s mother to

care for the child. When mothers become

incarcerated, however, the care for their chil-

dren typically falls to grandparents or relatives,

or children are placed in foster care (Dallaire,

2007; Enos, 2001).

Child Welfare–Related Constraints

For those children who are placed in foster

care, the federal Adoption and Safe Families

Act 1997 (ASFA, Public Law 105–89)

“clock” starts ticking. With a goal of reducing

the time that children spend in the foster

care system, and increasing the number of

permanent homes for children, ASFA provides

clear requirements regarding permanency

planning for children in foster care. These

requirements ensure that foster children have

a permanency plan within one year of entering

care, and set the maximum limit for how

long children can remain in care—15 of the

most recent 22 months—before parental rights

are terminated. Some states have more restric-

tive policies.

Thus, when parents are incarcerated or

confined, the other biological parent is not a

tenable option, there are no viable familial or

kin placements, and reunification is projected

to take place after the maximum time allowed

by the state, child welfare personnel are

expected to petition the court for termination

of parental rights. In some communities, racial

and ethnic differences have been found in

incarcerated mothers’ reliance on family for

the care of their children. Enos (2001) found

that White mothers who were incarcerated

were less likely to rely on their families for care

of their children than were Black and Latina

mothers, resulting in greater risk that White

children would be placed in foster care. An-

other requirement that adolescent parents may

face while confined is defending against alle-

gations of parental unfitness (Enos, 2001) in

order to maintain parental rights. Although

this legal requirement applies to all parents

whose behavior is determined by the state

to jeopardize their child’s safety, security, or

well-being, it can be particularly challenging

for confined parents whose contact with their

children is constrained.

Typical indicators of parental fitness in-

clude frequent contact with one’s children,

explicit eagerness and commitment to reunite

with one’s children, and participating in

parenting classes. Restrictive institutional

rules about the length and condition of visits

directly undermine parents’ ability to demon-

strate parental fitness (Enos, 2001). Thus,

faced with the requirement to establish one’s

fitness to be a parent in the context of restric-

tive visiting opportunities, confined adoles-

cent mothers may perceive an insurmountable

hurdle. As a result, some mothers find them-

selves struggling to sustain their motivation

to maintain an emotional connection with

their children, and may choose not to have

visitation. In addition, other mothers choose

not to visit with their children out of concern

for how the children will feel seeing their

mothers in prison (Golden, 2005). With-

drawal from one’s children—whether to

ease one’s pain or that of one’s child—is an

example of the self-destructive behaviors that

Spencer (2001) suggests can happen. Such

struggles or choices can be misread by juvenile

justice system officials, child welfare workers,

182 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

or courts as lack of commitment to one’s

children, and hence lack of parental fitness

(Enos, 2001).

Moreover, interagency coordination is

very problematic for mothers in institutions

who seek to maintain contact with their chil-

dren. Neither the child welfare system nor the

criminal justice system provides the family

supports to deal with the trauma of a mother’s

incarceration. “The lack of coordination be-

tween child welfare agencies and correction

facilities can create insurmountable obstacles

to parents who wish to preserve their parental

rights and reunite with their children” (Smith,

1995, cited in Golden, 2005, p. 35).

Familial Ecology for Adolescent Parents Behind Bars

The ecological influences and risks linked

with adolescent parents’ entry into the juve-

nile justice system remain active while parents

are in confinement. How well adolescent

parents’ support systems function while they

are detained depends on how effective the

supports were prior to confinement. Whether

family members provided assistance with child

care, helped in times of crisis, or provided

general assistance before confinement may

carry over into the time frame when parents

are in confinement (Enos, 2001). Relation-

ships formed before confinement can facilitate

or complicate adolescent parents’ manage-

ment of their parenting responsibilities while

detained (Golden, 2005). For example, posi-

tive relationships with individuals who be-

come the caregivers of one’s children can

help to sustain parenting during confinement.

Unfortunately for some parents, preconfine-

ment relationships that were problematic may

undermine parenting during confinement.

When those relationships involve individuals

who become the child’s caregiver (e.g., a

grandparent), gatekeeping—controlling and

limiting the access that parents have to their

children—may ensue. One adolescent mother

observed:

Every time I come home, my kids run

to me. My mother gets so attached to

them that she gets mad when I come

home. One time she called child wel-

fare and she said that my kids had run

away. (Enos, 2001, p. 67)

Because fathers, whether confined or not,

are more likely to leave their children in the

care of the child’s mother than vice versa, such

complications may affect adolescent fathers

more than adolescent mothers. Roy and

Dyson (2005) noted the vulnerability of con-

fined adolescent fathers to gatekeeping behav-

iors by their children’s mothers: Over 50% of

youth in their study were affected.

Having limited contact with one’s chil-

dren and their caretakers, as well as with loved

ones, parents often lack knowledge about their

children. Children’s needs for caregiving re-

quire that others assume the role of caregiver;

thus, confined parents face being replaced

emotionally, even if the child welfare system

does not move to terminate parental rights.

One adolescent father painfully noted:

When a kid doesn’t see their father,

original or real father, they tend to

latch on to whoever is next to

them, you know what I mean? If

her mom has a new boyfriend, that’s

“daddy.” . . . I mean, I see it every

day. When somebody gets locked up,

what we call Sancho—you know,

sidekick—that’s the next dude in

line—takes over and raises the kid

with the kid calling him “dad.”

(Nurse, 2002, p. 77)

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 183

Those who assume the role of caretaker

become the gatekeeper for communication

and contact between confined parents and

their children. How the gatekeeping caretaker

feels about the parent’s confinement and cir-

cumstances leading to it may contribute to

children’s perceptions of their parents. One

incarcerated mother recalled her experiences

when, as a young child, her own mother was

imprisoned:

When my mother was in prison, I felt

alone. My grandmother and I weren’t

getting along at all. I felt like the only

reason she was keeping me was be-

cause she had to, not because she loved

me and wanted to. She used to tell me

that my mom didn’t want me and if

she did, she wouldn’t have given me

away . . . . (Golden, 2005, p. 97)

For adolescent parents already confined,

gatekeeping can serve as another perceived

barrier to access to one’s children. Faced

with these challenges to one’s parenting iden-

tity, some parents might give up on their

attempts to stay connected to their children,

thus undermining their chances for recon-

necting postconfinement. Thus, the role of

supports as facilitators or complications can

have a direct effect on how well adolescent

parents are able to demonstrate parental fitness.

Constraints on a Smooth Transition Into the Community

As adolescent parents in confinement ap-

proach the end of their sentences, planning

for postrelease activities, including family

reconnection and work or school, becomes

essential. Adolescent parents can find the

challenges associated with reentry back into

the community overwhelming and can find

themselves lost in the stressors of post confine-

ment life (e.g. Inderbitzin, 2009). Inconsisten-

cies in supports available to adolescent parents

directly undermine their ability to prepare for

life postrelease.

When I was getting out, they didn’t

say, “Okay, you’ve been locked up for

two and a half years, we know you’ll

need help. We’ll give you contacts in

your community to get proper sup-

port for issues that you need.” There

was no advice or money to cover me

until I found a job. When I got out at

17 and a half years old, I didn’t even

know how to use the transportation

system because it had changed. All

they gave me when I left was fear

that if I did anything wrong, even

though I needed to live, I would

face the same walls again. (Golden,

2005, p. 130)

Parenting classes that can prepare youth

for reconnecting with their children are sorely

lacking, leaving some adolescent parents and

their children confused about how to re-

establish a relationship. For fathers, who

may have been more likely to lose contact

with their children, lack of parenting supports

may be the final barrier that seals the end of the

father–child relationship. When the reentry

process fails to include job referral and training

supports, reentry is particularly problematic

for adolescent parents who lack a high school

diploma or work experience, but are econom-

ically responsible not only for themselves,

but also for their children. Adolescent mothers

who have relied on public assistance may face

more challenges if those services are no

longer available. Moreover, if children have

entered foster care, adolescent mothers

undergo steps to demonstrate financial,

184 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

emotional, and parental fitness to regain cus-

tody of their children (Golden, 2005).

In short, the system has failed to recog-

nize that confined young adults require sup-

ports to reenter the community and rebuild

their lives. This systemic failure significantly

exacerbates the risk that these young

adults will perceive few legally sanctioned

options available to them and thus make

self-destructive choices that lead to delin-

quent activity and recidivism—a sequence

of functioning that is a classic example of

Spencer’s (2001) ICE perspective. Moreover,

additional postrelease and parole conditions,

including restrictions on where young men

can live, further undermine their ability to

reconnect with their children (Nurse, 2002).

For example, Nurse (2002) observed that

parole boards can cite gang affiliation, the

nature of the offense, or stability of available

households for youth as they impose restric-

tions on where parolees live.

ADOLESCENTS, IDENTITY PROCESSES, AND CONFINEMENT

Adolescent parents in the juvenile justice sys-

tem face the challenge of balancing multiple

and often competing identities. One layer of

identity is simply that of being an adolescent.

As Arnett (2004) notes, older adolescents are

working through the process of emerging

adulthood, which includes several distinguish-

ing features: a period of identity exploration,

instability in their identity, and feeling in

between childhood and adulthood. In addi-

tion, during the most self-focused period of

life, adolescents typically perceive their lives as

full of possibilities and have high hopes or

expectations for adulthood.

For adolescents from ethnic minority back-

grounds, another identity layer is associated

with their framing of their race, ethnicity,

and gender. Experiences in the larger socio-

cultural context complicate their formation

of a healthy identity (e.g., Arnett & Brody,

2008; Spencer, 2001; Spencer, Dupree, Cun-

ningham, Harpalani, & Mu~noz-Miller, 2003). As Spencer (2001) notes, maladaptive identity

patterns in response to a marginalizing social

context may emerge for youth who might, in

turn, respond to their circumstances in anti-

social ways that further distance them from

prosocial sources of support. Like Spencer,

researchers note that the growing complexity

of modern culture and society amplifies a

strained sociocultural context, in which ado-

lescents find it ever more challenging to

define an individual sense of self (e.g.,

Ferrer-Wreder et al., 2002).

Adolescents who are parents face forming

an identity associated with their perceived

responsibility for another, dependent person.

As adolescent parents quickly learn, the re-

sponsibilities associated with effective parent-

ing can compete with the processes of

exploration typically associated with emerging

adulthood. Adolescents who are confined

must come to terms with the system’s response

to their actions and find themselves formulat-

ing an associated identity (Enos, 2001; Nurse,

2002). Adolescents who are parents and con-

fined thus face balancing identities that con-

flict with typical adolescent processes of

exploration and complicate youthful expect-

ations of a better future.

A core challenge of identity configuration

incorporates the essential elements of goal ori-

entation and coconstruction that emerges

within the cultural context (Schachter, 2005).

For these adolescents, who are juggling multi-

ple and often contradictory realities of parent-

hood and adolescence in the context of

confinement, their perceptions of their situa-

tion have a powerful influence on their goals

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 185

and ultimately their identity formation (see

Spencer, 2001). For example, in balancing

the realities of being a parent and an inmate,

some might opt to minimize or deny one of

these identities. Too often, unfortunately, the

parental role is minimized. In sum, adolescent

parents in the juvenilejusticesystem have found

themselves thrust into adult-type experiences

withoutdevelopmentallybasedandappropriate

preparation and individual maturity to manage

those experiences (e.g., Inderbitzin, 2009).

In the face of institutional policies that

undermine adolescent parents’ engagement in

the parenting role and the maintenance of

parent–child relationships, it is not surprising

that these adolescent parents find themselves

wrestling with how to balance these multiple

identities (e.g., Nurse, 2002). Moreover,

“inmate identities” and parent identities can

elicit contradictory aspects of functioning. On

the one hand, having children provides mem-

bership in a community of adults who are

responsible for nurturing and caring for depen-

dent others. On the other hand, involvement in

drugs, crime, and other activities reflects

behavior that is inconsistent with nurturing

young children, as does engagement with other

inmates, who may wellsupport thesebehaviors.

Parents reconcile these competing iden-

tity tasks in various ways. Drawing on the

creative conceptualization by Snow and

Anderson (1987) of identity talk in explaining

how individuals who are homeless reconcile

competing identities, Enos (2001) illustrates

the relevance of the construct for incarcerated

or confined individuals. Identity talk reflects

verbal strategies to manage competing and

sometimes negative identities in ways that

promote and support one’s self-concept, a

process consistent with Spencer’s ICE perspec-

tive (2001). Three distinct strategies have

been identified as associated with identity

talk among incarcerated mothers, with each

strategy having implications for subsequent

opportunities and functioning. Some mothers

distance themselves from the situation and setting in

order to minimize the pain and discomfort

associated with being or having been an in-

mate. One mother reflected,

I don’t want to sound conceited, but I

think I’m a good, beautiful person.

If I grew up in a middle-class house-

hold and my mother, who drank be-

cause she couldn’t cope with [poverty,

single parenthood] had resources,

maybe she could have given us a safer

life. Who might I have become if my

life were safe? (Golden, 2005, p. 95)

Other mothers work through the pain by

embracing their role and their reality with a vision for

a better future. These mothers often acknowl-

edge their status as an inmate along with its

potential consequences, recognize the state’s

requirements for maintaining parental rights,

and commit themselves to demonstrating pa-

rental fitness—a strategy of optimal resistance

(Craddock, 2007; Robinson & Ward, 1991). A

third group of mothers engage in fictive storytell-

ing, reflecting a denial or exaggeration (whether

intentional or not) of the past and fantasies of

the future, representing a suboptimal pattern of

resistance. This strategy offers the short-term

benefit of relief from emotional pain and un-

bearable circumstances, but increases the long-

term risk of undermining one’s options. One

adolescent mother, who appeared to embrace

her role, shared her perspective on other moth-

ers who chose the latter identity strategy:

They talk about their kids, but they

don’t know what they’re talking

about. They make up stories about

their kids. Women in here talk about

their own lives, but not about their

186 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

kids. I know how everything I do goes

back to my kids. (Enos, 2001, p. 80)

Embracing one’s role with determination

to succeed requires an ability to integrate

different parts of oneself into a coherent self.

Faced with the challenges of premature par-

enthood and juvenile confinement, adolescent

parents may be less likely to be able to embrace

that role and would benefit from supports that

would facilitate such functioning.

For adolescent fathers in confinement,

balancing competing identities can also be

overwhelming. Particularly notable for some

adolescent fathers are the shame and embar-

rassment when their children are old enough

to know their fathers are confined (Nurse,

2002). Balancing these competing identities

can be compounded further by guilt over

what one is not able to provide for those

on the outside. Overwhelmed with the chal-

lenges and intense emotions, some adolescent

fathers resolve this conflict through a coping

mechanism, “hard timing” (Nurse, 2002), in

which they disengage or cut off their ties to

the outside world, including their children.

[I was afraid of] her looking at me

different. Like, “My dad . . . what is

my dad? Is he a gangster? A killer?

What is he in here for? What did he

do?” I don’t want her to be afraid of

me, basically what I am saying.

’Cause basically, I mean, I’ve seen a

lot of the public when they see us

working out there [on work crews].

They’re kind of scared of us, and I

don’t like that. I don’t want them to

be scared of me. I’m not going to do

nothing to them. I don’t want her see

that, too. I don’t want her to be afraid

of me just ’cause I’m incarcerated.

(Nurse, 2002, p. 45)

This identity strategy represents a sub-

optimal resistance response (Craddock, 2007;

Robinson & Ward, 1991). Unfortunately, the

long-term consequence is that fathers often

encounter more parent-related struggles

when they later attempt to reenter their

children’s lives.

Still others adopt another self-perception

to cope with their struggle as adolescent

fathers who are confined or newly released

(e.g.,Parra-Cardonaetal.,2008).Iftheycannot

take on traditional male “breadwinner” roles to

providefinancialsupport,thenintheireffortsto

be self-defined and sufficient, they perceive an

option of contributing “social capital” to their

children’s lives by providing child care, buying

diapers, and being involved in daily parenting

rituals (Inderbitzin, 2009). This optimal resist-

ance response (Craddock, 2007; Robinson &

Ward, 1991; Ward, 1996) reflects the perspec-

tive of youth who have chosen to find any

possible way of owning their responsibilities

as fathers. Many of the adolescent fathers

expressed wanting to “get out of the life,” as

they had hopes and visions of raising their own

children in more “conforming situations”

(Inderbitzin, 2009). In these examples, we

see adolescent parents striving to incorporate

individual, societal, and cultural goals in an

effort to build an identity as they assume in-

creasing adult and parental responsibilities.

IMPLICATIONS FOR ENHANCED POLICIES AND SERVICES FOR

ADOLESCENT PARENTS IN THE JUVENILE JUSTICE SYSTEM

This chapter identifies multilevel constraints

on the ability of adolescent mothers and

fathers to engage in their parenting role in

the context of their confinement, and the

impact of these constraints on parenting and

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 187

the parent–child relationship; it also high-

lights the challenges these adolescent parents

feel balancing competing personal identities.

In effect, as Golden (2005) notes, there are

potentially two generations of casualties

from confinement of adolescent parents

that is neither developmentally or sociocul-

turally informed. Not only are adolescent

parents affected directly, but their children

also suffer.

I reached to cover my pain, my moth-

er’s pain, her mother’s pain. Years on

top of years of struggle . . . genera-

tions of bitterness twisting and turn-

ing inside my soul, wishing to be

numb, wishing I could get a grip

and a little control. (Golden, 2005,

p. 96)

At multiple contextual layers, policy and

service delivery changes could enhance ser-

vices not only to adolescent parents, but also to

their children, thereby increasing the odds of

disrupting an intergenerational pattern of in-

carcerated or confined parents.

Changing Policies

Policies regarding juvenile offenders (e.g., in-

stitutional policies, alternative disposition pol-

icies) and those designed to address the needs

of children in foster care (e.g., ASFA) individ-

ually and collectively can undermine parenting

among adolescent parents. Detailed discussion

of policies in each of these arenas—juvenile

justice and foster care—is beyond the scope of

this chapter. Thus, this discussion of policies

will center on the institutional policies in

juvenile facilities as an example of the need

to carefully examine policies in all arenas that

can affect confined adolescent parents and

their children.

Statewide and individual institutional pol-

icies should be examined for the degree to

which they promote or hinder the ability of

adolescent parents to engage in their parenting

role and the parent–child relationship. An

important goal would be to enable adolescent

parents to develop optimal resistance strategies

that would enable them to manage the com-

peting demands of being an inmate and being a

parent.

Within individual institutions, considera-

tion should extend to housing adolescent par-

ents together, separated from other confined

adolescents (Nurse, 2002). Such arrangements

can provide a community of support for ado-

lescent parents that might reduce “hard

timing” and promote more embracing of

the parenting role. As one adolescent father

observed,

Sometimes, if you find another father

who loves their kids and, you know,

misses their kids, yeah. But the guys

without kids really don’t, you know.

They still might talk about a nephew

or something, but it’s not the same

thing as meeting somebody who has a

kid. They’re trying to be a good dad,

too, or missing their children. You

connect better with them and they’re

supportive more with each other.

(Nurse, 2002, p. 143)

While the recommendation for housing

adolescent parents together may be readily

understandable, housing them separately

from nonparents may be more controversial.

Adolescent fathers have made this proposal,

noting how vulnerable they feel when they

talk about or show emotions about their

children. “Nonfathers frequently treated such

talk as a sign of weakness and ridiculed it”

(Nurse, p. 143). Thus, a policy allowing for

188 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

separate housing for adolescent parents could

better enable them to incorporate their com-

peting identities without anxiety about how

their nonfather peers would viewor treat them.

Policies regarding visitation and phone

communication should provide for contact

soon after confinement, as well as more

frequent contact overall. According to a set

of standards developed by the Juvenile Deten-

tion Alternatives Initiative (Soler, Shoenberg,

Arya, & Burrell, 2006), which is aimed at

ensuring that all youth involved in juvenile

justice have opportunities for optimal devel-

opment, youth should be allowed free (or in

the case of those youth with resources, rea-

sonably priced) phone calls. Further, these

standards recommend visits several days per

week for at least one hour, to include physical

contact. Moreover, Soler and colleagues

(2006) recommend that staff encourage ado-

lescent parents to maintain contact with family

through calls, letters, and appropriate visiting

space. Noting the lead taken in several Cali-

fornia prisons, Nurse (2002) called for toys

and playground equipment to be made avail-

able for visits. Golden (2005) observed that

a facility in New Mexico allowed visits with

young children as often as twice a week for

two hours.

An innovative visitation arrangement

taking place at prisons in 17 states gives

hope and connection to 800 girls and their

incarcerated mothers. As depicted in an

award-winning documentary of one partici-

pating site (Tompkins, 2006), the program,

Girl Scouts Beyond Bars (GSBB; 2010)

allows girls to visit their incarcerated mothers

weekly or monthly. Mothers and daughters

jointly participate in meetings and activities

in which mothers are given leadership roles

later found to be critical to their employment

and success after release from prison. An

outgrowth of the GSBB, Girl Scouting in

Detention Centers, is a program in over 20

states that is aimed at girls who are adjudi-

cated, wards of the court, or court-referred

delinquents. This program, serving over

10,000 juvenile girl offenders, is often court

mandated and centers on goals to build self-

esteem, social consciousness, and critical life

skills (Girl Scouts Beyond Bars, 2010). Al-

though it does not specifically target adoles-

cent parents, it may provide important skills

for incarcerated teens who are not yet parents

that would enable them to delay parenthood.

Regarding phone contact, institutional

policies about phone use should be broad

enough to encompass not only contact be-

tween the incarcerated parent and child, the

child’s caregiver, and extended family, but also

to support involvement of parents in the child

welfare system’s periodic reviews of the case

(through phone calls with lawyers or child

welfare professionals). In California, an im-

portant bill under consideration (SB 134)

would guarantee a minimum of four calls

per month for young incarcerated parents—

to talk with their children, as well as with other

relatives and professionals who work with their

children—to facilitate more participation in

their children’s lives (Irish, 2010). Mothers’

attempts to maintain their relationships with

their children and to fight allegations of

“unfitness to be a parent” would be substan-

tially facilitated with the successful passage of

this bill.

Changing Services

As with institutional policies, services need to

be examined for the degree to which they

enable adolescent parents to engage in their

parenting role during confinement. Services

that support the parent–child relationship in its

larger contexts (i.e., the institution, the child’s

caregiving arrangement, and the teen’s family)

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 189

would be ideal in helping these youth incor-

porate their multiple roles into identities that

could enable them to function optimally.

Institutional Services The evaluation pro- cess for youth entering juvenile institutions

should include consideration of adolescent

parents’ connection with their children and

families (see Acoca, 2004). Based on the

reality that not all mothers will reengage

with their children upon reentry, Enos

(2001) proposed that professionals involved

in service delivery to incarcerated mothers (e.

g., correctional staff, child welfare staff ) de-

velop gender-specific, culturally sensitive

strategies for assessing “promising” and

“problem” mothers as early as possible in

their inmate careers. This would allow per-

sonnel to provide the appropriate level of

support, so as to optimize the possibilities

of successfully maintaining or building

parenting functions (see e.g., Sherman &

Greenstone, Chapter 7, this volume).

In addition, such an evaluation should

consider youth’s suboptimal and optimal re-

sistance approaches to their situations. An

understanding of whether an adolescent has

only suboptimal strategies or a combination

of optimal and suboptimal strategies, in

which one strategy dominates in certain cir-

cumstances, could inform the delivery of

services and staff engagement with youth

during confinement. For example, an ado-

lescent parent who expresses interest in going

to college postrelease as a path toward success

(optimal resistance approach), yet engages in

denial of limited academic skills (a suboptimal

approach designed to minimize the pain of

the marginalizing academic experiences),

might resist remedial educational services

that could be helpful. Young parents who

struggle with dominant suboptimal forms

of resistance would require supports that

address the trauma and/or marginalization

they have experienced. In contrast, an

adolescent parent who is working to under-

stand and recognize the situations that trigger

his or her angry and impulsive outbursts

(suboptimal functioning), in order to engage

in nonviolent conflict resolution (optimal

functioning), may be more amenable to

services designed to challenge this behavior.

For those exhibiting dominant optimal forms

of resistance, supports should scaffold these

strategies, especially by providing goal setting

and instruction to better equip them to

become successful adults and parents.

With comprehensive data about each con-

fined adolescent parent, staff would be able to

apply policies regarding engagement with

children and family in ways that match youth’s

needs and strengths. In addition, they could

deliver services that would enable adolescent

parents to function more optimally in dealing

with their confinement experience and their

role as parents. A sociocultural approach within

this focus would be essential in order to con-

sider cultural variations in parenting and rela-

tions with families.

According to Soler and colleagues (2006),

a critical service that would support visitation

between adolescent parents and their children

is transportation to and from institutions,

when public transportation is not available.

This service would enhance the frequency

of access that adolescent parents have to their

children.

Parenting classes serve as an important

support for adolescent parents in at least two

ways. First, individual parents directly benefit

from knowledge about children’s normative

development, the impact of separation on

children, and ways that they could improve

their parenting during points of contact with

children. One adolescent father suggested

such services should be required:

190 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

Just keep giving them information.

Keep having those parenting classes,

you know what I mean? Because all

the information they give helps some-

body, because it all pertains to a cer-

tain different situation somebody is

going through. That’s it there. Just

keep giving them info. For the guys

that have kids, they should make it

mandatory that they go to parenting

class. (Nurse, 2001, p. 135)

Second, having the opportunity to partic-

ipate in parenting classes provides a sense of

community for adolescent parents and, as with

the congregate housing idea, could enhance

their embracing of their role as parents.

Therapeutic Services Consideration of the developmental needs of adolescent parents

might point to adaptations in juvenile justice

settings. Although not intended specifically for

adolescent parents, the state of Missouri has

initiated a relationship-based intervention with

juvenile inmates in several of its facilities that

serve youth who have committed serious

crimes (Zavlek, 2005). The intervention cen-

ters on the establishment of relationships be-

tween staff and youth and among youth that

serve to facilitate a process in which each youth

comes to terms with the underlying experi-

ences and issues that were related to his/her

crime. Youth explore their perceptions of their

experiences in their ecological contexts—at

home, in the community—and their link to

individual acts, a process consistent with Spen-

cer’s ICE perspective (2006). This statewide

service delivery model, which includes small

settings for confined juveniles, has been cited as

a national model (Mendel, 2001):

Evaluationresearchofthisrelationship-

based model with juvenile offenders

is underway with emergent findings

showing positive outcomes for youth,

as well as positive economic impact

for the state of Missouri. (Kleitz,

Borduin, & Schaeffer, 2010)

The Missouri model reflects a growing

appreciation of evidence-based community

intervention to address antisocial behavior

among children and adolescents. One promi-

nent model is Multisystemic Therapy (MST;

Henggeler, Melton, Smith, & Schoenwald,

1993; Sheidow & Henggeler, 2005; see

Greenwood & Turner, Chapter 23, this vol-

ume), which was developed to address limita-

tions in the delivery of mental health services

to juvenile offenders. A contextually based

program, MST has a focus on relationship-

cultivating, family-based methods and inten-

sive treatment. Evaluations of MST have

found it to be a vehicle for family preservation

and an effective alternative to incarcerating

serious juvenile offenders (Henggeler et al.,

1993; Sheidow & Henggeler, 2005); indeed, it

has been endorsed as a “Blueprint for Violence

Prevention” program (Center for the Study

and Prevention of Violence, 2010). MST is

rapidly expanding, with more than 400 pro-

grams in more than 30 states and 10 countries

(Henngeler, Schoenwald, Borduin, Rowland,

& Cunningham, 2009).

A second prominent model also endorsed

as a “Blueprint” is Multidimensional Treat-

ment Foster Care (MTFC; Chamberlain &

Reid, 1998; see Greenwood & Turner,

Chapter 23, this volume), which features in-

tervention services focused on key proximal

antecedents of delinquency. The core ele-

ments found to be effective with boys or

mixed-gender groups—adult supervision,

consistent discipline, and involvement in

problem solving—have been adapted for girls

to include a focus on emotional regulation,

Adolescent Parents and the Juvenile Justice System 191

symptoms of abuse and neglect, and reducing

aggression (Chamberlain et al., 2007). Both of

these models represent developmentally re-

sponsive interventions that could be offered

for juvenile offenders who are also parents.

(See Greenwood & Turner, Chapter 23, this

volume, for a review of evidence-based prac-

tice in juvenile justice.)

The application of a sociocultural lens in the

delivery of services for adolescent parents is essential,

so that racial and cultural dimensions in the

risk for entry into the juvenile justice system

and potential differences in parenting practices

are appropriately addressed (e.g., Enos, 2001;

Golden, 2005). Services should be tailored to

meet the diverse needs of adolescent parents.

Moreover, because cultural differences may

vary from state to state, services should reflect

the local needs of adolescent parents. For

example, in some settings, different paths of

entry would point to the need for culturally

based prevention services. In her small quali-

tative study, Enos noted that White women

found their way to criminal lifestyles through

running away, whereas Black women entered

such lifestyles through domestic networks, and

Latino women through drugs. Possible differ-

ences in placement of children with extended

family or foster care (e.g., Enos, 2001) might

point to variations in the delivery of services to

provide familial supports.

Reentry is a particularly critical time for

adolescent parents and their children. The

negotiation of multiple identities shifts to

the world outside of detention, with a different

set of complexities, each requiring attention.

Wrap-around services in the community, in-

cluding General Educational Development

(GED) and job training, vocational skill build-

ing, and parenting support, can help them

contend with the emotional toll that often

accompanies returning home (Inderbitzin,

2009; see Schiraldi, Schindler, and Goliday,

Chapter 20, this volume). MST and MTFC

could be adapted for use proactively during

this period, potentially helping to reduce re-

cidivism among this population.

Finally, juvenile justice staff, both in cor-

rectional institutions and communities, need

training specific to the needs of adolescent

parents and their children (Acoca, 2004; Soler

et al., 2006). This training should incor-

porate basic adolescent development, as well

as the development of young children, and the

functions and consequences of parenting.

In addition, training that incorporates the

theories detailed in this chapter [see ICE

(Spencer, 2001)] and strategies of resistance

(e.g., Craddock, 2007; Robinson & Howard-

Hamilton, 2000; Robinson & Ward, 1991;

Ward, 1996) would help staff to understand

youth’s experiences through their eyes, and

how their identities influence their behaviors;

staff, in turn could help youth develop more

optimal resistance strategies.

CONCLUSION

An ecological approach to understanding the

challenges faced by adolescent parents in the

juvenile justice system that features the youth’s

perspectives (Spencer, 2006) points to multi-

level constraints on their ability to fully assume

the parenting role and maintain parent–child

relationships. Implications reflect the impor-

tance of developmentally and socioculturally

informed policies and services, including ser-

vices dedicated to adolescent parents during,

after, and as an alternative to, confinement.

These offerings might appear to some as pref-

erential treatment, even a “reward” for being

an adolescent parent. However, these policies

and services have particularly broad resonance:

Adolescent parents who leave the juvenile

justice system having acknowledged their

192 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

parenthood, and perhaps even having devel-

oped skills to increase their engagement with

their children, might well join the ranks of

responsible parents in their communities,

shoring up their families and others, and

demonstrating adaptive ways to integrate their

adolescent and parenting identities.

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196 U N D E R S T A N D I N G I N D I V I D U A L Y O U T H

SECTION III

UNDERSTANDING

YOUTH

IN CONTEXT

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

10 CHAPTER

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System

FRANCINE H. JACOBS, CLAUDIA MIRANDA-JULIAN, AND RACHAEL KAPLAN �

F or years modern developmental psychol-

ogy, and perhaps our own experiences as

well, convinced us that emotional upheaval—

stress, alienation, separation from parents and

families in favor of peers—was an inevitable,

core feature of adolescence (see, e.g., Elkind,

1998, Erikson, 1986; Zeldin, 2004; see also

Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this volume). We now

know, however, that this developmental period

is much more complex and nuanced: However

much drama there may be, the vast majority of

teens are also busy building and consolidating a

repertoire of positive skills, behaviors, and rela-

tionships that will serve them well into their

futures (Damon, 2004; Lerner, 2007; Scales,

Benson, Leffert, & Blyth, 2000). As to their

parents and families, most teens appear to want

and need separation and attachment, differenti-

ation and identification (Allen, 2008; Benson,

Harris, & Rogers, 1992; Steinberg, 1990).

Ecological (e.g., Bronfenbrenner, 1979;

Bronfenbrenner&Morris,2006),developmental

systems (e.g., Lerner, 2006), family and general

systems (e.g., Bateson, 1979; Minuchin, 1974;

von Bertalanffy, 1968), and cultural develop-

mental (e.g., Rogoff, 2003) theory all argue

that relationships are central to development

and functioning, for our purposes here particu-

larly the relationship between the child or youth

and her proximate partners—parents, siblings,

and grandparents. The consequences of these

relationships begin before birth and continue

throughout a child’s life (Shonkoff, Boyce, &

McEwen, 2009; Shonkoff & Phillips, 2000).

Recent research on brain development (Dahl,

2004; Masten, 2004; Scott & Steinberg, 2008a;

Shonkoff et al., 2009) also speaks to the power of

context, highlighting the key role played by

children’s physical, social, and emotional envi-

ronments throughout childhood and into ado-

lescence (Scott & Steinberg, 2008b)—in other

words, even the teen brain is still maturing.

Although approaches to parenting vary

across cultures, communities, and generations,

the obvious lessons to draw from these lines of

research are not surprising: Children need op-

portunities to connect positively to their par-

ents and families, as do their parents and families

to them; they need significant adults in their

lives who believe in them and have the material

and psychological resources to invest in them

� We offer a special measure of gratitude to the parents

and advocates who shared their experiences and wisdom

with us, including: Grace Bauer, Families of Incarcerated

Children, Campaign for Youth Justice; Gina B. Womack,

Families and Friends of Louisiana’s Incarcerated Chil-

dren; Tracy McClard, Campaign for Youth Justice and

FORJ-MO (Families and Friends Organizing for Re-

form of Juvenile Justice in Missouri); Rebecca Kendig,

Capital Post Conviction Project of Louisiana; and Vicky

L. Gunderson, parent advocate for juvenile justice.

199

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

over the long term. They need guidance, su-

pervision, direction, and protection, as well as

respect, expectations, encouragement, and af-

fection. They need to live in communities that

support their development and functioning and

the adequate functioning of their families.

This is a tall order, however, and some

parents or communities fall short of filling it. A

percentage of these parents become involved

with public systems that shore up or extend

parental resources or assume parental respon-

sibilities altogether. The child protection,

public welfare, and juvenile justice systems

are most common, with markedly different

roles vis-�a-vis families. For example, cash assistance programs

administered through public welfare agencies

have been characterized as “family preserva-

tion” policies because they provide material

supports to enable children to remain with

their families (Davidson, 1994). Acting as parens

patriae—literally, “parent of country,” but in

practice the default parent—child protection

and juvenile justice agencies, however, have the

authority to reconfigure and even dissolve these

families. The child protection system, primarily

concerned with the consequences of mal-

treatment, monitors and intervenes in family

processes, places children outside their parents’

homes, and, working through the courts, may

terminate parental rights altogether. The juve-

nile justice system is meant to protect public

safety, and part of that job is to rehabilitate

youthful offenders; it takes physical custody of

youthful offenders during their commitment to

the system (see Sherman & Blitzman, Chapter 4,

this volume). The operating premise here is that

inadequate parenting has led to the youth’s

delinquency, so that temporary abrogation of

parental rights while the youth mends his way,

with help from the state, is necessary.

But fair is fair, and one could also ask

whether the state itself is behaving as would

a “wise and just parent” (Ayers, 1997), provid-

ing what these youth presumably lack, given

what we now know about the power of rela-

tionships and context, and the possibilities of

continued development in adolescence. Does it

engage the parents of these youth—with

whom, given that parents retain legal custody,

it is in de facto partnership—so as to optimize

both public safety and the rehabilitation of its

charges? Indeed, what does it know about these

families altogether, and how does that informa-

tion inform its practice? These questions are at

the heart of this chapter.

We begin by locating the juvenile justice

system’s orientation to parents historically,

and then explore, in broad terms, what is

known about parents’ and families’ participa-

tion within the system, offering some possible

explanations for how it has assumed its current

shape and dimensions. We highlight a number

of the barriers to increased parent participation,

briefly offer strategies to enhance it, and then

conclude by noting the limitations of any

approach that ignores the material conditions

in which many of these families and children

live. The chapter attempts to incorporate the

perspectives of parents, advocates, and juvenile

justice system personnel, using primary data,

Web sites of organizations that advocate for

families, and comments made by family advo-

cates in informal conversations with the

authors.

In the spirit of this volume—reformist and

strengths-based—we do not focus on the pa-

rental and familial risks or deficits (e.g., parental

incarceration, inadequate parental monitoring,

or child maltreatment in the home) that have

contributed, in a significant percentage of cases,

to a child’s delinquency. We acknowledge them

as potent factors for some youth, and their

importance to developing effective prevention

and intervention strategies. Our interest here,

however, is to suggest an alternative view that

200 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

encourages the system to implement more, and

more positive, options for parent and family

engagement.

A BRIEF HISTORICAL NOTE

The official genesis of modern juvenile justice

is commonly set in the Progressive Era, when

in 1899 the first juvenile court was established

(Feld, 1999; Finley, 2007; Krisberg & Austin,

1993); before that time, children were con-

sidered the property of their parents, and were

of no particular concern to the courts (Scott &

Steinberg, 2008a). Progressive Era reforms

concretized the growing conviction within

mainstream U.S. culture that a child’s character

is not fixed at birth; that childhood is a distinct

developmental period; and that children

deserve special attention, protection, and dis-

pensation when their behavior falls outside

conventional norms. The theory held that

well-tended, children would become compe-

tent, moral, and responsible adults.

Although the changes prompted by Pro-

gressives were largely altruistic in intention

(Grubb & Lazerson, 1982), and improved

circumstances for many delinquent juveniles,

they had an unholy underside. First, Black

youth, from whom earlier reformist impulses

had been largely withheld, continued to be

discriminated against in the courts, for exam-

ple, by confinement in adult prisons (Bell &

Ridolfi, 2008). Second, although not all the

youth who became involved with the juvenile

justice system in the early 20th century were

poor, a significant percentage was. Yet the root

causes and contexts of the poverty that spawn

their often petty offenses (thefts, truancy, va-

grancy, etc.) were not addressed, establishing

an infelicitous but enduring approach to deal-

ing with the problems of poor children and

families (Grubb & Lazerson, 1982; Krisberg &

Austin, 1993). Third, in adopting the role of

parens patriae, the juvenile justice system essen-

tially reinforced prevailing beliefs about the

inadequacy of their parents (Ayers, 1997; Feld,

1999; Grubb & Lazerson, 1982; Schwartz,

2003; Scott & Steinberg, 2008a). The courts

asserted that the juvenile justice system could,

and would, do better.

The consequences of the system’s early

structures and decisions have remained: Black

youth are still poorly served, as, faced with the

evidence of disproportionate minority contact

(DMC), is well documented, and broadly ac-

knowledged by advocates, policy makers, and

researchers (Federal Advisory Committee on

Juvenile Justice [FACJJ], 2009; Piquero, 2008;

see also Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this vol-

ume; Holsinger, Chapter 2, this volume).

Juvenile justice remains a back-end loaded,

“residual” system (Lindsey, 2004; Nelson,

2008; Travis, 2009; see also Schiraldi, Schindler,

& Goliday, Chapter 20, this volume), receiving

primarily low-income youth who have fallen

through gaping holes in other public service

systems (e.g., child protective services, educa-

tion, mental health, public health) that should

have responded earlier and better (Maschi,

Hatcher, Schwalbe, & Rosato, 2008; see also

Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume; Ross & Miller,

Chapter 17, this volume).

Particularly germane to our discussion, the

Progressives’ belief that the stakes involved in

proper parenting were too high to leave that

task to parents alone, is still apparent in the

system’s general appraisal of parents. As Nelson

(2008) notes, “most juvenile justice systems are

more inclined to ignore, alienate, or blame

family members than to enroll them as

partners” (p. 10). To underscore the last point,

regardless of the prevailing views of delinquent youth,

the system has yet to determine whether, and how, to

engage parents and families to yield the best results for

their children and society at large.

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 201

FAMILY ENGAGEMENT WITH THE SYSTEM: WHAT IS DONE VERSUS

WHAT IS KNOWN

In 2001, my 13-year-old son—who

weighed 90 pounds soaking wet—was

adjudicated delinquent and sentenced to

five years in a Department of Corrections

facility. My son’s crime was stealing a

stereo out of a truck with two other

boys. At the time, I believed the promises

of the probation officer and staff at the

juvenile justice department that they would

care for my son and get him back on the

right track through a program called

STOP. I also never asked for an attorney

for my son after the probation officer told

me an attorney would just stand in the way

of my son getting the help the state could

provide. I believed my son would have

access to treatment to help him deal with

the issues he faced.

Unfortunately, I could not have been

more wrong. . . . My 13-year-old boy

had to fight for food and do without

when his size failed to hold off other kids

suffering from malnutrition and desperation.

The education he needed—along with the

other nearly 400 kids—consisted of a few

worksheets, no certified teachers, and school

hours filled not with instruction, but with

military-like exercises done in the heat of the

south’s brutal summers. The mental health

care the family court judge ordered was

nonexistent (although it is difficult to see

how one could get meaningful mental health

treatment in a facility where children live

with filth, neglect, and rampant abuse). I

eventually learned that the STOP pro-

gram, which the probation offices said would

help, had a 70% recidivism rate.

All of this happened five and half

hours away from where we lived and

many times we traveled all five and

half of those hours only to be told our

son was denied visitors that day or that he

was in the infirmary and we would not be

able to see him. . . . It wasn’t until I saw

the evidence of an assault on my son’s

body that I sought the advice of an

attorney. By then it was too late. The

state now controlled every aspect of my

son’s life and I had no say in his treatment

or care, nor did I have any power to stop

the abuse and neglect of my son. . . . I

wish I could say that what happened to

my son was a rarity or that we have come

so far in the last nine years that these

things don’t happen to children anymore.

Let me be loud and clear, there is not one

week that goes by in the last nine years

that I haven’t heard the pain and pleas of

other parents in the same or similar situ-

ations. (Bauer, 2010)

In theory, family participation in juvenile

justice system operations is possible at each

juncture of the process: at the time of arrest,

during intake, during consideration of deten-

tion, during the preparation for adjudication,

at the time of disposition, during placement

(Osher & Hunt, 2002), when youth are on

probation at home, and at discharge. There

appears to be more participation at certain

points in the process (i.e., court hearings)

than at others, in part because the law encour-

ages or requires certain types of involvement

(Gilbert, Grimm, & Parnham, 2001; Henning,

2006), and not others. But because the data

are sparse, we can only offer an impression

of how parents are actually engaged with

the system.

One can think about the range of ways

parents are involved in the juvenile justice

process along a few critical dimensions: Is

the genre of participation mandatory or optional?

202 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Does it reflect a view of parents as problems or as

partners? Is it well or poorly documented in the

relevant literature? We address each of these

dimensions briefly below.

Mandatory Versus Optional

The juvenile court has wide latitude to require

parents’ participation in its operations, or in

other activities meant to enhance parental

supervision and promote youth rehabilitation,

and to legally sanction parents if they do not

comply. Parents can be required, for example,

to bring their child to court for his scheduled

appearances, attend court hearings, participate

in individual therapy or family-oriented treat-

ment with their children, enroll in parenting

classes, or undergo psychiatric evaluation

(Henning, 2006). In addition, parental liability

provisions, both criminal and civil, hold par-

ents legally responsible for the crimes their

children commit (Harvell, Rodas, & Hendey,

2004); parents can be fined or incarcerated for

“contributing to the delinquency of a minor,”

and can be sued to recover damages related to a

child’s criminal acts (see Sherman & Blitzman,

Chapter 4, this volume).

Juvenile courts vary dramatically in parent

participation provisions (Harvell et al., 2004),

mandating certain kinds of involvement, and

recommending others; engaging in family

counseling, for example, is often recom-

mended but not required (Gilbert et al.,

2001). Parents also have an affirmative right

to be involved in some activities (e.g., in

educational program planning for children

with special needs), and systems encourage

but do not require their participation in others

(e.g., attending prerelease or reentry planning

meetings). Or parents can simply be involved,

volitionally, in supportive ways in the lives of

their system-involved children (e.g., visiting

residential facilities or fostering grandchildren;

see Pinderhughes, Craddock, & Fermin,

Chapter 9, this volume); this voluntary in-

volvement is supported, at least in theory, by

some juvenile justice professionals (Davies &

Davidson, 2001; see also Peterson-Badali &

Broeking, 2009, for a Canadian perspective).

A Parents-as-Problems Versus Parents-as-Partners Stance

On one end of this continuum sit the legal

mandates noted earlier that focus on enhanc-

ing parental supervision and monitoring dur-

ing the rehabilitation of one’s child; implicit is

the court’s assessment of these parents as prob-

lems, either directly responsible for their chil-

dren’s delinquency or incompetent to manage

their children’s return to a socially sanctioned

life. Parenthetically, a number of qualitative

studies of system-involved youth suggest that

they do not broadly share this view of their

parents (see, e.g., Abrams, 2006; Brank &

Lane, 2005; Brank, Lane, Turner, Fain, &

Sehgal, 2008; Goldson & Jamieson, 2002).

These mandates show little respect for the

authority the parenting role should confer on

decisions regarding their children. Further-

more, paradoxically, these requirements often

undermine parents’ ability to meet their paren-

tal responsibilities (e.g., losing critical house-

hold income pursuant to being required to

attend all court proceedings) (Henning, 2006;

see also Sherman & Blitzman, Chapter 4, this

volume). They stand in contrast to laws pro-

tecting parents’ authority that originate outside

of the juvenile justice system—for example, a

parent’s right to participate in planning an

educational program for youth with special

needs under the Individuals with Disabilities

Education Act (IDEA) (see Boundy & Karger,

Chapter 14, this volume).

Farther along this continuum toward

viewing parents as partners are the primarily

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 203

therapeutically oriented evidence-based practices

and/or programs—approaches that have dem-

onstrated their effectiveness according to

demanding research standards (Greenwood,

2008; see also the Blueprints for Violence

Prevention Web site www.colorado.edu/

cspv/blueprints/; the Coalition for Evidence-

based Policy Web site www.evidencebased

policy.org). Embraced by some jurisdictions

in the midst of reforming their juvenile justice

systems (see Greenwood & Turner, Chapter 23,

this volume; Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday,

Chapter 20, this volume), rather than simply

blaming parents for their inadequacies, these

interventions acknowledge parents’ risks and

challenges, and attempt, for example, to repair

family functioning or improve parenting skills.

However, these programs also require

parents—whose authority is already compro-

mised—to admit to deficits that are impli-

cated in their children’s delinquency. Thus,

even by encouraging (and not requiring)

parental participation, these programs re-

inforce the system’s hierarchical position

vis-�a-vis parents, helping to maintain the structurally uneven and uneasy relationship

that often exists between the two groups.

This is not to discount the many virtues of

these approaches, but even a parent with

serious problems that are amenable to these

treatments, who is grateful for the opportu-

nity, also probably knows that help offered to

her earlier would have been more useful and

less demeaning for her to accept. Further-

more, she is aware that the system has not

invited the other actors responsible for her

child’s delinquency—the school superin-

tendent, the mayor, her neighbors who are

overwhelmed themselves and cannot prop-

erly supervise their own teenagers, and so

forth—into treatment with her.

For over two decades, a number of juvenile

justice jurisdictions have planned and

implemented major system reforms to address

many and varied shortcomings (see Mendel,

2009, regarding ongoing detention reforms,

for example). Some of these efforts include

parents by soliciting their participation in needs

assessments (see, for example, Luckenbill, 2009,

for a review of Pennsylvania’s approach) to

imagine a revamped system, more responsive

to their children’s needs. This admirable posture

is yet farther down the line toward viewing

parents as partners, suggesting that system offi-

cials see parents as sharing the investment in

their children, with points of view worth con-

sidering (Luckenbill, 2009). Although it is dif-

ficult to discern in available materials, it appears

that parents are not frequently represented on

bodies that actually develop, implement, and

oversee these system overhauls—an action that

would level the field that much more; as a

number of these systems are in their early stages

ofreform,indeed, thismay be the intention,not

yet realized. Of course, only states committedto

reform appear even to consider this more rea-

sonable approach to parents.

Well Documented Versus Poorly Documented

Few aspects of parental involvement in the

juvenile justice system are well documented,

which may be read, as some suggest, as dis-

respect for parents. There may be truth to that

interpretation, but in addition, the data sys-

tems maintained by juvenile justice agencies

on all aspects of their functioning are

generally considered wanting, and in need

of serious updating (see, for example, Busch,

1999; Butts & Roman, Chapter 24, this

volume; Schneider & Simpson, Chapter 22,

this volume).

So what information do we have? At

one end of this continuum are publicly availa-

ble, systematically collected data—by juvenile

204 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

justice agencies or independent researchers—

characterizing participation at each phase

(e.g., the extent and quality of it, the character-

istics of parents who are and are not involved).

The recent Office of Juvenile Justice Delin-

quency Prevention (OJJDP) report on condi-

tions of confinement (Sedlak & McPherson,

2010a) that includes family contact data from a

2003 nationally representative sample of 7,073

youth in custody is a noteworthy example

of this kind of information. However, it is a

rarity. Reporting comparable data at each phase

of potential involvement would move us a great

distance toward proper documentation.

There is also a limited number of promis-

ing studies of parent involvement in court

proceedings, which is a genre of information

that would be important to have more gener-

ally. Davies and Davidson (2001) conducted a

large, U.S. national study of court officers in

innovative jurisdictions, reporting their obser-

vations about parental involvement in court

hearings, why they believe parents are or are

not involved, and how important they viewed

such participation as being. Several recent

studies of participation in the Canadian youth

court system (see, for example, Broeking &

Peterson-Badali, 2010; Peterson-Badali &

Broeking, 2009, 2010; Varma, 2007) provide

welcomed texture and depth regarding the

nature and timing of parental involvement,

youth’s beliefs about their parents’ roles, and

the relationship of parental involvement to

court-related outcomes. We could find noth-

ing comparable conducted in the United

States, and currently, no federal mandate exists

encouraging the participation of parents in the

juvenile justice system within the United

States. Unlike the United States, Canada’s

federal statues over the past 25 years have

increasingly encouraged parental involvement

(see Varma, 2007). As to who these parents

are, no study we could identify focuses on,

or even treats in a significant way, their positive

attributes—strengths, abilities, and potentiali-

ties—although innovations in child and family

assessment in a number of state systems may

soon yield this view (see, e.g., Shanahan,

2010). One needs to leave the academic liter-

ature and turn to Web sites of parent and other

advocacy organizations (see, e.g., the Cam-

paign for Youth Justice, www.campaignfor

youthjustice.org), descriptions of innovative

system reform efforts (e.g., Luckenbill,

2009; Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday, Chapter

20, this volume), and coverage of family

engagement in the popular press, to find

evidence of these stores of human capital.

We also know little from the parents’ own

perspectives, even within existing literature.

While youth’s “voices” increasingly are being

heard in the growing collection of fine quali-

tative studies of this population (e.g., Abrams,

2006; Inderbitzin, 2009; Unruh, Povenmire-

Kirk, & Yamamoto, 2009), parents’ assess-

ments of their own strengths and limitations,

their dreams for their children, and their

assessments of how the system operates, are

generally not available, though there are a few

exceptions in that last category (see, e.g.,

Benner, Mooney, & Epstein, 2003, for a dis-

cussion of what parents want for their children

while in custody). We could not find discus-

sions about what parents want for themselves,

though Bolen, McWey, and Schlee (2008)

present such a discussion from the perspective

of parents in the child welfare system that may

be relevant here as well.

However, on the well-documented end of

the spectrum, enter “parents of children in the

juvenile justice system” in your search engine

and you will find hundreds and hundreds of

entries that detail parents’ risks and deficits,

arrayed across levels of ecology: individual

parental characteristics (e.g., limited educa-

tion, substance abuse, history of incarceration,

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 205

mental illness), family composition char-

acteristics (e.g., single-parent household,

multiple children), family circumstances

(e.g., residential instability), family function-

ing (e.g., child maltreatment), parenting styles

(e.g., lax monitoring, harsh discipline), and

neighborhood characteristics (e.g., poor, un-

derresourced, high crime), considered accord-

ing to the age, gender, mental health status,

and so on, of the youth. This information is

necessary and useful—to inform the develop-

ment, refinement, and evaluation of interven-

tions for delinquent youth and their families,

or for those at risk of delinquency. It also is

problematic, since it reifies the assumption that

the most salient aspects of these parents and

families are their deficits, and it suggests a

“norm” for focusing research in this way.

(See Pelton, 2008, for an insightful discussion

of these issues regarding parents in the child

welfare system.)

The juvenile justice system is likely to

continue to concentrate activity at the man-

dated and parent-as-problems focused ends of

these continua; that is in the nature of residual

human services systems in which families with

significant problems “reside.” And however

much juvenile justice data management sys-

tems improve, they are unlikely to have the

reach or resources to support some of the

research we advocate, and so certain processes

and aspects of parenting these youth will,

understandably for the time being, remain

poorly documented. The usefulness of typifying

activities according to these dimensions, then,

is to illuminate the choices that systems make,

hopefully as a prologue to expanding the

breadth of system engagement with parents

and families to include more of them at the

“positive” ends.

With these dimensions of involvement in

mind (Is it mandated? Does it acknowledge

parents as potential partners in their parenting

roles? Is it addressed in the literature?), we

briefly review what is known.

Parent Participation in Court Hearings and Interrogation

According to several studies, youth are usually

accompanied by a parent, or parents, to court

hearings. In a national U.S. survey of judges

and chief probation officers in “innovative”

jurisdictions, Davies and Davidson (2001)

found that over two thirds of juveniles’ parents

attend their child’s first formal delinquency

hearing—a figure lower than the authors

expected—and their informants estimate

that at least one parent appears across a child’s

delinquency hearings between 80% and 90%

of the time.

Broeking and Peterson-Badali (2010), in a

study of the Canadian youth justice system,

found somewhat similar findings as those in

the United States. Relying on youth self-

report, 87% of their sample indicated that

they had a legal guardian involved in their legal

cases—most often the mother—but parent par-

ticipation varied across their sample, and over

the phases of system involvement. Almost 50%

of parents reportedly were involved to a high or

medium extent (at a minimum of three time

points); the remainder was involved in-

consistently and minimally. In an observational

study of courtroom proceedings for youth,

Peterson-Badali and Broeking (2010) found

that parents were present in 68% of all cases.

Varma (2007) observed bail and sentencing

hearings, noting a 70.3% participation rate at

bail hearings and a 57% rate at sentencing

hearings. Reports of parental participation at

interrogations range broadly (Woolard, Cleary,

Harvell, & Chen, 2008), likely reflecting vari-

ation in law, most of which allows youth to be

interviewed without a parent present (see Sher-

man & Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

206 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Furthermore, parent-child testimonial privi-

lege is rare, so that parents can be made to

testify against their children; this may discour-

age both parental participation in legal proce-

dures, and the provision of parental emotional

support to their children more generally (Ross,

2003).

There is a small but noteworthy percentage

of children who cannot depend on their par-

ents’ presence, support, and/or helpful behav-

ior in any of these activities (see, e.g., Broeking

& Peterson-Badali, 2010). Youth in the foster

care system are particularly disadvantaged in

legal proceedings, appearing more likely to

be detained, for less serious offenses, than youth

living with their biological families (Conger &

Ross, 2001; Ross, 2008; see also Ross & Miller,

Chapter 17, this volume).

Incarceration

Parent involvement during youth incarcera-

tion can include participation in educational

decisions and treatment sessions, maintaining

regular contact with staff, visiting (in person or

by phone) (Sedlak & McPherson, 2010a), and

providing the support and guidance that par-

ents of adolescents generally offer their chil-

dren. It can also mean keeping a youth’s

interests in mind in the community by main-

taining contact with, or caring for, the youth’s

own children, or conveying relevant informa-

tion to medical or educational personnel to aid

in the transition back to the community.

According to the recent OJJDP report on

conditions of confinement (Sedlak &

McPherson, 2010a), over 90% of the youth

noted that they had been in contact (by phone

or visit) with their families since their arrival at

their placements (detention facilities, correc-

tions facilities, camps, community-based facil-

ities, and residential treatment programs).

Almost two thirds had received an in-person

visit, and of those who had not, about one

third reported either that the visiting hours or

the distance of the facility from their homes

precluded it. Rates of contact varied across

types of facilities, with youth in correctional

facilities and camps about twice as likely to

report low rates of family contact (less than

once/week) (39%) than youth in other place-

ments (20%). Only 7% of the youth without

any contact reported not wanting it, and 6%

reported that it is their family members who

were not interested.

Parent participation also varies across time,

and issue. For example, one seasoned juvenile

justice worker noted:

Parents maintained close contact

during the assessment, because [dur-

ing that phase] there was more of an

introduction to the Department . . .

once in secure treatment it felt like

“old hat” and parents were less

engaged . . . [that is] less contact

with staff/program but [they] did

keep in touch with the kids. . . .

School/education piece was a place

where parents had a greater presence

. . . (KI1, personal communication,

10/2/09) 1

This information would be useful for

systems to collect and maintain, to help in

targeting their efforts to increase specific types

of parent participation.

Treatment

Researchers have been active in this domain of

parent involvement. Decades of thoughtful

intervention research have yielded a small

1 Key informant (KI) interviews are numbered to protect

confidentiality.

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 207

but growing set of options for youth and

families at risk of involvement, or already

involved, with the juvenile justice system

that meet standards for evidence-based practice

or programs (EBP) (see, e.g., Blueprints for

Violence Prevention Project, www.colorado

.edu/cspv/blueprints/; Greenwood & Turner,

Chapter 23, this volume, for a detailed

discussion).

The subset of model Blueprints programs

that centrally involve families includes Func-

tional Family Therapy (FFT; see Alexander

et al., 1998; Henggler & Sheidow, 2003; Sexton

& Turner, 2010) and Multisystemic Therapy

(MST; Henggler & Sheidow, 2003; Henggler,

et al. 2009; Timmons-Mitchell, Bender, Kisna,

& Mitchel, 2006), which are community based,

for youth on probation and their families, and

Multidimensional Treatment Foster Care

(MTFC; see Chamberlain & Mihalic, 1998;

Chamberlain, Leve, & DeGarmo, 2007;

Zahn, Day, Mihalic, & Tichavsky, 2009), which

also operates in communities, with foster parent

training and support a key element. Another

well-regarded family-oriented program, Family

Integrated Transitions (FIT; see Aos, 2004;

Drake, 2007), begins in the residential facility

in which youth are incarcerated and continues

in the community. A range of child and family

outcomes has been achieved by these interven-

tions, and Aos, Miller, and Drake (2006) have

also established their cost effectiveness (see

Anderson & Bogenschneider, 2007; Green-

wood, 2008; see also, Greenwood & Turner,

Chapter 23, this volume).

Recruiting and retaining parents in these

programs, when they are not mandated to

comply, is a major challenge (Fagan, Hanson,

Hawkins, & Arthur, 2008; Mulford & Redd-

ing, 2008). Additionally, Greenwood (2008)

reports that only a small percentage of eligible

youth currently participate in Blueprints-vali-

dated treatment programs. This leaves the

remainder without a family-focused interven-

tion, or in one with unknown or likely fewer

effects, though there are also problems with

relying too heavily on EBP model programs

(see Butts & Roman, Chapter 24, this vol-

ume). Even with Blueprints programs, to

achieve effects, faithful implementation is crit-

ical (Lipsey, 2009) and not always straightfor-

wardly attained (Schoenwald, 2010), and some

jurisdictions choose not to incur the training

expenses that are related to these efforts

(see Greenwood & Turner, Chapter 23, this

volume).

Probation and Community Reentry

As mentioned earlier, a number of effective

family-focused treatment programs are

community based, implemented during pro-

bation and community reentry, and for fami-

lies engaged in those interventions we have a

clear idea of the nature and degree of that

system-directed, family involvement. How-

ever, few studies offer a more general picture

of how families participate with the system and

with their children when youth are in the

community. Indeed, descriptions of the re-

entry process often barely mention parents and

families (e.g., Mears & Travis, 2004; Zeldin,

2004; see also Hawkins, Vaschchenko, &

Davis, Chapter 12, this volume).

Youth themselves differ in their percep-

tions of their parents and families as supports

during this phase. A number of studies suggest

that many view their family relationships as

basically positive. For example, in a multiyear,

national evaluation of the Serious and Violent

Offenders Reentry Initiative (SVORI), 99%

of the young men in the SVORI group (n ¼ 185), and 96% of those in the non-SVORI

group (n¼152) reported feeling close to their families, and wanted them involved in their

lives (Hawkins, Lattimore, Dawes, & Visher,

208 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

2009). Brank, Lane, Turner, Fain, and Sehgal

(2008), in an evaluation of an intensive pro-

bation program in California, found the youth

across the program and nonprogram groups

feeling well supported by their parents, who

they saw as genuinely interested in their well-

being. A recent evaluation of a health access

program for youth on parole committed to a

juvenile justice agency (Jacobs, Oliveri, &

Greenstone, 2009; see also Jacobs, 2007, and

Miranda-Julian & Jacobs, 2009), reported that

both male and female offenders did what

teenagers often do—they sought their parents’

advice in a range of matters related to their

health and health care, and reported their

parents as being helpful to them (see also

Oliveri et al., Chapter 18, this volume).

The 51 incarcerated male offenders in the

Unruh, Povenmire-Kirk, and Yamamoto

(2009) study, imagining their trajectories

once back in their communities, appeared to

understand well both the potential benefits of,

and liabilities to, family support. Over 70%

of them viewed strong familial support, both

emotional and instrumental, as critical to a

successful transition to adulthood, helping

them avoid the unlawful behaviors that re-

sulted in system involvement and providing

residential stability. Stability in one’s living

situation was viewed as particularly critical

to their positive development, but was less

likely to be offered, when family members

were themselves involved in criminal activi-

ties. (See Hawkins, Vashchenko, & Davis,

Chapter 12, this volume, on the risks of

negative social capital of this sort.)

However, families of origin figured only

marginally in Inderbitzin’s (2009) ethno-

graphic study of five male youthful offenders

reentering their home neighborhoods. In the

main, it appeared, their families were too

troubled to attend to the youth, or had written

them off and did not, or could not, provide the

family support and resources to make a suc-

cessful transition. A few of these young men,

already fathers themselves, focused instead on

their own children and parenting and the

extent to which they could be good providers

and supports. Sullivan’s (2004) ethnographic

analysis of the reentry experiences of five

young men concluded that incarceration likely

hastens normal developmental processes that

“end” adolescence and the separation from

parents that can accompany the move into

adulthood. This developmental note is impor-

tant to underscore and should modify expect-

ations of the degree of involvement to be

expected or sought from parents of older

adolescents.

Based on this review, it appears that state

statutes often determine what is required or

requested from parents and families, and the

law currently attempts to hold parents ac-

countable for failed involvement with their

children in the juvenile justice system. Support

for the development and evaluation of theo-

retically based, empirically driven treatment

programs has yielded increasing options for

systems to work with parents and families in

more helpful and inclusive ways, increasing

engagement, though this is primarily confined

to states in reform modes. Other than these

family-oriented, intervention-focused investi-

gations, reports of how families and parents

participate in the system and interact with

their children in the many ways that “usual,

devoted parents” do are spare.

THE RELATIONSHIP OF RESEARCH TO PRACTICE AND POLICY

It is impossible to track the direction of influ-

ence between the research and current juve-

nile justice policy. Does the voluminous body

of research on parental deficits and problems

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 209

sharpen and reinforce the system’s focus on

deficits and problems? Or perhaps, to effect

even incremental change in juvenile justice

(a deficit-based legal system, after all) toward a

more family-focused orientation, one must

investigate deficits, demonstrating the extent

to which they are amenable to intervention,

on the one hand, and the consequences for

youth and public safety if they are not

addressed, on the other. Both are likely true.

As a general rule, research rarely creates or

derails an observable shift in policy, for a host of

often-cited reasons pertaining both to the

nature of social science research (see Butts &

Roman, Chapter 24, this volume) and the

nature of the policy-making process (see

Bogenschneider, 2006; Jacobs, 2001; Weiss,

1983). On the policy end, competing perspec-

tives and perceptions—political, ideological,

economic—exert considerable influence as

well, and co-construct policy with research

(categorized as the 3 I’s—ideology, interests,

and information, by Weiss, 1983). It is best to

view applied research as a tool to support,

modify, and challenge emerging or existing

policy choices, not as the source of the policy

or its revision (see Butts & Roman, Chapter

24, this volume, for a comprehensive treat-

ment of this issue in the juvenile justice field).

Assessing the extent and nature of actual

parental involvement, in all phases of the juve-

nile justice process, is an empirical task awaiting

execution. With the information we have at

present, however, our hunch is that there is far

more than is documented but less than would

be optimal, and for that reason, we proceed to

discuss the barriers to parent participation.

BARRIERS TO PARTICIPATION

Consistent with our view that increasing the

volitional, rather than mandated, types of

parent participation would best achieve the

rehabilitative aim of the juvenile justice system,

we focus here on barriers to that sort of par-

ticipation from the system’s, parents’, and

youth’s perspectives. This short list was largely

generated through, and multiply corroborated

by, data collected from line agency staff and

youth (see Jacobs, Oliveri, & Greenstone,

2009), and from informal conversations with

advocates; each of these points finds ample

support in the research, practice, and advocacy

literatures (see, e.g., Garfinkel & Nelson, 2004;

Harvell et al., 2004; Varma, 2007).

& Lack of accessible, useful information on

systems operations. Parents, particularly

those without means, are poorly edu-

cated about the workings of the court

and the system overall. This is, in part,

a function of the exigencies of the

law, which views the child, not his

parents, as the client to be afforded

legal counsel (see Sherman & Blitz-

man, Chapter 4, this volume). One

family advocate noted, “Many of

them [parents] didn’t understand

what their rights were, their kids’

rights. They felt helpless” (Rebecca

Kendig, personal communication,

10/8/09). Engagement with the legal

system can be intimidating to any

individual, and when the system is

uninviting and obfuscating, and

the stakes are so high, it is difficult

for some of these parents to forge

ahead. & Its underlying assumption of parental re-

sponsibility for delinquency. This clear

system-delivered message of parental

responsibility for their child’s delin-

quency discourages, paralyzes, and in-

furiates some parents. As one system-

involved youth revealed:

210 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

INTERVIEWER: Can you talk to me

about what you know about your

mom’s involvement with the De-

partment while you were in lockup?

YOUTH: None. She hates them. . . .

Like the only thing, like when they

had to send her papers to sign, that’s

about it. She’ll sign them and send

them back. . . . But beside that, I

don’t think any parent likes the

Department because, you know,

they have custody of us and the

parent feels like, I’m supposed to

have full [custody] because I’m the

parent. (KI2, personal communica-

tion, 4/29/08)

& Its low expectations for parent involve-

ment. Several informants noted that

the system’s structure broadcasts the

expectation that parents will not be

involved much with their children.

This expectation, then, is easily val-

idated by a system that does not

accommodate parents’ schedules

and other responsibilities. For exam-

ple, residential facilities that are dis-

tant and inaccessible, with strict rules

about visiting and phone contact,

preclude regular involvement (e.g.,

Travis, 2009). Sedlak and McPher-

son (2010a) report that, for 59% of

youth in custody, it takes an hour or

more to travel for a visit, and for 28%

of the youth, it takes at least 3 hours.

A youth described her parents’

efforts in this regard:

. . . My mom didn’t, like my

mom doesn’t have her license,

she doesn’t have a car, she can’t

drive so she really didn’t have a

ride to go out [to participate

in a meeting at the facility],

but when she did have a ride,

she’d attend my meeting. My

dad [with a car] attended

every single meeting that I

had. (KI3, personal communi-

cation, 9/26/08)

& Little staff expertise, or quality training to

develop expertise, in working with fami-

lies. Many system personnel are not

inclined to include parents in system-

related activities that are not manda-

tory, solicit their input, or provide

therapeutically oriented services.

One system-based clinician observed

that “the Department is not histori-

cally good at doing work with fami-

lies . . . though family therapy was

offered, [we] very rarely got partici-

pation from the family . . . [it’s] . . .

not a strength of the Department”

(KI1, personal communication,

10/2/09). Some caseworkers, the

clinician noted, have embraced the

notion, while others resist, making

the “‘bare minimum’ effort to

engage with child and family” (KI1,

personal communication, 10/2/09).

System reformers note this as a

particular challenge (Decker, 2010).

On the Parents’ End

We take as a given that some parents cannot

(e.g., because of significant mental or physical

health problems), or should not (e.g., because

of a history of serious maltreatment in the

home), be involved with their system-

involved children. Others choose not to be

involved. There are two additional factors,

however, that many juvenile justice court and

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 211

agency personnel concede, but are not as evi-

dent in the publicdiscourse that merit mention.

Typically, the daily circumstances of these

families’ lives are challenging; they tend to be

of low or moderate income, and quite a few of

them are single-parent households. So even

when required at legal proceedings, some

parents, for instance, cannot afford or are

not allowed the time off from work. Often,

additional child caring responsibilities at

home, sometimes including the care of grand-

children whose parents are incarcerated, fur-

ther constrain their participation. And without

supports, many parents are simply over-

whelmed by these multiple demands.

In addition, the needs of many system-

involved youth can overwhelm parents, partic-

ularly those who are already stressed. A signifi-

cant percentage of system-involved youth have

special needs, estimated at up to 70% (FACJJ,

2009). Grisso (2008) notes that between one

half and two thirds meet criteria of at least one

mental disorder, and 30% of confined youth

indicate that they have a diagnosed learning

disability (Sedlak & McPherson, 2010b). Some

youth are so difficult—threatening, dangerous,

or just trying—that parents sometimes, as one

worker put it, “need a break from the kid’s

behaviors.” There is also a percentage of youth

who terrorize or abuse their parents or other

family members (see Baker, Cunningham, &

Harris, Chapter 11, this volume).

On the Youth’s End

Youth, for their part, run the gamut from

wanting their parents involved to wanting

them excluded to not expecting much one

way or the other. Those whose parents have

maltreated them, or whose family relationships

are conflicted, often prevent family members

from participating (Miranda-Julian & Jacobs,

2009; Varma, 2007). Some youth would rather

not have their parents, siblings, and/or children

hear the case against them in court, or see them

incarcerated. “Kids will tell parents not to visit

and they won’t. . . . [The kids] don’t want

[their parents] to see them in a place like that”

(KI4, personal communication, 10/2/09).

They can be concerned that parents will be

angry and disappointed in them (Broeking &

Peterson-Badali, 2010; Gilbert et al., 2001), an

assumption that, indeed, is sometimes correct.

Youth may be less likely to encourage

parental involvement if they believe that their

parents will be judged or found culpable.

Abrams (2006), for example, found that

some youth would not participate in family-

oriented treatment if it meant that they had to

accept that premise of parental responsibility

for their delinquency.

Finally, establishing some degree of inde-

pendence and autonomy from one’s parents

during adolescence is a common goal for

many adolescents and is no less the case for

system-involved youth. When youth return

home, or are placed on probation, the amount

of supervision parents seek, or are required by

the courts to provide, is often more than what

youth experienced in their homes at earlier

points, leading to tension in the home. As one

youth noted:

INTERVIEWER: Does your mom have any in-

volvement [with the probation office]?

YOUTH: Yeah, when I do something bad, she

always calls them and tells them.

INTERVIEWER: And how does that make you

feel?

YOUTH: Mad.

INTERVIEWER: Do you wish there were

more involvement by your mom or less

involvement?

YOUTH: No, less . . . because I don’t want

my mom to, like, get me in trouble (KI5,

4/29/08).

212 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

To the extent that these barriers to

increasing parental involvement seem in-

surmountable, one response would be to shore

up the state’s capacity, on its own, to manage

these responsibilities for the youth under its

authority. We consider that option next.

THE STATE AS PARENT, REPRISED: CAN IT DO THE JOB?

Tracy’s son, Jonathan, who had just turned 17,

committed suicide in January 2008, while in

custody. At the time Jonathan committed his crime

and was arrested, he was extremely depressed and

was immediately sent to a juvenile psychiatric

hospital. At the hospital he was evaluated and

put on medication. It took Tracy an entire day of

making calls to locate her son at the hospital. No one

called to let her know where he had ended up or to

ask for parental input into his assessment. . . .

Tracy was not consulted about medication or

treatment planning. Jonathan stayed at the hos-

pital for two weeks. Visitation was strict, based on

the discretion of the head nurse, and confined to

certain hours. With Tracy and her family living

3½ hours away, making these visits was very

difficult, so she was limited to what she was able to

learn (for example, what medications he was

taking, how he was doing) when she called to

check in.

After two weeks, Jonathan was moved back to

juvenile detention. He reported that he was hallu-

cinating and “saw blood running down the walls.”

Tracy immediately spoke to the staff, who told her

that they could not change the medication without a

consult from the psychiatric hospital doctor. Tracy

advocated for Jonathan to receive an appointment

with his own physician. She asked to be told when

the appointment was scheduled so she could attend,

provide history, and support her son, but this was

not done, and he saw the physician without her.

When Tracy called the physician, he told her that

he agreed Jonathan was on too much medication,

but that the facility was not going to change the

dose, so Jonathan was going to have to learn to

deal with it.

Jonathan was then transferred to a facility in

another county, without Tracy’s being informed,

and was assigned a counselor from an outside agency.

He reported to his mom that he would see her for

about 10 minutes per week. The counselor also

believed that Jonathan was overmedicated, but was

unable to have the dosage changed. Tracy had no say

about medication—no rights. And she was told

nothing about his placement or treatment without

her initiating the contact.

Jonathan was certified as an adult after five

weeks in juvenile detention and moved to an adult

county jail, where he was removed from all medica-

tion without being detoxed. He killed himself then,

six months after committing his crime. Whereas the

family did not receive any calls while Jonathan was

in detention, they received multiple calls following

his suicide (T. McClard, personal communica-

tion, 9/23/09).

While the catastrophic ending to this

tragic story is not a frequent occurrence,

Tracy’s experience with the system—the

amount of engagement she was offered, the

system’s obvious disregard of her devotion to

her son—is not all that unusual, a reminder

that the assumptions the system holds, and the

decisions it makes, have real consequences for

youth and families.

Progressive Era reformers claimed that the

state, embodied in the juvenile justice system,

was willing and able to assume the role of the

kind and just parent—the ordinary, devoted

parent (Schwartz, 2003). Having appropriated

through parens patriae a large measure of pa-

rental prerogative when deemed necessary, it is

reasonable, then, to assess the extent to which

the system is positioned to, and has actually

acted, responsibly—as parents are expected to

do—toward the youth in its custody. Ayers

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 213

(1997), articulating a common sentiment,

thinks not:

[The Juvenile Court] has become, by

all accounts, an unfit parent—unable

to see children as full and three-

dimensional beings or to solve the

problems they bring with them

through the doors, incapable of ad-

dressing the complicated needs of

families. . . . The law is a blunt in-

strument. As a solution to most prob-

lems it is severely limited, and the

intervention of the law often causes

more harm than good. (p. xvi)

The bifurcated nature of its mission pro-

moting both social control and social welfare is

a central cause of its ineptitude. Juvenile jus-

tice, as a legal system, can monitor adjudicated

youth—through detention, incarceration, and

community-based supervision—and can at

times require them to receive particular

services while in its physical custody. It can

mandate certain behaviors on the part of par-

ents, circumscribe aspects of the manner in

which parents and children interact, and sanc-

tion when its dictates are ignored (Gilbert et al.,

2001; Henning, 2006; see also Sherman &

Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

However, promoting social welfare, with

rehabilitation being a core vehicle, necessarily

exercises a different set of muscles. However

sympathetic court personnel may be to the

circumstances surrounding a youth’s delin-

quency, they acknowledge that the actions at

their disposal fail to address the complex prob-

lems that led to that system involvement

(Ayers, 1997; Gilbert et al., 2001; see also

Sherman & Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume);

among these are poverty, poor-quality public

services, dangerous neighborhoods, and so

forth. Those problems remain to greet youth

when they reenter communities after incar-

ceration. The rehabilitative services at the

system’s disposal are often located in distant

residential facilities rather than in communities

and are, wherever they are offered, often

limited in number and of varied quality. More-

over, system personnel are more comfortable

in the role of monitor than guide (Schwartz,

2003). Ultimately, the system cannot make a

long-term investment in its charges, as would a

usual, devoted parent, providing supports and

guidance over time, even past the period of

legal authorization, to help youth maintain a

safe lifestyle.

In fact, positive youth development (PYD)

advocates would argue that promotion efforts

should occur before there is an identified or

even incipient problem, assuming the strengths

of individuals and communities as a starting

point, and working to enhance them (Lerner,

2009; Lerner, Brentano, Dowling, & Ander-

son, 2002). This is, after all, how most parents

approach their own children—not waiting for

deficits to appear, but rather attempting to

provide a nurturing context in which to opti-

mize their children’s well-being. This disposi-

tion is surely not evident across the juvenile

justice system, although PYD is surfacing as an

orientation in an increasing number of juris-

dictions and system-related literature (see Butts,

Bazemore, & Meroe, 2010; Schwartz, 2003;

see also Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday, Chap-

ter 20, this volume).

Moreover, organizationally the system is

a difficult one to manage—a complex and

cumbersome patchwork (see Farrell & Myers,

Chapter 21, this volume; Ross & Miller,

Chapter 17, this volume) of public and private

agencies, and a range of residential institutions,

operating at local and state levels of govern-

ment, representing numerous professional

disciplines and training (Sedlak & McPherson,

2010a). In addition, a large percentage of the

214 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

youth and families served by the system are

involved with other state agencies—most no-

tably, child welfare and education. For positive

results to accrue, an intensive level of cooper-

ation and collaboration, both during the

youth’s incarceration and afterward, is neces-

sary though unlikely.

The fruits of the state’s intervention are not

impressive. Rearrest and recommitment rates

vary, depending on the population and the

period of time being considered, but in all cases

are significant. For example, recidivism rates

for youth in detention have been reported as

up to 70% 1-year postincarceration (Holman &

Zeidenberg, 2007). Few other publicly funded

“programs” could expect to survive such a

dismal showing. Parents, however, are seen as

incompetent or worse when their efforts to

supervise and monitor their children are as-

sessed by these same measures.

In his brilliant critique of the U.S. child

welfare system, Lindsey (2004) characterizes it

as a “residual system”—a court of last resort—

in that: (a) services are withheld until problems

are undeniably critical; (b) parenting failure is

the ticket of admission; (c) services are ame-

liorative, not curative; and (d) the clients are

involuntary, and the supervision and services

are mandated. Lindsey concludes that the

failure of such a system, with many poor or

disadvantaged children and families, dis-

proportionately of color, with extensive needs

and limited draw on public sympathy, is vir-

tually guaranteed.

The parallels between child protection and

juvenile justice are many and obvious. Both are

residual systems, and juvenile justice is perhaps

even more so (FACJJ, 2009; Maschi et al., 2008;

Ross, 2008), since child welfare agencies can

transfer troublesome youth out, into juvenile

justice. Both hold immense power over families

viewed as having failed in their child rearing;

the fact that many of them actually have fallen

short and do need monitoring and intervention

does little to create an easy or collaborative

relationship between them and public agency

personnel. Both systems are underfunded and

undervalued, doubtless in part because of the

profile of their clientele. As currently struc-

tured, they are both bound to fail.

So it turns out that the juvenile justice

system is no better able to responsibly parent

these youth than are their own parents, though

in individual cases it protects, guides, and re-

habilitates youth admirably, employing many

dedicated individuals committed to their

charges. What, then, can be done to develop

and sustain the critical partnerships between

parents and systems that youth need?

The Next Generation of Parent Involvement

It is beyond the scope of this chapter to offer

specific strategies—in the forms of particular

therapeutic interventions or revisions to juve-

nile justice law, for example—to improve this

situation. Rather, keeping the dimensions of

involvement noted earlier in mind, we present

a few broad recommendations that exemplify

how we might extend parent participation in

more positive directions, and enhance the

system’s capacity to document it.

& Redefine how parental participation or

involvement is conceptualized, operation-

alized, and represented in the literature.

The system needs to look past the genre

of activities it can mandate, or even

encourage, to credit and support the

numerous other ways that parents are or

could be engaged with the system, with

their children or on their children’s

behalf, during system-involvement. It

should also encourage parent involve-

ment in policy-setting decisions.

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 215

The absence of a robust, broad,

and methodically diverse literature on

parents and families in juvenile justice

is not only a strategic problem for the

system—complicating its capacity to

plan more effectively. It is also a major

problem for parents and families, as

they seek a measure of additional con-

trol and power over the course and

nature of their children’s lives. Since so

little is expected of them, not docu-

menting more accurately what they

actually do within the system allows

stereotypical images to prevail. Nor

are parents portrayed in the available

research as complete human beings,

with strengths as well as deficits,

dreams for themselves and their chil-

dren, and pride and concern about

their neighborhoods, their schools,

and so forth. This list of holes in the

literature is long, and the field requires

support for ethnographic studies,

other qualitative studies, upgraded

management information systems to

include parent participation data in all

phases of systems-operations, and so

forth, to set it right. & Maintain a full range of family-oriented,

community-based supports for parents and

families of youth currently involved with

the system. This requires building up

the less intensive, less deficit-based,

less therapeutically oriented end of

the spectrum—peer support and par-

ent education programs. Although

not necessarily validated by EBP

measures, these offer opportunities

to meet other parents in similar cir-

cumstances, to share resources and

problems, to enhance parenting skills

and knowledge, and to learn about

the juvenile justice system. These

programs may be attractive to parents,

as they are often peer led, and their

structures allow for more flexibility in

content and delivery; chosen wisely,

they can be useful to families. & Exploit the “reform” spirit that is cur-

rently afoot to bring parents into the center

of the system. Over the past decade,

dozens of jurisdictions have initiated

system reform. Dissatisfaction with

parent and family participation does

not appear as a major driver of these

reforms, though opportunities for

more, and more respectful, family

engagement have accompanied some

of them. For example, partly in the

service of reducing residential place-

ments, Missouri and Washington, DC,

have worked to include parents, in

meaningful ways, in each phase of

the process—from assessment to com-

munity reentry (Decker, 2010; see also

Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday, Chap-

ter 20, this volume). New York and

Pennsylvania have recently completed

planning processes that have solicited

serious family input (Luckenbill, 2009;

Travis, 2009). California and Ohio

have introduced assessment processes

that, by considering the strengths

that parents bring, may end up giving

families a more central role in their

youth’s rehabilitation. Whatever the

specific target of the reform, families

can and should be viewed in most

cases as a potential gateway to change

for youth.

Increasing reliance on commu-

nity residential placements is a hall-

mark of current system reform, and is

among those with the greatest poten-

tial impact on family involvement.

Missouri, for example, has virtually

216 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

eliminated distant secure residential

facilities in favor of small, community

facilities and community-based pro-

bation programs (Decker, 2010;

Nelson, 2008; Travis, 2009). This

structure facilitates parent and family

participation that a lack of transpor-

tation and time might undermine; it

also conveys to the youth and their

families that they are still members of

that community—redeemable and

valuable. & Support the efforts of parent and family

advocacy organizations, and of advocacy

groups dedicated to system change, more

broadly. Although not a feature of the

juvenile justice system, these organi-

zations are indispensible allies to fami-

lies; among the many worthy of notice

are the Campaign for Youth Justice

(www.campaignforyouthjustice.org),

the National Juvenile Justice Network

(www.njjn.org), the Coalition for

Juvenile Justice (www.juvjustice.org),

the National Center on Education,

Disability, and Juvenile Justice (www

.edjj.org), and the Parent Advocacy

Coalition for Educational Rights

(www.pacer.org), and state-based or-

ganizations such as Family and Friends

of Louisiana’s Incarcerated Children

(www.fflic.org), and Families & Allies

of Virginia’s Youth (www.favyouth

.org). Until recently, they were virtu-

allytheonlyvoiceforfamiliesandhave

provided information and support to

thousands. In addition, these groups

have helped win significant battles for

incarcerated youth—for example, the

closing of the notorious Talullah Cor-

rectional Center for Youth in Louisi-

ana. Although sometimes seen as a

thorn in the side of the system, in

fact their activities are arguably helpful

tothesystemaswell,agitatingfromthe

outside in a way that reformers on the

inside cannot easily do (see Majone,

1989). The value of these organiza-

tions cannot be overstated.

The juvenile justice system has a long way

to go to include families and children more

centrally, and more respectfully, but there are

some early signs that it is moving in the right

direction. Now, the correct question to ask is

whether it can reasonably be expected to

achieve what it increasingly knows it must.

CONCLUSION

An often-heard criticism of the wave of

family-oriented reforms in child protection

in the 1990s was that the system was placing

too many high expectations of participation

and quick remediation on the backs of system-

involved families—not because they were per-

ceived to be so strong and capable, but because

they were so weak and disempowered that

they could not resist what amounted, simply,

to a transfer of collective responsibilities from

all of us to them. A similar caution should be

offered here. The reforms described earlier are

promising and exciting, initiated by forward-

facing, well-meaning reformers. But to the

extent that parents and families play a figural

role in these reforms, we must acknowledge

the limitations they, as well as the juvenile

justice and other public systems, encounter

in trying to achieve the transformational

change many of these youth need.

One of the core features of a residual

system (Lindsey, 2004) is that the problems

its children and families exhibit are truly resid-

ual. More advantaged families, living in more

advantaged communities, have the resources to

Parents, Families, and the Juvenile Justice System 217

take care of them earlier and often in private—

for example, buying babysitting or after-school

care to get a break from caretaking, or enrolling

a child in a private school for children with

serious emotional problems.

Indeed, a particularly cruel consequence of

the residual nature of juvenile justice is that

aspects of the youth’s circumstances that are

notrelatedtocriminalbehaviorpersesometimes

act as the rationale for system involvement. For

example, the 2009 report on the New York

juvenile justice system (Travis, 2009) found

that many judges incarcerate less advantaged

youth (as opposed to their wealthier counter-

parts) to obtain for them the mental health

services they need—a practice that appears to

be widely implemented. Girls who are involved

in the commercial sex trade are sometimes de-

tained and incarcerated because no alternative

treatmentor rehabilitationfacilitiesareavailable,

and judges believe this to be the best available

option for keeping them safe (see Sherman &

Goldblatt Grace, Chapter 16, this volume). And

some parents willingly facilitate their children’s

entryintothesystem,believingeither thatitwill

be able to help their children with personal

problems, or simply that it will keep them

away from the exigent dangers of the street

(see, e.g., Bauer, 2010). Although the system

does provide a measure of safety or treatment to

some that is unavailable to them otherwise,

system involvement and youthful incarceration

may begin a process that ends with adult crimi-

nality, not diversion from it—the inadvertent

payment the system exacts for the measure of

relief it offers. One parent advocate explains:

I would . . . talk to various family

members . . . the same families that

the Department said didn’t care about

their kids. And they were crying

about what was happening to their

kids . . . the family was often looking

for support . . . a child being un-

governable, looking [for help] in the

community. So they were told to turn

their kids over to the state, then the

kids got caught in the system. The

kids weren’t necessarily receiving ser-

vices, [they got in trouble], then they

received more charges in the facility

and got more time. So they were in

for a short time and ended up with a

long period [sentence] (G. Womack,

personal communication, 10/9/09).

In the end, residual systems are premised

on individual parental failure (see Nelson,

1984) and pathology and reflect a “privileged”

narrative. This narrative—here, the dominant

story of how youth become violent or other-

wise delinquent—implicitly congratulates fam-

ilies without such children as being superior;

that these superior families are also, as a rule,

wealthier than those in the juvenile justice and

child protection systems—and whiter, too—is

rarely mentioned. It flies in the face of the

ecological theories of development proposed in

the beginning of this chapter and throughout

this volume. Yet it is an appealing story, requir-

ing no attention to the embarrassingly wide

inequities in economic resources among fami-

lies, or to the stubbornly enduring vestiges of

racism and discrimination with which most of

the families in the juvenile justice system con-

tend. While there are doubtless youth and

parents who must alter their behavior in sig-

nificant ways to live productive lives in their

communities, and public systems that can and

should facilitate those changes, until these core

issues are acknowledged, the wholesale im-

provements needed for families and children

in the juvenile justice system will be difficult, if

not impossible, to attain.

In 1899, just as the first juvenile court was

being established, the eminent educator, John

218 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Dewey, threw down a gauntlet to the schools

that is relevant to juvenile justice as well; it

remains yet unclaimed over a century later:

“What the best and wisest parent wants for his

own child, that must the community want for

all of its children. Any other ideal [for the

schools] is narrow and unlovely; acted upon it

destroys our democracy” (Dewey, 1915, p. 7).

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222 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

11 CHAPTER

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships

LINDA L. BAKER, ALISON J. CUNNINGHAM, AND KIMBERLY E. HARRIS

C hild and youth maltreatment and expo-

sure to interparental violence are serious

public health and social welfare problems

(Gilbert et al., 2009). Adolescence, more

than any other developmental stage, represents

a potential confluence of multiple types of

interpersonal violence: child maltreatment, do-

mestic violence, and youth violence. Youth

may be abused or witness violence in the family

and, compared with younger siblings, are at

substantially greater risk of exposure to vio-

lence outside the family, including dating vio-

lence, sexual victimizations, assaults causing

injury, and peer assaults (Finkelhor, Turner,

Ormrod, & Hamby, 2009). National estimates

in the United States indicate that more than

70% of youth aged 14–17 reported being

assaulted during their lifetimes, and some

will experience more serious forms of violence

(e.g., sexual victimizations). The pattern of

exposure differs for younger youth (10–13

years). While experiencing less serious violence

overall, they had the highest levels of serious

violence in certain categories (e.g., assaults

with a weapon, usually a knife) and were the

most likely to witness intimate partner violence

or a family assault (Finkelhor et al., 2009).

The burden of victimization on the young

is intensified because many who are affected

by violence within or outside the family expe-

rience repeated exposures to multiple types of

violence, as well as co-occurring adversities

(e.g., parents with mental illness or substance

abuse difficulties) (Felitti et al., 1998; Finkel-

hor et al., 2009). Recurring victimization

from violence in the family, along with its

resultant disruptions, and frequent coexisting

adversities in the sociofamilial context (e.g.,

parent criminality, neighborhood violence,

media violence), increase the likelihood of

negative trajectories for youth (Margolin &

Vickerman, 2007). These trajectories are as-

sociated with health problems (e.g., Kendall-

Tackett, 2002), mental health difficulties (e.g.,

Fergusson, Boden, & Horwood, 2008;

Margolin & Vickerman, 2007), school diffi-

culties (e.g., Lansford et al., 2007), delin-

quency (e.g., Smith & Thornberry, 1995),

and increased risk for youth violence (e.g.,

Maas, Herrenkohl, & Sousa, 2008). Even

family violence that begins in adolescence

can be associated with poor outcomes like

perpetration of violence by youth (Fagan,

2005; Rebellon & Van Gundy, 2005).

People who work in the juvenile justice

system are likely to meet young people who

have experienced, or perpetrated, violence in

their families (Baker & Jaffe, 2003; see Beyer,

Chapter 1, this volume). Some youth fall into

both categories. Sometimes this violence is

reflected in the charges or conviction. A sub-

stantial number of youth in the United States,

223

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

one fourth of all juveniles who committed an

assault reported to law enforcement in 2004,

aggress against a victim with whom they have

a domestic relationship: 51% victimized a

parent; 24% victimized a sibling, and 11%

victimized an intimate partner (Snyder &

McCurley, 2008). For other youth, the vio-

lence may not have come to the attention of

authorities or may not have even been dis-

closed by the youth. Even compared with

other crime categories that go underreported,

domestic abuse against family and intimates is

likely to be hidden because of the associated

fear and shame ( Jouriles et al., 2008). In

consequence, youth in the justice system

can carry the burden of coexisting adversity

and repeated and multiple victimizations re-

gardless of the behavior that brings them into

conflict with the law. For example, a youth

convicted of theft may also be violent toward

her mother. A youth convicted of a peer

assault may also be abusive to his intimate

partner.

Family violence is usually a tightly held

secret for family members (Fantuzzo, Mohr, &

Noone, 2000). Many children perpetuate the

secrecy by presenting as “normal” because

fitting in and being accepted is important.

They may know instinctively or they may

have been warned that bad things will happen

if the world learns the family secrets (Cun-

ningham & Baker, 2011). As a result, children

exposed to family violence are often not easily

identified as in need of help by friends, teach-

ers, and others they may come into contact

with. The shame and secrecy cuts them off

from people who could support them or

recognize that a problem exists.

The juvenile justice system presents op-

portunities, although they are challenging, to

intervene to increase safety, to address the

impacts of victimization, and to interrupt

the cycle of violence. Some may feel the

opportunity for effective intervention has

passed by the time a youth comes into the

justice system. While prevention and inter-

vention in the earliest stages of life is critical,

we believe that it is important to intervene at

all stages and that at no point is it too late.

Intervention to reduce risk and mitigate

harmful effects, no matter how many adverse

experiences have preceded them, could halt

the progressively cumulative impact of multi-

ple adversities and ultimately reduce perpe-

tration against others. We will start with a

discussion of family violence and its correlates

and how, together, they might create pathways

for young victims into the justice system.

Though intricately interacting with co-

occurring adversities, our focus will be on

family violence, knowing that other chapters

in this volume go into depth on many of these

other risks. Understanding family violence,

its correlates, and its linkages to delinquency,

especially youth violence, will inform the

concluding discussion on the implications

for practice.

FAMILY VIOLENCE AND ADOLESCENT CRIMINAL

BEHAVIOR

In reviewing empirical studies on child mal-

treatment, Gilbert et al. (2009) conclude that

both retrospective and prospective studies

(e.g., Lansford et al., 2007) suggest strong

evidence for a link between childhood abuse

and later criminal behavior. For example, in

one large population sample, more than half of

the maltreated children had later contact with

the juvenile justice system (Loeber et al., 2005;

Stouthamer-Loeber, Loeber, Homish, & Wei,

2001). Childhood maltreatment (physical

abuse, sexual abuse, neglect) is one of the

various forms of family violence, a category

224 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

that also includes sibling abuse, youth-to-

parent abuse, and interparental violence.

Multiple studies have documented how these

types of family violence often coexist in the

same family (e.g., McDonald, Jouriles, Tart, &

Minze, 2009), meaning that few youth are

exposed to, experience, or perpetrate only

one type of family violence. For example, in

the ongoing adverse childhood experiences

(ACE) series of studies, children who were

exposed to male violence against a mother

were highly likely to have experienced several

other types of abuse along with other adverse

circumstances and events (Dong et al., 2004).

We also know that many abused children are

exposed to violence outside their homes,

including criminal victimization (Finkelhor

et al., 2009).

Family violence has been associated with

deleterious effects at each stage of child devel-

opment and in all domains of a young person’s

life: emotional, behavioral, social, health, aca-

demic, relationship, vocational (Cunningham

& Baker, 2007). The effects of family violence

may be readily observable (e.g., distress, in-

jury) or manifest in less obvious ways (e.g.,

influencing attitudes and beliefs about the

world and others). The effects can be imme-

diate, delayed, or long term, cutting across

developmental stages (see Beyer, Chapter 1,

this volume). Impact is understood to vary

according to the type of violence/abuse, the

relationship between the victim and abuser,

and the characteristics of the violence (Edle-

son, 2004; Fantuzzo & Mohr, 1999). Out-

comes may be moderated by the family and

broader social context (e.g., socioeconomic

factors, quality of the parent–child bond, social

support) and mediated by the characteristics of

the young person (e.g., attributions, coping,

developmental stage, cognitive ability, gen-

der). While research has identified a range

of potential effects associated with living

with family violence, the impacts for given

individuals can vary widely, even for siblings

experiencing similar types of family violence

within the same familial and societal context

(Skopp, McDonald, Manke, & Jouriles, 2005).

Accordingly, interventions need to be individ-

ualized in response to the needs of each youth.

Figure 11.1, developed by Cunningham and

Baker (2004), summarizes the variables hypo-

thetically associated with the impact of family

violence and corresponding categories of in-

tervention strategies.

A variety of causal explanations have been

put forward to account for the impact of

family violence and other adversities on child

and adolescent outcomes. Each explanation

has distinct implications for the level and target

of intervention, from cognitive-behavioral

therapy for youth, to mandatory arrest for

intimate partner violence with compulsory

batterers’ intervention, to social change to

increase economic and political equality for

women. For example, general strain theory

(Agnew, 2001) suggests that strains or stressors

increase the likelihood of negative emotions

like anger and frustration. These emotions

then exert pressure for corrective action for

which crime is a potential response. Other

research has put forward deficits in social-

information processing as a causal mechanism

whereby children raised in adverse conditions

go on to show sociocognitive deficits (e.g.,

they attribute hostile intent in neutral or acci-

dental social events, have difficulty generating

alternative solutions to problems), show cog-

nitive distortions (e.g., hitting is an effective

way to get a person to acquiesce), and have a

capacity for empathy that is compromised

(Crick & Dodge, 1996; Khan & Cooke,

2008).

Finally, perhaps the most common

mechanism purported to explain violent be-

havior in violence-exposed youth is social

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 225

F ig u r e 1 1 .1

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learning theory, which suggests that individ-

uals learn through observing and modeling

after the behavior of others

(Bandura, 1973). The family is the child’s

primary social context, and parents are pow-

erful models across developmental stages.

Learning acquired from family life continues

to influence a child’s behavior, even when

peers take on an increasingly powerful role.

From this perspective, youth living with in-

timate partner violence may observe dis-

respectful attitudes and abusive behavior by

one parent toward the other. If the parental

model appears to be rewarded in some way

for instrumental aggression (i.e., gets what he

wants, experiences power), it is more likely

the youth will imitate the aggression (e.g.,

against a younger sibling or peer). If the

youth’s abusive behavior (e.g., bullying) is

rewarded, especially intermittently, then the

behavior is strengthened and may be incor-

porated into the youth’s repertoire. Problem

solving, coping strategies, or roles modeled in

homes characterized by violence may result

in learning that predisposes youth to perpe-

trate or be victimized in relationships (Kwong,

Bartholomew, Henderson, & Trinke, 2003).

Even information processing styles (e.g., Dodge,

Pettit, & Bates, 1994) and parental attitudes

on aggression and violence can have power-

ful impacts on children and adolescents

(Solomon, Bradshaw, Wright, & Cheng, 2008).

This phenomenon is often referred to as

the intergenerational transmission of violence.

Supportive evidence takes the form of higher

rates of peer violence in adolescent victims of

child maltreatment (Maas et al., 2008) and

violent crime in general (R. C. Herrenkohl,

Egolf, & Herrenkohl, 1997; Thornberry, Ire-

land, & Smith, 2001; Widom & Maxfield,

1996). Children who have experienced abuse

are also at increased risk of being arrested for

nonviolent and status-type offenses (Lansford

et al., 2007). Getting “beat up” between the

ages of 11 and 17 years by a parent appears to

contribute substantially to both violence and

property crime (Rebellon & Van Gundy,

2005). Similarly, even after controlling for a

wide range of demographic risk factors, Fagan

(2005) demonstrated that physical abuse by a

parent during adolescence predicted serious

violence perpetration in young adulthood.

Some acts of family violence are them-

selves criminal acts, and youth who aggress

against family members, even if defensively,

may find themselves before the courts (see

Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume). We discuss

later in this chapter the phenomenon of parent

abuse, which can result in arrest of youth.

Abuse between siblings is also common, per-

haps the most common form of family violence

(Khan & Cooke, 2008). In their retrospective

survey of youthful offenders, Khan and Cooke

(2008) found that 90% of participants reported

intentionally perpetrating at least one act of

severe intersibling violence, with more than a

third admitting to inflicting a serious injury (e.

g., burn, broken limb, puncture wound requir-

ing medical intervention).

Another variation of family violence that

can result in arrest is dating violence. A key

aspect of adolescence is the initiation and

development of intimate relationships, which

raises issues of sexuality, intimacy, and rela-

tionship skills. With family violence as a

model, it is probably not surprising that

youth from violent homes may have difficulty

establishing healthy relationships (Connolly,

Furman, & Konarski, 2000). For both girls

and boys, having been hit by an adult, almost

always a parent, with the intention of harm,

was part of a cluster of variables (e.g., low self-

esteem, having a victimized friend) that pre-

dicted the onset and chronicity of physical

dating violence victimization in adolescence

(Foshee, Benefield, Ennett, Bauman, &

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 227

Suchindran, 2004). Indeed, being hit by a

parent was the most consistent risk factor

predicting dating violence victimization re-

gardless of gender (Foshee et al., 2004; see

also Foshee et al., 2008).

While these data seem compelling, re-

search remains inconclusive as to whether

maltreatment is uniquely predictive of crimi-

nal behavior once other risk factors are taken

into account, particularly in the case of sexual

abuse and neglect (Maas et al., 2008).

Although it may be difficult to tease out a

causal relationship between the experience of

family violence and various outcomes, from an

ecological standpoint and given the multifac-

eted nature of risk, consideration of the com-

plexity of the context in which a young person

lives is required. The majority of studies look-

ing at an abuse–crime link take into account

only one type of abuse or victimization. When

multiple forms of family violence are consid-

ered, we can see evidence of the dose–

response relationship between abuse and later

poor outcomes (e.g., Grych, Jouriles, Swank,

McDonald, & Norwood, 2000). Specifically,

the probability of a poor outcome increases in

relation to the duration of exposure, the se-

verity of abuse and the number of multiple

forms of abuse.

It is also apparent that any link between

family violence and outcomes, such as arrest, is

mediated and moderated by a variety of factors

that include features of family functioning and

the social context, especially poverty. Indeed,

the link between family violence and later

criminality could well be conceived of as a

path involving several stages that move some

youth toward an “on-ramp” into the justice

system. Variables important to this pathway

could include issues that manifest early, such

as externalizing behavior problems or poor

recognition and regulation of emotions. In

this phase of development, the interventions

of choice might focus on parenting. Parenting

practices, in particular harsh and inconsistent

discipline and low supervision, may play a role

in the development of adolescent delinquency

(Chamberlain & Patterson, 1995), whereas

positive parental involvement and warmth is

linked to lowered aggression and delinquency

(Brendgen, Vitaro, Tremblay, & Lavoie, 2001).

In adolescence, visible signposts of the

effects of family violence may be evident in

different ways, including compromised school

success, substance abuse, abusive behavior of

youth toward parents, compromised mental

health, and early home leaving. In addition,

there is good reason to believe that the sign-

posts and pathways are different for boys and

girls (e.g., Johansson & Kempf-Leonard, 2009;

Roe-Sepowitz, 2009). Understanding poten-

tial linkages between family violence and

problematic teenage behavior (T. I. Herren-

kohl & Herrenkohl, 2007) informs assessment

using a family violence lens. This approach, in

turn, aids intervention to either stall move-

ment toward the on-ramp into the justice

system or hasten progress toward an off-

ramp, out of the system.

Signpost 1: Compromised School Success

While some abused children excel in school,

living with violence can make it challenging to

do well academically and graduate from sec-

ondary school. Intrusive thoughts about trau-

matic events or preoccupied worry about the

safety of family members and oneself may

overload an adolescent’s cognitive resources,

leaving little room for engaging in academic

tasks and affecting his or her ability to function

in school (Rossman & Ho, 2000). Indeed,

concentration, attendance, and performance

may all be poor, as when noise and fighting at

night prevent restful sleep or older children are

excessively called upon to mind younger

228 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

siblings. Noise and disorganization at home

make it difficult to study or do homework.

Residential instability, including potential

shelter stays and periods in and out of child

protective care, can mean multiple changes of

schools or periods of nonattendance. Emo-

tional abuse can sap a young person’s confi-

dence and self-esteem, perhaps intensifying

feelings of being different from other students

or likely to fail and do poorly. Given such

scenarios, it is not surprising that, among the

poor outcomes associated with exposure to

interparental violence, are poor academic

achievement and early school leaving

(Kitzmann, Gaylord, Holt, & Kenny, 2003).

For girls, the difficulties of staying in

school may be compounded if they experience

a teen pregnancy (see Pinderhughes, Crad-

dock, & Fermin, Chapter 9, this volume).

Although variables statistically associated

with teen pregnancy are numerous, it has

been observed in higher rates among children

exposed to family violence (Lansford et al.,

2007). Cunningham and Baker (2004) are

among those to observe that troubled home

lives can trigger the use of sexual intimacy as a

substitute for love and emotional closeness.

Adolescent mothers who experience partner

violence experience higher rates of parental

violence and physical abuse by a parent than in

comparable samples in the literature (Kennedy

& Bennett, 2006). Therefore, these young

women experience high rates of cumulative

violence exposure with expected negative

outcomes, including early school leaving. As

violence exposure increased, school outcomes

tended to worsen (Kennedy & Bennett, 2006).

It is notable that while stay-in-school pro-

grams have been developed to specifically assist

young mothers, exposure to family violence

and partner violence contribute to impeding

school attendance and completion (Quint &

Musick, 1994).

Signpost 2: Substance Abuse as a Coping Strategy

Cunningham and Baker (2004) note how use

of intoxicating substances is a worrisome but

effective coping strategy used by some older

children and teens who live with violence at

home. Feeling intoxicated can numb painful

emotions, quiet disturbing thoughts, and gen-

erally provide a temporary escape from reality.

When one or both parent uses drugs or uses

alcohol to excess, a common correlate of

family violence, these substances may be read-

ily available in the household. Meta-analyses

summarizing the data of over 100 studies

indicate that, after controlling for a number

of important variables, exposure to interpar-

ental violence predicts a variety of worrisome

outcomes, including the use of alcohol by

children (Emery, 2006).

Signpost 3: Abusive Behavior Toward Parents

A large proportion of children and adolescents

who abuse their parents were themselves phys-

ically or sexually abused or witnessed domestic

violence (Kennair & Mellor, 2007). Whether

or not this behavior results in arrest, juvenile

justice professionals can probe for the possibil-

ity of family violence in cases where abuse of

parents is a feature of home life. There are

several ways in which a young person may

come to assault his or her parent. With the

physical changes brought on by puberty, older

children and young teens may try to stop the

violence between their parents, particularly

when the aggressor is not their biological father

(Edleson, Mbilinyi, Beeman, & Hagemeister,

2003). Indeed, as boys get older and enter late

adolescence and early adulthood, they are more

likely to hit their fathers and less likely to hit

their mothers (Agnew & Huguley, 1989).

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 229

In some families, mothers are more likely

than fathers to be the targets of abuse (Ulman

& Straus, 2003). Cottrell and Monk (2004)

found that a typical scenario involved the

adolescent perpetrating abuse against a mother

soon after the abusive father left the home.

Cunningham and Baker (2007) observe that

behavioral problems in violence-exposed chil-

dren may worsen after an abusive parent leaves

the family, perhaps by entrenching mother–

child conflict or intensifying the severity

of conduct problems. It may be a paradox,

but children may blame the abused mother

more than the abusive father for the violence

and its consequences (Cunningham & Baker,

2007). In the extreme, one child in the family

may replace the absent father as the abuser of

the mother (Cunningham & Baker, 2011).

Prospective longitudinal research has

shown that poor supervision and low family

involvement (weak parent–child attachments)

as well as substance use in both teens and

parents increased the risk of adolescent aggres-

sion toward mothers (Pagani et al., 2004). It is

notable, however, that in parent abuse, young

people report that violence often emerges over

disputes about their substance use rather than

while they are intoxicated (Cottrell & Monk,

2004). Perhaps the most striking relationship

outlined in this line of research was that the use

of verbal and physical aggression by parents

toward their adolescent children in the past

6 months was the strongest predictor of parent

abuse even after controlling for a wide range of

risk variables (Pagani et al., 2004).

Signpost 4: Compromised Mental Health

In young people who witnessed or experi-

enced violence in the family, the possibility of

trauma symptoms is of particular concern

(Margolin & Vickerman, 2007), but so are

depression and the risk of suicidal behavior

(Fergusson, Horwood, & Lynskey, 1996).

From a developmental psychopathology

framework, trauma leads to an adaptive or

maladaptive trajectory as a result of the multi-

faceted interaction between the nature of the

trauma exposure, the developmental capacities

and characteristics of the youth, and the social–

familial context of the youth (Cicchetti & Toth,

1995; Pynoos, Steinberg, & Piacentini, 1999).

Evidence that many violence-exposed youth

experience multiple types and recurring vio-

lence within and out of the family

(Finkelhor et al., 2009) supports recent con-

ceptualizations of child abuse and exposure to

family violence as complex traumas. Complex

trauma involves a prolonged, repeated, and

developmentally aversive event of an inter-

personal nature (van der Kolk, 2005). Several

domains of impairment have been observed

to result from exposure to complex trauma,

including poor emotion regulation (e.g.,

difficulty modulating anger), deficits in infor-

mation processing (e.g., attention and learning

difficulties), compromised behavioral control

(e.g., aggression, substance abuse), and altered

response of biological processes (e.g., higher

levels of cortisol) (Margolin & Vickerman,

2007; van der Kolk, 2005). These impair-

ments may negatively affect a young person’s

interpersonal relationships, ability to succeed in

school or sustain employment, or mental

health, which, in turn, increase the prob-

ability the youth will come into conflict with

the law.

A characteristic reaction to trauma is the

flooding of negative affect. In the Youth in

Transition Survey, a large proportion of the

relationship between maltreatment and delin-

quency was found to be mediated by negative

affect (Brezina, 1998). Consequences of poor

emotion regulation such as detachment and

excessive reactivity increase the risk for inter-

personal problems (van der Kolk, 2005).

230 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

The young person’s developing brain may

be particularly vulnerable to chemical changes

that have been observed in posttraumatic re-

actions, resulting in severe mental health prob-

lems. Higher levels of certain neurotransmitters

(e.g., cortisol, dopamine, adrenaline) increase

agitation, decrease attention, and can nega-

tively affect memory (Cohen, Perel, DeBellis,

Friedman, & Putnam, 2002). Anxiety, depres-

sion, and attention deficit disorder, all disorders

having various neurotransmitters as part of

their etiological basis, are often comorbid

and may mask trauma symptoms, particularly

given the secrecy associated with family vio-

lence (Margolin & Vickerman, 2007).

Teenagers with a trauma history often

engage in substance use, risky sexual practices,

and delinquent acts. Researchers and clinicians

alike suggest that these behaviors serve to assist

the young person in coping with family vio-

lence through self-medicating, reducing their

sense of isolation, and improving their esteem,

respectively (Widom & Hiller-Sturmhofel,

2001). Children and adolescents will adapt

in order to survive in their immediate envi-

ronment, however, the strategies that are re-

quired for such an adaptation to take place in

the context of family violence and the multi-

tude of other risk factors that accompany

family violence may come at a significant

cost to the young people and society.

Signpost 5: Early Home Leaving

Adolescents tend to be underrepresented in

cross-sectional samples of youth exposed to

family violence (Cunningham & Baker, 2011),

an observation perhaps partly explained by

early exit from the family home. Leaving

home during adolescence can come about

in several ways. Teenagers who live in a con-

text of family violence may absent themselves

from home as an avoidance strategy. Exposure

to violence in general is correlated with a

higher probability of leaving home in adoles-

cence (Haynie, Petts, Maimon, & Piquero,

2009). In a longitudinal study of a large sample

of African American low-income females,

sexually abused girls were more likely to be-

come runaways (Siegel & Williams, 2003).

However, adolescents may be “kicked out”

or sent to live with relatives or through the

efforts of child welfare agencies be prevented

from returning home in order to ensure their

safety. Finally, some youth from violent homes

will find themselves living in correctional

facilities or other juvenile justice settings for

a portion of their teenage years (Baker & Jaffe,

2003; see Sherman & Greenstone, Chapter 7,

this volume).

Factors potentially triggering leaving

home prematurely include an onset or deep-

ening of parent–child conflict, assault charges

stemming from physical interventions to stop

violence between parents, or to escape over-

whelming responsibilities (such as child care),

to name a few. The factors leading to preco-

cious exit from home and subsequent transi-

tion to independent living may rob the

young person of the learning that is achieved

through experience in a conventional teen-

age role. These youngsters may leave home

before they might otherwise be developmen-

tally ready and be exploited by others. Some

of their survival strategies can lead to or

take the form of criminal behavior, such as

work in the sex trade or drug sales (Belknap,

Holsinger, & Dunn, 1997; Rotheram-Borus,

Mahler, Koopman, & Langabeer, 1996). The

critical importance of obtaining money for

survival may usurp the value of successfully

completing high school; it also may increase

these young people’s engagement in antiso-

cial activities in order to get their needs met

and their affiliations with those who exploit

or otherwise take advantage of them.

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 231

Gender Differences

How are girls different from boys? First, they

may experience different types of family

violence. For example, girls are more likely

than boys to experience intrafamilial sexual

abuse, which has greater deleterious effects

than other forms of sexual abuse (Kendall-

Tackett, Williams, & Finkelhor, 1993;

Widom & Ames, 1994). Longitudinal re-

search has linked childhood sexual abuse to

later female delinquency (Siegel & Williams,

2003). Second, they may be affected in

different ways. Only a minority of studies

examining gender as a moderator of outcome

has found no differences in the type or

severity of emotional and behavioral prob-

lems experienced following child exposure to

family violence. It is commonly posited that

boys may exhibit more externalizing behav-

iors (e.g., hostility, aggression), while girls

may experience more internalized difficulties

(e.g., somatic complaints, depression) (Holt,

Buckley, & Whelan, 2008). Clearly, however,

there is a wide interpersonal variation with

some girls who act out and some boys who

are depressed, for example.

Third, they may evidence different pat-

terns of criminal behavior. Much of the

research has found similar and sometimes

even higher rates of dating violence perpe-

tration by girls than boys (Foshee & Matthew,

2007). Depression may be an important risk

factor in the link between child maltreatment

and dating violence in girls (Banyard, Cross,

& Modecki, 2006). McCloskey and Lichter

(2003) found that depressed girls were 6 times

more likely to perpetrate aggression against a

dating partner. However, Foshee and col-

leagues warn that the relationship between

gender and adolescent dating violence may

be quite a bit more complex. They found that

gender differences in adolescent dating

violence were mixed in their study of poten-

tial mediators of this relationship. Moreover,

when all potential mediators were included

in their analyses, girls actually reported more

of each type of dating violence compared to

boys (Foshee et al., 2008).

Fourth, related implications for interven-

tion will be different. If the on-ramps to the

justice system are different for girls, so might

the off-ramps be different, a fact now widely

recognized. In response, we have seen the

development of gender-specific assessment

tools and intervention strategies. And yet

we still have much to learn about the differ-

ences between boys and girls and how to help

them get out and stay out of the juvenile

justice system (see Sherman & Greenstone,

Chapter 7, this volume).

IMPLICATIONS FOR INTERVENTION

The principles of effective intervention with

youth largely hold true regardless of the ad-

versity or negative outcome they have expe-

rienced. These principles include:

& Use of developmentally sensitive

approaches (e.g., programs designed

expressly for adolescents); & Awareness of how culture and lan-

guage can impact comprehension and

application of lessons learned; & Use of screening and assessment to

inform individualized intervention

(e.g., identification of problems and

competencies with triage to needed

services); & Matching the type and dosage of in-

tervention to the individual needs of

the youth (e.g., responsivity principle);

232 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

& Prioritizing and sequencing inter-

ventions according to the youth’s

hierarchy of needs (e.g., shelter before

cognitive-behavioral therapy for de-

pression), use of evidence-informed

approaches and interventions (e.g.,

what is a promising or effective pro-

gram for who and when); & Use of gender-responsive program-

ming (e.g., interventions designed

for the unique needs of young

women and their pathways in and

out of crime); & Use of youth-focused and collabo-

rative approaches (e.g., engaging

youth, recognizing and strengthen-

ing competencies, collaborative goal

setting); and & Collaborating with other service pro-

viders and systems to best support

youth (e.g., interagency protocols,

facilitating navigation of system,

avoiding duplications requiring youth

to retell their story unnecessarily).

Information about these principles and

their application is presented in other chap-

ters in this volume and will not be repeated

here (e.g., Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this

volume; Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume; Butts

& Roman, Chapter 24, this volume; Farrell

& Myers, Chapter 21, this volume; Green-

wood & Turner, Chapter 23, this volume;

Sherman & Greenstone, Chapter 7, this vol-

ume; Vaught, Chapter 15, this volume).

Rather, the focus here will be on interven-

tions that warrant discussion through the lens

of youth affected by family violence. Specifi-

cally, we will discuss the need for healthy

cultures in youth justice facilities, screening

and assessment, the strengthening of self-

regulation, healthy relationships, and reentry

planning.

Healthy Cultures in Youth Justice Facilities

The health and well-being of youth require

that they be and feel safe. Safety is particularly

important for young people who lived in

dangerous environments and who experi-

enced trauma, the reality of many in the

justice system. Yet creating both actual and

perceived safety in a justice setting can be

challenging, especially those characterized by

overcrowding, little privacy, and the ever-

present possibility of peer-to-peer aggression.

Cesaroni and Peterson-Badali (2005) found

that the number one worry of incarcerated

male youth, aged 12–15, was fear of victim-

ization, which in turn was linked to poorer

adjustment even when vulnerabilities at ad-

mission were taken into account. Another

study found that a substantial portion of

youthful offenders believe correctional staff

play a role in peer violence (e.g., turning a

blind eye to peer-on-peer violence) and in

the emotional and physical victimization of

youth (Peterson-Badali & Koegl, 2002).

Peer bullying and traditional approaches

to maintaining order and asserting authority,

especially “tough” confrontational approaches

and the use of isolation and restraints, recreate

the coercive power and control dynamics that

many youth experienced in their families. The

consequences are serious and negative: youth

are not and do not feel safe; unhealthy mes-

sages and power dynamics learned from living

with family violence are reinforced; existing

stress reactions may be exacerbated or reac-

tivated; and some youth may be retraumatized.

While cultures vary widely, all healthy

ones share two essential components: zero

indifference to violence and a relationship-

based approach to working with youth. Safety

is the priority when there are “living” policies

and procedures to ensure zero indifference

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 233

to violence, including racial and gender role

stereotypes and hate biases. Youth are held ac-

countable through consistent, fair, and firm

approaches and both proactive and reactive

strategies are used to prevent aggression

toward self and others (Ireland, 2000). Reha-

bilitation efforts with adults (e.g., Marshall,

Marshall, Serran, & O’Brien, 2008) and

youthful offenders (e.g., Florsheim, Shotor-

bani, Guest-Warnick, Barratt, & Hwang,

2000) suggest that relationship-based ap-

proaches contribute to improved outcomes.

Rehabilitation includes identification and in-

tervention for mental health problems, espe-

cially depression, anxiety, and trauma. The

type and quality of relationship between

helpers and youth clients contribute to the

effectiveness of evidenced-based treatments

(e.g., Escudero, Friedlander, Varela, &

Abascal, 2008; Karver, Handelsman, Fields,

& Bickman, 2006). Specifically, there is empir-

ical support for adult/helper and youth rela-

tionships characterized by respect, a positive

bond, and collaborative goal setting.

When the culture is healthy, the potential

for learning social competencies (e.g., com-

munication skills, conflict resolution skills,

tolerance for individual or group differences)

is significantly greater and is analogous to the

relative advantage of learning a second lan-

guage through an immersion experience (e.g.,

going to live in Paris to learn French compared

to attending 1-hour language classes three

times per week). Ongoing staff modeling,

for example, teaches new messages about re-

spectful relationships, healthy male-to-female

interactions, and nonviolent ways of resolving

conflict. In contrast, the lack of safety in

unhealthy cultures erodes readiness for and

gains made in individual or group interven-

tions, even when they are evidence based and

well delivered. Healthy cultures are sustained

when integrated throughout the organization,

including the program vision, mission, policies

and procedures, staff supervision models,

staff relationships in the agency, staff-to-peer

relationships, and peer-to-peer relationships.

While not sufficient, it is the necessary

foundation for the other interventions we

will discuss.

Screening and Assessment

For youth who enter the justice system expe-

riencing mental health or health problems,

this juncture may provide the first opportu-

nity for identification of concerns or follow-

up of problems identified earlier. Health and

mental health screening at intake enables tri-

aging for emergency/urgent evaluation, as-

sessment, and intervention/treatment as

required. Indeed, screening and assessment

are beneficial only if they assist with triage,

inform individualized plans of care and inter-

vention, including treatment where required,

and assist planning for the youth in the com-

munity. Otherwise, they can be one more

checklist or interview that further erodes

young people’s trust.

Mental health screening of youth in the

justice system is important for a number of

reasons. First, mental health problems are

associated with experiencing family violence

and with signposts on pathways into the jus-

tice system. Second, mental illness, regardless

of the causal influences, often emerges in

adolescence and, if not treated, may continue

into adulthood. The resulting impacts are

felt in adolescence and accumulate over time

(e.g., emotional suffering, missed school/

work, strained relationships). Third, one im-

pact may be an increased risk of suicide.

Fourth, justice settings present a window

for evaluation when young people are not

under the influence of substances that may

interfere with assessment or mask symptoms.

234 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

In summary, entry into the justice system

provides a window of opportunity for the

identification of and intervention for mental

health problems, a protector that may increase

safety, ameliorate symptoms, and reduce

recidivism.

Based on the literature reviewed in this

chapter, evidence-informed screening should

look for symptoms or indicators of depression,

anxiety, and in particular posttraumatic stress,

inattention and poor concentration, suicidal

thoughts and behavior, and substance abuse,

as well as all forms of family violence. While

perhaps surprising given the topic of this chap-

ter, screening for various forms of family vio-

lence is often overlooked or minimized and

warrants additional discussion. Certain atti-

tudes can act as a barrier to investigation of

abuse history, including discomfort with the

issue, an attitude that family violence is a given

for 100% of youth, a belief that some youth will

fabricate abuse histories to shift focus to vic-

timization, or an assumption that abuse will not

be disclosed. A minority of staff may also avoid

discussion of the topic for fear that any forth-

coming information will create more work for

them. Another false belief is that adolescence is

too late to address the impact of childhood

issues or that abuse is not a criminogenic risk

factor. Yet the cumulative nature of impact

means it is never too late to reduce risk and

harm. Effective screening and assessment for

different forms of family violence enables safety

planning, risk management, and other inter-

ventions to help break the cycle of violence. All

these attitudes can be addressed in training and

supervision of staff.

Health screening and physical checkups

are also important for youth entering residen-

tial programs such as detention. Keeping

family violence secret may cause caregivers

to avoid taking children or adolescents for

medical or dental checkups. Secrecy, fear,

shame, and embarrassment may keep youth

who have been sexually abused away from

health professionals. Immunizations might be

missed due to school absences. Family disrup-

tions and lack of finances often result in

unscheduled or missed medical and physical

checkups. When young people enter the

justice system there is an opportunity to

improve their health by catching up on basic

medical and dental care (e.g., immunizations,

dental checkup), identifying potential health

problems, including those related to victim-

ization experiences (e.g., injuries, sexually

transmitted disease from sexual abuse), and

to provide treatment (e.g., antibiotics).

Perhaps most important, young people can

be connected to community-based health

services and supported in learning how to

access medical assistance in the future.

Being able to address safety is important

when asking young people to acknowledge

victimization. Hidden perpetration experi-

ences related to family violence are often

cloaked in distrust, secrecy, fears of telling,

embarrassment, and shame. Safety is estab-

lished through healthy program cultures

characterized by respect and clear norms

against violence. Privacy during screening

and assessment is essential and contributes

to a youth feeling that it may be safe to share.

Informed consent (including parental con-

sent when required) and clear statements

about confidentiality and its limits are re-

quired before screening or assessment can

occur, and assist in building trust with and

security for youth. While creating safety in

the setting is necessary, it may not be suffi-

cient for sharing. Young people are most

likely to be influenced by their subjective

perceptions of safety, which may not be

congruent with objective reality. Sometimes

factors in the young people’s worlds prevent

disclosure (e.g., fear of additional charges

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 235

against them or against an intimate or family

member, having to move out of home).

Other factors influencing the likelihood of

youth disclosure include how we invite them

to share. If checklists or surveys are being used,

the youth’s reading comprehension level must

be sufficient. Failure to explore literacy level

may lead to invalid answers or close down

further sharing. Survey items and interview

questions invite accurate sharing when they

focus on descriptors rather than categories

(e.g., “When your parents are angry at you,

do they ever hit you?” versus “Have your

parents ever physically abused you?”). Forced

choices (yes/no) can be frustrating and lead to

“no” responses or incomplete forms. It is

helpful to provide a range of possible answers;

scaling gives permission to report extreme

responses, enables more accurate reporting,

and may reduce frustration.

Strengthening Self-Regulation

Many youth in juvenile justice programs

have underdeveloped or compromised self-

regulation, behavioral control, and information-

processing skills. These challenges are intri-

cately linked with experiences of trauma,

mental health difficulties (e.g., depression,

anxiety, disruptive behavior disorders), poor

modeling, and disruptions to optimal devel-

opment associated with family violence and

co-occurring adversities. Emotional literacy

and social problem solving are two cogni-

tive-behavioral interventions conducive to

delivery in small, same-sex groups in justice

programs with a culture of safety. In fact, there

may be benefits from peer support and model-

ing that occurs in group interventions.

Skills learned in the groups are ideally

encouraged and supported through teachable

moments (e.g., resolving issues) and staff

modeling throughout the day (i.e., creating

an emersion learning experience). Accord-

ingly, all program staff need to know and

understand the purpose and content of these

group interventions and, where appropriate,

may be trained to lead or colead these groups.

Both interventions are often components in

promising, multifaceted cognitive-behavioral

treatment for a number of emotional and

behavioral problems (e.g., in addition to

guided imagery, psychoeducation, social sup-

port, cognitive restructuring) (see review

by Feeny, Treadwell, Foa, & March, 2004;

Reinecke, Ryan, & DuBois, 1998). A sub-

stantial portion of youth in some settings

may require and benefit from intensive, multi-

faceted cognitive-behavioral treatment for

trauma or other mental health problems.

Potential counterindications for a youth’s

participation include a youth’s subjective per-

ceptions of being unsafe in the current envi-

ronment; group content or modality not

responsive to youth’s needs (e.g., youth’s diffi-

culties warrant individual or family interven-

tion); conflicts with treatment planned or

underway; and individual readiness for partic-

ipation is out of step with timing of the group

(e.g., may first need to experience benefit

from antipsychotic medication).

Emotional Literacy In our experience, most youth are able or willing to identify

two feelings, anger and boredom, and many

have difficulty regulating both. They benefit

from coaching around emotional expression:

developing a feeling vocabulary, increasing

awareness of their emotions, identifying emo-

tional cues (e.g., increased heart rate), devel-

oping ways of responding to emotional cues,

and learning to express feelings in ways that

overwhelm neither themselves nor others

(Margolin & Vickerman, 2007). It is an essen-

tial skill for understanding and processing feel-

ings and is a prerequisite for understanding the

236 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

link between feelings, thoughts, and behav-

iors; regulating intense emotions and related

behaviors; interpersonal communication,

especially in family and intimate relationships;

and developing social problem-solving skills.

Social Problem Solving This skill refers to the cognitive–affective–behavioral process by

which an individual attempts to effectively

cope with problematic situations in real-life

social environments (D’Zurilla & Nezu,

1990). Real-life problems take many forms

(e.g., no transportation, insufficient money),

but both the sources of problems and their

solutions involve other people (e.g., conflict

with boyfriend, sibling, peers, teachers, street

family). In addition to the cognitive skills of

traditional problem solving (e.g., problem

identification, goal setting, finding suitable

solutions, and evaluating problem-solving

outcomes), social problem solving also incor-

porates and focuses on the person’s orientation

to the problem. Problem orientation is pri-

marily influenced by past experiences with

problem situations (e.g., maltreatment, school

failure) and may interfere with a youth’s effort

to perform the skill.

Effective problem orientation and prob-

lem solving are both important skills and

difficulty with one or both compromises a

youth’s ability to cope with challenging situa-

tions. For example, individuals could have

good cognitive problem-solving skills but

not be able to perform or execute the skills

in social situations evoking intense emotions

conditioned to past experiences. Avoidance in

the form of procrastination or acting out are

likely. Further practice of the cognitive steps of

problem solving, the model used in many

correctional settings incorporating problem

solving, is unlikely to assist the latter youth.

Understandably, social problem-solving abil-

ity, either by itself or together with social

support, has been associated with quality of

life and shown to reduce or minimize the

impact of life stress on youth and young adults,

(e.g., D’Zurilla & Sheedy, 1991; Siu & Shek,

2005). Acquisition of this skill, unlike seclu-

sion and incentives that are earned or lost (e.g.,

level systems), is a life coping strategy that the

young person takes with him when he leaves

the justice program.

Healthy Relationships Education

Those who espouse a social learning perspec-

tive suggest that youth learn messages and roles

from growing up in a home characterized by

family violence (Cunningham & Baker, 2011).

They may learn that people who say they love

you can hurt you, that anger and violence get

people what they want, that no one gets in

trouble for being abusive, and that men have

the right to control women’s lives (Cunn-

ingham & Baker, 2007). In adolescence this

learning may be reinforced by messages from

peer groups, exposure to community violence,

and media violence. Psychoeducational inter-

ventions, sometimes including skill building,

are designed to increase awareness about the

youth’s use of violence, the impact on others

and self, and to teach healthier attitudes and

behaviors for relating to others.

A search of the published literature sug-

gests that programs developed primarily to

address adolescent perpetration of family vio-

lence are rare and designed for males who are

abusive toward family members and/or inti-

mate partners. The Emerging Young Men’s

Program of the Domestic Abuse Project in

Minnesota (Davis, 2004) is one example. Such

programs are intuitively appealing, but the

effectiveness is not known. Other programs

have focused on intimate partner violence

(dating violence) in efforts to interrupt the

cycle of violence with mixed results (e.g.,

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 237

Foshee et al., 2005; Wekerle & Wolfe, 1999).

More programs targeting general youth vio-

lence have been developed and evaluated at

the tertiary level of prevention (see review by

Limbos et al., 2007). While finding effective

programs, Limbos and colleagues note that it is

not possible to evaluate effectiveness by age,

gender, or race because of limitations in the

data reviewed and the scope of their systematic

review. Turning Point: Rethinking Violence

(Scott, Tepas, Frykberg, Taylor, & Plotkin,

2002), a program to educate male first-time

violent crime offenders and their parents

about the consequences of violence, is an

example of a psychoeducational program

found to significantly improve outcomes.

Understanding how best to intervene with

violent girls is an area still evolving.

Reentry Planning

Our goal is that young people, regardless of

what brought them into the justice system,

leave in a better position to navigate their

world safely and responsibly. This means hav-

ing a community orientation and planning for

the youth’s success in the community. Transi-

tions, even when desirable, bring accompany-

ing stress and a different set of challenges (e.g.,

living arrangements? financial support? peer

pressures?). Supporting the youth to prepare

for and manage the transition is likely to

reduce stress and increase opportunities for

success in the community. Drawing on the

youth’s social problem-solving skills and com-

munity resources, the hierarchy of needs

(Maslow, 1971) should inform planning and

determine priorities. This critical work neces-

sitates individuals working in the justice sys-

tem to understand community-based services

for youth, including services supporting

young victims (Finkelhor, Cross, & Cantor,

2005), and to establish interagency agreements

to better serve youth (Daro, Edleson, &

Pinderhughes, 2004).

Social Support Research (Berkman, Glass, Brissette, & Seeman, 2000; Berkman & Syme,

1979; Kawachi & Berkman, 2001) consistently

identifies social support as a protector for

health and mental health. It also serves a

protective function for women and children

experiencing domestic violence (Canady &

Babcock, 2009; Owen et al., 2008). Social

support may play different and greater roles

in the lives of young women. Experiences of

family violence, co-occurring adversities, and

their associated disruptions often reduce or

eliminate families as a source of support.

Involvement in the justice system, especially

incarceration, may distance others. Living

on the street, early school leaving, and un-

employment adds to the isolation, as do many

other risks, which cumulatively result in

poverty and marginalization of a significant

minority of young people. Building opportu-

nities for informal and formal social supports

anchored in the community needs to start at

the beginning of the youth’s involvement in

the program. Bringing representatives from

community networks, mentoring programs,

volunteer programs, knowledge of safe Inter-

net sites, all help to create opportunities for

connection and support.

Help-Seeking Behaviors and Safety Plan- ning Multiple types of, and recurring expo- sure to, violence increases the probability

that young people will be victimized again.

Even one victimization increases vulnerability

to further exposure to violence (Finkelhor

et al., 2009). While aiming to minimize the

risk of further violence exposure (e.g., safe

place for them to live), it is important to

engage the youth in safety planning for po-

tentially difficult or dangerous situations.

238 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Teaching the metaskill of help seeking is a

portable strategy that benefits all youth. For

example, young people learn how to use the

Internet, telephone book, and directory assist-

ance to locate numbers of helping resources no

matter where they are living. It is also impor-

tant to learn about and meet representatives

in person from key agencies in the community

(e.g., antiviolence agencies, child protection,

police, shelters, food bank, health agency).

Anecdotal experiences of our mental health

team, serving youth in the justice system,

indicate that youth are more likely to seek

help from a community resource, when a peer

has done so or they have met a staff from the

agency. Visits to agencies or virtual tours

online can also help to lower barriers. Crisis

or distress lines are also important numbers to

learn and practice dialing on disconnected

phones. Most national help lines have toll-

free numbers, and some offer Web-based

counseling opportunities. Crisis line workers

may come into programs and role play the type

of response youth are likely to get if they call

and will answer questions.

The Internet can reach directly into the

lives of young people to help them put labels

on what is happening at home and how they

feel about it. This type of connection often

gives youth a sense of control during help

seeking. The information obtained lets them

know they are not alone and gives direction

to sources of support (Cunningham & Baker,

2011). Examples include www.itsnotyour

fault.org from the United Kingdom, www

.familyviolencehurts.gc.ca from Canada, and

www.burstingthebubble.com in Australia.

The latter site provides a template for formu-

lating a personalized safety action plan and lists

the legal and practical contingencies of leaving

home as a youth. Feedback from 87 users who

acknowledge living with family violence,

largely females, reported that visiting the site

increased their knowledge of support services,

gave them advice they could apply at home,

and helped them to feel less alone (Shrimpton

& McKenzie, 2005). Many Web sites address

issues related to intimate partner violence in

teen dating relationships and are also present

on Facebook and MySpace (for discussion, see

Cunningham & Baker, 2011).

CONCLUSION

Many youth in the justice system have lived

with adversity and experienced, or perpe-

trated, violence in their families. Understand-

ing family violence, its correlates, and linkages

to delinquency, especially youth violence,

helps us identify observable signposts or path-

ways for young victims into the justice system:

compromised school success, substance abuse

as a coping strategy, abusive behavior toward

parents, compromised mental health, and early

home leaving. Intervention within the youth

justice system should be reexamined through

the lens of youth affected by family violence.

Healthy cultures in youth justice facilities

counter the experiences of many youth, cre-

ating safety, providing positive role modeling

and opportunities to acquire social competen-

cies, and ensuring the foundation necessary to

enable youth to benefit from intervention.

Violence-informed health and mental health

screening and assessment upon entering the

youth justice system seizes the important op-

portunity for identification and intervention

for trauma, mental health concerns, and health

problems. Interventions to teach coping skills

such as emotional literacy and social problem

solving, associated with quality of life and

stress reduction, build self-regulation and

information-processing skills that are often

compromised when youth experience recur-

ring victimization and associated risks.

Violence Within Families and Intimate Relationships 239

Healthy relationships education, whether to

intervene or prevent dating violence, peer-to-

peer violence, or family violence, is intuitively

appealing for youth who have lived with

family violence and coexisting adversities.

Development and evaluation of gender-spe-

cific healthy education programs for youth in

the justice system are needed. Finally, planning

for youth to reenter the community is neces-

sary to create social supports, develop help-

seeking behaviors, and to develop realistic

safety plans. This critical work necessitates

that individuals working in the justice system

understand the range of community-based

services for youth, including services support-

ing young victims, and to establish interagency

agreements to better serve youth. In summary,

we need evidence-informed interventions to

reduce risk and mitigate harmful effects to

youth in the justice system. Regardless of

the crime that brought them into conflict

with the law and no matter how many adverse

events they have experienced, our goal is to

create opportunities to halt the progressively

cumulative impact of multiple adversities and

ultimately reduce perpetration against others.

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244 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

12 CHAPTER

Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities

ROBERT L. HAWKINS, MARYNA VASHCHENKO, AND COURTNEY DAVIS

T he transition of formerly incarcerated

youth back to their communities often

poses a significant challenge for those commu-

nities. Nearly 100,000 youth are released from

facilities annually (Snyder & Sickmund, 2006),

and the profile of these young people includes

many educational, social, and economic diffi-

culties (see, e.g., Braverman & Morris, Chapter

3, this volume; Vaught, Chapter 15, this vol-

ume) that complicate their ability to engage

productively in community life (McWhirter,

2008; Reiman, 2007). In addition, they are

often met with a paucity of supportive people

to whom they can turn for assistance, and

limited publicly available services to help

them balance their new responsibilities (Inder-

bitzin, 2009; Sullivan, 2004).

Employment is difficult to secure, and

lack of engagement in work and/or school

puts youth at risk of repeated offending; over

half (55%) of these youth are rearrested

within the first 12 months upon release

(Snyder & Sickmund, 2006). This, in turn,

sets off a vicious cycle of yet poorer employ-

ment prospects, truncated career and residen-

tial options, continued negative life events,

welfare dependence, and mental health prob-

lems (Steinberg, Chung, & Little, 2004;

Unruh, Gau, & Waintrup, 2009). Activating

community resources on behalf of these

youth is an urgent task.

What attributes or capacities does a com-

munity need to have to successfully support its

system-involved youth as they are reintegrated

after incarceration? For distressed communities,

economic resources are the first cornerstone to

be laid. The next step involves activating the

skills, attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors of the

individuals within (human capital), and the net-

works of relationships and the resources shared

among people (social capital). These three ele-

ments help establish communities that can foster

resilience among their young people—allowing

them to adapt positively to challenges and make

sound choices in support of hopeful, productive

futures. In this chapter, we make the case for

viewing communities within this resilience-

oriented paradigm. We follow the course of

one of these key elements—social capital—

and consider its particular contribution to cre-

atingandsustainingsuchcommunities.Wethen

explore the ways in which social capital—when

it is operationalized with juvenile offenders in

mind—can help with the reentry and reinte-

gration process for these youth.

ADOPTING A RESILIENCE LENS

Historically, research and interventions, includ-

ing programs for juvenile offenders, have

taken a deficit-based approach of identifying

245

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

problems with these youth and proposing ways

to reduce negative outcomes associated with

various risks (see Beyer, Chapter 1, this vol-

ume; Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this volume).

The past two decades, however, have evi-

denced the rise of a new paradigm in psychol-

ogy, in which researchers and practitioners

focus on “positive adaptational outcomes,”

rather than “adaptational failures” (Luthar &

Cicchetti, 2000, p. 861). A central tenet of this

new perspective is the notion of development-in-

context, which emphasizes the need to consider

the dynamic interactions among multiple fac-

tors of influence, including individuals, fami-

lies, and communities in which individuals and

families are “nested,” to better understand the

paths to positive outcomes (Bronfenbrenner,

1979). Positive adaptation, that is, the manifes-

tation of resilience, is understood as a condition

of both the person and his or her context, and

not a unique attribute of the individual; indeed,

some would argue that for individuals to

respond well to adversities in their own lives,

the communities in which they live need to

possess certain aspects that promote resilience

(Chaskin, 2008; Peters, 2005). This wide rec-

ognition of the importance of context is exem-

plified by the surge of studies examining the

role of communities and social environments in

the development and adaptation of individuals

(e.g., Gardner & Brooks-Gunn, 2009).

The multiple individual and environ-

mental risks that youth experience both be-

fore and after incarceration have been well

documented by the literature on juvenile

delinquency. They include poor school per-

formance, mental health problems, unstable

and unsupportive family relationships, high

crime and poverty rates within their com-

munities, absence of positive role models,

and abundance of delinquent influences

(Steinberg et al., 2004). Add the stress of

imprisonment, disrupted social networks,

and the normative developmental challenges

of adolescence on top of this long list of

risk factors, and perhaps that 55% recidivism

rate in the first 12 months postrelease (Snyder

& Sickmund, 2006) does not seem so surprising.

What leads some of the youth to re-

integrate successfully and lead prosocial lives

in the community despite their exposure to

risk and adversity; that is, what explains their

resilient functioning? How does the concept

of social capital fit into the potential explan-

ations of such adaptational success? To answer

these questions, we first need to briefly re-

view the main tenets of the resilience frame-

work, as it provides a useful perspective for

considering the role of social capital in ad-

aptational outcomes.

Being at the center of the strengths-based

tradition of research, the literature on resil-

ience emphasizes the significance of examin-

ing social conditions that surround individuals

and how they interact with their environment,

and aims to (a) identify what mechanisms

within these interactions may account for

resilient trajectories and (b) direct researchers

and policy makers to empirical knowledge that

could inform development of effective inter-

vention models (Luthar & Cicchetti, 2000;

Masten & Obradovi�c, 2006). In particular, one of the models of resilience, the protective

model (simplified in Figure 12.1 for ease

of illustration) describes a moderating effect

of protective factors that reduce the impact of

risk and adversity on an outcome, which in

the absence of the protective factor could be

expected to be negative (Schoon, 2006).

Investigators have examined various var-

iables thought to foster individual resilience

including, among others, positive tempera-

ment; sociability; responsiveness; adaptability

in infancy and early childhood; a warm, sup-

portive family environment; a sound relation-

ship with a primary caregiver; and positive

246 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

extrafamilial support and role models (Kilmer,

Cowen, & Wyman, 2001). Initially, most re-

search focused on personal attributes of indi-

viduals in promoting resilience (Schoon,

2006), but because by its very nature the

resilience framework positions individuals

within their ecologies, the field soon began

to explore the mechanisms by which ecologies

shaped individuals’ capacities to overcome

adversity (Ungar, 2008). Researchers of resil-

ience admit, however, that it is unlikely we

will be able to identify a narrow list of key

factors that predict healthy outcomes in all

individuals (Ungar, 2004). Furthermore, there

has been considerable debate about the exact

nature of the relations among risks, protective

mechanisms, and adaptation that result in re-

silience. The protective model presented in

Figure 12.1, then, is only one of many pro-

posed models of resilience. All current models,

however, agree that resilience is a dynamic

process; therefore, multiple pathways to posi-

tive outcomes should be considered within

specific time frames and transactional processes

(Luthar & Cicchetti, 2000; Masten &

Obradovi�c, 2006). Zatura, Hall, and Murray (2010) point out

that personal mastery and social support are

among the most thoroughly conceptualized

and researched factors believed to promote

resilience. Highlighting the joint role of indi-

vidual (personal mastery) and contextual

(social support) factors in adaptation, they

emphasize the need for models of resilience

to consider not only psychological capital

(e.g., positive mental health), but social capital

as well. In fact, Zatura, Hall, and Murray place

the research on social capital at the forefront of

the scientific inquiry into the community

resources that foster resilience.

WHERE SOCIAL CAPITAL FITS

During the 1980s and 1990s, at the same time

as the notion of resilience was taking off, the

Figure 12.1 Simplified Protective Model of Resilience

Adversity (i.e., youth

incarceration, violence, crime victimization)

Resilient outcome

(i.e., success in college, non- drug use, safe sex practices)

Protective factor (i.e., family resources,

positive peer and community

resources)

Negative outcome (i.e., recidivism, dropping out of

school, teen pregnancy)

or

Source of adversity

(peers, family, neighborhoods)

Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities 247

concept of social capital gained considerable

traction among sociologists and economists,

who became increasingly interested in the

assets possessed by communities that allowed

them to withstand stresses and shocks (Cole-

man, 1988, 1990; Moser, 1998). The resur-

gence of interest in the concept of community,

as “a critical arena for addressing a range of

social problems and promoting a range of

social benefits” (Chaskin, 2008, p. 65), incited

numerous social policy initiatives focused on

community development, community orga-

nizing, and community-building strategies to

promote community change and collective

efficacy and capacity (Chaskin, Goerge, Sky-

les, & Guiltinan, 2006). Specifically, paradigms

such as Comprehensive Community Initia-

tives (CCIs) focused on addressing the multi-

ple problems of poor communities (crime,

poverty, unemployment, poor access to

education, jobs, and other ills) not one at a

time, but in the interrelated manner in which

these issues occur in lives and in communities

(Schorr, 1997). Further, community-based

youth development (CBYD) programs focus

on providing and activating an array of formal

and informal services based on the complex-

ity of meeting the needs of youth (Lerner

et al., 2005).

This growing recognition of the impor-

tance of community mirrored the popularity

of the concept of “social capital,” which has

been described as “the missing link” (Harriss &

de Renzio, 1997) that allowed vulnerable

individuals to develop positively by accessing

community resources. Since its initiation as a

phenomenon worthy of attention, however,

significant variation has emerged in how social

capital has been defined and used. This, in

turn, has introduced a great deal of conceptual

vagueness and confusion about its meaning,

and some skepticism about its alleged effects

(Portes, 2000; Williams, 2007).

Given that successful reentry of incarcer-

ated youth into communities is one of the

primary ways to prevent recidivism and other

poor outcomes (Unruh et al., 2009), enhanc-

ing social capital and its role in communities is,

obviously, an attractive route to facilitate this

reintegration. We agree, but only if social

capital—here defined as a by-product of social

interactions that are embedded in, and accessed via,

formal and informal social relationships with indi-

viduals, communities and institutions (Hawkins &

Maurer, 2009)—is deliberately conceptualized

and thoughtfully operationalized. If so, it can,

indeed, guide practitioners in how to best take

advantage of the positive elements of a youth’s

social network, while managing what could be

more negative factors. The devil, however, is

in the details.

Social Capital Defined and Redefined

Attention to social capital has emerged from a

wide variety of social science disciplines and is

often redefined in each subdiscipline, based on

a new or slightly different set of theoretical

criteria (e.g., Bourdieu, 1977, 1985; Coleman,

1988, 1990; Granovetter, 1985; Kadushin,

2004; Lin, 2001; Putnam, 2000). Some con-

ceptualizations have confused and conflated

social capital with social support or social

networks (Lin, 2000; Lochner, Kawachi, &

Kennedy, 1999; Schuller, Baron, & Field,

2000). Simply put, social capital is that which

is generated by social support and social net-

work interactions operating at both the indi-

vidual and community levels (Hawkins, 2010;

Hawkins & Maurer, 2010; Lin, 2000).

The derivation of the term is often cred-

ited to Coleman (1988), who considered it

related to exchange theory, with its use of

norms and expectations. Exchange theory is

based on the proposition that humans main-

tain relationships based on an “exchange” of

248 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

goods and services. In other words, relation-

ships continue and are strengthened as long as

they remain mutually beneficial. Coleman

himself, however, built on Bourdieu (1977,

1985, 1986), who emphasized formally insti-

tutionalized relationships that mutually deter-

mine and construct access to resources. In

their work, social capital has been defined as

the by-product of formal and informal social

relationships with individuals, community,

or institutions that engender mutual trust,

expectations, obligations, and influences in

individuals, families, and communities (Bour-

dieu, 1977, 1985; Coleman, 1988, 1990).

Bourdieu viewed social capital as crucial

to reproducing prevailing class power and

status relationships (Smith & Kulynych,

2007), emphasizing its role as “the aggregate

of the actual or potential resources which are

linked to possession of a durable network

of more or less institutionalized relationships

of mutual acquaintance and recognition”

(Bourdieu, 1985, p. 51). He stated that the

acquisition of social capital results in cultural,

economic, and social resources for access—

connections through connections. Using

Bourdieu’s definition, one normally sees the

result of social capital through economic trans-

actions, though it is not necessarily brought

about simply through economics. His analysis

focused primarily on the relationship between

social connections and social obligations. In

order to benefit from social capital, individuals

must already have their own exchangeable

resources that matter. If there is nothing to

exchange, then the value is unidirectional.

While Bourdieu’s treatment of social cap-

ital underscored its role in the reproduction

of inequality, conceptualizations offered by

others put a dramatically different spin on

it, elevating it to a major component of

democracy—indeed, a virtual “silver bullet”

for certain ills in society. Some researchers, for

example, argue that it facilitates youth devel-

opment (Furstenberg & Hughes, 1995), has

health (Beaudoin, 2009) and financial benefits

(Quillian & Redd, 2006), and that it can affect

educational outcomes (Jack & Jordan, 1999;

Stanton-Salazar & Spina, 2005), including

school engagement (Garcia-Reid, 2007) and

school achievement (Woolley et al., 2008).

Putnam’s conceptualization of social capi-

tal holds a leading role among these literatures;

his metaphorical use of the term bowling alone

(1995, 2000) to represent a lack of social capital

in people’s lives brought the concept a certain

level of mainstream attention. Offering a

much more collective interpretation of social

capital than does Bourdieu, Putnam sees

efforts to increase or create community-level

social capital as a way to increase civic engage-

ment and counteract the negative effects of

low socioeconomic status (Bedolla, 2007).

Viewing social capital primarily in terms of

civic engagements and associations, Putnam

makes a strong case for social capital as repre-

senting community, and as an entirely positive

concept. Noting that the norms and trust

promoted by social capital facilitate mutual

benefit among community members, he con-

cludes that trust and “reciprocity” lead to

positive community development.

Putnam’s theory of social capital as civic

engagement has even influenced how the

media and policy makers have come to un-

derstand community participation and engage-

ment, and has been incorporated into funding

priorities in public policies and private grant

making ( Jennings, 2007).

Despite its popularity, Putnam’s concep-

tualization has been criticized as limited for its

lack of a true examination of the complexities

and power dynamics inherent in social rela-

tionships (Farrell, 2007; Hawkins & Maurer,

2011; Hero, 2003). In his introduction to the

anthology Race, Neighborhoods, and the Misuse

Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities 249

of Social Capital, James Jennings (2007) argues

that the prevailing notion of social capital (a)

depoliticizes the nature of poverty; (b) fails to

consider historical, economic, and political

contexts and structural explanations of in-

equality; (c) lacks a focus on racial inequality

and institutional injustice; and (d) seems to

suggest that low-income communities are de-

ficient in civic participation and motivation to

improve their social and economic resources,

and therefore need to be exposed to “normal,

middle class values” as a way of encouraging

social capital. Finally, from a “politics of

language” perspective, Smith and Kulynych

(2002, 2007) argue that choosing social capital

to denote the phenomena to which it typically

refers is unfortunate; the association of the

word capital with financial capital implies

that capitalist social relations and the prevailing

social order are largely inevitable.

Critics also lament the instantiation of

Putnam’s notion of social capital, calling it

an oversimplified “cure all” for many of

the ills that strike families and communities

(DeFillippis, 2001; Farrell, 2007; Mowbray,

2004; Stone & Hughes, 2002). They argue,

instead, that the concept can be both a positive

and a negative. Seeing it as only a positive

attribute suggests that more is better, and this

has led a number of studies to operationalize the

construct as simply the amount of social capital in

someone’s life (e.g., Kawachi, 1999; Kawachi,

Kennedy, Lochner, & Prothrow-Stith, 1997;

Lochner, Kawachi, & Kennedy, 1999). Think-

ing primarily about the amount of social capital,

however, misses the complexity that exists in

social relationships. Families and communities

may produce social capital, as do positive role

models, but so do gangs or peer groups who

engage in substance abuse, crime, or bullying.

Other studies, in keeping with the more

traditional and economically based concep-

tualization (Antonucci, Akiyama, & Lansford,

1998; Hawkins, 2010; Lin, 2001; Roschelle,

1997), contend that negative social capital

(that which depletes rather than augments

resources and access) is generated by the

same elements that produce positive social

capital—friends, families, neighbors, and

community resources. These elements can

be as hurtful as they can be helpful, and indeed,

while all “trusting networked relationships”

produce a type of social capital, these networks

may or may not have a positive, prosocial

normative value (Antonucci, Akiyama, &

Lansford, 1998; Corcoran & Adams, 1997;

Hawkins, 2010; Hawkins & Abrams, 2007;

Roschelle, 1997).

Another major criticism of the social cap-

ital literature is that the concept is often used

interchangeably with social networks and so-

cial support (see Castillo, 2009; Emlet, 2006;

Lindsey et al., 2008). Even though these three

concepts are indeed related, we find the dis-

tinctions important to maintain. To be clear,

for our purposes, a social network is a set of

socially linked or interconnected discrete indi-

viduals or groups, as well as the structure,

number, and character of the relationships

that link members of the network (Cleak &

Howe, 2003; Lin, 2001; Wasserman & Faust,

1994). Like social capital, social support is

embedded in and accessed via social networks

(Granovetter, 1985). Social support, however, is

better defined as the provision and receipt of

assistance to and from individuals (e.g., emo-

tional encouragement, advice, information,

guidance, concrete aid) (Belle, 1982; Findler,

2000; Tracy & Bell, 1994). Social capital, how-

ever, is the product that emerges from the

social network and social support system and

results in cultural, economic, and social

“resources” (Bourdieu, 1977, 1985). Social

capital is not the community, family, or small

group, but these are the environments in

which social capital is generated.

250 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Core Features of Social Capital

Despite these and other criticisms of the con-

struct, the broad appeal of social capital gives it

durability and merits sustained in practice. We

believe that properly defined, carefully distin-

guished from other related constructs, and

used judiciously, social capital can be a useful

lens for viewing the impact of social interac-

tion on the lives of young people. We argue

that a thorough understanding of social capital

includes a multidimensional framework that

would serve to enhance the understanding

of social support and social networks (Ersing

&, Loeffler, 2008; Loeffler et al., 2004; Miller-

Cribbs & Farber, 2008; Muhkerjee, 2007).

Our conceptual view of social capital is

best understood by examining its two core

features.

Social Capital Exists in Degrees Contrary to the popular view of social capital as an

absolute element—either you possess it or

you do not (Curran, 2002; Fukuyama,

2000; Kreuter & Lezin, 2001)—we consider

it to be, in fact, less measureable and not

obviously quantifiable. The nature of social

capital is that it is comprised of resources that

“belong” to others (individuals, communities,

institutions), such as reputation, and that are

loaned temporarily to those who need it (Lin,

2001). A high school student might be offered

a summer job because of the reputation of her

parents. Although the student may or may not

be qualified, she has in a sense “borrowed” the

reputation of her parents and the connection

they have with the employer. What this stu-

dent gains is a job, which might lead to other

offers of employment, an appealing statement

on her college application and, of course,

money. Her social support—in this case, her

parents—were able to connect her to an

employer and future prospects. It is in this

light that Hawkins and Maurer (2010) define

social capital as the “by-product of social

interactions that are embedded in and accessed

via formal and informal social relationships

with individuals, communities and insti-

tutions” (p. 1778).

This definition is consistent with Bank-

ston and Zhou’s (2002) understanding of social

capital as a process that is not limited to a single

time period or level of social organization; it

operates at the community, individual, and

institutional levels and does so based on the

relative structure of relationships and social

interactions. This process, then, could work

as a metaphor rather than a clear and consistent

structure, making it difficult to view social

capital as a specifically quantifiable element.

An example of the difficulty in measuring

social capital is provided by Hawkins and

Maurer (2011), who documented how it

was used in New Orleans following Hurricane

Katrina. They showed that social capital

within a low-income community came from

both existing bonds as well as newly created

ones stemming from the disaster. These

researchers view social capital as both a process

and a result. The assistance, expectations,

planning, and emotional force that grew out

of the relationships of Hurricane Katrina sur-

vivors was the social capital, not the relation-

ships themselves.

Social Capital Is Complex and Multidi- mensional Many commentators note that social capital is hydra-headed; it is generated

through a wide variety of relationships and

transactions, operates at several levels of social

ecology, and affects individuals and communi-

ties in different ways, both positively and nega-

tively (e.g., see Bankston & Zhou, 2002;

Colclough & Sitaraman, 2005; Curran, 2002;

Lin, 2000; Portes, 1998). Understanding

the context in which social capital is

Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities 251

developed—the social position and relative

power of the social network being tapped

(Bourdieu, 1985; Muhkerjee, 2007), for exam-

ple—is critical to identifying its potential value.

One useful heuristic, proposed by Gitell

and Vidal (1998) and elaborated by Szreter

and Woolcock (2004), identifies three dis-

tinct kinds of social capital: bonding, bridging,

and linking. Bonding social capital refers to

relationships among members of a group or

network who are similar or homogenous in

some way. Bridging social capital refers to rela-

tionships among people and groups of people

who perceive themselves, or are perceived by

others, to be dissimilar in some demonstrable

fashion—such as according to age, socio-

economic status, race/ethnicity, education,

and so on (Szreter & Woolcock, 2004). Link-

ing social capital reflects the relationships that

individuals and communities build with the

institutions and people who have relative

power over them—for example, to provide

access to services, jobs, or other resources

(Szreter & Woolcock, 2004; Woolcock,

2001). Distributing the expression and effects

of social capital across these three types allows

for many analyses of interest to researchers

and program developers, including a com-

parative structural analysis of the hierarchy

of power, wealth, and reputation, which is

important to maintaining resources and

building assets (Lin, 2001).

An important dimension of social capital to

consider here is what Granovetter (1985) calls

the relative “strength of [one’s] weak ties,” that

is, the residual effects that can be generated as

one moves from strong close ties (bonding

relationships), to weaker ones (bridging or

linking relationships) that may emerge from

those strong ties. For example, your close

friend or classmate may not be able to give

you a job, but someone he or she knows could

work for a company that is hiring.

Measuring Social Capital

While the interest in social capital has in-

creased exponentially over the past decades,

its scientific study has been hampered by the

same conceptual confusion described above.

Social capital has more often been an exami-

nation of social networks or social support,

rarely taking the necessary steps of going

beyond the network connections. Both quali-

tative and quantitative studies exist, though

quantitative studies predominate (Brisson,

Roll, & East, 2009; Cattell, 2001; Dominguez

& Watkins, 2003; Hawkins & Abrams, 2006).

The most common measures used, essentially

as social capital proxies, have been self-report

measures of interactions among parents, chil-

dren, and schools; and beliefs, norms, and

attitudes regarding community and family

relationships (Bottrell, 2009; Kahne et al.,

2001; Kawachi, 1999; Teachman, Paasch, &

Carver, 1996).

Some literature also attempts to identify

the primary source of important social capital

interactions: community based or family

based (Ferguson, 2006), and youth peer-to-

peer based or youth-to-adult based (Garcia-

Reid, 2007). Identifying where the impor-

tant social capital interactions are located is

important to understanding and developing

interventions at the bonding, bridging, or

linking levels. Further, differentiating be-

tween community and family interactions

is important in youth studies because the

child is dependent on the parent, and in

many ways shares the social capital resources

of the parent and family as a whole (Kim &

Schneider, 2005). Similarly, youth-adult

interactions are important, as adults act as

the gatekeepers in the community and chil-

dren must navigate these relationships in

order to establish their own position in the

community (Kim & Schneider, 2005).

252 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Exploring the sources, nature, valence,

and quality of social capital available to, and

used by, young people is a useful enterprise for

researchers interested in improving the lives of

youth. These findings, in turn, can contribute

to the design and evaluation of interventions

to promote their positive adjustment.

SOCIAL CAPITAL AND YOUTH

Across the United States, the young people

most at risk for involvement in the juvenile

justice system are those growing up in poor

neighborhoods, whose families face poverty

daily; they are also disproportionately mem-

bers of ethnic minority groups (MacDonald &

Marsh, 2001; MacDonald, Shildrick, Webster,

& Simpson, 2005; Reiman, 2007). Commu-

nities struggle with their roles in changing the

trajectory of these young people’s lives. When

the quality of relationships is considered, social

capital can reduce the likelihood of juvenile

justice involvement and strengthen youth re-

entry through better connecting the youth

with peer, family, and community resources.

Despite problems with measurement and

theory, those studies that use elements of social

capital reflecting clear conceptualizations of

the construct have found a consistently strong

association between social capital and positive

youth outcomes (Brisson et al., 2009; Farr,

2004; Fram & Altshuler, 2009; Furstenberg &

Hughes, 1995). And while some studies take a

rather narrow view of the concept and others

use only a positive lens to view social capital,

these studies identify outcomes that cover a full

range of youth well-being proxies. They in-

clude, for example, emotional support (Stanton-

Salazar & Spina, 2005), mental well-being

(Furstenberg & Hughes, 1995), school

achievement (Woolley et al., 2008), substance

use (Curran, 2002), fighting and weapon use

(Wright & Fitzpatrick, 2006), school engage-

ment (Garcia-Reid, 2009), dropping out of

high school (Teachman et al., 1996), the tran-

sition to postsecondary education (Kim &

Schneider, 2005), labor force attachment

(Powers, 1994), resiliency (Bottrell, 2009),

and human capital development related to

education and employment (Coleman, 1994).

The preponderance of studies focuses on

the impact of bonding social capital at the

family, peer, and neighborhood level. The

positive results of this particular genre of social

capital makes sense in light of the posited link

between disadvantaged communities and low

trust, weak cohesion, and the high incidence

of crime (Bottrell, 2009; Brisson et al., 2009;

Furstenberg & Hughes, 1995; Woolley et al.,

2008).

SOCIAL CAPITAL AND PEERS

Studies have found that peer-to-peer, bonding

social capital yields positive outcomes among

low-income, U.S. Latino youth who exhibited

the effects of social and cultural marginaliza-

tion. These young people were shown to be at

particular risk of poor school performance and

dropping out of school altogether. They often

lived in dangerous and stressful neighborhoods

and households (Brisson et al., 2009; Garcia-

Reid, 2007; Stanton-Salazar & Spina, 2005).

Those studies looking into peer-level bonding

outcomes found a positive relationship be-

tween close, reciprocal friendships that pro-

vide the young person with positive expe-

riences of school and sources of emotional

support and the kind of positive outcomes

that suggest high levels of resilience (Brisson

et al., 2009; Garcia-Reid, 2007; Ream &

Rumberger, 2008; Stanton-Salazar & Spina,

2005; Wright & Fitzpatrick, 2006). These

relationships are shown to provide emotional

Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities 253

well-being to young people by allowing for

positive expressions of personal identity, trust,

and mutual support (Bottrell, 2009; Garcia-

Reid, 2007). The studies suggest that the

experiences present in bonded peer social

capital may be “instrumental to [youth at

risk] resilience” (Garcia-Reid, 2007). Those

students who had access to peer bonding social

capital were less likely to perform poorly in

school, drop out of school, or display violent

behavior, and they expected to continue on to

higher education and financial success (Ream

& Rumberger, 2008; Stanton-Salazar & Spina,

2005; Woolley et al., 2008).

It is also important to consider here the

negative side of social capital, which is espe-

cially present in the bonding context for youth

who are at risk. There is an assumption

embedded in most social capital logic models

that the presence of social capital in a com-

munity is automatically evidence of beneficial

interactions among individuals (see, e.g., Farr,

2004; Lin, 1999; Lochner et al., 1999;

Schuller, Baron, & Field, 2000, for more

thorough discussions). The literature is clear,

however, that social capital is not always posi-

tive, and can, in fact, be negative. Bonding

social capital appears to be the most scrutinized

in this regard (Kadushin, 2004; Ream &

Rumberger, 2008; Stanton-Salazar & Spina,

2005). Closed networks, such as youth gangs,

substance-abusing peers, or others involved in

criminal behavior, can produce social capital

that has a negative outcome. Overall, this

negative social capital can strengthen problem-

atic community outcomes such as social dis-

organization, breakdown of community

norms, and social strain (Kadushin, 2004;

Lin, 2001; May, 2008). In these examples,

the social capital embedded in the networks

of antisocial environments can promote and

facilitate behaviors that can be hurtful, dan-

gerous, or at the least, counterproductive

(May, 2008). Those working with this popu-

lation should be especially attentive to these

variations in the quality of social capital that

young people employ.

Social Capital in the Family

In addition to studies investigating peer-to-

peer social capital, much of the social capital

literature regarding young people revolves

around resources within the family and focuses

on adults directly transmitting or negotiating

transmission of resources and opportunities to

the young people in their lives (Curran, 2002;

Furstenberg & Hughes, 1995; Woolley &

Bowen, 2007). Kim and Schneider (2005)

use the conceptual model of brokerage to de-

scribe this activity. The assumption here is that

“parents act as contacting resource agents”

(p. 1185) for children by tapping into their

own weak ties, or using bridging social capital

on behalf of adolescents. The ability of parents

and families to broker access to these resources

is a more powerful influence than is bonding

capital, either within the family itself or among

peers (Bourdieu, 1985; Granovetter, 1973).

Muchlike the peer-to-peer network bond-

ing social capital, strong familial relationships—

in particular, close relationships between two

parents and children—have been linked to pos-

itive outcomes, such as high school graduation,

labor force participation, and robust mental

health (Coleman, 1988;Furstenberg & Hughes,

1995; Kim & Schneider, 2005; Wright &

Fitzpatrick, 2006). Although these findings

are promising, this area of the literature is

hindered bya lackof qualitative and quantitative

research and the need for a more adequately

specified variable for bridging social capital to

be used alongside current bonding social capital

variables. However, reflecting Granovetter’s

idea of the strength of weak ties, some studies

have suggested that bonding social capital alone

254 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

is not enough and that, in the absence of

bridging social capital, tight-knit families tend

to fare onlyaswellastheirfamily members (Kim

&Schneider, 2005;Morgan&Sorenson,1999).

Kim and Schneider (2005) found that in the

absence of bridging social capital, closed family

units become insular and diminish the mem-

bers’ capacity to gain access to resources. Haw-

kins(2010)foundasimilar patterninhisstudyof

low-income,formerly homeless, singlemothers

whowere seeking highereducation. The wom-

en’s close friends and families offered a mixture

of support and criticism, while persons with

loose ties to the women and sometimes even

complete strangers were supportive of the

women’s educational goals. In the preceding

examples, crediting relationships beyond close

peers and family members may be crucial to

understanding how social capital can helpyouth

over time.

Social Capital in the Community

Much youth-oriented social capital research

has focused on the role of formal and informal

community-level social capital and its consti-

tutive relationships and networks of relation-

ships. Much like peer, familial, and child–adult

relationships, neighborhood bondedness is

related to school achievement, safety, employ-

ment, and even savings behavior for the fami-

lies of low-income children (Brisson et al.,

2009; Woolley et al., 2008; Wright & Fitzpa-

trick, 2006). In addition to the positive im-

pacts on children, there is a growing interest in

this community-based social capital as a tool

that may affect “community capacity as a vital

form of social capital grounded in informal

networks of social control and social support”

in a broader way (Bazemore & Erbe, 2003,

p. 261). Rather than linking individual chil-

dren to resources outside a community, then,

the development of this genre of social capital

may provide a platform for young people to be

reintegrated inside their own communities as

productive and civically empowered agents

(Bazemore, 1997; Sampson, 1997; see also

Dym, Tangvik, Gerena, & Bartlett, Chapter

19, this volume).

A number of researchers have shown that

although social networks and social support

can help individuals cope with daily struggles,

because of the tension of resource sharing

and reciprocity and lack of structural supports,

low-income bonding often cannot contribute

to elevating socioeconomic status (Belle,

1982; Dominguez & Watkins, 2003; Farrell,

2007; Hero, 2003; Lin, 2001; Miller-Cribbs &

Farber, 2008). Bridging happens, for example,

when a family moves to a new area or a child

attends a new school or camp, enters college,

or starts to look for work.

When the dynamics of a community

change, so too can its social capital, such as

when a neighborhood starts to attract econo-

mically mixed families and its socioeconomic

nature changes. As family members are intro-

duced to more individuals or have more expe-

riences, their weak ties, or linking social

capital, develop. For low-income families in

unchanging communities, however, the

bridging and linking social capital may be

slow to or never develop, making it difficult,

if not impossible, to enhance their job options,

take advantage of learning or training experi-

ences, or improve their life chances. What

develops then is a “chicken and egg” situation:

In order to improve outcomes for youth, the

community must be strengthened, but in or-

der to improve the community, positive social

capital should be developed.

Often, the extent to which youth can

develop bridging capital is hindered by barri-

ers instituted by communities. While a bonded

group with resources and power does not have

to bridge, communities with little power need

Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities 255

the bridging and linking capital in order to be

able to gain economic and social advantages

for its members. For many communities,

however, the incorporation of the values of

mainstream culture is a particularly challeng-

ing issue to navigate. In this regard, Bedolla

(2007) argues that bridging and linking social

capital are affected by race and class dynamics

that play a critical role in promoting some

activities and inhibiting others. Due to struc-

tural barriers and institutionalized racism,

racial or ethnic minorities or economically

marginalized groups have limited access to

bridging and linking social capital. The rela-

tive power of the groups to which one is

associated may dictate exactly what social

capital is available and how it can be used,

and thus the resources useful for economic or

political advancement may not be available to

marginalized groups that populate juvenile

justice systems.

CONSIDERING SOCIAL CAPITAL WITHIN A JUVENILE JUSTICE

CONTEXT

There is clear benefit in applying the concept

of social capital to models of community

reentry, being mindful of the differences

among types of social capital and the varia-

tions in patterns of social capital utilization

among young people. A particular emphasis

should be placed on promoting relationships

outside of youth’s bonded groups, as absence

of bridging social capital hinders one’s capac-

ity to gain access to resources needed for

growth and success. This is of particular im-

portance to those working with delinquent

youth, as this population is often unwilling to

rely on mainstream services and authority

figures for support (Letourneau, Stewart,

Reutter, Barnfather, & Hungler, 2008).

Consistent with this position, several in-

terventions for reentry of delinquent youth to

their communities have suggested a focus on

social network participation and the strength

of community ties. For example, Nicholson,

Collins, and Holmer (2004) see the importance

of connecting youth to the community by

providing services, supports, and opportunities.

These elements constitute a meaningful invest-

ment in community by the youth, thus creating

positive ties. Mears and Travis (2004), too,

suggest a community perspective focusing on

justice, and placing pressure on government

agencies, justice, educational, mental health,

and social services departments through pro-

gram development and advocacy. Further, the

community plays a major role in Bazemore,

Nissen, and Dooley’s (2000) restorative justice

model, the idea of which is to build supportive

relationships around the youth reentering the

community. In one of the few analyses focusing

on social capital and reintegration, Bazemore

and Erbe (2003) emphasize a restorative justice

model to strengthen neighborhood informal

social control and social support. They suggest

increasing social exchange by encouraging the

offender to “earn redemption” or “repair” his

or her relationship with individuals and col-

lectives by greater community engagement.

However, despite their attention to the

importance of social networks, these inter-

ventions are not sufficiently comprehensive

to be of enough value to change the lives

of young people, especially if the youth’s

network is homogenous or reflects bonding

capital (Hawkins & Maurer, 2009; Morgan

& Sorenson, 1999). Considering what results

from those social networks—the social capital—

adds a more effective option for intervention.

Homogeneous networks are not all bad.

The strength of ties in a homogenous net-

work, such as in bonding-level relationships,

may have other positive effects, such as

256 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

increased social support that decreases stress or

facilitates activities of daily life. However, some

argue that unless access to power, wealth, and

the reputation of the dominant class is gained,

there is little real change in the lives of young

people (Lin, 2001; Morgan & Sorensen, 1999).

Further, because close ties can have either

prosocial or delinquent features, the character-

istics of the network itself are critical. As it is

only natural for individuals experiencing un-

certainty to seek routine, reliability, and trust

to protect the psychological self from chaos

(Giddens, 1991; Mitzen, 2006; Wakefield &

Elliott, 2000), it is likely that upon returning

from confinement, youth will rejoin the same

bonded group of individuals who partici-

pate in the kinds of activities that led them

to be incarcerated in the first place. For in-

stance, young men who have been struggling

with substance abuse and mental health prob-

lems were often observed to return to where

they felt safest, which included the bonding

or close relationships that resulted in a com-

munity that abused substances (Hawkins &

Abrams, 2007).

Hawkins and Maurer (2011) and Hawkins

(2009) observed, in research using data from

victims of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans,

that individuals often seek ontological security

following disasters—in other words, they seek

out that which is familiar and safe. Giddens

(1990) defines ontological security as the

“confidence that most human beings have

in the continuity of their self identity and in

the constancy of their social and material

environments of action” (p. 92). It is in these

relationships that bonding has a strong impor-

tance when it came to day-to-day survival and

other activities (Hawkins & Maurer, 2011).

In sum, while there is clear benefit in

applying the concept of social capital to

models of community reentry, one needs

to be mindful of the differences among types

of social capital and the variations in patterns

of social capital utilization among young

people. A particular emphasis should be

placed on promoting relationships outside

of youth’s bonded groups, as absence of

bridging social capital hinders their capacity

to gain access to resources needed for growth

and success. This is of particular importance

to those working with delinquent youth, as

this population is often unwilling to rely on

mainstream services and authority figures

for support (Letourneau, Stewart, Reutter,

Barnfather, & Hungler, 2008).

Programming for Reentry, Keeping Social Capital and Resilience in Mind

The risk and resilience literature provides an

overarching framework for understanding the

mechanisms by which social capital impacts

individuals and communities. Like resilience,

social capital is a process in which interactions

between the individual and his or her environ-

ment are the unit of analysis. In the resilience

framework, it is the unique constellation of

individual and community risk and protective

factors interacting with each other that is be-

hind each person’s adaptive outcome. In other

words, different youth reentering the same

community may follow very different trajecto-

ries as a function of their unique strengths and

vulnerabilities, different person–context rela-

tions and exposure to different risk and protec-

tive factors. Similarly, the same individual may

thrive in one community but not in another;

and each community’s makeup, structure, and

circumstances are likely to affect each individ-

ual differently.

Following the same logic, we argue that

individuals are likely to be differentially

affected by their social capital. Some individ-

uals may benefit from the positive aspects of

social capital, such as family members who

Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities 257

can provide babysitting so that a parent may

take a better paying job or a community

church group that provides a scholarship

for low-income, well-performing students;

both of these examples allow the combina-

tion of bonding and bridging social capital.

Other young people may be hindered by the

negative aspects of their social capital (e.g.,

strong presence of youth gangs), while still

others may actually benefit from an oppor-

tunity to learn how to overcome challenges

presented by these negative aspects. Regard-

less, none of this happens outside of social

and structural contexts. The outcomes would

vary as a function of person–context relations

and the relative power or social position of an

individual or network in the social hierarchy.

Homogeneity or heterogeneity of network

members and the strength of social connec-

tions influence the outcome, much as the

ecological model is important to risk and

resilience.

The approach of seeking to identify pro-

tective factors while allowing for multiple

pathways toward successful adaptation pro-

vides important insights to our conceptuali-

zation of the role of social capital in reentry

processes. Only a few studies have attempted

to identify protective factors within various

ecological domains of the incarcerated youth

returning to their communities that may

promote successful adaptation (e.g., Todis,

Bullis, Waintrup, Schultz, & D’Ambrosio,

2001). The model of social capital described

in this chapter certainly allows us to assume

that some aspects of this construct may serve a

protective role against the risks to which

youth returning from correctional facilities

are exposed. It cautions us, however, against

the simplistic view of social capital as a pana-

cea. The resilience framework also cautions

that it is the unique constellations of individ-

ual and contextual factors that give social

capital protective functions in some cases,

and benign or even negative functions in

others. Programs trying to promote optimal

trajectories of the youth reentering commu-

nities after incarceration must be mindful of

these complex interactions.

Our proposed approach for youth com-

munity reentry interventions (see Figure 12.2)

integrates the protective model of resilience,

which aims to uncover the complex, dynamic

relationships among individual and environ-

mental risk and protective factors, and our

multidimensional model of social capital.

This multilayered framework provides a road

map for interventions that take into account

the dynamic relationships among various

aspects of social capital and risk and protective

factors. As follows from the model, the role of

social capital in the process of adaptation is

complex and multilateral. Some aspects of

social capital may promote resilient outcomes

by (a) directly influencing the outcome as a

protective factor or (b) increasing the protec-

tive effect of a different factor; other aspects of

social capital may play a negative role by

(c) intensifying the detrimental effects of ad-

versity on adaptation.

Interventions for young people reenter-

ing the community should start with a

detailed assessment of risk and protective

factors present within each type of social

capital (bonding, bridging, and linking). To

be clear, this is an effort to make the some-

times intangible nature of social capital more

tangible, by identifying those key elements

related to the concept. As outlined in Table 12.1,

a focus on the young person’s “geography”

speaks to the importance of the youth’s physi-

cal environment, followed by who exists with

the youth within that environment. Further,

defining the role each person plays is essential

to identifying the protective or risk compo-

nents of the relationship.

258 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Figure 12.2 Framework for Youth Community Reentry Interventions

Adversity (e.g., youth

incarceration)

Social capital (bonding)

(e.g., close) friends, family)

Resilient outcome

(e.g., success in college)

Protective factor

(e.g., family) resources)

or

Social capital (bridging)

(weak ties: business associates, parents’ friends, community

leaders, etc.)

Social capital (linking)

(businesses, jobs in the community,

neighborhood quality, access to education)

Negative outcome (e.g., recidivism)

Table 12.1. Questions for Assessing Social Capital in Youth Relationships

Bonding Bridging Linking

What is the geographic makeup of the

young person’s close social network

(household, neighborhood, school, etc.)?

Are there social links that lead

outside of the closed network?

Where do they lead? Who is

in that network? How? Why?

What relationship does the youth have

with enrolling in, or continuing in, schools?

Who exists within the youth’s social

network? Are youth still in touch with

individuals?

Where are the strong/weak

ties in the young person’s

relationships?

What groups and associations, if any, are

the youth connected with in order to help

the youth maintain a prosocial lifestyle?

What role does this individual or

individuals play in the life of the

young person?

What positive and negative factors

do they bring? How are these

factors operationalized?

What is the potential future of the youth’s

relationship with these institutions?

How can the youth remain connected

to these larger institutions in a

positive manner?What positive elements does this

person or persons bring? What

are the negative elements?

What are the connections, if any,

to human capital development

opportunities, such as employment

or education? What risk factors (e.g., low school

engagement, poverty, high crime rates) and

protective factors (e.g., sociability, stable

family relationships, availability of adult

mentors) are at play?

Making a Place for Youth: Social Capital, Resilience, and Communities 259

Support may be present at the bonding

level, but if there is not enough of it, the

development of equally critical bridging or

linking social capital would likely be more

difficult. While bonding can stop at the

boundaries of a network, it can also lead to

bridging social capital, as individuals have

other experiences and are introduced to

new social stimuli. Therefore, interventions

to promote positive adaptation of reentering

youth must pay attention to the aspects of

youth’s bonding situations that may connect

them with bridging opportunities.

Examination of the nature and value of

bridging capital should be guided by questions

that look outside of the closed network. Like

bonding relationships, it is important to high-

light the risk and protective factors of any

existing strong weak ties, especially those

that may be connected to human capital de-

velopment opportunities, such as employment

or education.

This assessment of the bridging relation-

ship should document both the relative

strength of the ties beyond those that are close

and their positive and negative elements.

Bridging social capital can lead to linking,

so the questions are fewer, but some can still

be examined. In considering linking social

capital, the questions should be asked about

the youth’s connections to larger institutions.

These questions should include an examina-

tion of a youth’s relationship with school, his/

her associations with other groups or organi-

zations, and an assessment of both potential

and ongoing relationships.

Once a full picture of the youth’s social

capital is obtained, the intervention program

should help the youth identify which social

capital elements are protective and which are

interfering with positive adaptation. Given

that this population of youth might have

difficulties taking advice from those whom

they see as authority figures, it is critical to

establish mutual trust and acceptance. The

program might involve a member of the young

person’s bonded network to act as a mentor.

For example, a skills-building program could

include the programmatic units to help reen-

tering youth learn work and educational skills,

but with a focus on social capital these pro-

grams could assess the young person’s social

environment, and identify the bonding, bridg-

ing, and linking connections. A General Edu-

cational Development (GED) program could

also include a social capital component. In

many programs, GED graduates still do not

find jobs that pay a livable wage. One way to

assist them is to facilitate their establishing

community and civic connections and then

assess the varying kinds of social capital, both

positive and negative, available to the youth.

The final step is to help the youth acquire

access to additional social capital that would

open up new avenues to success, reduce isola-

tion, support existing individual strengths, and

optimize peer influences. The focus of the

intervention should be helping the youth

build a new identity that gives him or her a

sense of competence and control without

the need to engage in risky or destructive

behaviors. When this new identity is con-

structed in the context of supportive and

trusting social relationships, it becomes em-

powering and gives the young person the skills

to challenge the identity of delinquent assigned

by the larger society.

CONCLUSIONS

While the reentry of youth following incar-

ceration can be a serious challenge for com-

munities, social capital can be a useful tool

to help with the transition of young people

back to the community. Youth reentering

260 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

communities are faced with issues ranging

from education to employment to cultural

behaviors that make their transition difficult.

Lack of engagement in work and/or school

puts youth at risk of repeated offending and

can set off a vicious cycle of negative life

events.

Social capital has become a popular con-

cept in the social sciences to help illustrate the

range of individual, family, and community

resources, yet it has seen little usage in juvenile

justice in general, and reentry in specific. In

this chapter, we define social capital as a by-

product of social interactions that are embedded in

and accessed via formal and informal social relation-

ships with individuals, communities, and institu-

tions and explore how it can be used as a

conceptual and practical model for juveniles

reentering communities after incarceration.

We present a multilayered framework to

help youth placed at risk, especially as they

reenter or try to reconnect with the commu-

nity. Our model borrows several key ideas

from the risk and resilience literature to pro-

vide a theoretical approach for understanding

the pathways to optimal functioning of indi-

viduals and communities. Examining the

multilayered framework of social capital is

necessary to its operationalization and use in

juvenile justice. Understanding that social cap-

ital is related to, but distinct from, social net-

works and social support is essential to its use.

Also understanding that there are real struc-

tural, economic, and social barriers to benefit-

ing from social capital is critical to developing

any community supports for formerly incar-

cerated youth.

Youth program developers and practi-

tioners should attempt to gain a complete

picture of the young person’s social capital at

each level of his or her ecology. This under-

standing can help the youth evaluate which

existing outcome of their social relationship

might help him or her capitalize on available

protective factors and manage any negative

outcome. It can also help the practitioner

identify what resources will be helpful and

which obstacles to avoid or divert, when

possible. Identifying a youth’s social capital

at multiple levels can also be a vehicle to help

youth acquire access to additional resources,

especially bridging and linking opportunities.

It is these additional resources that facilitate

the growth of new social relationships, help-

ing youth develop new skills, competencies,

values, and beliefs about themselves and their

prospects.

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266 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

13 CHAPTER

The Developmental Impact of Community Violence

EDMUND BRUYERE AND JAMES GARBARINO

W ith the 2008 election of our first

African American President, Barak

Obama, we turned a page on a new chapter

in U.S. history—one that promises to bring

hope and change to millions of children and

families. From the personal letter sent to

daughters Sasha and Malia, to town hall meet-

ings on health care, President Obama has been

explicit in his intentions regarding many of the

core issues continuing to plague children and

families living in the United States (e.g., edu-

cation, health care, women’s rights). In fact, it

appears President Obama, “walks the talk,”

because within his first 100 days in office he

signed major legislation likely to improve the

lives of many children and families.

Nonetheless, despite the apparent progress

in promoting child and family outcomes, there

are many social and economic concerns yet to

be addressed. For example, how do we intend

to sever the grip of intergenerational and

chronic poverty on millions of American chil-

dren and youth? How will we reduce the

stressors associated with child maltreatment?

How do we assure every child access to a qua-

lity education? Finally, how will we address the

factors disturbing child well-being and leading

to juvenile incarceration?

This chapter responds to this last question

by extending the analysis first presented by

Garbarino (1999) more than 10 years ago.

In that volume, he describes how the social

environment surrounding young men con-

tributes to the development of psychopathol-

ogies and violent behavior that, in turn, lead

to outcomes such as juvenile incarceration

(Garbarino, 1999). We begin here by summa-

rizing core concepts of the ecology of human

development, which serves as a theoretical

framework used to guide our subsequent dis-

cussion. We then discuss the effect of risk

accumulation, community violence, and

trauma on juvenile incarceration. The second

half of the chapter details how ratification of

the United Nations Convention on the Rights

of the Child could provide important guid-

ance for community development, particularly

in how it relates to creating social support

networks known to prevent and ameliorate

many of the factors associated with commu-

nity violence and juvenile incarceration.

AN ECOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE ON THE HUMAN RIGHTS

OF CHILDREN

Three principles underlie the ecology of hu-

man development (Bronfenbrenner, 1979).

First, children are recognized as active partic-

ipants who influence, and are influenced by,

the direct and indirect actions of others and

267

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

surrounding environmental systems. These

reciprocal transactions create subjective,

meaningful representation of experiences for

children. Second, children, as well as environ-

ments, adapt and respond accordingly to

changes over time. Finally, a series of inter-

related systems—the micro-, meso-, exo-, and

macrosystems—directly and indirectly influ-

ence development, with the child at the focal

point of that influence. These structures

coalesce as the child’s human ecology (see

Hawkins, Vashchenko, & Davis, Chapter 2,

this volume; Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this

volume; Oliveri, Towery, Jacobs, & Jacobs,

Chapter 18, this volume).

Ecology of Human Development

Microsystems are immediate environments in

which a child is influenced by place, time, roles,

and activities. This system has the most direct

influence on development (Bronfenbrenner,

1979). Here, a child engages in activities that

should become more complicated and mean-

ingful with time. There is a reciprocal relation-

ship between the child and environment,

meaning that not only does the child influence

surrounding environments but also environ-

ments influence the biological and social out-

comes of the child. In addition, across time

a child develops cognitive, social, emotional,

psychological, and behavioral competence,

which enables him to assume more complicated

social roles. And, of course, by engaging with

others, a child forms relationships with care-

givers and other family members. Each of these

experiences influences perceptions of sur-

rounding environments and future interactions.

The mesosystem—the relationship between

two or more settings in which a child is

directly involved—also influences develop-

ment (Bronfenbrenner, 1979). A few examples

of mesosystem structures include relationships

between a child’s home and school; home and

places of faith; and among home, welfare, and

health-care institutions. Similar to the micro-

system, the extent to which a child is influ-

enced by mesosystem environments depends

in part on the strength of reciprocal transac-

tions, communication, and knowledge be-

tween settings. For example, the likelihood

that a child will be maltreated has been shown

to be correlated with the extent to which

parents receive social support from surround-

ing environments, including community-level

resources and relationships (Garbarino &

Crouter, 1978). Similarly, it is widely known

that social workers, as well as other service

agency personnel, must provide parents with a

feeling that the community they live in is

willing to communicate and encourage par-

ticipation (Bronfenbrenner, 1979).

Many of the same principles (e.g., recipro-

cal relations, knowledge and communications

between settings) that apply to the mesosystem

also apply to the exosystem (Bronfenbrenner,

1979). However, in contrast to the micro- and

mesosystems, children typically have no direct

involvement or influence on decisions made

in the exosystem. Nevertheless, they are di-

rectly and indirectly affected by decisions, leg-

islation, and tenets set forth by policy makers,

judges, and bureaucratic administrators at mul-

tiple levels of government (local, city, state, and

national levels) and in private organizations.

The macrosystem represents a blueprint

of how a society as a whole decides how it

will live and what and who it will value

(Bronfenbrenner, 1979). Within the macro-

system lie the micro-, meso-, and exosystems,

each of which is influenced by the morals and

values of a society. It is here where state and

federal lawmakers, judges, and international

governmental bodies—such as the United

Nations—produce influential judicial deci-

sions, legislation, and policies.

268 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Ecological Perspective on the Human Rights of Children

Two principles are vital to understanding an

ecological perspective on the human rights of

children (Bruyere & Garbarino, 2009). First,

such a perspective attempts to describe and

explain the direct and indirect influence of the

micro-, meso-, exo- and macrosystems on the

behavior and development of children. Second,

by taking a position on the risks and opportuni-

ties influencing the social environment of chil-

dren and families, an ecological perspective on

the human rights of children attempts to make

the world a better place to live through acknowl-

edging and supporting the United Nations

Convention on the Rights of the Child. It is

our view that only through macro-level

change—that is, through United States ratifica-

tion of the United Nations Convention on the

Rights of the Child—will we be able to perma-

nently support and protect the social and eco-

nomic rights of all children and families living

in the United States, to include youth involved

in the juvenile justice system (see Sherman &

Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

An underlying assumption of the ecologi-

cal perspective on the human rights of children

is this: Rarely is there a direct causal association

between variables that are universal and invari-

ant across contexts (Garbarino, 2008). This can

be expressed as follows: When the question is

“Does X cause Y?” the best answer is almost

always, “It depends.” In other words, what we

think of as “cause and effect” must be consid-

ered in the context of a number of mediating

variables. To illustrate, consider the question:

“Does exposure to community violence cause

youth to behave in a way that places them at risk

for juvenile incarceration?” The answer is: “It

depends.” It differs from youth to youth, and

from community to community, as a function

of both the range and quality of social resources

available to the youth, and a host of other

factors as well (see Beyer, Chapter 1, this

volume). In short, it depends on a number of

mediating variables that include the interaction

of the child with other adults, family function-

ing, income level, neighborhood conditions,

and the national social consensus to place the

best interest of all children and families at the

forefront of the political, social, and economic

agenda. It depends on the net effect of the

accumulation of developmental risks and assets.

Risk Accumulation

One of the essential concepts in understanding

the developmental pathways characterizing

violent young men (and more and more young

women) is “risk accumulation” (Garbarino,

1999, 2001). Rarely, if ever, is a single risk

factor decisive in the development of children.

For one thing, children differ temperamentally

in how and to what degree they will react to

particular experiences. For another, assessing

the impact of particular risk factors depends to

a large extent on the larger context of the

child’s life (see Dym et al., this volume). Thus,

it is the accumulation of risk factors that tells

the story, in counterpoint to the number and

quality of compensatory supports (develop-

mental assets) provided (Garbarino, 2008;

see also Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume).

What is more, the particulars of any one

child’s development reflects the individual

nature and characteristics of that child

(Garbarino, 1999). Thus, two equally trauma-

tized children might react in different ways as a

result of temperamental differences. A passive

child might resort to internalized symptoms; a

more outwardly oriented child might respond

with externalizing symptoms. This gross dif-

ferentiation often distinguishes between girls

and boys in the same abusive family. The boys

are likely be more aggressive and antisocial, the

The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 269

girls more withdrawn and self-destructive (see

Baker, Cunningham, & Harris, Chapter 11,

this volume).

Despite these differences, it is important to

note that when the nature of the trauma is

severe, pervasive, and prolonged enough, the

casualty rates reach virtually 100% (if all forms

of dysfunction are included). For example, a

World War II study of U.S. soldiers revealed

that after 60 days of continuous combat, the

rate of psychiatric “casualty” reached 98%, and

those few who did not break down were

characterized as having psychopathic person-

ality profiles (Grossman & Siddle, 1999). Sim-

ilarly, a study in Chicago revealed that among

abused children living in the most violent

and impoverished neighborhoods who were

exposed to racism, all (100%) exhibited signif-

icant psychiatric and/or academic problems

between the ages of 13 and 15 (Tolan, 1996).

Social Deprivation

A particularly toxic nexus of social risk factors

exists for young males growing up in a social

environment in which they are exposed to a

high level of community violence, racism, lack

of support for education, and economic in-

adequacy (Garbarino, 1999). This high level

of violence constitutes an “urban war zone.”

For example, in a study conducted in Chicago,

Dubrow and Garbarino (1989) found that in

certain neighborhoods, almost two thirds (63%)

of the elementary schoolchildren report having

witnessed a shooting. This is precisely the per-

centage found in studies in war-torn Lebanon

and among Palestinian children during the peak

years of political violence in the West Bank and

Gaza strip (Garbarino & Kostelny, 1996).

Exposure to Traumatic Experiences

In many cases, the high, ambient level of

violence for high-risk youth is compounded

by their personal exposure to trauma, includ-

ing having friends shot and killed, being

injured themselves, and being chronically

exposed to threat and violence at school and

in the neighborhood (Garbarino, 1999). Many

youth who experience this do so without the

benefit of a strong and loving father in their

lives. This lack of a positive strong male role

model leaves them feeling particularly vulner-

able, and thus subject to the influences of the

inner city war zone, as it has many others

(particularly male) in similar circumstances.

Indeed, research shows that a close intimate

relationship with his father helps a boy learn

how to deal with issues of aggression in a

socially appropriate way (Blazei, Iacono, &

McGue, 2008).

Early and Escalating Patterns of Conduct Disorder

Family risk factors and a youth’s experiences as

an abused child contribute to escalating bad

behavior, acting out, aggression and violating

the rights of others during childhood—a pat-

tern of behavior characterized as “childhood-

onset conduct disorder” (Rutter, 1989;

Rutter, Moffitt, & Caspi, 2006). For most

children, the severity of this problematic be-

havior increases in middle school, with neigh-

borhood risk factors contributing to the

serious, long-term effects of this childhood

pattern. As Garbarino (1999) notes, in some

neighborhoods, particularly those with high

levels of social and economic deprivation,

violence, and criminality, approximately 65%

of children with childhood conduct disorder

become seriously violent delinquents, as op-

posed to 15% in safer, more prosocial neigh-

borhoods. In these settings, children are likely

to respond in school to the threat of bullying

with “preemptive assaults” to protect them-

selves and establish themselves as powerful

270 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

figures in their peer groups. This same ap-

proach is likely to be evident on the streets,

where they seek to gain power by carrying a

gun, being willing to engage in reckless be-

havior, engaging in numerous criminal acts,

and taking a role in drug dealing (Garbarino,

1999).

The “War Zone” Mentality

To those who are unfamiliar with the psycho-

logical and social realities of growing up in an

urban war zone, the “normal” adaptations

that youth evidence often seem pathological

(Garbarino, 2001). But in fact, in most cases

they are “normal” adaptations to an “abnormal”

social environment. These manifest in many

ways. For example, Garbarino, Dubrow,

Kostelny, and Pardo (1992) observed young

children in Chicago playing a game they called

“funeral” in the block corner in their kinder-

garten classrooms. Among teenagers these

often manifest as reckless and aggressive bra-

vado, self-medication through drugs and alco-

hol, and participation in gangs as social

vehicles for protection, access to resources,

and identity (see Hawkins, Vashchenko, &

Davis, Chapter 12, this volume). All this is

intensified for youth who have family-level

risk factors, particularly the experience of

abuse and neglect at home.

Many individuals who have grown up in a

war zone convey a fatalistic acceptance of their

world in the sense that they disconnect from

the future (Garbarino, 2001). This “terminal

thinking” stands in contrast to the “future

orientation” that is so important in motivating

and sustaining prosocial behavior in adoles-

cents. These individuals can and do feel a

generalized regret about the violence that is

part of their experience, whether it be in-

flicted on people close to them or that they

have inflicted on others. But they have a

stronger sense of its being a fact of moral

life (as do young men who say, “You just do

what you gotta do”).

The kind of experiences of trauma re-

ported in the lives of children living in

situations of high community violence risks

their developing a “war zone mentality”; this

is particularly the case for boys (Garbarino,

1999). Operating within this framework, the

youth views and responds to the world much

as would a young soldier in a combat zone.

The key elements of this war zone mentality

are extreme sensitivity to threat (“hyper-

vigilance”—being highly attuned to verbal

and physical threats) and a high probability of

responding to perceived threat with aggres-

sion (including preemptive assault—“get

them before they get you”). Less obvious is

the fact that many of the youth living with

this war zone mentality also evidence prob-

lems with depression, fear, and lack of social

trust. These characteristics are apparent in the

lives of youth who live with community

violence during adolescence and young

adulthood, and who are subsequently incar-

cerated or otherwise detained in secure juve-

nile facilities.

Developmental Assets

What positive themes exist in the lives of

youth growing up amidst community vio-

lence? This, of course, depends in part on

the individual temperament and family expe-

rience of specific children (Jaffee, Caspi,

Moffitt, Polo-Tomas, & Taylor, 2007). Some

youth demonstrate some or all of the under-

pinnings of resilience (Losel & Bliesener,

1990; Werner, 1982)—for example, at least

average intellectual functioning, positive and

likeable disposition, responsiveness to thera-

peutic and educational interventions, strong

attachment relationships in the family, and

The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 271

extrafamilial relationships with mentors and

other positive adults. Even amidst high levels

of community violence, these resilience fac-

tors can and are present. All this bodes well for

the future development of youth who commit

acts of delinquent violence and are incarcer-

ated—if they are placed in a secure and thera-

peutic environment, and if their postrelease

environment supports the goals of the thera-

peutic treatment program in which they par-

ticipated while they were detained (Garbarino,

1999; see also Hawkins, Vashchenko, & Davis,

Chapter 12, this volume).

Troubled children will be as “bad” as the

social environment around them (Garbarino,

1999). This highlights the issue of “social

toxicity,” the presence of social and cultural

“poisons” in the world of children and youth,

to which troubled children are especially

susceptible. Just as children with asthma are

most affected by air pollution, so are “psy-

chologically asthmatic” children most affected

by social toxicity (Garbarino, 1995). The key

to rehabilitating children and youth affected

by community violence is to recognize and

understand their trauma (see Beyer, Chapter 1,

this volume), develop relationships with them

that can teach alternatives to cyclical violence,

and embed them in protective relationships

that hold them close to strong adults until

they have healed sufficiently to reapproach

the communities from which they come or

to which they are moving. Improving their

emotional self-regulation and empathy are

the mechanisms for making these important

changes, and there are some critical elements

in such intervention efforts (see Greenwood

& Turner, Chapter 23, this volume), among

them:

& Emotional regulation issues for trauma-

tized youth. Self-medication in the

form of illicit drug use (including

alcohol) is a significant issue for the

population of young men in the

juvenile justice system in the United

States (see Braverman & Morris,

Chapter 3, this volume) and among

many such youth around the world

(United Nations, 2000). This “need”

cannot be ignored or simply pun-

ished. Traumatized youth need

alternative tactics and strategies for

dealing with the arousal issues associ-

ated with trauma. For example, the

use of consciousness-orienting ap-

proaches such as meditation might

be considered as part of any compre-

hensive program (perhaps, in some

cases, in combination with psychiat-

ric use of psychoactive drugs to per-

mit youth to stabilize emotions while

processing trauma). Techniques that

permit processing of traumatic mem-

ories without debilitating emotional

“flooding” (such as eye movement

desensitization) can be part of this effort

as well. These efforts provide the psy-

chological “space” to process memo-

ries and yet protect the youth from

being overwhelmed by reexperiencing

the symptoms of posttraumatic stress

disorder (Shapiro & Forrest, 2004). & Building meaning. The various crises in

“meaningfulness” experienced by

traumatized youth require special at-

tention (Garbarino & Bedard, 1996).

Cooperative, prosocial projects can

assist here (Bruyere, 2009) and have

the additional benefit of allowing

violent youth to be seen as engaged

in restorative justice efforts that ad-

vantage the community and the

youth. Spiritual development activities

(e.g., insight meditation and prayer

groups) can also be useful in this effort

272 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

(Garbarino & Bedard, 1996). Efforts

to involve traumatized and violent

youth in caregiving (e.g., with plants,

animals, and other dependent beings)

can enhance a sense of meaningfulness

but, of course, must be undertaken

withadequateadultsupervision.These

efforts stand in contrast to “get tough”

approaches exemplified in the “Boot

Camp” militaristic model (Welsh &

Farrington, 2007). & Enhancing empathy. Some adolescent

rehabilitation programs have involved

“victim awareness” programming

to build empathy of those affected

by the behavior of violent youth

(Garbarino, 1999). These efforts can

be helpful, but only after the victim-

ization experienced by the trauma-

tized and violent youth has been

acknowledged and processed. An im-

portant caveat comes from programs

attempting to teach “empathy skills”

to adult inmates. While “normal”

inmates profit from this learning

experience (e.g., improved relation-

ships), individuals with psychopathic

profiles may approach such programs

as an opportunity to improve their

“manipulation skills” (Hare, 1996).

Understanding the depth of any psy-

chopathology in youth involved in

programming is essential to avoid

such problems and requires sophisti-

cated psychiatric and psychological

assessment. & Careful management of the peer process.

Efforts to rehabilitate delinquent

youth can be counterproductive if

these interventions fall into one or

both of the following traps: First, if

they rely on peer process for influ-

ence and change in groups in which a

significant minority (perhaps 30%)

are exhibiting antisocial beliefs, rhet-

oric, and behavior, the net effect is

likely to be a worsening of the

behavior of less delinquent youth,

rather than an improvement in the

most delinquent youth. This is likely

because the youth process models

validate negative images (Garbarino,

1999). The principal antidote to this

problem is some mixture of powerful

control of group process and language

by prosocial adults, and systematic

group composition that limits the

disproportionate involvement of the

most delinquent youth.

Second, intervention can be

counterproductive if it focuses on

“lecture” models, particularly when

these lectures involve emotionally in-

tense and threatening rhetoric. A

prime example is the “Scared Straight”

program (Petrosino, Turpin-Petrosino,

& Buehler, 2003), which employs

“hard core” adult criminals to lecture

delinquent and “predelinquent” youth

(often accompanied by threatening

language and gestures). Research re-

veals this approach may indeed “scare”

more prosocial and sensitive youth,

who are likely not at risk for long-

term patterns of serious delinquent

behavior anyway. But it serves to

increase the severity of antisocial be-

havior of youth already involved in

delinquent behavior (Petrosino et al.,

2003) and thus places them at height-

ened risk for more serious delinquent

behavior. These youth tend to inter-

pret the intense messages from the

adult criminals not as “I am scared

of the consequences of my current

activities so that I will curtail my

The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 273

delinquent behavior,” but rather as

“I am going to have to be even

tougher to survive in prison.”

CREATING STRONGER SOCIAL SUPPORT NETWORKS

Having illustrated the psychological and so-

cial realities of growing up in an urban war

zone and the normal adaptations to abnormal

social environments, these negative forces

must be countered with a dynamic look at

how international and national influences

could enhance the social environment of

youth in the juvenile justice system re-

entering the community (see also Hawkins,

Vashchenko, & Davis, Chapter 12, this vol-

ume). Toward that end, the moment has

come to advocate not only for the ratification

of the Convention on the Rights of Women

(not addressed in this text) but also for the

ratification of the United Nations Conven-

tion on the Rights of the Child. These two

macrosystemic conventions seek to advance

the personhood of the individual and the

common good of the family environment

by providing social supports for advancing

the positive development of all children.

In the section that follows, we present

the rationale for adopting an international

framework, which has been ratified now by

193 United Nations members—the United

Nations Convention on the Rights of the

Child (1989). It is relevant to note that the

United States is one of only two countries

that have failed to adhere to international

social consensus, and therefore have refused

to ratify the Convention (Bedard, 2007).

Considering the number of youth entering

and reentering the juvenile justice system, we

believe it is time to reconsider the benefits of

ratification. In addition, we believe that

when used as a framework to guide child

development, as well as policy and decision

making at all levels of society, the negative

environments contributing to the recidivism

of youth involved in the juvenile justice

system will improve.

The United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child

Through the drafting of a series of human

rights declarations (most notably the UN

Declaration on Human Rights), the United

Nations Convention on the Rights of the

Child (1989) evolved out of the recognition

that many children throughout the world

were experiencing extreme hardships and

consequently lacked the necessary resources

vital to positive youth development. The

Convention is unique in that it is the first

legally binding human rights document to

recognize children as autonomous human

beings, born with inalienable rights and de-

velopmental needs that evolve with age

and maturity (Hart, Price-Cohen, Farrell-

Erickson, & Flekkoy, 2001). More simply,

it is the first international legal document

to view children as human beings worthy

of the same respect and dignity granted to

adults in other human rights treaties (Melton,

2005b). The 39 substantive articles contained

within the Convention are interconnected

to guide governments in drafting policies

to empower all children and families with

the supports and resources vital to positive

youth development. These articles encom-

pass four principles: the best interest of the child,

protection, survival and development, and partici-

pation (Hart et al., 2001; see also Sherman &

Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

The Convention is a preventive docu-

ment, meant to provide the same social sup-

ports and developmental assets that we have

274 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

already illustrated are absent in the lives of

many youth caught in the juvenile justice

system (Hammarberg, 2008; Hawkins &

Fraser, 1983; Howe, 2008; UNICEF, 1998).

In fact, research suggests that these same social

supports and assets are absent in the lives of

50% of today’s youth, across all sociodemo-

graphic groups in the United States (Benson,

2007). With roughly 100,000 youth caught in

the juvenile justice system (Office of Juvenile

Justice and Delinquency Prevention, 2008)

there is truly more we can do. We believe the

answers to countering these negative forces lie

not in the legal power of the Convention, but

in the ability of its principles to guide policy

and decision making in doing what is in

the best interest of all children and families

(Melton, 2005b).

While Articles 37 and 40 specifically man-

date nations to draft juvenile justice and re-

integration policy, the articles within the

Convention provide a holistic approach to

preventing the factors associated with juvenile

delinquency by supporting the creation of an

asset rich environment, which is likely to

protect and promote the positive development

of all children (Hammarberg, 2008; Howe,

2008). Gary Melton (1996; 2005b), who was

influential in drafting the Convention, asserts

that the Convention provides a framework

for protecting the family (e.g., Articles 5,

19, and 27) environment through the provi-

sion of resources and supports known to

enhance parental care and positive youth de-

velopment. In addition, he, as well as others

(Hammarberg, 2008; Howe, 2008; Limber &

Flekkoy, 1995), find that the Convention pro-

vides a framework for creating healthy and

supportive communities amenable to positive

youth development.

As Eleanor Roosevelt maintained during

a speech delivered to the United Nations

in 1958:

Where, after all, do human rights be-

gin? In small places, close to home—

so close and so small that they cannot

be seen on any maps of the world. Yet

they are the world of the individual

person; the neighborhood he lives in;

the school or college he attends; the

factory, farm, or office where he

works. Such are the places where every

man, woman, and child seeks equal

justice, equal opportunity, equal dig-

nity without discrimination. Unless

these rights have meaning there, they

have little meaning anywhere. With-

out concerned citizen action to uphold

them close to home, we shall look in

vain for progress in the larger world.

(March 27, 1958)

Positive Youth Development and Thriving

Theoretically grounded in Bronfenbrenner’s

ecology of human development, positive

youth development (PYD) seeks to identify

the strengths of youth, prevent risk behavior,

and promote positive outcomes (see Lerner et

al., Chapter 5, this volume). PYD recognizes

youth as active participants in their own

development, and also recognizes that all

youth need an asset-rich environment filled

with high levels of support, experiences, and

opportunities. Healthy relationships with re-

lated, as well as nonrelated adults, are recog-

nized as one of the principal supports known

to enhance positive outcomes (Benson,

2007). Thus, PYD recognizes multiple con-

texts as influential to child development.

Among these are the family, nonrelated

adults, and a safe and supportive community.

As we will see, when a child’s environment is

filled with the necessary supports, experien-

ces, and opportunities, the assets present in

their lives increase and youth thrive (Benson,

The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 275

Scales, Hamilton, & Sesma, 2006; Butts,

Mayer, & Ruth, 2005).

Integrated within the paradigm of PYD is

the concept of thriving (Benson et al., 2006).

Lerner, Brentano, Dowling, and Anderson

(2002) define thriving as a process of “adaptive

developmental regulation which results in

young people who move beyond their own

self-interest and place value on, and commit

to, action supportive of a social system pro-

moting equity, democracy, social justice, and

personal freedom” (p 22).

Thriving is seen as a healthy change pro-

cess resulting in developmental regulation,

which serves to counter many of the at-risk

behaviors and negative outcomes (e.g., violat-

ing the rights of others, incarceration, control)

experienced by youth in the juvenile justice

system, moving them closer to reaching their

true personhood (Lerner et al., 2002)—a per-

sonhood espoused by the Convention (Hart,

2009; Melton, 2005b). Thriving also asserts

that a sense of personal meaning and empathy

for others is present in the lives of youth.

Thriving indicators include school success,

display of leadership, helping others, maintain-

ing good health, delay of gratification, valuing

diversity, and overcoming adversity; outcomes

include youth who develop into citizens who

contribute to self, family, community, and

society. However, this developmental process

called thriving requires “systems that integrate

individual and ecological developmental

assets” (Lerner et al., 2002, p. 22).

Building Strong Families and Communities

One of the greatest threats encountered by

youth reentering communities from the juve-

nile justice system is the availability of healthy

social support networks in the communi-

ties they reenter (Garbarino, 1999; see also

Hawkins, Vashchenko, & Davis, Chapter 12,

this volume). Too often, these youth are reen-

tering the same socially toxic environments,

exposing them to the same factors that con-

tributed to their incarceration in the first

place. Factors identified as contributing to

these socially toxic environments are a break-

down in connections to nonrelated adult role

models, the values and norms of a community,

and the fragmenting of a family’s social support

system. We believe the factors associated with

countering these toxic forces, and two models

for promoting the human rights of children,

are manifested in the framework of Strong

Communities and the outcomes associated

with the Search Institute’s 40 Developmental

Assets (Benson, 2007; see Figure 13.1).

Strong Communities (SCs) Meeting the human rights of children and preventing ju-

venile delinquency require the functioning of

a healthy family nurturing a child within the

safety and support of an asset-rich commu-

nity (Benson, 2007; Melton, 2005a, 2005b).

Research shows that parents who are con-

nected to vital resources and supports are

also empowered with the parenting skills

that provide a home conducive to positive

youth development (Garbarino & Crouter,

1978; Sroufe, Egeland, Carlson, & Collins,

2005). These homes are marked by safety,

stability, love, and affirmation. Moreover, these

same resources and supports have been shown

to reduce parental stress, thus allowing for

greater physical and psychological investment

in children. To illustrate, Sroufe and colleagues

(2005) followed the progress of 182 at-risk

families across time, identifying protective fac-

tors influencing parenting skills under high

levels of economic and social stress. Specifically,

those parents who provided a home conducive

to positive youth development also had a strong

support system as well as a greater knowledge

276 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Figure 13.1 40 Developmental Assets for Adolescents (ages 12–18)

The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 277

and ability of parenting and were able to pro-

vide a stable home environment.

The work of Clemson University’s Insti-

tute on Family and Neighborhood Life (2009)

and its Strong Communities initiative is a

prime example of how change can occur

through the mobilization of an entire commu-

nity dedicated to providing every family with a

strong social support system, knowledge of

effective parenting practices, and resources to

help parents provide a positive home environ-

ment (Melton, 2008; Kimbrough-Melton &

Campbell, 2008). Developed from the re-

cognition that risk accumulation (particularly

child abuse and neglect) undermines family

functioning and child well-being, the Institute

developed a plan to mobilize multiple sectors of

the community. Its two core elements include

community development and the provision of

social supports for families. As we proceed, you

will recognize that many of the same principles

espoused by the ecological perspective on the

human rights of children are integrated into the

Strong Communities framework. We should

also note that the Convention is the driving

force behind this initiative (Melton, 2008).

Supported by a long-term endowment

from the Duke Foundation, the community

development component of Strong Commu-

nities began with a grassroots mobilization of

citizens brought together to identify mecha-

nisms for “reaching out” to children and

families (Kimbrough-Melton & Campbell,

2008). More specifically, nearly 5,000 volun-

teers have participated in reaching out to

children and families (Melton, 2008). The

goal has been to let every child and family

know that “we see you and you are valued.”

Community development has moved be-

yond relying on the child welfare system as the

sole system of economic and social support, to

using multiple sectors of the community to

create stronger communities and families

(Kimbrough-Melton & Campbell, 2008).

Strong Communities has been able to rely

on numerous faith-based organizations,

health-care institutions, businesses and city

personnel, as well as others in the donation

of facilities and services and supports. In a

sense, Strong Communities has moved beyond

the “village rhetoric,” toward action and prog-

ress leading to safer and stronger communities.

With approximately one fifth of families

living in the Greenville, South Carolina, area

(where Clemson University is located) report-

ing feeling isolated, the Family Support com-

ponent of Strong Communities provides

perhaps the greatest asset to preventing child

abuse, violence, and its corresponding out-

come, juvenile delinquency (Kimbrough-

Melton & Campbell, 2008). Volunteers have

been mobilized to identify families with chil-

dren under age 6 to initiate the offering of a

“family friend” and, if needed, a family advo-

cate. Most recently, volunteers and organiza-

tions have committed to providing supports

and resources for family activity centers.

The family activity centers are places where

parents can go to meet other parents (e.g.,

while children play or a more formal gathering

during “Parents’ Night Out”), engage in par-

ent–child activities, and receive information

regarding primary human services as well as

financial education and mentoring.

Child participation (which meets Articles

12–15 and 31 of the Convention) is also inte-

grated within SCs. For example, playgrounds

and playgroups have been developed to bring

children together (Kimbrough-Melton &

Campbell, 2008). In addition, numerous volun-

teers, such as local firefighters, have committed

to mentoring children and teen mothers, who

are at an increased risk of mistreating their

children. This one service is significant to pre-

venting juvenile delinquency. To illustrate, ana-

lyzing data from an urban sample of 2,226 youth,

278 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Molnar and his colleagues (Molnar, Cerda,

Roberts, & Buka, 2008) found greater social

support to be negatively related to aggression and

juvenile delinquency.

While in its preliminary stages of evalua-

tion, four outcomes are expected from on-

going evaluations (Clemson University,

Institute on Family and Neighborhood

Life, 2009). First, it is expected that the

Greenville community will recognize that

the well-being and protection of all children

is a fundamental personal responsibility. Sec-

ond, the increase in social connections is

expected to enhance perceived quality of

life and strengthen the sense of community

among citizens. Third, an increase in parental

participation is expected to result in greater

academic achievement for youth as well as

family satisfaction. Finally, the experience of

community support is expected to influence

parental beliefs that they have the power to

protect their children as well as strengthen

their communities. In turn, these beliefs are

expected to reduce rates of child abuse and

neglect as well as other problems of child

development and family life.

We believe Strong Communities serves as

the foundation for meeting the human rights

of children because it creates a complex net-

work of social support that appears vital to

protecting children and preventing juvenile

delinquency. In fact, a study evaluating the

strength of 112 communities in the United

States found the number of community

strengths to be related to positive outcomes

(Blyth & Leffert, 1995). That is, the commu-

nities found to have strong families, schools,

community involvement, and positive peer

influence were also less likely to have youth

engaging in at-risk behavior. Using step-wise

regression to account for the variance in

problem behaviors predicting community

strengths, the researchers found that the model

explained an impressive 55% of the variance in

outcomes. It was concluded that strong com-

munities provide youth and families with

caring, safe, and supportive environments;

relationships that value youth; and opportuni-

ties for involvement, and set clear expectations

for behavior.

The 40 Developmental Assets The Search Institute, a nonprofit organization based in

Minneapolis, Minnesota, has surveyed ap-

proximately three million students in grades

K–12 across the United States (Benson, 2007).

Consequently, it has identified 40 develop-

mental assets vital to positive youth develop-

ment (see Figure 13.1). These assets account

for the relationships, experiences, and oppor-

tunities present in the lives of youth. In

line with the Convention’s emphasis on a

child’s evolving capacities (Article 3)—or

functionally valued behaviors and competen-

cies across development—the asset framework

is designed to capture the psychological and

emotional life of youth. Research strongly

suggests that the more assets accumulated,

the more likely youth are to thrive and

grow to their true potential. Conversely, the

fewer assets accumulated the more youth

tend to do poorly. We should note that

some juvenile justice scholars (Barton,

2004; Butts et al., 2005) also recognize the

significance of the asset framework as a mech-

anism for preventing juvenile delinquency

and recidivism—a mechanism that is

enhanced within the context of a healthy

community.

The 40 developmental assets are divided

into 20 external (ecological) and 20 internal

(individual) assets (Scales & Leffert, 2004). Assets

within the external categories include Support,

Empowerment, Boundaries and Expectations, and

Constructive Use of Time. These external assets

account for relationships, experiences, and

The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 279

opportunities present in the lives of youth.

Moreover, they align with the Convention’s

emphasis that all children have the right to be

anchored in nurturing families, safe communi-

ties, and developmentally stimulating schools.

The internal assets include a Commitment to

Learning, Positive Values, Social Competencies, and

Positive Identity (Scales & Leffert, 2004). These

internal assets represent the Convention’s

emphasis on a child’s evolving capacities—

the growth of functionally valued competen-

cies and behaviors across development. We

broadly define these as the 5Cs: competence,

character, connection, confidence, and caring

(Lerner et al., 2002), or lately, the 6Cs, includ-

ing commitment (see Lerner et al., Chapter 5,

this volume). The accumulation of internal

assets is not inherent in children but rather

reflects the extent to which they are anchored

in external relationships, experiences, and

opportunities.

Regarding the measurement of these con-

structs, the Search Institute’s Attitudes and

Behaviors survey has been shown to be a

reliable and valid instrument in evaluating

the level of assets present in the lives of youth,

as well as thriving and risk behavior (Benson,

2002). Moreover, it has been invaluable in

identifying community strengths to mobilize

communities to enhance the positive develop-

ment of children (Blyth & Leffert, 1995). In

terms of being a reliable indicator, Scales,

Benson, Leffert, and Blyth (2000) found the

asset framework to explain between 10–43%

of the variance in thriving indicators, even

after controlling for demographic variables. In

addition, the asset framework has also been

found to be useful in predicting risk behavior.

Other research has found the asset framework

to account for as much as 66% of the variance

in their composite risk index (e.g., alcohol,

tobacco, illegal drugs, sexual intercourse,

depression–suicide, antisocial behavior,

violence, school problems, driving and alco-

hol, and gambling) (Leffert et al., 1998).

Having established the usefulness of the

assets in predicting thriving and risk behavior,

what does research tell us about the level of

assets youth experience, in general? Moreover,

what does this research tell us about the accu-

mulation of assets in preventing juvenile

delinquency?

Level of Assets in the Life of Today’s Youth There is reason to be concerned about the level of assets present in the lives

of today’s youth. Based on an aggregate sample

of 148,189 students in grades 6–12, the Search

Institute (Benson, 2007) found 17% of youth

experiencing 0–10 assets, placing them at risk

for adverse outcomes, 42% experiencing 11–20

assets, making them vulnerable to adverse out-

comes, 32% experiencing an adequate amount

of assets with 21–30 assets, and only 8% of

youth experiencing 31–40 assets, thus consid-

ered to be thriving. These numbers suggest

that approximately 50% of today’s youth are at

risk or vulnerable to many of the same risk

behaviors exhibited by youth involved in the

juvenile justice system. These findings are sup-

ported by previous studies that have found

similar results, suggesting our children and

families are not receiving the necessary social

supports required to promote positive youth

development (Benson, 2007). Moreover, it can

be argued that these patterns of behavior sug-

gest there are macro-level influences affecting

the behavior of youth in the juvenile justice

system who do not appear to be so different

from all other youth (Tulkin, 1972).

The Power of Assets to Prevent Risk and Juvenile Delinquency The study of assets has shown their power to prevent the same

risk behaviors that place many youth at risk

for juvenile delinquency (Scales & Leffert,

280 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

2004). To illustrate, results from the 2003

Search Institute survey (Benson, 2007) that

included roughly 148,000 students revealed

large discrepancies in risk behavior between

students with low level of assets and those with

high level of assets. Of the students found to

be at risk (those experiencing 10 or fewer

assets), approximately 38% reported using

illicit drugs three or more times in the past

year. In contrast, only 1% of thriving students,

or students experiencing 31–40 assets, re-

ported using illicit drugs. Similarly, 62% of

at-risk students reported being engaged in

three or more violent acts in the past year

compared to 6% of thriving peers. Finally,

45% compared to 3% reported using alcohol

three or more times in the past 30 days.

Using Search Institute data, DeCarvalho

(2007) found thriving behavior and asset levels

to be negatively related to juvenile delin-

quency in a sample of 200 Hispanic students.

Specifically, he found that as the number of

assets accumulated, thriving behavior in-

creased and juvenile delinquency decreased.

In another study, which included a sample of

462 Hispanic and African American students

from a predominantly impoverished commu-

nity, Scales and his colleagues (2000) also

found an accumulation of assets to be predic-

tive of thriving behavior. That is, those youth

experiencing 20–40 assets were found to be

succeeding in school, valuing diversity, main-

taining good health, and delaying gratification,

and were also involved in empathy-related

activities helping others. It was concluded

that these youth were also less likely to engage

in juvenile delinquency than peers with lower

levels of assets.

Researchers (e.g., see Dukes & Stein, 2001;

Leffert et al., 1998) have found several specific

assets to be negatively related to delinquency.

In a study of 13,207 students using the asset

framework to test social control theory, which

suggests that delinquency is related to a lack of

social connection and deficiencies in internal

assets, Dukes and Stein (2001) found five assets

to be predictive of protection from deviant

behavior. These assets included high self-

esteem, positive school attitudes, prosocial ac-

tivity, purpose in life, and prosocial bonds. In

contrast, they found fear of harm, victimiza-

tion, and abuse in the home to be risk factors

associated with delinquency. Additionally, con-

trolling for demographic variables, Leffert et al.

(1998) found positive peer influence, personal

restraint, school engagement, time at home,

resistance skills, and peaceful conflict resolution

to account for 39% of the variance in explaining

protection from antisocial behavior. What is

clear from these studies is that the relationships,

positive experiences, and opportunities present

in the lives of youth buffer them from engaging

in behavior placing them at risk for juvenile

delinquency.

Several of the asset categories have also

been found to be important predictors across

ethnic groups (Native American, White,

African American, Hispanic, Asian). In an

aggregate sample of approximately 218,000

students in grades 6–12, the Search Institute

(2003) found boundaries and expectations,

commitment to learning, positive values,

and social competencies significantly related

to antisocial behavior, a predictor of juvenile

delinquency. That is, those students who were

provided boundaries and expectations within

surrounding environments and had the inter-

nal assets of a commitment to learning, posi-

tive values, and social competencies (total

assets from 22 to 40) were less likely to engage

in antisocial behavior than peers who lacked

this particular constellation of assets. As im-

plied, not all individual assets are equally rele-

vant to each ethnically diverse group; the

accumulation of assets, however, appears to

protect youth from risk behavior and

The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 281

encourage positive youth development and

thriving (Benson, 2002).

Assets and Economic Equality

Finally, economic equality plays a role in pre-

venting juvenile delinquency and promoting

positive youth development. Although neither

poverty nor affluence by itself causes either

juvenile delinquency or positive youth devel-

opment, economic circumstances do matter to

both outcomes, and thus economic equality is

a goal worth setting.

Benson (2007) reports that, on average,

youth living in poverty experience three

fewer assets than more affluent peers. Thus,

poverty and its socially toxic correlates deny

children the right to accumulate assets—

assets we have already illustrated are vital to

preventing juvenile delinquency and pro-

moting positive youth development (see

Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3, this vol-

ume; Jacobs, Miranda-Julian, & Kaplan,

Chapter 10, this volume). The pathway of

positive outcomes is affected by poverty (in

particular chronic, pervasive, intergenera-

tional poverty) because, given the stresses it

places on parents and communities, it denies

children the right to feel safe and supported

(Garbarino, 1999). For example, as we have

already discussed, parental stress and lack of

social support is strongly related to mal-

treatment and neglect (Brooks-Gunn &

Duncan, 1997; Brown, Cohen, Johnson, &

Salzinger, 1998; Sroufe et al., 2005). In ad-

dition, poverty dictates where parents can

live, and, for many children, this means in

communities in which they are exposed to, or

victims of, neighborhood violence. What is

more, they will be denied access to quality

early education programs and effective K–12

institutions, profoundly influencing develop-

mental, behavioral, and life outcomes.

There is an internal, psychological cost to

poverty as well. It sends the message that

“within this land of wealth and social oppor-

tunity you are excluded.” Garbarino (1999)

highlights the psychological toll of poverty

during an interview with a young man incar-

cerated for life for murder. “Warren,” asks

Garbarino (1999, p. 174), “when you were

growing up, were you poor or regular?” War-

ren’s answers suggests feelings of shame and

inadequacy—feelings that neutralize the devel-

opment of internal assets related to positive

identity. The tragic outcome, of course, is

youth who are willing to do anything to feel

“regular,” including gunning another human

being down for material gain. These feelings of

economic inequality perpetuate the cycle of

violence, neighborhood drug dealing, gang

activity, and subsequent juvenile incarceration.

CONCLUSIONS

Having explained the associations between

child well-being, community violence, and

juvenile delinquency, we reflect as follows:

The founders of the nation stated that

the basic purpose of government is to

secure basic human rights, unali-

enable rights. . . . This is the appeal

for those who would insist that public

policy . . . protect and nurture the

children of teenage mothers, that

dangerous neighborhoods be restored

to safety so children can escape trauma

and abuse, and that, as economic

structures change, the needs of chil-

dren remain paramount. (Garbarino,

2006, p. 201)

This is truly a moral endeavor. And as

former President Jimmy Carter (2005) asserts,

282 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

it is this endeavor that will return the United

States to being “seen as the unswerving cham-

pion of freedom and human rights, both among

our own citizens and within the global

community” (p. 200). Moreover, it will restore

“America . . . as the focal point around which

other nations of all kinds could marshal to

combat threats to security and to enhance

the quality of our common environment” (p.

200). In this context, we believe that by uphold-

ing the moral virtues on which the United

States was founded, we can serve as a model

nationforeradicating the socially toxic environ-

ments contributing to juvenile delinquency.

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The Developmental Impact of Community Violence 285

14

CHAPTER

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System

KATHLEEN B. BOUNDY AND JOANNE KARGER

T he duty to provide students an adequate

and equitable public education rests

largely with the states and depends on the

education clause of the state constitution, and

to a lesser extent, state legislation, such as

compulsory education statutes and school

finance laws. The nature and extent of the

right to an adequate, quality public educa-

tion, including in detention and juvenile

correctional facilities for children and youth

adjudicated delinquent or in need of super-

vision, varies from state to state based on an

array of factors related to a complex web of

federal and state laws and policies. Only

20 states recognize education as a fundamen-

tal right (usually grounded in the education

clause of their state constitutions) that, bar-

ring a compelling state interest, guarantees all

eligible school-age students a public educa-

tion (Blumenson & Nilsen, 2003). Even in

these states, the right to education for chil-

dren and youth in delinquent facilities often

translates into little more than the minimally

required hours of class instruction and a

fragmented, limited curriculum bearing little

relationship to a quality education that pre-

pares students for learning and using higher

order skills so they may successfully

reintegrate into their communities. In too

many states, the nature and extent of this

education provided in delinquent facilities

depends on the youth’s age, state of residence,

status as a student with a disability in need of

special education, the charge for which the

youth was adjudicated, whether the youth

was charged as a juvenile or an adult, and the

youth’s placement.

The first juvenile court, which marked

the beginning of the juvenile justice system,

was established in the late 19th century by

reformers who believed that children could

be rehabilitated because their behaviors and

actions were attributable to immature stages

of physical, mental, and moral development

(Illinois Juvenile Court Act of 1899). Under

the parens patriae doctrine, the state assumed

the role of parent responsible for changing

children’s behaviors and overseeing the cor-

rection of bad habits, lack of moral judgment,

and poor values (Gilbert, Grimm, & Parnham,

2001). The focus on rehabilitation and reform

continued to evolve, culminating in 1974

with the Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention Act (JJDP) (42 U.S.C. § 5601 et seq.), which established the Office of Juvenile

Justice and Delinquency Prevention (OJJDP)

286

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

to support local and state delinquency preven-

tion efforts to improve the system of juvenile

justice.

The beneficent intent of the statute, how-

ever, has been seriously limited by “zero-

tolerance” policies and a more punitive

approach to juvenile-perpetrated crime as a

result of a significant rise between 1988 and

1994 of primarily drug- and weapons–related

violence in urban neighborhoods and schools

(National Council of Juvenile and Family

Court Judges, 2005). Changes were reflected

in state and federal laws (e.g., Gun-Free

Schools Act (20 U.S.C §7151)) and unduly harsh and inflexible school push-out policies

and practices, which contributed to statistical

disparities by race, ethnicity, low-income

status, and disability among youth referred,

adjudicated, detained, and incarcerated in the

juvenile justice system.

Given the rehabilitative purpose of the

juvenile justice system (Snyder & Sickmund,

2006; Twomey, 2008), the duty to educate

school-age youth in delinquent facilities has

been generally accepted as critical (Twomey,

2008) and is, to some extent, reflected in state

laws (Griffin, Szymanski, & King 2006). A

survey of the educational delivery systems

across the states shows that they are uneven

and inconsistent with the standards estab-

lished by federal law (Blomberg, Pesta, &

Valentine, 2008). While states have the au-

thority to enact and implement legislation

requiring higher standards than mandated by

federal law, they must, at a minimum, meet

the federal standards.

This chapter sets forth the legal require-

ments for educating youth, primarily in de-

linquent facilities, based on two key federal

laws: Title I of the Elementary and Secondary

Education Act (ESEA), also referred to as the

No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB) (20 U.S.C.

§6301 et seq.), and the Individuals with

Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) (20 U.S.C.

§1401 et seq.), both of which have been amended to embrace standards-based educa-

tion reform. Looking through the lens of the

right of all school-age youth to a quality

education, we then analyze educational ser-

vices to youth who are primarily being edu-

cated in delinquent facilities (i.e., detention

and juvenile correctional facilities). We exam-

ine the education of these youth: (a) before

involvement in the juvenile justice system,

when “at-risk” youth are susceptible to school

policies and practices that “push” them out of

school and into the juvenile court system;

(b) during confinement in detention or juve-

nile correctional facilities, when youth, both

pre- and postadjudication, are denied quality

education to which they are entitled due to

various barriers that impede the effective

delivery of educational services; and (c) after

confinement in detention or juvenile correc-

tional facilities, as they struggle to transition

successfully back into school and reintegrate

into their community.

CHARACTERISTICS OF YOUTH IN THE JUVENILE JUSTICE SYSTEM

During the 2007–2008 school year, approxi-

mately 272,943 youth received educational

services in state and locally operated detention

facilities, and approximately 99,915 youth

were educated in juvenile correctional facili-

ties, including secure and nonsecure facilities

for adjudicated youth (Bardack, Seidel, &

Lampron, 2010). Placements of youth in se-

cure detention facilities are typically shorter

than those in juvenile correctional facilities.

Data collected by OJJDP (2008) indicate that

only 15% of detained youth remain so after

60 days; by 90 days, less than 10% remain. In

contrast, after one full year, 12% of committed

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 287

youth remain confined, predominantly in ju-

venile correctional facilities.

The overrepresentation of students of

color, in particular African American males,

in the juvenile justice system has been exten-

sively documented (Bilchik, 2008; Gavazzi,

Russell, & Khurana, 2009; Piquero, 2008).

In 2008, while African Americans comprised

43% of the population of youth in juvenile

detention and corrections facilities (Bardack

et al., 2010), they comprised only 15% of youth

in the general juvenile population (OJJDP,

2009). Approximately 84% of youth in deten-

tion and juvenile correctional facilities in 2008

were male (Bardack et al., 2010). Many explan-

ations have been suggested for these racial/

ethnic disparities, including the impact of racial

bias on the manner in which schools and the

juvenile justice system process complaints

against youth of color, particularly with respect

to less serious offenses, and the confounding

effects of race/ethnicity with other factors such

as poverty (Piquero, 2008; see also Bell &

Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume).

Students with disabilities are also dis-

proportionately represented among delin-

quent youth. Quinn and colleagues found

that approximately 33% of a national sample

of youth in juvenile corrections facilities was

identified as receiving special education ser-

vices under IDEA (Quinn, Rutherford,

Leone, Osher, & Poirier, 2005); of the dis-

ability categories represented, emotional dis-

turbance accounted for the highest percentage

(48%), with specific learning disabilities (39%)

and mental retardation (10%) being the next

most commonly identified.

Research has also highlighted the preva-

lence of mental health disorders among youth

in the juvenile justice system (Cocozza &

Skowyra, 2000; Teplin, Abram, McClelland,

Dulcan, & Mericle, 2002; see also Braverman

& Morris, Chapter 3, this volume).

THE FEDERAL REQUIREMENTS FOR A QUALITY EDUCATION

FOR DELINQUENT AND DETAINED YOUTH

Title I of the Elementary and Secondary Edu-

cation Act (ESEA), also referred to as the No

Child Left Behind Act (NCLB) (20 U.S.C.

§6301 et seq.), and the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) (20 U.S.C.

§1401 et seq.) are two key federal laws establish- ing quality education for all youth. Title I

allocates fundsfor improving academic achieve-

ment of disadvantaged students, while IDEA

does the same for students with disabilities.

These statutes also provide specific funds for

educating children and youth, whether in

short- or long-term detention or juvenile cor-

rectional facilities. The funds are accompanied

by mandates for state and local agencies, which,

read in conjunction with federal civil rights

statutes based on race, ethnicity, national origin,

language, and disability, provide greater protec-

tion and critical handles for implementing and

enforcing the rights of these children and youth

to receive a high-quality public education (see

Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964; Equal

Educational Opportunities Act, Section 504 of

the Rehabilitation Act of 1973).

Given the high rates of youth with dis-

abilities and in need of special education

among youth in the juvenile justice system,

and a highly prescriptive federal statute, edu-

cational advocacy has focused almost exclu-

sively on IDEA. However, Title I, Part A of

ESEA/NCLB sets the bar for all students and

all schools, and applies as well to youth in

delinquent facilities. It is thus the essential

starting point for assessing and improving

the education these youth receive. In addition,

Title I, Part D provides supplemental funding

and obligations for educating neglected or

delinquent youth.

288 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Title I of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act

As the largest federal education program,

Title I Part A funds are distributed to schools

based on the population of students from

low-income families. More than 12 million

eligible children and youth in about 48,000

schools receive services under the Title I

basic grants ($14 billion) that are intended

to help meet the educational needs of

children and youth who are most at risk

of failing to meet challenging state aca-

demic content and achievement standards.

In addition, there are almost a half million

“neglected” or “delinquent” children and

youth, who are educated within their states’

child welfare or juvenile justice systems or

who participate in programs serving students

“at risk” of dropping out of school. These

programs may also receive financial assistance

to supplement their educational costs under

Title I, Part D/NCLB, discussed below.

Title I, Part A Regardless of state law var- iables, federal law requires that children and

youth confined in detention or juvenile cor-

rectional facilities be provided a high-quality

education offering them opportunities to

achieve the same standards set for all public

school students. Congress expressly declared

that the purpose of Title I is “to ensure that

all children have a fair, equal and significant

opportunity to obtain a high-quality educa-

tion and to reach, at a minimum, proficiency

on challenging state academic achievement

standards and state academic assessments”

(20 U.S.C. § 6301)(emphasis added; footnote omitted). States, school districts, and schools

are expected to achieve this outcome by,

among other requirements, “ensuring . . .

curriculum and instructional materials are

aligned with challenging State academic

standards . . . ”; “meeting the educational

needs of low-achieving children . . . neglec-

ted or delinquent children . . . ”; “providing

children an enriched and accelerated educa-

tional program . . . ”; “ensuring the access of

children to effective . . . instructional strate-

gies and challenging academic content . . . ”;

and “significantly elevating the quality of

instruction by providing staff . . . with sub-

stantial opportunities for professional devel-

opment . . . ”(20 U.S.C. § 6301). Furthermore, all public elementary and

secondary schools and school districts (re-

gardless of whether they receive Title I,

Part A monies) are accountable for making

sufficient, continuous improvement toward

the goal of ensuring that all students reach

“proficiency,” as defined by their respective

state, by 2013–2014 (20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(2) (F)). The system for assessing and reporting on

school achievement levels and for determining

whether schools are, in fact, making adequate

yearly progress (AYP) toward that 100% goal

includes state and locally operated correctional

facilities serving children and youth adjudi-

cated as delinquent or in need of supervision

(20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(2)(B)). There are no exceptions.

Title I, Part A sets out a basic framework,

at the school, district, and state levels, for

ensuring that all students, and disadvantaged

students in particular, become proficient in

the skills and knowledge identified in their

state adopted standards of what all children

should learn. As a condition of receiving

these very substantial amounts of federal

funding under Title I, Part A, each state

educational agency (SEA) must have a single

statewide system of accountability (20 U.S.C.

§ 6311(b)(2)(A)) with a goal of reducing the achievement gap between higher and

lower achieving students, regardless of their

race, ethnicity, limited English proficiency,

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 289

economic disadvantage, gender or disability

(20 U.S.C. §§ 6301(2)–(3)). The Act requires states to set annual measurable outcomes

(AMOs), including student performance

and rates of participation on state assessments

in English language arts and mathematics, and

on academic indicators, such as attendance for

elementary and middle schools, and graduation

for high schools.

These data must be reported in the aggre-

gate and for each subgroup of students (race,

ethnicity, low-income, English language learner,

disability) (20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(3)(C)(xiii)) to demonstrate progress in closing the achieve-

ment gap and to identify schools and districts

that may need technical assistance in closing

that gap (20 U.S.C. § 6311(j)). AYP is the term used to describe the AMO representing the

percentage of students scoring at or above

the proficient level necessary to meet the

State established goal for 100% proficiency

by 2013–2014 (20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(3) (C) (xiii), at least 95% test participation by students

in the school or district and in each subgroup,

and the State target for high school graduation,

or, for attendance or another indicator in

elementary and middle schools (20 U.S C.

§§ 6311(b)(2)(B), (C)). Schools and districts make AYP by meeting these criteria in the

aggregate and separately for each subgroup

(20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(3)(C)(xiii)). Under Title I, Part A, schoolwide pro-

grams, targeted assistance school programs

and local educational agencies serving eligi-

ble students, including those in programs for

neglected or delinquent youth, must help

students achieve the State learning goals by

using effective methods and instructional

strategies for addressing students’ particular

learning needs, providing an accelerated,

high-quality curriculum, while minimizing

the removal of students from the regular

classroom during regular school hours for

instruction under this part. Each program

must provide instruction by highly qualified

teachers who receive ongoing professional

development as well as effective interventions

and instructional assistance for struggling

learners (20 U.S.C. §§6314(b), 6315(c)). Title I/NCLB has a long reach. It requires

the state system for assessing and reporting on

schools’ achievement levels and for determin-

ing whether they are making AYP include all

public schools in the state (whether or not they

receive Title I, Part A funds); and sanctions for

schools not making AYP over multiple years

apply only to the Title I funded schools (20

U.S.C. § 6316; 20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(2)(A)). Despite Title I’s extensive coverage, school-

level accountability for the performance of

particular subgroups (e.g., racial/ethnic

minorities or students with disabilities with

Individualized Education Programs [IEPs]),

has been seriously compromised by a variety

of practices. For example, some states adopt a

minimum subgroup size (compare CA’s 100

with MD’s 5) for reporting performance out-

comes that excludes far too many schools from

the state accountability system. As a result, the

subgroup is treated as meeting AYP despite all

evidence to the contrary. Moreover, the mo-

bility of youth in the juvenile justice system

contributes to their not being “counted” for

purposes of AYP accountability because, un-

der the law, students/transferees not enrolled

in the same school for a full school year are not

“counted” (20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(3)(C)(xi)). The mandate that each state adopt

“challenging academic content standards and

challenging student academic achievement

standards that will be used by the State, its

local educational agencies, and its schools

[emphasis added]” (20 U.S.C. § 6311) applies to children and youth who have been adjudi-

cated delinquent and are being educated

within state institutional settings or in facilities

290 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

operated by local education agencies (LEAs).

The state must have a strategy for ensuring that

school-age youth who are adjudicated delin-

quents, or are otherwise detained because

they are in need of supervision, are educated

based on a curriculum aligned to these

standards (20 U.S.C. § 6434(a)(2)(B)). These youth must be “taught the same knowledge

and skills in such subjects and held to the

same expectations as are all children”

(20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(1)(E)). Moreover, all teachers teaching core subjects must be

“highly qualified,” that is, have a bachelor’s

degree, state certification, and proven compe-

tence in each subject they teach (20 U.S.C.

§ 6311(h)(6)(A)(iii)).1

Each state must, under Title I, Part A,

administer “high-quality, yearly student aca-

demic assessments” aligned with the academic

content and achievement standards established

for all students (20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(3)(A)). These assessments, intended to make schools

more accountable to families, are the primary

means for measuring the yearly progress of the

state, district, and school in enabling all chil-

dren to reach proficient and advanced levels

of mastery of the state’s academic standards

(20 U.S.C. §6311(b)(3)(C)). The state and LEAs must issue annual report cards and pro-

vide other public reporting of school data and

assessment results—disaggregated by race, ec-

onomic disadvantage, ethnicity, disability, mi-

grant status, and limited English proficiency—

to allow a comparison between actual levels of

achievement among each group and informa-

tion on the performance of LEAs in making

AYP (20 U.S.C. § 6311(h)(1)(C)).

Title I, Part D In addition to the large basic grant under Title I, Part A, the majority of

states receive supplemental educational funds

for juvenile justice education programs from

funds authorized under Title I, Part D of the

ESEA, as amended by NCLB (20 U.S.C.

§ 6421 et seq.). Part D authorizes two separate program allocations, Subpart 1 for state-

operated programs and for which only state

agencies may seek funding, and Subpart 2, for

local programs and for which only LEAs are

eligible for funding. Under Subpart 1 of Part D,

the U.S. Department of Education (ED) pro-

vides federal assistance to SEAs to utilize or to

award subgrants to other state agencies (SAs)

that operate free education programs in insti-

tutions or community day programs for chil-

dren and youth who are neglected, delinquent

or “at risk” (20 U.S.C. § 6431). If an SA receiving Subpart 1 funds subcontracts with

another SA, LEA, or private provider, the SA

remains responsible for ensuring that the pro-

gram providing educational services “operates

in accordance with all applicable statutory and

regulatory requirements” (ED 2006, B-3).

Part D funds supplement and do not sup-

plant the required 20 hours of state-funded

instructional programming that these stu-

dents must, as a condition of Part D fund-

ing, already receive. With the exception of

institution-wide projects to upgrade services

for all children and youth in a neglect or

delinquent institution (20 U.S.C. §6436), the SA can only use Part D, subpart 1 funds to

assist those children and youth identified by

the SA as failing, or at risk of failing, to meet

the academic content and achievement stan-

dards set by the state for all students, and

to supplement and improve the quality of

educational services provided by the SA

(20 U.S.C. §6435(a)(2)(B)(i)). Only LEAs are eligible for Subpart 2

subgrants under Title I, Part D, which are

1 In March 2004, the U.S. Department of Education

introduced some flexibility in these requirements for

science, multisubject teachers, and those teaching in

rural areas.

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 291

distributed by the SEA to LEAs with high

numbers or percentages of children in locally

operated correctional facilities for youth, in-

cluding public or private institutions and com-

munity day programs serving delinquent

youth who do not live in a facility (20 U.S.

C. §6452(a)). All children and youth in local correctional facilities are eligible to be served

using Subpart 2 funds through age 21.

Subpart 2 funds support school districts’

programs that collaborate with locally oper-

ated correctional facilities to implement

high-quality education programs to help

youth prepare for secondary education com-

pletion, training, employment, or further

education; to facilitate their transition from

the correctional program to further educa-

tion or employment; or to provide programs

in local schools for children and youth return-

ing from correctional programs and programs

that serve youth “at risk” of dropping out of

school. As the SA, if an LEA subcontracts

with another entity to provide services, the

LEA must exercise administrative control and

assume responsibility for ensuring compli-

ance with applicable statutory and regulatory

requirements (U.S. Department of Educa-

tion, 2006, N-2).

As described earlier, whether the SA re-

sponsible for educating delinquent youth is

the SEA, or as is the case in many states,

the Department of Juvenile Justice, or some

other state agency, all state-operated schools

(Subpart 1) and programs operated by LEAs

(Subpart 2) that educate adjudicated youth

who are placed in residential or day programs,

fall under the umbrella of the single state

accountability system for all public elementary

and secondary schools required by Title I Part

A (20 U.S.C. § 6311(b)(2)). In its statement of purpose Title I, Part D reaffirms the signifi-

cance of education for youth within the juve-

nile justice system—that delinquent

children and youth [need to] have

the opportunity to meet the same

challenging State academic content stan-

dards and challenging State student

academic achievement standards that

all children in the State are expected

to meet; . . . the services needed

to make a successful transition

from institutionalization to further

schooling or employment; and . . . a

support system to ensure [the] con-

tinued education . . . [of] children

and youth returning from correc-

tional facilities or institutions for

neglected or delinquent children

and youth. . . . (20 U.S.C. § 6421)

These goals underscore that delinquent

youth participating in either Subpart 1 or

Subpart 2 programs must receive at least the

same level of education as those students in all

other public schools.

As a condition of a state’s receiving Part D

funds from ED, each SEA must also submit a

plan that is integrated with its Title I, Part A

program and describes how the SEA will meet

the educational needs of delinquent youth in

order to effectuate their successful, seamless

transition to continued education (20 U.S.C.

§ 6434(a)(1)). The state plan must ensure that youth in state and locally operated institutions

or facilities “will have the same opportunities to

achieve as such children would have if such children

were in the schools of local educational agencies in

the State” (20 U.S.C. § 6434(a)(2)(B) (emphasis added)). This choice of language suggests that

these youth may expect to be educated as if

they were enrolled in “targeted assisted” or

“schoolwide” programs under Title I, Part A,

which have a heightened level of responsibility

to eligible students (see 20 U.S.C. §§ 6314, 6315). Students enrolled in either of these

types of schools that receive Title I, Part A

292 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

funds must be provided an enriched, acceler-

ated curriculum aligned to the State’s chal-

lenging academic standards set for all students;

be effectively taught by highly qualified teach-

ers to acquire knowledge and skills for higher

order thinking; and receive effective interven-

tions when they struggle to attain those stan-

dards (see 20 U.S.C. §§ 6314(b), 6315(c)). In addition, the required plan for obtaining

a Part D grant must contain assurances by the

SEA that any SA receiving a subgrant shall

comply with all applicable statutory and reg-

ulatory requirements, including the explicit

monitoring and oversight obligations of the

SEA under IDEA and Title I as set forth in

the state plan requirements of Title I, Part A

(20 U.S.C. § 6434(a)(2)(C)). An SA seeking to receive a subgrant under

Subpart 1 must similarly submit a plan to the

SEA that describes how the SA will ensure that

delinquent youth will be held to the same stan-

dardsasallchildrenandprovidedwiththemeans

to return to public school after exiting the

delinquent facility or taught the skills necessary

to enter the workforce (20 U.S.C. §§ 6434(b), 6435(a)(1)(B), 6438(a)(1)). By statute, the SA

mustreservenotlessthan15%or morethan30%

of its grant to support transition services for

children and youth exiting state operated facili-

ties to LEAs or, for those who have received a

school diploma or a GED, to postsecondary

education, or vocational and technical training

programs, through strategies intended to pre-

pare the youth for successful reentry into such

programs (20 U.S.C. § 6438(a)(2)). AnLEAseekingSubpart2fundingfromthe

SEA must also describe how participating

schools will coordinate with locally operated

correctional facilities to ensure that delinquent

children are participating in an educational pro-

gram comparable to the one operating in the

local school such child would attend (20 U.S.C.

§§ 6453(2), (3)). In addition, the application

must describe how the program will involve

parents in efforts to improve the educational

achievement of their children and how partici-

pating schools will inform correctional facilities

of a youth’s existing IEP for delivering special

education services so as to help enable youth

withdisabilitiestolearntothestandardssetforall

(20 U.S.C. §§ 6453(8), (11), (12)). Finally, the SEA, as a condition of receiving

funds from ED, must expressly assure that each

SAorLEAconductingaprogramunderSubpart

1 or 2 of Part D will evaluate the educational

program, disaggregating data on participation

by gender, race, ethnicity, and age at least every

three years, to determine the program’s impact

on participants’ ability to maintain and improve

educational achievement; to accrue school

credits that meet requirements for promotion

and graduation; to make the transition to an

LEA operated program; to otherwise complete

secondary school; to obtain employment upon

leaving the correctional facility; and, as appro-

priate, toparticipate inpostsecondaryeducation

and job training (20 U.S.C. § 6471(a)). These results must be shared with ED and the SEA and

be used to improve subsequent programs for

participating youth (20 U.S.C. § 6471(d)). The SEA may choose to reduce or terminate

funding under Subpart 1 and 2 if the SA or

locally operated institutions fail to demonstrate

that there has been an increase in students

returning to school or obtaining diplomas or

employment (20 U.S.C. § 6456(2)). The SEA may reduce or eliminate funding after three

years for LEA projects for similar reasons

(20 U.S.C. § 6456(1)).

The Individuals With Disabilities Education Act (IDEA)

IDEA, 20 U.S.C. §1400 et seq., originally enacted in 1975 and last amended in 2004, is

both a funding statute and a civil rights statute

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 293

that was passed under the 14th Amendment in

response to the national failure to provide

children with disabilities the “educational op-

portunity that had been long considered the

right of every other American child” (121

Cong. Rec. S20427 (daily ed., Nov. 19,

1975) (statement of Sen. Randolph)). IDEA

is also a federal grant-in-aid statute under which

state and local education agencies receiving

funding must have policies and procedures in

effect to ensure compliance with the substantive

and procedural requirements of the Act.

IDEA embodies the constitutional princi-

ple established in two landmark cases that no

child is too disabled, too emotionally dis-

turbed, or too much of a behavior problem

to be excluded from or denied his/her right to

a public education (Mills v. District of Columbia

Board of Education, 1972; Pennsylvania Associa-

tion for Retarded Children v. Commonwealth of

Pennsylvania, 1972). The Act contains an un-

equivocal directive to SEAs and LEAs to

provide a full free and appropriate public

education (FAPE) to every child with a dis-

ability, regardless of the severity, who is in need

of special education and related services

(20 U.S.C. §§ 1412(a)(1)(A), (3)(A)). It explic- itly directs that children with disabilities who

are wards of the state, which would encompass

the majority of youth committed to the state as

delinquents, and in need of special education

and related services, be identified, located, and

evaluated to ensure receipt of the program-

ming and services they need (20 U.S.C.

§§ 1412(a)(3)(A), (7)). IDEA requires SEAs and LEAs to provide

specialized instruction, individually tailored to

meet each child’s unique needs based on an

IEP (20 U.S.C. §§ 1412(a)(1), (a)(4), 1401(29), 1414(d)). To ensure access to the same general

education curriculum aligned to state stan-

dards established for all other students, each

eligible student with a disability must be

educated in the regular classroom with his/

her peers without disabilities to the maximum

extent appropriate (20 U.S.C. §§ 1412(a)(5) (A), (B)). Procedural due process safeguards

required under the act include parents’ right

to complain about any matter concerning the

identification, evaluation, educational place-

ment or provision of FAPE, hearings, and

appeals, as well as safeguards for student re-

cords related to this process (20 U.S.C.

§§ 1412(a)(6), 1415). Finally, the SEA has ultimate responsibility for ensuring that all

students with disabilities receive FAPE, and

that LEAs, other public agencies, including

state correctional agencies involved in educat-

ing children, and private schools or programs

accepting publicly placed students comply

with the Act (20 U.S.C. § 1412(a)(11)(A), (B)). This obligation includes: ensuring that all

educational programs for children with dis-

abilities, including those of LEAs and other state

agencies (e.g., those responsible for educating

delinquent youth or youth in need of super-

vision) meet the requirements of federal law

(20 U.S.C. §§ 1412(a)(1), (2)); monitoring and evaluating IEPs, programs, and placements

(20 U.S.C. §§ 1412(a)(4), (5)); ensuring that procedural safeguards are in effect (20 U.S.C.

§ 1412(a)(6)), including procedures for cor- recting deficiencies in programs that are iden-

tified through monitoring and evaluation

(20 U.S.C. §§ 1412(a)(11), 1221e–3); and gathering data and annually reporting on

youth served, including those in delinquent

facilities (20 U.S.C. §§ 1416(b)(1), (2)(C), (f ), 1418(a), (b)).

Students With Disabilities and the Juvenile Justice System Courts have made clear that eligible students with disabilities do not lose

their substantive rights, procedural safeguards,

or remedies provided under the IDEA be-

cause they have become involved with the

294 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

juvenile justice system (Alexander S. v. Boyd,

1995; Donnell C. v. Illinois State Board of

Education, 1993; Green v. Johnson, 1981;

Nashua School District v. State of New Hamp-

shire, 1995; Smith v. Wheaton, 1998; Unified

School District No. 1 v. Connecticut Department

of Education, 2001).

Under IDEA, the state is authorized to

determine which public agency is responsible

for funding special education programming

and services for juveniles in delinquent facili-

ties (20 U.S.C. §1412(a)(12)(B); 34 CFR §300.2(b)(iv)). Some states (e.g., Massachu- setts) continue to hold the school district

where the youth resided at the time of com-

mitment responsible for funding incarcerated

youth’s excess special education costs (Mass.

Regs. Code tit. 603 § 28.06(9)). Other states, such as Connecticut, create a separate LEA/

intermediate district for the delivery of

education, including special education, to

all incarcerated/detained youth (State of

Connecticut–Unified School District #1 v. Depart-

ment of Education, 1996). Still others, such as

New Hampshire, make local school districts

responsible for conducting comprehensive

evaluations, convening IEP meetings, and de-

veloping IEPs for incarcerated youth in need

of special education (Nashua School District v.

State of New Hampshire, 1995).

Every eligible child or youth through 21

years, who has 1 of 13 categorical disabilities

and is in need of special education (20

U.S.C.§1401(3)(A)), has a right to receive FAPE and to receive specialized instruction

and necessary developmental, supportive, and

corrective services, and to be provided a

curriculum aligned to state standards (20

U.S.C.§ 1401(3)(A)), whether the child is enrolled in a public school or, pending or

subsequent to adjudication, placed in deten-

tion or in a juvenile correctional facility (20

U.S.C. § 1412(a)(2); see also Alexander S. v.

Boyd, 1995; Donnell C. v. Illinois State Board of

Education, 1993; Green v. Johnson,1981; Smith

v. Wheaton,1998). Eligible students with dis-

abilities, including those not previously iden-

tified as needing special education and/or

related services (e.g., psychological or other

mental health services) and those who are

“highly mobile” (34 CFR § 300.111(c)(2)) must be properly referred, identified (20

USC § 1412(a)(3)) and evaluated using valid and comprehensive assessments (20 USC

§§ 1414(a), (b)) to determine their disability related educational and noneducational

needs. The Office of Special Education Pro-

grams (OSEP) has determined that SEAs and

LEAs must include in their “child find”

systems those incarcerated youth who would

be eligible to receive FAPE (Letter to Yudien,

2003). To facilitate timely implementation or

development of a student’s IEP, transferor

schools must release school records to juve-

nile detention facilities, even in the absence

of parental consent (Alexander S. v. Boyd,

1995; Smith v Wheaton, 1998).

Through changes to the statute in 2004,

IDEA became more closely aligned with the

requirements of Title I, Part A/NCLB

(described above). As a result, all students

with disabilities—including those youth in

delinquent facilities—are expressly required

to be provided effective instruction and a

full, meaningful opportunity to attain their

respective states’ academic content and

achievement standards. Each eligible youth

with a disability has a right to a FAPE that

consists of specialized instruction and support-

ive services, consistent with his/her IEP and

designed to deliver academic programming

and instruction that meet the SEA’s standards

(including state established academic content

and achievement standards required by Title I,

Part A) (20 U.S.C. §§ 1401(9), 1412(a)(1)(A), 1414(d),(1)(A)(i)(II), (IV)(bb).

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 295

IDEA 2004, as amended, expressly re-

quires that state performance goals for children

with disabilities be “the same as the State’s

definition of adequate yearly progress, includ-

ing the State’s objectives for progress by chil-

dren with disabilities under section 6311(b)(2)

[Title I/NCLB]” (20 USC § 1412(a)(15)). States are required to assess the progress of

all youth with disabilities, including those in

delinquent facilities (20 U.S.C. §§ 1412(a)(16) (A)–(C)), and the assessment results must be

capable of being disaggregated so that the

performance of students with disabilities on

all general state and districtwide assessments,

including those required under section 6311

of Title I may be compared to that of their

peers, with and without disabilities, inside and

outside of the juvenile justice system (20 USC

§ 1412(a)(16)(D)). Once it is determined that a child has

a disability and needs special education

and related services, a written IEP must be

developed (20 USC § 1414(d)), containing a statement of all services needed by the child,

not just those that are available within the

school or juvenile justice facility (20 U.S.C.

§ 1401(9)(D). Given the increased cohesion between IDEA and NCLB, IEPs must be used

as tools for enabling children with disabilities

to learn what all children are expected to learn

by aligning the IEP with the general education

curriculum. With limited exceptions, stu-

dents’ IEPs should be “standards-based,”

that is, linking the individual student’s goals

with the state standards for all students under

Title I.

Courts have required the responsible pub-

lic agency to convene a meeting to develop the

IEP at the beginning of the detention period

for an eligible youth in need of special educa-

tion and related services in order to meet

the youth’s disability related needs in a timely

manner (see, e.g., Alexander S. v. Boyd, 1995;

State of Connecticut–Unified School District 1 v.

Department of Education, 1996). When a youth

with an IEP transfers from one public agency

within a state to another (e.g., local public

school to a juvenile correctional facility), the

new placement must provide comparable ser-

vices to those set forth in the latest IEP until

the new agency either adopts the youth’s prior

IEP or develops, adopts, and implements a

new IEP (34 CFR § 300.323(e)). The respon- sible public agency generally must convene an

IEP meeting to develop an IEP at the begin-

ning of the period of detention, and failure

to do so can result in an order for compen-

satory education (State of Connecticut–Unified

School District 1 v. Department of Education,

1996). However, public agencies detaining

youth for short-term stays (rarely more than

21 days) have been relieved by the courts of

this IEP-related obligation (see, e.g., Alexander

S. v. Boyd, 1995), though correctional per-

sonnel were required to implement the most

recently approved IEPs to the extent possible

while students remained in that temporary

placement.

All eligible students have a right to receive

appropriate educational programming and de-

velopmental, supportive, and corrective ser-

vices necessary to address their disability

related needs, both academic and non-

academic (e.g., those relating to emotional

and behavioral matters or substance abuse,

consistent with their IEP) (20 U.S.C.

§§ 1412(a)(1), 1414(d)(1)(A)(i)(II)). IDEA de- fines special education as “specially designed

instruction, at no cost to the parent or guard-

ians, to meet the unique needs of a child with a

disability” (20 U.S.C. § 1401(29)). The statu- tory term unique needs has been construed

broadly to include “academic, social, health,

emotional, communicative, physical and

vocational needs” (Seattle School District No.

1 v. B.S., 1996, p. 1500). “[E]ducation . . .

296 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

embodies . . . a broad range of associated ser-

vices traditionally grouped under the general

rubric of ‘treatment.’” (Babb v. Knox County

School System, 1992, p. 109, citing Tilton

v. Jefferson County Board of Education, 1983,

p. 803). “Related services” necessary for the

youth to benefit from special education mean

“such developmental, corrective, and other

supportive services” including, but not limited

to, psychological services, physical and occu-

pational therapy, parent counseling and train-

ing (20 U.S.C.§ 1401(26); 34 C.F.R.§ 300.24). To address the educational and other

needs of a child or youth with a disability

whose behavior has resulted in his or her

being excluded from public school, adjudi-

cated, and placed in a delinquent facility,

schools must provide a comprehensive range

of programming and services. IEP teams must

consider and address special factors relating to

potential educational need, in particular,

whether a child’s behavior impedes his/her

learning or the learning of others. If yes,

the team must consider “the use of positive

behavioral interventions and supports, and

other strategies, to address that behavior”

(20 U.S.C. § 1414(d)(3)(B)(i)). The court in Smith v. Wheaton stated that “equipping dis-

abled children with the skills and ability to

function outside of an institution and, if possible,

within the mainstream of society, is a goal of

the IDEA . . . ” and noted, that “an ‘appro-

priate’ education for a child . . . is one that

gives him a reasonable chance to acquire the

skills that he needs to function outside of an

institution” (1998; emphasis added, citing

Rettig v. Kent,1981, p. 777). Significantly,

the court also held that delinquent youth

require FAPE upon their discharge and re-

entry into the community; without such a

seamless system for support, the risk is high

that they will drop out of school and/or

recidivate back into delinquency.

EDUCATION OF YOUTH BEFORE, DURING, AND AFTER

CONFINEMENT IN JUVENILE DELINQUENT FACILITIES

Next, we provide a conceptual framework

for analyzing the provision of educational

services to youth before, during, and after

confinement in detention and juvenile cor-

rectional facilities. The framework consists

of three interconnected phases: The first,

the education of youth before any involvement

with the juvenile courts, discusses the rela-

tionship between prior educational experi-

ence and subsequent involvement with the

juvenile justice system. This phase addresses

school policies and practices that “push”

youth out of school and into the juvenile

justice system, a phenomenon that is com-

monly referred to as the school-to-prison pipe-

line (Advancement Project, 2005; American

Civil Liberties Union, 2008; National Asso-

ciation for the Advancement of Colored

People [NAACP] Legal Defense and Educa-

tional Fund, Inc., 2005; Wald & Losen, 2003;

see also Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this

volume). The second phase, the education

of youth during confinement pre- and post-

adjudication in delinquent facilities, discusses

barriers impeding delivery of high-quality

educational services to these youth as well

as models that have been shown to be effec-

tive. The third phase, the education of youth

after confinement, focuses on the process

of transitioning and reintegrating youth

who have exited delinquent facilities back

into school and the community. Failure to

reintegrate youth successfully into school

and/or community leads to a cycle of recidi-

vism (Brock & Keegan, 2007; Mears &

Travis, 2004; see also Greenwood & Turner,

Chapter 23, this volume; Vaught, Chapter 15,

this volume).

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 297

Phase 1: Education of Youth Before Involvement With the Juvenile Court System: School Push-out Policies and Practices Creating the School-to-Prison Pipeline

The school-to-prison pipeline is the result of a

combination of school policies and practices

that “push” youth, who are disproportionately

students of color and from low-income back-

grounds, out of school and into the juvenile

justice system. These policies and practices

include: (a) constructive exclusion from high-

quality educational opportunities; (b) excessive

disciplinary exclusion; and (c) criminalization

of minor, school-related behavior through

inappropriate referral to law enforcement or

juvenile court.

Constructive Exclusion From High- Quality Educational Opportunities The relationship between prior school failure and

subsequent involvement in the juvenile justice

system has been well documented. Youth who

enter the juvenile justice system are more

likely to have received lower and failing

grades, to have poor school attendance, and

to have been retained in grade (Foley, 2001;

Wang, Blomberg, & Li, 2005). These youth

usually function below grade level, manifest-

ing deficits in reading and mathematics

(Baltodano, Harris, & Rutherford, 2005; Foley,

2001; Krezmien, Mulcahy, & Leone, 2008).

In a review of educational studies, Foley

(2001) noted that the academic achievement

of delinquent youth fell between the fifth- and

ninth-grade levels. Approximately 21% of

youth who enter the juvenile justice system

are not enrolled in public school, a rate more

than four times that of youth in the general

population (Sedlak & McPherson, 2010).

The low academic achievement of youth

entering the juvenile justice system reflects the

fact that they are likely to have experienced a

history of educational opportunities far below

the level of quality to which they are entitled

under thelaw.Schoolswithhighconcentrations

of low-income children tend to provide lower

quality instruction by teachers who lack suffi-

cient skills to prepare students for today’s labor

market (Murnane, 2007). Moreover, schools

with large percentages of racial and ethnic

minority students tend to implement policies

and practices that perpetuate educational ineq-

uities and reinforce the stereotyping of students

(Smith, 2009). Such policies and practices in-

clude the assignment of students to low-level

classes through tracking (McCord, Widom, &

Crowell, 2001; Oakes, 1987), the overidentifi-

cation of students of color in special education

classes, in particular African American males,

and the underrepresentation of students of

color in advanced placement classes with a

college preparatory curriculum (NAACP Legal

Defense and Educational Fund, Inc., 2005;

Smith, 2009). The inferior nature of the edu-

cational experiences of many low-income

students, who are disproportionately youth of

color, constructively excludes them from high-

quality learning opportunities and may lead

to their dropping out of school, which in

turn is associated with other negative outcomes,

including, ultimately, incarceration in the adult

prison system (Harlow, 2003).

Excessive Disciplinary Exclusion The overzealous use of zero-tolerance discipline

policies is another type of school push-out

with implications for youth entering the

juvenile justice system. Zero tolerance

refers to a “one-size-fits-all” approach to dis-

cipline that mandates predetermined, punitive

consequences—suspension and expulsion—

applied without consideration of attendant

circumstances (American Psychological Asso-

ciation Zero Tolerance Task Force [APA],

298 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

2008; see also Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this

volume; Vaught, Chapter 15, this volume).

Although the use of suspension and expulsion

as a means of punishment is viewed as in-

effective in helping students change problem-

atic behavior or in making the school

environment safer (American Bar Association

[ABA], 2009; APA, 2008; Skiba, 2000), states

and school districts have broadened the reach

of zero tolerance to include additional of-

fenses, sometimes minor in nature, making

zero tolerance more commonplace in the

public schools (Browne, 2003; Skiba, 2000).

Students suspended from school are more

likely to drop out (DeRidder, 1991; Eckstrom,

Goertz, Pollack, & Rock, 1986; Raffaele

Mendez & Knoff, 2003), in part because

they miss out on important classroom instruc-

tion and assignments and fall further behind in

their work (Advancement Project & Civil

Rights Project, 2000). Disciplinary exclusions

may also provide students with long periods of

time without adult supervision, during which

they can become involved with other delin-

quent youth (ABA, 2009; Skiba & Peterson,

1999). Sixty-one percent of youth in delin-

quent facilities report having been expelled or

suspended from school during the year prior

to their entering the facility (Sedlak &

McPherson, 2010).

Moreover, school discipline policies have

a disproportionate impact on students of color,

in particular African American males, and

students with disabilities (ABA, 2009). African

American males receive expulsions at 3 times

the rate of their White male peers (Schott

Foundation, 2010). Students of color are

also excluded more frequently for minor of-

fenses (e.g., disobedience and disrespect),

which are subjective and easily affected by

racial bias (ABA, 2009; Advancement Project

& Civil Rights Project, 2000). Disciplinary

exclusions also tend to have a disproportionate

effect on students with disabilities (Zhang,

Katsiyannis, & Herbst, 2004), who are often

punished for behavior related to their dis-

ability, in violation of IDEA and Section

504. According to a recent longitudinal

study, one third of students with disabilities

had been suspended or expelled at some

time during their school experience. Students

with emotional disturbance received the grea-

test number of exclusions; 63% experienced

disciplinary action in one school year, with the

average being seven incidents per student per

year (SRI International, 2006).

Criminalization of Minor, School-Related Behavior A third school push-out factor stems from the increased presence of school-

based police officers, which has led to a greater

number of student arrests for minor offenses

that could be more appropriately addressed

within the school as well as constitutional

concerns regarding the questioning of students

and the searching of students’ personal items

(Advancement Project, 2005; New York Civil

Liberties Union, 2007). School-based arrests

are often made for vaguely defined offenses

such as “disrupting public schools” or

“disturbing school assembly,” which can apply

to a broad range of school-related behavior

(Wald & Thurau, 2010). Schools also crimi-

nalize behavior by filing petitions for truancy

or excessive absenteeism, despite the fact that

truancy has been found to be associated with

an increased likelihood of dropping out and

becoming involved with the juvenile justice

and adult prison systems (Smink & Heilbrunn,

2005).

Students with disabilities tend to be par-

ticular targets of inappropriate school-based

referrals to law enforcement (ABA, 2009).

Although the 1997 reauthorization of IDEA

included the provision that “[n]othing in this

part shall be construed to prohibit an agency

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 299

from reporting a crime committed by a child

with a disability to appropriate authorities

. . .” (20 U.S.C. § 1415(k)(9)(A) (1997)) (current version at 20 U.S.C. § 1415(k)(6) (A)), the legislative history makes clear that

referrals to law enforcement are not to be

made as a means to circumvent the obligations

of the school district under IDEA (143 Cong.

Rec. S4403 (daily ed. May 14, 1997) (state-

ment of Sen. Harkin)). IDEA requires districts

to address the behavior of students with dis-

abilities as an education issue by providing

appropriate services and supports that address

the needs of the student (Morgan v. Chris L.,

1997). School-based referrals to law enforce-

ment may also constitute discrimination under

Section 504 (29 U.S.C. § 794).

Phase 2: Education of Youth During Confinement in Delinquent Facilities: Barriers Impeding the Effective Delivery of Quality Education and Model Practices

Although youth inside detention or juvenile

correctional facilities have a right to the same

quality education as their peers in the general

population, the reality is that delinquent youth

typically do not receive high-quality educa-

tional opportunities consistent with the aca-

demic standards set for all. The provision of

educational services to youth confined in de-

tention and juvenile correctional facilities is

examined under the following five categories:

(1) curriculum aligned to state standards and

effective instruction, (2) highly qualified teach-

ers, (3) monitoring and accountability, (4) sup-

ports addressing the individualized needs of

students, and (5) governance and organizational

structure.

Curriculum Aligned to State Standards and Effective Instruction Although states are required to ensure that all school-age youth

are provided meaningful opportunities to par-

ticipate in a curriculum that is aligned to the

state’s high academic content and achievement

standards, in practice, the curriculum that is

provided to youth in delinquent facilities is

often based on limited expectations. Approxi-

mately one third of juvenile correctional prin-

cipals participating in a national survey

reported that the instructional materials used

in their facilities were only “somewhat, very

little, or not at all aligned with state assess-

ments” (Gagnon, Barber, Van Loan, & Leone,

2009, p. 688); and more than one third indi-

cated that they receive little supervision in

aligning curricula with state assessments and

limited professional development to promote

such alignment. Furthermore, more than 50%

of the principals reported that they believed

that “grade level expectations should not apply

to all students with LD and EBD in their

schools” (p. 685, emphasis in original).

In addition to low expectations and lack of

alignment of the curriculum with grade level

standards, the education programs in these

facilities often lack effective instruction, par-

ticularly in reading and mathematics (Leone,

Krezmien, Mason, & Meisel, 2005; Maccini,

Gagnon, Mulcahy, & Leone, 2006). Instruc-

tion in delinquent facilities tends to provide

mainly low-level seatwork, in which unen-

gaged students work mechanically on work-

sheets and workbooks (Howell & Wolford,

2002; Leone & Cutting, 2004), and which

has been characterized as promoting

“inactivity, boredom (for students and teach-

ers), limited emphasis on learning, and little

true individualization” (Howell & Wolford,

2002, p. 14). The lack of differentiated in-

struction is particularly problematic because

the students typically represent a wide range

of ages and academic levels (Houchins, Puckett-

Patterson, Crosby, Shippen, & Jolivette,

2009; Leone & Cutting, 2004). Vocational

300 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

education (Wilson, 1994), arts programming

(Williams, 2008), and the use of computers/

technology (McIntyre, Tong, & Perez, 2001)

are also limited, although the benefits to

delinquent youth have been documented

(McIntyre, Tong, & Perez, 2001; Williams,

2008; Wilson, 1994).

Highly Qualified Teachers SEAs receiv- ing funds under Title I, Part A must develop a

plan to ensure that all teachers teaching the

core academic subjects are highly qualified;

however, data collected by the Juvenile Justice

No Child Left Behind Collaboration Project

(NCLB Project) indicate that many states are

not fully meeting these requirements with

respect to the teachers in their juvenile justice

education programs. In 2006, although

14 states out of 44 reported that more than

90% of the classes in their juvenile justice

education programs were taught by teachers

satisfying the highly qualified requirements,

four states reported that less than 50% of their

teachers were highly qualified, and 10

reported that they do not require their teach-

ers to meet the highly qualified criteria.

According to data collected the following

year (2007), 5 states out of 42 (12%) reported

that all of their juvenile justice education

programs were exempt from the highly quali-

fied requirements, and an additional 11 states

(26%) indicated that they had an exemption

for certain kinds of juvenile justice programs

(Blomberg, Pesta, & Valentine, 2008). Thus, it

appears that a combined 38% of the states were

in noncompliance.

Monitoring and Accountability As a con- dition of receiving Title I, Part D funds, the

SEA must provide assurances that each SA or

LEA that conducts a program under Subpart 1

or 2, respectively, evaluates its educational

program at least every three years. There is

no requirement, however, that the evaluation

data be posted publicly, and, consequently, it is

difficult to determine compliance. According

to data collected in 2006 as part of the NCLB

Project, 30 of the 42 responding states

reported using a formal evaluation instrument

to monitor their juvenile justice education

programs. The majority of these states indi-

cated that they developed their own instru-

ments for these evaluations, while 13 states

used the performance-based standards that

were developed by OJJDP and made available

through the Council of Juvenile Correctional

Administrators (Blomberg, Pesta, & Valentine,

2008). No further information, however, is

provided in the NCLB Project report as to the

nature or contents of the evaluations. More-

over, while the report found that 37 of the 42

responding states indicated that they conduct

an evaluation at least once every three years (in

accordance with Title I, Part D), five states are

not in compliance with this requirement

(Blomberg, Pesta, & Valentine, 2008). Further

evidence of insufficient monitoring of delin-

quent facilities’ compliance with Title I, Part

D is the fact that some states use accreditation

as a tool for monitoring (Blomberg, Pesta, &

Valentine, 2008), even though accreditation

may resemble mere licensing practices and

may have little impact on curriculum policies

(Gagnon et al., 2009).

Supports Addressing the Individualized Needs of Students All students with dis- abilities in need of special education and re-

lated services under IDEA, including those in

detention and in juvenile correctional facili-

ties, must be identified, located, and evaluated

appropriately. Once identified as eligible un-

der IDEA, these students are entitled to re-

ceive appropriate programming and supports

as specified in their IEPs. Large numbers of

youth with disabilities in delinquent facilities,

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 301

however, receive inadequate special education

programming and services (Burrell &

Warboys, 2000: Leone, 1994; Leone, Meisel,

& Drakeford, 2002). Violations by these facil-

ities include the failure to: locate, evaluate, and

identify eligible students with disabilities; de-

velop appropriate IEPs and convene IEP

teams; implement IEPs; provide related ser-

vices, including speech/language and mental

health/counseling; and provide appropriate

transition planning and services.

In light of the overrepresentation of stu-

dents of color and English language learners

(ELLs) in delinquent facilities, it is also imper-

ative for teachers to use teaching practices that

take into account the manner in which stu-

dents’ own experiences and cultures impact

their learning (Harris, Baltodano, Artiles, &

Rutherford, 2006). These practices are espe-

cially important when the teachers do not

reflect the racial and ethnic diversity of their

students (Spry, 2003). Delinquent facilities also

need to provide appropriate language and

literacy instruction for ELLs, particularly for

older students, who have had a shorter period

of time in which to gain basic skills in English

while also trying to master complex content

(Collier & Thomas, 2001; see also Ruiz-de-

Velasco, Fix, & Clewell, 2000).

Moreover, detention and juvenile correc-

tional facilities have an obligation to address

the behavioral challenges of students with

disabilities as an education issue. One strategy

for addressing behavior in delinquent facilities

that has begun to receive more attention is the

use of positive behavior supports (PBS) (Gag-

non, Rockwell, & Scott, 2008; Houchins,

Jolivette, Wessendorf, McGlynn, & Nelson,

2005; Scott et al., 2002). In contrast to typical

behavioral programs in delinquent facilities

that focus on the use of a point system and/

or psychopharmacologic treatment, PBS uti-

lizes a three-tiered model that emphasizes a

proactive and preventive approach to address-

ing behavior (Gagnon et al., 2008). The first

tier provides behavioral expectations for all

students, while the second and third tiers

provide more targeted and intensive interven-

tions for youth who need them (Houchins

et al., 2005).

The use of “wraparound” services, which

encompass a range of community-based sup-

ports and services to help youth and their

families, has also been shown to result in

improved behavior on the part of delinquent

youth (Leone, Quinn, & Osher, 2002). Simi-

larly, the utilization of “restorative justice,” an

approach that focuses on repairing the harm

caused by an alleged incident by engaging all

those affected in determining an appropriate

resolution, is associated with a reduction in

recidivism (Bradshaw & Roseborough, 2005;

Ryals, 2004).

Governance and Organizational Structure The governing and organizational structures of

educational programs in delinquent facilities

may further hinder the deliveryof high-quality

learning opportunities by the bifurcation of

responsibility for general and special education

between two different state agencies, the pri-

vatization of the system used for the education

of detained and committed youth, and the lack

of collaboration and coordination between

teaching and other facility personnel.

In some states, the responsibility for gov-

ernance and oversight of confined youth is

divided between two state agencies, usually

correctional and educational, which operate,

for the most part, independently of one an-

other. For example, in Massachusetts the cor-

rectional agency is responsible for the overall

provision of education to youth involved in

the juvenile justice system, while the educa-

tional agency is responsible for the education

of youth with disabilities eligible under IDEA

302 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

or Section 504 (Blomberg & Pesta, 2008). The

existence of two separate systems may lead to a

lack of coordination, a blurring of roles and

responsibilities, serious administrative delays,

and an obfuscation of accountability (see

Farrell & Myers, Chapter 21, this volume;

Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this volume).

Moreover, an organizational structure that

separates out the education of youth with

disabilities is particularly problematic as it

serves to perpetuate the artificial divide be-

tween general education students and the large

percentage of youth with disabilities in the

juvenile justice population.

An additional challenge relates to the

increasing privatization of the system for

delivering education to delinquent youth

(Platt, Casey, & Faessel, 2006). A private

organization, for example, may try to argue

that it is not obligated to comply with

the highly qualified teacher requirements,

opting to hire, instead, less experienced

teachers who do not have a background in

the appropriate content areas but could save

the institution money. An SA, however, may

not circumvent its legal obligations with

respect to the education of delinquent youth.

The U.S. Department of Education stated in

its Title I, Part D nonregulatory guidance

that if an SA subcontracts with a private

provider under Subpart 1, the SA remains

responsible for ensuring that the program

“operates in accordance with all applicable

statutory and regulatory requirements” (B-3).

The lack of collaboration and coordina-

tion between teaching and security personnel

in delinquent facilities results in confusion of

roles and functions of key staff and creates a

degree of tension that is detrimental to the

provision of effective educational services

(Houchins et al., 2009; Leone et al., 2005).

This tension is also evident in the constant

disruption of classroom instruction by the

frequent movement of youth in and out of

class for noninstructional purposes such as

disciplinary matters or counseling and other

clinical supports (Houchins et al., 2009;

Howell & Wolford, 2002; Leone et al., 2005).

Phase 3: Education of Youth After Confinement in Delinquent Facilities: Transition and Reintegration of Youth Into School and the Community

Transition services and planning for youth

exiting delinquent facilities to ensure their

continued education and successful re-

integration into the community is a major

priority under Title I, Part D. In addition,

students with disabilities have a right to tran-

sition services under IDEA to help them reach

measurable postsecondary goals as specified in

their IEPs. Despite these legal requirements,

however, youth who exit delinquent facilities

and seek to reenter school face many obstacles

(Brock & Keegan, 2007; Mears & Travis,

2004; Stephens & Arnette, 2000; see also

Vaught, Chapter 15, this volume). In a study

examining the enrollment status of youth in

Chicago who had exited delinquent facilities

between 1997 and 2003, Cusick, Goerge, and

Bell (2008) found that 57% of those who had

been enrolled in school prior to confinement

were no longer enrolled in school after being

released.

Research has also demonstrated a strong

relationship between low academic achieve-

ment and recidivism (Katsiyannis & Arch-

wamety, 1997; Katsiyannis, Ryan, Zhang, &

Spann, 2008). Bullis, Yovanoff, and Havel

(2004) found that youth who were engaged

in school and/or work within 6 months of

exiting a juvenile delinquent facility were

more likely to be engaged in such activities

after 12 months, and less likely to reoffend; in

addition, if youth did not return to a juvenile

The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 303

delinquent facility within 12 months of exit-

ing, it was extremely unlikely that they would

return at a later date. They therefore con-

cluded that “getting started right” upon re-

lease from a delinquent facility was imperative

(Bullis et al., 2004, p. 91).

Barriers identified as impeding successful

reentry include: fragmented service delivery

from multiple agencies with confusing lines

of communication and responsibility; lack of

coordination between the delinquent facility

and the local school; lack of effective policies

and practices to promote the smooth reentry

of youth into school; delays in the transfer of

student records; and failure of the local school

to accept academic credit received during

incarceration (Baltodano, Mathur, & Ruth-

erford, 2005; Brock & Keegan, 2007; Mears

& Travis, 2004; Stephens & Arnette, 2000).

The goal of effective transition services

should be to create a seamless system of sup-

port beginning long before the youth exits the

delinquent facility and continuing for a period

of time after the departure. An OJJDP report

highlighted “the importance of preparing

youth for progressively increased responsibility

and freedom in the community, facilitating

youth–community interaction and involve-

ment, linking the offender with community

support systems, and monitoring youth pro-

gress” (Stephens & Arnette, 2000, p. 4).

Several states have enacted legislation and

issued regulations addressing the provision of

transition services to youth moving out of

detention or juvenile correctional facilities

(Spain, n.d.). For example, under Florida

law, school districts are required to negotiate

an agreement with the Department of Juvenile

Justice that includes, among other elements,

“transition plans” for youth moving into and

out of juvenile facilities (Fla. Stat. Ann.

§ 1003.52(13)(i)). Florida has further issued a rule clarifying the required contents of such

transition plans as well as the roles and respon-

sibilities of personnel for transition activities

(Fla. Admin. Code Ann. r.6A-6.05281(5)).

Similarly, Maine law requires the public school

superintendent to establish a “reintegration

team,” consisting of school personnel and

the youth’s parent, to implement reintegration

planning (Me. Rev. Stat. Ann. tit. 20-A,

§ 1055(12)). Academic continuity is a particularly dif-

ficult issue for youth reentering public school

and has become an area of legislative inter-

vention (Spain, n.d.). For example, Kentucky

requires that an “educational passport” be

prepared within two days of a youth’s exiting

a state agency facility (Ky. Rev. Stat. Ann.

§ 158.137(2)). States have also clarified the appropriate development of individual tran-

sition planning. For example, West Virginia

requires that a youth’s “aftercare plan” in-

clude “a detailed description of the educa-

tion, counseling and treatment which the

juvenile received while at the institution or

facility” and “a plan for education, counsel-

ing and treatment for the juvenile upon the

juvenile’s discharge” (W. Va. Code § 49-5-20 (b)). The aftercare plan must be shared with

the youth’s parents, lawyer, probation officer/

mental health center professional, prosecut-

ing attorney, and principal of the school that

the youth will attend after release (W. Va.

Code § 49-5-20(a)). Missouri’s aftercare program also has some

positive features. Before a youth leaves the

delinquent facility, he or she begins to partici-

pate in transition meetings with a service

coordinator to plan for the youth’s aftercare

placement (Mo. Code Regs. Ann. tit. 13,

§ 110-3.010(1)(A)(5)). Following the youth’s release, a college student serves as a “tracker”

to monitor the youth’s activities and to help

with the youth’s transition back into the com-

munity. To further assist with reintegration,

304 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

many facilities have programs in which youth

can interact with their communities by work-

ing at local homeless shelters, senior centers,

hospitals, and children’s mental health facilities

(Abrams, 2005; Missouri’s Division of Youth

Services, 2003).

CONCLUSIONS

Youth confined in detention and juvenile cor-

rectional facilities do not lose their legal rights to

receive a high-quality public education. Indeed,

the mandates for state and local agencies under

Title I/NCLB and IDEA, when read in con-

junction with federal civil rights statutes based

on race, national origin, language, disability, and

gender, provide strong legal handles for imple-

menting and enforcing these educational rights.

While there has been some case law pertaining

to the education of students with disabilities

within these facilities, the cases have not ade-

quately targeted the failure of states to meet the

substantive obligations under Title I and IDEA

to provide all youth a high-quality education

consistent with state standards.

Challenges to serving youth within these

institutions abound. The failure to implement

and enforce the requirements of Title I and

IDEA, both in public schools educating youth

prior to incarceration and in juvenile justice

facilities serving these youth, is disturbing and

is exacerbated by the laissez-faire attitude of

those responsible for oversight, monitoring,

and enforcement. Furthermore, the public

education and juvenile justice systems have

become intricately linked by the school-to-

prison pipeline, from which it is difficult for

youth, who are disproportionately students of

color and from low-income backgrounds, to

become disentangled. Moreover, elements of

the organizational structure of juvenile justice

systems play a role in obfuscating the

responsibility to educate, as does an underlying

belief that these youth are somehow less wor-

thy and/or less capable than are youth in the

general population. Notwithstanding these

barriers, model practices have been identified;

those that prepare youth, in advance, for their

transition back into schools and their commu-

nities, and provide ongoing support for re-

entry, appear particularly promising.

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The Right to a Quality Education for Children and Youth in the Juvenile Justice System 309

15 CHAPTER

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color

SABINA E. VAUGHT

E very year in the United States, law

enforcement arrests over 1.5 million

youth. Young Black men are incarcerated at

a rate 4 times of their White counterparts—

5 times of their White counterparts for drug-

related offenses (Office of Juvenile Justice and

Delinquency Prevention [OJJDP], 2009).

These numbers mirror racial disparity trends

in schooling. Nationally, just 50% of Black,

Latino, and Native American youth graduate

from high school, while 75% of their White

counterparts do—a gap that widens signifi-

cantly when youth of color 1 are placed in

special education, are English language learn-

ers, or attend underresourced urban schools

(Orfield, Losen, Wald, & Swanson, 2004; see

Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this volume).

These trends represent some of the many links

between schooling and juvenile incarceration

that have come to be known as the school-to-

prison pipeline, a mechanism by which low-

income youth of color are funneled out of

school and into various forms of incarceration

(Browne, 2003; Dunbar, 2001; National

Association for the Advancement of Colored

People (NAACP) Legal Defense and Educa-

tional Fund, Inc., 2007; Osher, Quinn,

Poirier, & Rutherford, 2003; Wald & Losen,

2003; see also Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this

volume).

Scholars, activists, and government agen-

cies have turned to schooling as an institutional

site of more nuanced explanation and remedy

for both youth incarceration and the chal-

lenges of reentry to society on the outside.

The school-to-prison pipeline describes the

massive, nationwide trend of undereducating

and overdisciplining youth of color. The com-

ponents of this pipeline are measured variously

by assessing the statistical relationship between

school-based indices and arrest, detention, and

incarceration rates. These measures include

policies and outcomes related to discipline,

graduation, literacy, and special and behavior

education, among others.

Zero tolerance and related policies, in par-

ticular, have been the subject of much atten-

tion, as they have resulted in increased rates

of school and district suspension and expul-

sion (Ayers, Dohrn, & Ayers, 2001; Casella,

2003; Fenning & Rose, 2007; Skiba, Michael,

Nardo, & Peterson, 2002; see also Bell &

Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume; Boundy &

1 Author’s note: While I understand the publisher’s ad-

herence to APA guidelines (6th edition, rule 3.14) that

indicate that while “Black” and “White” may be

capitalized as they refer to specific racial groups, “of

Color” may not be capitalized as it is more vague. I note

here, however, that my original manuscript included

the capitalization of the term “of Color” to similarly

indicate people of Color, not as people who have skin

color unconnected to other factors, but as people who

share non-White racial (and often political, legal, and

historical) identity and structural categorization.

310

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Karger, Chapter 14, this volume). Zero toler-

ance originally referred to the constellation of

school policies that mandate automatic expul-

sion for students violating rules about bringing

drugs, alcohol, or weapons to school, or those

students engaging in violent behavior at

school, among others. Those categories—

“drug,” “weapon,” and “violence,”—are of-

ten poorly described in policy or include an

unforgiving range of possibility. For example,

I conducted research in a district where a

young Black student faced zero-tolerance

sanctions because her sharp fingernail file

exceeded the four-inch “knives” rule. Shock-

ing illustrations of the misapplication of this

misguided policy have been widely reported,

such as the expulsion of a 6-year-old White

boy for bringing a camping food implement to

school (Dorrell, 2009), or when 12-year-old

Alexa Gonzalez, a young girl of color, wrote

on a desk that she loved her friends—an act for

which her principal called the NYPD, who

arrested, handcuffed, and removed Gonzalez

from school (Chen, 2010). Further, these

policies—purportedly aimed at increasing

school safety—do not afford students oppor-

tunities to learn, receive nonpunitive treat-

ment or training, or experience institutional

support. Indeed, they are consistently discrim-

inatory in their uneven application, targeting

youth of color (Ayers et al., 2001; Skiba et al.,

2002). Moreover, there is no evidence that

such policies have had any impact on school

safety (Ayers et al., 2001; Skiba & Knesting,

2002). Importantly, zero-tolerance policies

highlight the trend to create school policies

that “integrate juvenile justice laws into school

disciplinary codes” (Meiners, 2007, p. 3).

School zero-tolerance weapons policies

were federalized and codified into law by

Congress through two explicit acts that com-

pelled state cooperation (Rozalski, Deignan,

& Engel, 2008). Many states and districts

adopted mimetic policies for drugs, alcohol,

fighting, and so on. The number of youth of

color suspended and expelled under these

umbrella policies grew exponentially. Experi-

ences of suspension and expulsion are firmly

linked to future incarceration (Meiners, 2007).

Additionally, the egregiously uneven tracking

of low-income Black and Brown youth into

low track or remedial (Saddler, 2005) and

special and behavior education classes and

programs (Blanchett, 2006) solidly predicts

travel on the school-to-prison pipeline. These

statistical relationships are contextualized by

emerging qualitative understandings of the

racialized experiences of schooling in which

low-income male youth of color, in particular,

are criminalized by the cultural and ideological

practices of the school (Davis, 2006; Ferguson,

2000; Meiners, 2007; Watts & Erevelles, 2004)

and society (Williams, 1995).

Analyzing and transforming educational

policy and practice to disrupt this forceful one-

way mechanism is urgently important in at-

tempting to remedy racist practices in school

and youth incarceration. From seeking reform

to working toward prison abolition (Davis,

2003; CR10 Publications Collective, 2008),

a focus on schooling is both logical and nec-

essary. However, without similarly extensive

understandings of the policy and practice im-

pacts of schooling in a prison context (and

often without any data or understanding),

education has consistently been taken up as

the singularly significant project within juve-

nile prison and detention systems. Further, it

has been framed as the major focus for incar-

cerated youth’s reentry into life outside.

Examining how schooling functions

within a juvenile prison and in relation to

youth reentry to society on the outside are

the focus of this chapter. Specifically, I engage

this question through a qualitative exploration

of a school and its links to release and reentry at

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 311

a prison site—Lincoln Center—that was part

of a larger ethnographic study I conducted.

The chapter also ponders how the young men

incarcerated at Lincoln negotiated its educa-

tional policies and practices connected to re-

entry. Specifically, the richly textured lived

realities of the young men, teachers, staff,

and administrators at Lincoln serve as a local

window onto the more abstract, national ju-

venile justice policy questions of schooling and

reentry. Through this window are glimpses of

the elusive and illusory nature of reentry and

its relationship to schooling. The stories that

emerged from Lincoln ask: What constitutes

successful reentry and schooling and who

defines them? How were practices of revoca-

tion, or widespread experiences of repeat

incarceration, taken into consideration in

the practice of youth incarceration? Similarly,

was reentry linked meaningfully to the mate-

rial realities of employment, fatherhood, and

future education?

RESEARCH

Lincoln Center was located in a state that made

some efforts, through its Division of Juvenile

Affairs (DJA), to reform aspects of the juvenile

justice system, including schooling. Data from

my ethnographic study of DJA’s Lincoln Cen-

ter indicate that schooling on the inside mimicked

schooling on the outside. Most of the young men

incarcerated there had clearly traveled the

school-to-prison pipeline, and many had drop-

ped out prior to their current incarceration.

Their participation in school on the inside was

not rehabilitative and did not clearly contrib-

ute to productive reentry. In this chapter,

I examine the tension between some of

the formal and informal educational policies

and practices implemented at Lincoln—the

state’s facility for its most serious male youth

offenders—and the material, lived realities of

the young men. I pay particular attention to

those policies and practices aimed specifically

at reentry and highlight how the young men

incarcerated in this facility understood reentry.

Reframing how we think of reentry and the

role of schooling is challenging in light of the

complex nexus of federal and state laws and

mandates that shape prison schooling in some

regard. Moreover, the fact of incarceration—

and its origins in and impact on inequity—

mitigates much of the potential to reform the

contradiction that is prison schooling in truly

effective ways. However, the analysis for-

warded here should challenge readers to con-

sider the nature of the relationship between

prison schooling and reentry, and to construct

critical questions for reform.

Context and Methods

Through two sabbatical releases and a grant

from my university, I was afforded the time and

travel support to conduct an ethnographic

study between the winter of 2008 and the

spring of 2009. I undertook my fieldwork

primarily at Lincoln Center, a state-run juve-

nile prison. The racial disparities in the incar-

ceration of youth of color in the United States

were reflected there, where the population of

youth of color in juvenile prisons was three

times their population in the state. At Lincoln,

almost all inmates were of color. While the

context of that state was relevant, my larger

concerns of juvenile incarceration are not

specific to locale, but instead to national ques-

tions about citizenship, rights, and humanity.

As with all states, there are many individuals

and organizations working diligently on spe-

cific policy and practice. My work is to offer

critiques of the larger ideological and material

systems constituting juvenile incarceration.

312 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

DJA officials insisted that the state did not

run juvenile prisons, but rather rehabilitation

centers. However, many of those who worked

and were confined at Lincoln described it as a

prison. In keeping with multiple critical ethno-

graphic traditions’ methods (Carspecken &

Walford, 2001; Delgado Bernal, 2002; Denzin

& Lincoln, 2005; Duncan, 2005; O’Connor,

Lewis, & Mueller, 2007; Smith, 1999; Smith,

2005; Sol�orzano & Yosso, 2002; Sprague, 2005; Twine & Warren, 2000; Vaught, 2008), here I

take up the language used by the young men

who were the focus of this study, as opposed to

the official language of the state. This decision

reflects two goals of critical qualitative research

and analysis: first, to privilege the perspectives

and understandings of subjects; and, second, to

highlight the tensions between dominant epis-

temic mechanisms—such as naming—and

experiences of marginality or resistance. How-

ever, I also use the term prison in keeping with

scholars and activists who decline to accept

state-sanctioned terminology around juvenile

incarceration—specifically, terminology that

sanitizes, naturalizes, or diminishes the practice

and impact of such incarceration (Meiners, 2007).

In this chapter, then, prison refers to a state

facility in which young men are locked up and

controlled. At night, some daytime hours, and

for “solitary,” the young men were placed in

what they, the security staff, teachers, and

administrators described as “cells.” The locked

cells were spare, including a plastic bed frame

and thin mattress, and reportedly reached

temperatures of 115 degrees during the sum-

mer months—a situation that upset some of

the adults sympathetic to the young men. The

young men’s eating, sleeping, bodily func-

tions, activities, and communication—with

people both inside and outside—were all fully

regulated and monitored.

In addition to referring to these recogniz-

able modes of state imprisonment, prison is

also here defined as a state institution mech-

anizing civil death. Meiners (2007) suggests

civil death refers not only to the removal of

certain civil rights, such as voting in the case of

adult prisoners, but also of the many other, less

formalized, pernicious consequences of incar-

ceration that also apply to youth: joblessness,

inability to secure housing, social stigmatiza-

tion, and so on. Prisons operate inside a system

of civil rather than social justice (Coates,

2004), which has always served to define

who can be a member of civil society and

therefore who can benefit from processes of

justice. These processes have functioned by

safeguarding powerful contingents who claim

civil status by excluding and punishing those

who are marginal to such societal legitimacy.

Exclusion through and from civil law has

operated consistently in the United States to

control racial power structures (Brewer &

Heitzeg, 2008). Finally, prison is the end point

of the school-to-prison pipeline, a phrasing

that most accurately captures both the institu-

tional relationships and the individual

experiences.

The Lincoln prison consisted of regular

units where the young men’s cells were located

and a prerelease unit—intended to transition

young men briefly before their full release—in

which the young men shared large sleeping

and social areas. Although DJA maintained

authority over Lincoln and stationed a facility

director there, prison operations were con-

tracted out to private, nonprofit “vendors.” At

the time I was there, the state had contracts

with four different vendors to run portions

of Lincoln, and a major change in staff and

policy occurred when the state terminated

one contract and negotiated a new contract

with another vendor. One vendor employed

and managed security staff. Security staff with

whom I spoke indicated their pay was $10–

$11 an hour. All security staff members were

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 313

people of color and many came from the same

neighborhoods as the young men.

While I was at Lincoln, state policy deter-

mined that the young men who were sent

there had to be between 13 and 21 years of age

and had to have been convicted and sentenced

for a minimum of six months. When I arrived,

Lincoln housed approximately 80 young men,

the majority of whom were African American

and Black Latino. Two were White and were

soon released. Many had sentences that well

exceeded six months, and many were doing a

second, and some a third, stint.

DJA identified schooling as central to

rehabilitation. Accordingly, Lincoln housed

a fully operational school, run and staffed by

a private, nonprofit education vendor. The

state contracted this vendor to provide educa-

tional services throughout the state’s juvenile

facilities. The vendor also maintained multiple

other program contracts separate from DJA.

Though publicly funded, state institutional

schools were not governed by or connected

to any school board, other public governing

body, or superintendent. Rather, the state

established what I call an administrative com-

mission to oversee educational policies and

practices inside juvenile prisons, and this

work was facilitated by official intermediaries.

I draw particular attention to the organi-

zation and operation of the prison and its

school by vendors because the privatization

of schooling is a considerable concern among

education scholars who have charted the dis-

mantling of public accountability, especially

to poor youth of color, in tandem with the

privatization of various aspects of schooling

(Alem�an, 2007; Dingerson, 2007; Fine, 1993; Levin, 1999; Lipman, 2004; Rodriguez &

Rolle, 2007; Smith, Miller-Kahn, Heinecke, &

Jarvis, 2004; Stein, 2004; Vaught, 2009;

Whitty, Power, & Halpin, 1998; Witte,

2000). This privatization process not only

removes accountability for education from

the public sphere, but also effectively masks

inequitable educational practices and atomizes

policy making and other decisions that directly

impact learning outcomes for youth. Signifi-

cantly, this trend is consistently noted to have

caused a decrease in successful educational

performances and outcomes for schools largely

serving low-income youth of color (Alem�an, 2007; Vaught, 2009; see also Boundy &

Karger, Chapter 14, this volume).

Nowhere was the impact of this privatiza-

tion more evident than in teacher and instruc-

tional quality at Lincoln. At the time, the

teachers at Lincoln and other state juvenile

prison schools were not unionized and did not

have to be certified in the areas they taught. All

teachers at Lincoln were White, very young,

inexperienced, and paid far less than their

counterparts in the surrounding cities; teacher

turnover was extraordinarily high. Most

teachers I interviewed said this was their first

teaching position; several had found the posi-

tion on Craigslist. Classroom instruction was

remarkably poor in quality, often consisting of

brief, rote work, followed by stretches of

inactivity.

The school was one long hallway on the

ground floor of the building, with all class-

rooms on one side. It was explained to me that

this particular design was created for safety, so

that security staff could see all activity in the

school at all times. The young men were

moved under tight control from class to class

in one group of fewer than ten. The school

separated the boys by gang affiliation with

either the Crips or the Bloods. Other affili-

ations were not used for inmate organization,

and many of the young men were not involved

in gang activity at all. The young men attended

class together, regardless of age. I was told that

all curricula were aimed at the ninth grade

and modeled loosely after the local city

314 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

ninth-grade curricula, to help the young men

transition back into high school. However,

many of the young men were not prepared

for ninth-grade level instruction, many had

already dropped out of school, and very few

intended to rematriculate. 2

It was in this context that I conducted

ethnographic research between the winter of

2008 and the spring of 2009. My schedule

shifted considerably depending on happenings

at Lincoln and demands of my own work

schedule. At Lincoln, I observed and partici-

pated in classes, spoke with the young men and

interviewed them formally and informally.

I also observed and interviewed teachers

and staff.

My research methods consisted of con-

temporary practices of ethnographic and nar-

rative qualitative data collection and analysis,

including taking field notes, conceptual and

thematic coding and analyses of interviews and

notes, and triangulation of qualitative data

across subsites, participants, and materials,

such as documents, records, and so on

(Clandinin & Connelly, 2000; Fine, Weis,

Weseen, & Wong, 2000; LeCompte &

Schensul, 1999; Weis & Fine, 2000; Witherell

& Noddings, 1991). For this chapter, I draw

on a subset of data from the larger project.

That subset includes formal and informal

interviews with and/or observations of

8 Lincoln teachers, 3 prison/school adminis-

trators, 3 DJA administrators, 4 community

leaders, 1 parent, and more than 40 young

men. It also includes field notes recorded daily

both during and after my time at Lincoln.

What I observed was a complex system,

and it is not within the purview of this chapter

to detail all its permutations. Instead, I provide

a cursory description of just some of those

policies, programs, practices, and beliefs that

directly informed reentry and that lend insight

into the larger question of how to both un-

derstand and approach issues of youth return

to life on the outside and its relation to

schooling.

THEORETICAL FRAME AND METHODOLOGY

Two bodies of scholarship inform my analyses.

Foucault’s (1995) conceptualizations of disci-

pline and punishment are particularly mean-

ingful. Foucault suggests that punishment itself

creates a set of truths about crime and the

criminal that do not exist independent of

the punishment. Further, he describes how a

citizenry must be disciplined into ideology

and behavior through spectacle and surveil-

lance. Criminalized individuals and their bod-

ies become mediums for widespread societal

disciplining, so that the spectacle of indi-

vidual punishment serves to discipline the

larger whole. Through surveillance, the gaze

is operationalized into systemic disciplinary

apparatuses. The individual is imprisoned

and unidirectionally watched.

While Foucault specifically illustrates sur-

veillance through Bentham’s Panopticon—the

architectural prison model designed to ensure

that prisoners can always be watched but never

be certain if they are being watched—I am

focusing on the omnipresent ideological

surveillance and discipline that shapes the

experiences of the young men at Lincoln.

Although looking at the prison itself would

make sense in a larger discussion, I do not want

readers here to mistake the physical structure

of the prison for the ideological imprison-

ment that disciplines all citizenry through the

construction of the criminal. Surveillance is

2 Youth of color in the state were nearly 4 times as likely as

their White counterparts to be placed in special educa-

tion classes and were 2.5 times as likely to be suspended.

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 315

mechanized inside and across societal institu-

tions, thereby reinforcing larger societal ide-

ologies of various material and ideological

forms of imprisonment. In other words, Fou-

cault suggests that the surveillance physically

built into the Panopticon is a tangible blue-

print of that built into ideological and material

societal structures that imprison all citizenry

into oppressive behaviors and beliefs. Societal

power structures are thus protected through

the specter and reality of omnipresent surveil-

lance. The surveillance of the young men at

Lincoln helped shape their criminalization.

This criminalization had a significant impact

on their experience of reentry, where they had

to negotiate life as criminals in the larger

ideological and structural systems.

The young men at Lincoln were punished

and criminalized in racially specific ways.

Their criminalization was, in part, a discipli-

nary tool of the larger society’s project to

protect racist power structures. Critical Race

Theory (CRT) helps explain the racialized

nature of their criminalization and the func-

tion of discipline. CRT is an interdisciplinary

scholarly movement that originated in legal

studies (Bell, 1992; Crenshaw, Gotanda, Peller,

& Thomas, 1995; Matsuda, Lawrence,

Delgado, & Crenshaw, 1993; Valdes, Culpe, &

Harris, 2002). It is organized around the pre-

cepts that racism is permanent and endemic to

U.S. society; that claims to positivistic, neutral

knowledge should be challenged; that analyses

of racism require social and historical contex-

tualization; and that CRT scholarship should

work to disrupt racist and other forms of

societal oppression through radical, not liberal,

change, among others (Bell, 1992; Crenshaw

et al., 1995; DeCuir & Dixson, 2004; Del-

gado, 1995; Delgado & Stefancic, 2001; Dix-

son & Rousseau, 2006; Haney L�opez, 2007; Harris, 1993; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995;

Lynn & Parker, 2006; Matsuda et al., 1993).

Significantly, CRT scholars posit that racism

is not an individual pathology, but rather a

pervasive, systemic, sociocultural dynamic.

Guinier (2004) describes racism as “the main-

tenance of, and acquiescence in, racialized

hierarchies governing resource distribution”

(p. 98). Such resources are material, cultural,

social, political, and so on.

CRT lends itself particularly well to analy-

ses of schooling and prison, as these two

institutional sites are integral and extensive

parts of the nationwide systems of resource

distribution and power. Guinier and Torres

(2002) plainly state that “institutional arrange-

ments do not work for people of color, and

that it is not possible to address the present

racial hierarchy without addressing these in-

stitutional arrangements” (p. 20). By enlisting

CRT to help explain the racist nature of

criminalization, discipline, and surveillance,

this chapter examines some of the ways in

which young men at Lincoln experienced

the institutional relationships that determine

their reentry into life on the outside.

Specifically, I adopt a Critical Race meth-

odology, especially as it has been shaped and

explored in the field of education studies

(Duncan, 2005; Ladson-Billings, 2000; Parker,

Deyhle, & Villenas, 1999; Parker & Lynn,

2002; Sol�orzano & Yosso, 2002; Vaught, 2008). Counterstorytelling—a methodological

strategy of privileging the voices and narratives

of people of color—has emerged as a signifi-

cant qualitative research tool that serves several

methodological purposes. First, counterstories

challenge the validity and neutrality of the

dominant master narratives, or majoritarian

stories, that work to maintain White material

and ideological societal domination (Bell,

1992; Ladson-Billings, 2000; Parker & Lynn,

2002). Second, counterstories are intended to

provide people of color a space and means to

describe their own realities (Choe, 1999;

316 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Hermes, 1999; Ladson-Billings, 1999). Third,

counterstories are issued in the hope “that

well-told stories describing the reality of black

and brown lives can help readers bridge the

gap between their worlds and those of others”

(Delgado & Stefancic, 2001, p. 41). The sto-

ries, interviews, observations, and field notes

that follow comprise a constellation of coun-

terstories speaking back to normative under-

standings of youth incarceration, prison

schooling, and reentry.

CRIMINALIZATION: PRISON, SCHOOLING, AND THE MAKING

OF A PREDATOR

The way the young men at Lincoln entered

the system and how they were defined while in

prison shaped how they reentered society on

the outside. During my first visit to Lincoln, I

was told, repeatedly, that “safety” was the main

“issue” at Lincoln school. One of the two

facility personnel who were orienting me said,

“These are not kids. These are predators.” I

was cautioned not to be friendly with or trust

any of the youth. One of the men explained

that to these young men, “niceness is a weak-

ness.” I was warned never to be alone with any

of the young men and to protect my body and

belongings at all times. Imprisonment of the

young men at Lincoln both formed and re-

inforced certain dominant truths about low-

income young men of color: that they were

innately and singularly dangerous, particularly

to women. The characterization of young

men of color as predators justified their incar-

ceration and determined their position in the

larger society. Specifically, it was a systemic

disciplinary mechanism by which the individ-

ual incarcerated Black male is posited as rep-

resentative of all Black men. This, in turn,

reifies dominant truths about the just rule of

law and White men as protectors of civic

organization.

The truths asserted through the criminal-

ization of these young men neither matched

the realities of their lives nor the reasons for the

incarceration. Although some of these young

men had indeed violated the law, others had

violated untenable terms of probation or been

singled out for legally ambiguous behavior,

such as fighting. And in all cases, no structural

understanding of the impact of racism and

economic oppression was undertaken in mak-

ing sense of their particular actions. In my field

notes on the meeting that first day, I wrote:

Field note: 1/28/08

When I asked what kinds of con-

victions the young men were in for—

in response to their statement that these

kids were the state’s worst offenders—

they replied that there was the occa-

sional manslaughter, attempted second

degree, rape, but mostly a and b: assault

and battery (sometimes with a deadly

weapon). Assault and battery could be

a fistfight. That is the most typical

conviction. Assault and battery.

My later inquiry proved this to be true.

Administrators with records shared that assault

and battery was the most common initial

charge and that many young men were re-

turned to lockup for violations of the terms of

their release. The young men at Lincoln were

constructed as predators in order to sustain a

logic around their imprisonment and to main-

tain a larger societal apparatus of surveillance

and discipline. As CRT scholar Harris (1993)

suggests, one of the central and exclusive rights

of Whiteness is the right to make meaning.

The young men at Lincoln, like other young

men of color criminalized through a constel-

lation of nationwide legal, governmental,

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 317

educational, and social systems, were used to

make meaning of the racist structures that

pervade the society. Specifically, in this con-

struction of the young men at Lincoln as

predators, the institutions and their personnel

drew on

. . . a political, economic, and cultural

system in which whites overwhelm-

ingly control power and material re-

sources, conscious and unconscious

ideas of white superiority and entitle-

ment are widespread, and relations of

white dominance and non-white

subordination are daily reenacted across

a broad array of institutions and social

settings. (Ansley in Harris, 1993,

p. 1714, n. 10)

This racialized meaning making, used to

discipline the entire society variously into cer-

tain ideological allegiances and behaviors, was

evident when we concluded that first meeting

and I was admitted into the school portion of

the prison. The young men were not only

Black, but were of notably physically large

stature. My field notes from that first day read,

[The young men] were tall—easily six

to six and a half feet tall across the

board . . . their size was a detriment to

their freedom. In the dominant mind,

large Black boys are more criminal and

more dangerous and more threatening

than other Black boys.

Just as White youth of all body statures

engage in the same activities that resulted in the

arrest and imprisonment of the young men at

Lincoln, Black and Brown youth of small stat-

ure also engage in such activities. But the young

men at Lincoln were marked for their build

and for their strength as signifying the Black

predatory threat against which White institu-

tions of “treatment,” “correction,” and

“commitment” are established. The Black

male body has long been a symbol in White

culture of criminality and danger, but the large

Black male body in particular has symbolized

the ultimately dangerous savage and beast that

are antithetical to and, consequently, construct

the boundaries around, humanity and citizen-

ship (Mann, 2007; Mercer, 1994; Morrison &

Lacour, 1997). Through criminalization and

incarceration the young men’s bodies were

transformed into Foucault’s spectacle itself,

transformed into the object of the dominant

gaze, thereby signifying White cultural ideolo-

gies about who can exist as citizen and human.

The stamp of predator on the bodies of the

young men at Lincoln was accompanied by

beliefs expressed by White teachers and in-

formed how and when the young men were

released. This was particularly important to the

young men at Lincoln, as policy dictated that

the length of their stay could easily be extended

by the clinicians assigned to them. While such

extension was not in fact an extension of the

initial sentence, it was so characterized by both

youth and adults at Lincoln. The perceived and

real threat of extensions served as a constant

mechanism of disciplining surveillance that was

linked directly to schooling.

Clinicians at Lincoln, all very young

White women, were understood to possess

and often use the authority to extend young

men’s “sentences” if they appeared not to be

ready for release. The clinicians used data from

the Lincoln school—teacher reports, fights,

and so on—to determine whether to require

extensions. While protocols were in place for

making extensions, some of which might

include notification of attorneys, not one

young man I spoke with was aware of any

protocols and none described involvement of

attorneys. Further, I did not meet a single

318 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

young man whose “sentence” had not been

extended, and most had their sentences

extended repeatedly, often for three to nine

months at a time.

Most of the young men reported that their

sentences were being extended because they

had not properly handled their anger and

needed more “treatment.” Many of the young

men spoke to the notion of Lincoln as a

“treatment” or rehabilitation facility. “Me, I

been gettin’ locked up since I was 10,” com-

mented one young man. “Doesn’t improve me

one bit.” “It don’t never help, if you lock

somebody up,” said another young man.

“Take away somebody’s freedom, not going

to change them,” said another.

Schooling, treatment, and the looming

threat of extension were enmeshed. For exam-

ple, the grading system for Lincoln was be-

haviorally based, and included a point system

awarding students for their cooperation. One

teacher described the grading policy as fol-

lows: “Kids are graded on direction, behavior,

and work. Direction consists of students being

able to follow directives; behavior consists of

general classroom behavior; and work is just

the work they submit at the end of the class.”

The greater part of the young men’s daily

grade, then, consisted of a subjective assess-

ment of their behavior. Assessment of learning

was largely absent in awarding points. If stu-

dents did not cooperate, they could be

“ejected”—a common practice that meant

the young man in question was handcuffed,

sent to his cell, deprived of all his belongings,

and held in solitary for an indefinite and

unpredictable period of time. The points at-

tached to grading and ejection were reported

to clinicians, who used them to determine

extensions, among other things. This direct

policy link between schooling and the conditions

and terms of incarceration structured schooling as the

primary apparatus of the disciplining gaze of the

various, and sometimes unidentifiable, forces of

power and punishment in these young men’s lives.

While magnified in scope, structure, and im-

pact in this prison context, this disciplinary

surveillance mirrored policies and practices in

schools on the outside (Ferguson, 2000;

Meiners, 2007; Noguera, 2008).

Teachers were the original source of infor-

mation in the discipline practice that deter-

mined extensions. Teachers were positioned

to police and assess student behavior, making

teachers wardens and students prisoners. While

the teachers possessed some variation in beliefs

and ideas about the young men in prison,

many of them expressed cultural and racial

misunderstanding at best and engaged in racial

microaggressions in the classroom (Sol�orzano, Ceja, & Yosso, 2000). Racial microaggressions

are seemingly subtle verbal and nonverbal inter-

actions in which White aggressors consciously

or unconsciously communicate messages of

Black cultural and racial inferiority and so

White superiority. Protected by their general

undetectability by White bystanders and the

near impossibility of explaining them to

Whites, these aggressions have significant

cumulative impact.

Importantly, these aggressions were linked

to teacher ideology and real consequences for

the young men. AWhite male science teacher

who, according to the principal, did not fare

well in two public school districts and so came

to Lincoln, captured part of the racial ideo-

logical norms that pervaded many aspects of

Lincoln one morning during his planning

period. Immediately after our interaction in

the faculty office area, I recorded our conver-

sation in my field notes.

Field note: 3/12/08

I had the list of all the young men

in my hand. He pointed to [two

names], and said, “These are the

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 319

only two White boys here.” I said I

thought so. He said, “All my other

students are Black.” I’m guessing he

doesn’t distinguish between African

American and Latino, Brown and

Black. He followed with, “This

doesn’t reflect [the city]” (meaning,

the racial demographics). “I have to

believe it has something to do with

race.” He was referring to the incar-

ceration of Black boys. Then imme-

diately he said, “But when I look at

my students, I see kids who need to be

locked up.” When I asked why, he

referred to their problematic

“attitudes,” including attitudes about

“consumer culture” and “drugs.” I

said I didn’t understand, and asked

for examples. [He said,] “If they

have a headache, they want a Tylenol

right away. If they have a sore throat,

they want a lozenge. They think they

should take Viagra to improve their

sexual function.” How he presumed

to know the latter, or not know this

would have been some sort of joke

was beyond me. . . . When pressed to

describe the attitudes that justify [the

young men at Lincoln] being locked

up, he referred to their use of Tylenol

and cough drops. . . . He said to me,

“They’re just not ready to be in

society.”

This teacher, like many others at Lincoln,

suggested that race was a source of criminal

attitudes or behavior. Significantly, he and

others identified racial disparities in incarcer-

ation not as a biased function of the legal

systems, but as indicative of something wrong

with Black culture and young Black men in

particular. Further, the young men at Lincoln,

defined and debased as racialized predators,

were held to standards of moral and social

behavior that well exceeded those imposed

on anyone else in society. This seemingly

illogical set of notions—that youth might be

denied their freedom because they take cough

drops—provided dominant commonsense

rationales for their incarceration. It reified a

fictitious White norm and real gaze of moral-

ity and virtue against which Black male

youth could be measured and always come

up short (see Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6,

this volume).

This teacher was not alone in such opin-

ions. Rather, teachers consistently identified

surprisingly benign behaviors as evidence of

immoral, and therefore unfit, attitudes.

Further, it is not insignificant that the teacher

referenced Viagra. The young men at Lincoln

were consistently sexualized in teacher dis-

course in spite of the fact that during my

time there I was told that fewer than 4% of

the young men were actually in on sex-related

charges. The looming, mythical threat of Black

male hypersexuality and violence was mobi-

lized to discipline them and the larger society.

For the fathers at Lincoln, this was a highly

present form of ideological discipline, as the

evidence of their sexual activity marked them as

lascivious in ways allowed only White men.

As critical race scholars argue, these ra-

cialized ideas are not unique to aberrant White

individuals, who are afflicted by a psychologi-

cal illness. Rather, the ideas taken up by

individual Whites are part of a larger nexus

of systems that maintains racial power struc-

tures. As Lawrence (1993) writes, “The racist

acts of millions are mutually reinforcing and

cumulative because the status quo of institu-

tionalized white supremacy remains long after

deliberate racist actions subside” (p. 61). In this

case, teacher attitudes were directly linked to

tangible power through sentence extension

policy. One young man said, “Everybody

320 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

has no say once you got yourself in the system.

So, you’re like a puppet.”

Those young men who were ultimately

granted release from Lincoln learned a restraint

unparalleled in my research or experience in

schools. Their forced acquiescence to (and

sometimes negotiation with) the racist discipli-

nary mechanisms that marked them as criminals

in fact prepared them for reentry as criminals.

Schooling on the inside did not help them

navigate the complexities of this reentry; rather,

it disciplined them into it. Indeed, if successful

reentry meant, at the very least, avoiding

revocation—including understanding the day-

to-day implications of their formal and informal

locations vis-�a-vis law enforcement, probation, and other systems—and, at the very best the

improvement of their material circumstances,

including finding real employment and educa-

tion opportunities that would positively impact

their materialand civic circumstances, the range

went unaddressed by prison schooling.

A MENACE TO SOCIETY

During my first few months at Lincoln I met

Anthony, a young Black man who had been

moved to the prerelease unit and was trying

assiduously not to have his sentence extended.

Like a number of the young men at Lincoln,

he had multiple charges, and had been in DJA

custody since he was 10 years old, when he was

initially detained and then committed for

fighting another youth who had approached

him with a knife and tried to rob him. He had

lost count of the number of times he had been

returned to lock-up for violating the terms of

his release.

Once committed, youth were in the legal

custody of DJA until they were 18 or 21, and

could be placed in prisons like Lincoln or in

the community under a parole system with

terms of release. DJA determined the place-

ment and its length. The standards for main-

taining freedom during reentry were all

behaviorally based and extraordinarily severe.

Youth were not allowed to sleep in class or skip

school, were required to follow a strict curfew,

assigned community service, and held to a

slew of subjective behavioral measures. I found

that youth’s failure to meet these subjective

and unevenly applied standards resulted con-

sistently in their being locked up.

For example, Anthony had been locked

up for violating his terms of community re-

lease by truancy at his school on the outside,

for violating curfew (9 p.m.), because he “slept

in school,” and, with two of his friends, when

they came across a group of “White kids 20

deep standing on the corner.” According to

Anthony, the police officers said to the White

youth, “Everybody just leave.” To Anthony

and his friends, the police said, “We have

reason to believe this is gang related.”

Anthony and his friends were “searched and

harassed.” Nothing on the inside prepared

Anthony to understand what it would mean

to encounter various systems of authority that

could immediately identify him as committed

to DJA and use this mark of criminality to

confirm their racialized understandings of

who is a criminal and who is a citizen.

It is important to note that the racializa-

tion of criminal and civic bodies and groups

cannot be reduced to a quantitative account-

ing for who is incarcerated. This racialization

is also present in how that overt legal process of

racially disparate arrest and incarceration is

accompanied by, and mutually reinforces,

larger cultural and ideological practices by

which men of color, for example, who achieve

mainstream educational and professional suc-

cess are always cast as the exception to the rule

and those who constitute the unemployed or

incarcerated are characterized as the norm

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 321

(Williams, 1995). Further, people who associ-

ate and identify with Black Americans can be

ideologically and sometimes materially black-

ened by the local dominant groups and power

structures (Lee, 2005; Ong, 2000). This was

true of one young White man I met at Lincoln

who described being arrested only when he

was in the company of his Black and Brown

friends.

Nothing about schooling at Lincoln pre-

pared the young men for what many of them

experienced as the inevitability of being re-

turned repeatedly to lockup that was the hall-

mark of their civil death. When I asked him

what he did learn while in locked custody,

Anthony said to me, “I wasn’t really a fighter

until I went to [DJA]. Then I got used to it.”

According to Anthony, being in DJA prepared

him for reentry by teaching him to fight.

His most recent fight on the outside had landed

him in Lincoln. He had gone to his mother’s

apartment to “call in for curfew.” Then, he said,

“I got pulled in because my mom’s boyfriend

tried to hit her. So, I beat him up,” said

Anthony. “How are you gonna lock me up

for defendin’ my mother?” Beating up his

mother’s boyfriend was considered a violation

of probation, and so Anthony was “re-

committed.” Anthony pointed out, “I wouldn’t

be [at Lincoln] if I wasn’t committed [already].”

As for many of the young men, reentry into life

on the outside was temporary and organized

to return him to lockup. This time, however,

Anthony faced a particularly complicated situ-

ation. Because he would turn 19 before his

sentence was up and trial could be completed,

his court-appointed attorney encouraged him

to “plead out.” In this way, he believed he

would avoid being “aged out” of the juvenile

prison system while serving his sentence, and

thus also avoid being transferred to an adult

prison. He said he had learned to do anything

possible to elude that particular fate.

However, the plea Anthony was offered in

order to gain release at age 18 was guilty of

assault and being a “menace to society.” This

plea was particularly problematic for Anthony,

because it meant that he would not be able to

reside with or even visit his mother, who lived

in Section 8 housing where the “assault”

occurred. If authorities knew that Anthony

so much as entered the property, his mother’s

subsidy and lease would be terminated. So

during the time he prepared for reentry,

Anthony was uncertain about where he would

live, how he would pay for it, and what he

might do to earn a living. He said he had been

told by someone (he could not recall whom)

that he might be able to get transitional hous-

ing, but was not sure. School was well in

Anthony’s past and he had no plans to return.

After Anthony was committed to DJA,

some of his schools and teachers were given

this information. Additionally problematic

was that the information was incomplete, so

that teachers did not know if he had been

committed for murder or for a fight, for

example. Of the high school he attended until

dropping out permanently, Anthony said,

“The teachers know the kids’ records. They

don’t know me, so they’re afraid of me.”

Anthony’s 8-year experience inside the insti-

tutional relationships among DJA, Probation,

law enforcement, the court system, and

schooling marked him as a criminal. As agents

of the various disciplining apparatuses, teach-

ers on the outside mobilized their power-

invested gaze, reinforcing Anthony’s criminal-

ized status in a very public context. All the

young men with whom I spoke described

similar experiences with schooling. And, as

I described above, the familiar disciplinary

gaze of dominant society through schooling

was mechanized in particularly punitive ways

inside the Lincoln school. Schooling inside and

outside helped shape reentry into a revolving door of

322 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

release and reincarceration. So while reentry

might be constructed in the dominant dis-

course and ideology as an opportunity for

youth to positively reconstruct their lives,

the interlocking forces of the juvenile legal

system, schooling, and racist ideology forged a

reentry that not only failed to produce positive

results for youth, but by which youth were

constructed as public criminals in the larger

mechanisms of societal discipline and control.

Most of the young men with whom I spoke

at Lincoln were frustrated with the systems that

seemingly worked against them, but had learned

to take complete and individual responsibility for

their “charges.” Young men typically said to me

of their charges and sentences, “It’s on me.”

They were disciplined into seeing themselves as

criminals and blunting their own critiques of a

set of institutions that most often failed to

support their reentry and generally ensured their

reincarceration. Specifically, school on the inside

trained them to monitor their own behavior

according to extraordinary, uneven, and un-

predictable demands. Unable to learn a set of

rules because those rules were guided not by

consistency, logic, or fairness, but by the societal

drive to protect and reproduce racially reified

notions of criminality, many of the young men

became alternately frustrated, defeated, angry,

and fatalistic. These struggles, imposed by the

unremitting mechanisms of discipline and pun-

ishment, further isolated the young men,

thereby thwarting any possible potential for suc-

cessful reentry (see Pinderhughes, Craddock, &

Fermin, Chapter 9, this volume).

REENTRY: “AND WE CAN’T SAVE A KID”

The isolation of the young men was particu-

larly evident in the story of a young Black man

named Reynold (Rey), whose struggle with

release and reentry highlighted the tension

between the punishing institutions and the

lived realities of the young men locked up

at Lincoln.

Rey’s struggles occurred against the back-

drop of the system’s ostensible effort to prepare

young men for reentry. As part of its Learning

Campaign, the state’s DJA created a Commu-

nity Connections Initiative. This initiative was

described as aimed at helping incarcerated

youth develop “life skills” and “work skills”

so they could successfully move from prison to

the workforce.

During one skills class I observed, the

young men participated in a computer assess-

ment to help them determine possible future

careers. One young man began laughing and

said, “This says I’m supposed to be a police.

Wonder how that’s gonna work.” Other

young men, already on the prerelease unit,

went out to community workshops and train-

ings. All of them reported to me that no one

could answer their questions about back-

ground checks. And because the Lincoln

school was not permitted to offer a GED

program for “security reasons,” as I was told

by a DJA administrator and a vendor adminis-

trator, the young men did not meet the edu-

cational requirements for any potential work

programs. These programs constituted a false

practice of reentry preparation that reinforced

the disciplinary mechanisms of prison educa-

tion. In other words, by providing such pro-

grams, the state and the prison appeared to be

supporting positive possibilities for reentry.

The young men’s participation in these pro-

grams was used to confirm the alignment of

the systems, thereby attaching the young men’s

failure singularly and personally to them, not

to the constellation of systems that failed and

continued to fail them.

Their individual failure carried enor-

mously serious consequences. While the

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 323

same school practice for students not in DJA

custody (read: not criminalized), mechanized,

for example, by attaching individual student

grades to the faScade of meritocracy, might lead to severely disparate material outcomes, the

individual meritocratic failure of a criminal-

ized youth had dire consequences, including

future incarceration. Yet it was through this

attachment of failure to the individual young

men that their role as criminal was further

solidified, and so their larger societal function

as the boundary against which citizenship

could be measured and monitored. Meritoc-

racy in schooling and training produced the

public spectacle of failure and reified dominant

ideologies about crime and punishment.

While I take seriously the severe mismatch

between stated practices and what material

support is really available to the young men

as they were prepared to reenter society on the

outside, the attention given to education, broadly

conceived, is terribly misguided. In fact, I would

suggest that while government agencies,

political groups, nonprofits, research organi-

zations, and citizen assemblies are rightly con-

cerned about the educational policies and

practices aimed at incarcerated youth, even

the best policies and practices are rendered

meaningless without consideration of the real

and imminent needs of low-income young

men of color and without understanding of

the larger racialized ideologies that contextu-

alize the systems. Bell (2004) argues that be-

cause youth of color and their communities

are not party to the creation or implementa-

tion of educational policy, any benefit they

might receive from policy is simply fortuitous.

It is impossible to fight a breach when one

is not party to the creation of the contract,

but is rather the object—intentionally or

incidentally—of said contract. This is now-

here more true than in a prison educational

context. The state as parent (Ayers, 1997)

assumes a degree of autonomy and authority

unparalleled in public schooling on the out-

side, and the Black and Brown youth incar-

cerated at Lincoln were positioned as predators

for whom the state is making its best efforts.

When efforts fall short or fail, the blame is

placed on youth, their families, and their

communities.

Families were well aware of this dynamic.

One mother I visited in her home said she

knew her son was being treated unfairly inside

Lincoln. This young Black man was academi-

cally very smart and had repeatedly requested

materials to complete a GED course, some-

thing he offered to do without teacher support

and something with which I offered the

administration to assist. While the principal

wanted to consent, the prison administration

denied the request. This mother told me that

the last time she filed a complaint, her son’s

sentence was extended, and so she was afraid to

say anything now, particularly as he was at the

age that an extension would mean transfer to

adult prison. She could not bargain for edu-

cational policies or exceptions to policies be-

cause not only did she not possess the right to

make considered negotiations, she and her son

were disciplined for ostensibly rebuffing their

“fortuity” (Bell, 2004).

This disciplining mechanism is made pos-

sible by what Delgado (1996) calls the

“empathic fallacy.” False empathy describes a

racialized societal mechanism by which White

institutions and their representatives can enact

policy or practice based on their understand-

ing and expression of empathy for people of

color. The fallacy lies in “the belief that one

can change a narrative by merely offering

another, better one—that the reader’s or lis-

tener’s empathy will quickly and reliably take

over” (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001, p. 28). In

fact, the White listener hears a pitiable story,

but not one that changes fundamental White

324 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

beliefs about why or how conditions exist and

not one that necessitates or exacts structural

change. Rather, this empathy captures a

mechanism of systematized racial power

dynamics.

Much like hate speech (Matsuda et al.,

1993), when such empathy is mobilized by

an individual, it leverages the stereotypes that

create traction in dominant systems. For exam-

ple, teachers expressed to me pity for students

because they were born into deficient cultures,

lazy families, and violent communities. The

pity reifies the system of stereotypes, which

reciprocally entrenches power hierarchies. False

empathy references an institutionalized solip-

sism masked by ostensible benevolence and

protects the status quo. Real empathy would

require participation in societal transformation

aimed at disrupting racial power hierarchies

(Delgado, 1997). For example, false empathy

inside the ideological and structural systems that

incarcerate youth of color positions those insti-

tutions as necessary supports for errant youth

and communities and enacts empathic policy,

such as educational initiatives and curricula, to

bolster its support of criminalized youth.

In education, false empathy was most

famously systematically deployed in Brown v.

Board of Education. The agreement to end de

jure desegregation was based largely on the

compelling argument that denying Black

youth the right to associate with White youth

was damaging to their psychological develop-

ment and well-being (Guinier, 2004). This

framing of desegregation as denying Black

children psychological—not material or

structural—access to Whiteness created false

empathy across various segments of White

society (along with violent resistance, namely

across those segments of White society to

whom the “burden” of integration fell).

The empathy was false because it was predi-

cated on notions of White superiority and

not on the egregious injustice of the in-

equitable distribution of resources and demo-

cratic schooling. Empathy describes the

psychologization of what are truly material,

structural phenomena, requiring not care or

pity, but radical reorganization. Further,

empathy maintains the locus of power. Whites

can give associational rights, and there is no

establishment of parity in brokering authority.

False empathy and racial fortuity in

schooling collude to safeguard inequitable sys-

tems. Most teachers at Lincoln with whom I

spoke expressed some form of false empathy.

When I asked them what they thought the

sources of criminal behavior among the young

men at Lincoln were, they replied that some

are “kids who don’t wanna get it” and some

are “literally mentally ill,” attributed some-

times to mothers being crack addicts and

sometimes to dysfunctional or violent families.

Others identified “growing up in the inner

city” as a source of criminal behavior. One

said, “Kids from the inner city want the

elevator to the top.” One teacher proposed

a solution that highlights the extraordinary

danger of false empathy. When asked what

he truly thought would solve problems facing

the youth incarcerated at Lincoln, he sug-

gested that in order to support urban youth

of color, “The government takes all kids and

raises them from birth.”

Schooling was the apparatus of both false

empathy and discipline, making invisible the

real needs of the young men. In this context,

Rey was moved to the prerelease unit and,

according to many adults in the facility, began

“assaulting everyone.” Rey had been one of

the more docile young men at Lincoln, sub-

mitting quietly to verbal harassment from

teachers and other youth. He was never pro-

voked to fight and never instigated verbal or

physical conflict. However, immediately upon

his transfer to the prerelease unit, he began to

Juvenile Prison Schooling and Reentry: Disciplining Young Men of Color 325

fight both verbally and physically. His clinician

extended his sentence, and Rey became once

again docile. The pattern repeated itself several

times, with Rey’s sentence being extended for

several months after each incident.

Ultimately, it was the principal—who was

consistently supportive of the young men, but

often hamstrung through a variety of policies

and organizational structure—and one of

Rey’s friends who explained to the clinicians

that Rey had received word from the outside

that the same people who killed his brother

would kill him “the day he was out.” Rey’s

older brother had been incarcerated and, upon

release, had worked with local organizations

and his church on various projects aimed at

supporting youth. He was shot outside his

grandmother’s house, and the assailants were

never arrested. Rey said he knew he would

face the same fate and preferred to stay incar-

cerated. Reentry meant death. No policy in

place supported him, so he had to draw on

constructed notions of himself as a racialized

criminal and predator to manipulate the sys-

tem to protect him—ironically, by keeping

him locked up. While the authorities inside

Lincoln eventually became aware of Rey’s

situation, they had no options to adequately

support him.

The principal of Lincoln narrated the

tension between policy and reality in reentry.

One day he spoke with me about Rey. Then

he pointed to the name of another young man

on the wall calendar. The young man’s first

initial and last name filled the box of his date of

release, less than two months earlier. Then the

principal gestured toward a wall, stacked floor

to ceiling with office supplies: reams of paper,

boxes of paper clips, pencils, binders, and

rubber bands, and so on. “I get a ridiculous

budget for office supplies I can’t even use,” he

said. He could not use them because many of

the supplies contained what DJA considered

potential contraband. Paper clips, I had been

told, could be used to unlock handcuffs. He

said sadly, “I get $2,000 a month. . . . And we

can’t save a kid.” He said he wished he could

take some of that money and buy a young man

who needed it a plane ticket to Alabama, to

stay with family until he was safe. He wished

he could use small portions of that money to

make reentry safe. Rhetorically, he asked,

“What are we doing?” I did not reply. “We

are not doing the right thing, that’s for sure.”

The name on the wall calendar belonged

to a young Black man who was bright, funny,

and gregarious. Even at Lincoln, he was liked

by teachers. And he got along well with his

peers. He was released from Lincoln. Then

some few weeks later he was shot, three times,

as he crossed a street one summer evening

leaving a barbeque. When I searched for his

obituary in the local paper, I could not find it. I

learned that one has to pay to place an obitu-

ary, and his family could not.

CONCLUSION

The very institutions that reproduce the societal

conditions of violence and oppression, that

construct young men of color as criminals,

that utilize them as spectacles of larger societal

discipline and structural omnipotence, also pro-

duce policies and practices to ostensibly “treat”

and “educate” these young men. But these

young men must face the reality of reentry

into a world where they are never free, where

they cannot find work, where their paternity is

degraded and challenged, and where their sur-

vival is uncertain at best. Within this context,

schooling is the least of their worries and the smallest of

their assets.

At both the center and the utter margins

of youth incarceration and reentry, schooling

presents both symbolic and real tensions in the

326 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

simultaneous social production of criminals

and the ostensible efforts to fashion their

“treatment.” Schooling on the outside is a

broken system that functions, in part, to funnel

youth into prison. To mimetically reproduce

school on the inside ignores the systemic

mechanisms of schooling in the United States

today and masks the structural shortcomings

of institutions, policies, and ideologies of

youth incarceration. In very apparent ways,

school is constructed to provide the public

forum for the spectacle of discipline and pun-

ishment. Concurrently, it is revered in domi-

nant ideology as the chief site of meritocratic

opportunity, sanctifying notions of individual

uplift and possibility at the expense of those

who are barred from such mobility. These two

seemingly disparate functions of schooling

work in lockstep to naturalize the production

and existence of youth criminals and to locate

the sources and practices of this reified crimi-

nality squarely with the youth and their fami-

lies, communities, and race. Further, these

functions maintain the reigning racial order

by disciplining the entire society into beliefs in

constructed truths of race and crime, punish-

ment and possibility, youth and citizenship.

The question remains, particularly for this

volume: What can be done about prison

schooling and reentry? The editors asked me

to consider implications for reform, and in

good faith I agreed to the endeavor. However,

I hesitate because the data I have described and

the analyses I have shared here point specifi-

cally to the need for remedy and transforma-

tion to be both radical and to be generated

through real collaboration with the youth who

are objects of the current systems, as well as

their families and communities. I recognize

the urgent and practical need to address the

conditions of youth currently incarcerated and

simultaneously understand the necessity of

challenging the existence of a broken and

oppressive system. In this spirit is my hope

that the chapter will raise productive questions

for all who work with incarcerated youth, and

will contribute to the larger dialogues ranging

topically from reform to abolition.

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330 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

16 CHAPTER

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls

FRANCINE T. SHERMAN AND LISA GOLDBLATT GRACE

R aquel was the subject of a child abuse

and neglect petition due to her mother’s

failure to protect her from sexual abuse by

mother’s live-in boyfriend. During Raquel’s

4 years in the custody of the state Department

of Children and Families, she lived in a series

of foster homes, residential placements, and

with her grandmother. She ran from many of

these placements and, when on the streets, was

recruited by an experienced pimp, who

exploited her through prostitution. He took

care of her and also manipulated her until she

felt he was her whole world. Once he rendered

her isolated and dependent, he physically

threatened and abused her. She was beaten

and raped by the men who paid to have sex

with her. Although she traveled with her pimp

to neighboring states, she was arrested in her

home state on charges of prostitution when

she was 15, about one year after she was first

commercially sexually exploited. Charged as a

delinquent, she was placed in locked deten-

tion. The police hoped she would testify

against her pimp, but she both loved him

desperately and feared him, and was unwilling

to testify. Absent an appropriate placement,

she lingered in detention for months. She was

ultimately placed in a program for girls with

serious mental health issues.

INTRODUCTION

Raquel’s story is typical of young girls who are

victims of commercial sexual exploitation,

which remains an insistent, profound issue

in the United States. Young people (girls,

boys, and transgender youth) are “deceived,

manipulated, forced or coerced” into the

commercial sex industry every day (Clawson,

Dutch, Solomon, & Goldblatt Grace, 2009).

The average age of entry into prostitution

nationally is between 12 and 14 years old (Estes

& Weiner, 2001; Lloyd, 2005; Silbert & Pines,

1981; Smith, Vardaman, & Snow, 2009). Most

often, these children are first seen as victims in

the child and family services system as a result

of familial abuse. They are later seen as delin-

quents in our juvenile justice system, crimi-

nalized for their exploitation. Understanding

the victim–offender tension that inhibits our

policy and the continuum of abuse that begins

in childhood is critical to understanding and

responding to the commercial sexual exploi-

tation of children (CSEC).

CSEC is first and foremost child sexual

abuse, yet unlike other forms of child sexual

abuse, CSEC is sexual abuse of a minor for

economic gain (Mukasey, Daley, & Hagy,

2007). In addition, CSEC occurs when a child’s

331

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

exploitation is connected in some way to the

commercial sex industry (Lloyd, 2005). For

example, sexual exploitation clearly occurs

when a coach induces his middle school soccer

player to have intercourse with him in ex-

change for the starting position. However,

not until that same coach brings his player to

a coaches’ conference and systematically sells his

player to other coaches does it meet the defi-

nition of CSEC.

While girls, boys, and transgender youth are

all victims of commercial sexual exploitation in

need of targeted services and policy reform, this

chapter will focus exclusively on the experiences

and needs of girls. We do this, in part, because

the dynamics of CSEC as well as the law

enforcement and social service responses for

each population are different, and require indi-

vidual analysis (Finkelhor & Ormrod, 2004). It is

our hope that discussing the dynamics and

response to commercial sexual exploitation of

girls will support similar analyses for boys, and

transgender youth, and that our recommenda-

tions for girls will inform those analyses.

Although almost every state, the District

of Columbia, and the federal government

have passed laws since 2000 to address some

aspect of this issue (Polaris Project, 2010; see

Table 16.1), state and federal systems continue to

struggle with how to properly define and address

the constellation of issues posed by CSEC.

Legislation falls into two broad categories:

& Laws aimed at aiding and enhancing

prosecution of perpetrators of CSEC

(i.e., pimps, johns); and & Laws aimed at providing legal protec-

tion, services, or compensation to

victims of CSEC (recently referred

to as “Safe Harbor” laws).

As state and local authorities implement

policy and practice for this population, those

two goals—law enforcement and victim

protection—can conflict, creating practices

that serve neither goal fully. Moreover, absent

comprehensive legislation directed at this

multifaceted issue, prosecution-focused efforts

are more common, and existing laws can be

misapplied, yielding results contrary to sound

public policy and research.

This chapter begins by framing the official

response to CSEC in historical and theoretical

terms, describing the victim–offender tension

behind current policies. We then survey

the literature about the incidence of CSEC

and its impact on the girls who are exploited.

Finally, we summarize international and U.S.

federal and state responses, as expressed in

legislation and initiatives, noting trends within

the rapidly increasing body of U.S. state legis-

lation addressing CSEC. In the course of this

analysis, we offer some ideas to frame a needed

comprehensive response to CSEC in the

United States.

CSEC AND GIRLS: CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES

Serious examination of policy responses to com-

mercial sexual exploitation of girls (and women)

has been surprisingly limited, as discussion of

policies relating to sex often are because they

tread close to sensitive moral and political issues.

What discussion there is has been too often

animated by a false dichotomy, expressed over

the years in discussions about the prostitution of

adult females—that girls in CSEC must be either

offenders or victims, with each triggering a

different set of responses and having significant

policy and resource consequences (Kristof &

WuDunn, 2009). For example, accurate data

collection, which is critical to understanding

the incidence and nature of CSEC, has been

hindered because exploited youth are sometimes

332 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

identified by law enforcement as victims and

sometimes as offenders, each with separate data-

bases and responses (Finkelhor & Ormrod,

2004). In its 2009 report, Shared Hope Inter-

national cited misidentification of victims of

CSEC as “the primary barrier to the rescue

and response to domestic minor sex trafficking

victims” (Smith et al., 2009, p. 2). Although

official rhetoric in the United States defines

commercially exploited children as victims,

they appear more often in offender databases

and are commonly processed as offenders

in the juvenile and criminal justice systems

(Finkelhor & Ormrod, 2004; Mukasey et al.,

2007; Smith et al., 2009).

Our lack of clarity about commercial

sexual exploitation of girls is nowhere more

apparent than in the contradictory application

of the criminal laws of prostitution and rape.

Although states vary in how they codify this

principle, every state assumes in its criminal

law that minors under a certain age (i.e., 16)

cannot participate voluntarily in sex. Minors

are thus protected through criminal laws that

define the age at which a youth can consent to

sex by that youth’s age alone or the age

difference between the parties (Annitto, in

press; Glosser, Gardiner, & Fishman, 2004).

These “statutory rape” laws, as well as other

state criminal laws, are designed to protect

minors from sexual exploitation. Nonetheless,

the vast majority of state prostitution laws

allow the prosecution for prostitution of those

very minors who, by virtue of their age, are

considered incapable of consenting to sexual

activity under state statutory rape laws.

This conflict has been addressed with

opposite results by the highest state courts in

New York and Texas. In New York, the court

upheld the prosecution for prostitution of a

12-year-old minor who was below the age of

consent under state rape law. The court rea-

soned that the age of consent for rape was

irrelevant to prosecution under the N.Y. pros-

titution law, which contained no age require-

ment (In re Nicolette R., 2004). However, the

Texas Supreme Court found it:

. . . difficult to reconcile the Legisla-

ture’s recognition of the special vulner-

ability of children, and its passage of

laws for their protection, with an intent

to find that children under 14 under-

stand the nature and consequences of

their conduct when they agree to com-

mit a sexual act for money. (In re B.W.,

2010, pp. 821–822)

To resolve this conflict, the Court over-

turned the 13-year-old’s prostitution adjudica-

tion and held that it was unlawful to prosecute a

minor under 14 for prostitution because else-

where in Texas law children under the age of 14

do not have the capacity to consent to sex.

These New York and Texas cases highlight the

need for state legislatures and courts to explic-

itly reflect the psychology of the child victim of

commercial sexual exploitation by recognizing

that children do not freely choose to be sexually

exploited and cannot be found to consent to

their exploitation.

Yet, the notion of a willfully “precocious”

teenage girl in need of justice system control

animates the history of girls in the U.S. juvenile

justice system, which has been used to control

“wayward” girls whose sexual behaviors have

often triggered state intervention (Brenzel, 1983;

Knupfer, 2001). The juvenile justice system’s

paternalistic application of law and policy to

girls whose behaviors run counter to social

expectations is well-documented (Chesney-

Lind & Shelden, 1998). For girls who are com-

mercially sexually exploited, the paternalism in

the juvenile justice system is compounded by a

moralistic and uncomfortable attitude about

prostitution and the women and girls involved.

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 333

In fact, theories explaining prostitution that date

back to Freud blamed the prostituted women

and girls, positing biologic or psychological

issues as explanations (Flowers, 2001).

Young women experiencing CSEC and

many advocates object to both the offender

and victim labels, believing that neither cap-

tures the girls’ experiences and both deprive

them of opportunities for individual growth

and empowerment that can come out of their

experiences of sexual exploitation (Friedman,

2005; Young Women’s Empowerment

Project, 2009). A 2009 participatory action

research study by young women who expe-

rienced commercial sexual exploitation sup-

ports a harm reduction approach, which is

controversial and contrary to the prevailing

system view that girls must fully leave CSEC in

order to recover from their abuse (Kristoff &

WuDunn, 2009). The young women re-

searchers are reluctant to rely on official re-

sponses to assist them, in part because they

experienced “institutional violence” when

they were turned away by nonprofits and

hospitals that misunderstood their experiences

and were biased against them. These young

women also describe exploitation and degra-

dation by police who were supposed to protect

them. Their mantra, “resilience is the begin-

ning of resistance,” expresses the coexistence

of autonomy and victimization in their expe-

rience of commercial sexual exploitation and

raises important questions about how to struc-

ture the system’s response (Friedman, 2005;

Young Women’s Empowerment Project,

2009; see also Kristoff & WuDunn, 2009).

CSEC: INCIDENCE AND THE EXPERIENCE

The exact number of youth who are commer-

cially sexually exploited in the United States is

unknown. Although a variety of methods have

been used to attempt to quantify CSEC in the

United States and provide accurate demo-

graphic information about those involved,

the data are always extrapolated from less

targeted data sources (e.g., arrests, victims of

crime, juvenile detention), making an accurate

count impossible (Smith et al., 2009; U.S.

Department of Justice, 2010). Moreover,

CSEC is a “low-visibility” crime, so that

law enforcement, which is the most common

source of data, has difficulty identifying and

quantifying it (Mukasey et al., 2007; see also

U.S. Department of Justice, 2010). In the most

in-depth study to date, Estes and Weiner

(2001) estimated that between 244,000 and

325,000 youth in the United States (boys,

girls, and transgender youth) are considered

“at risk” for sexual exploitation, and it is esti-

mated that 199,000 incidents of sexual exploi-

tation of minors occur each year in the United

States. These figures, however, are likely well

below the number of youth encountered by

practitioners on the frontlines, nationwide.

Because so many runaway and thrown-

away youth are sexually exploited through

prostitution (Estes & Weiner, 2001; Flowers,

2001; U.S. Department of Justice, 2010), it is

useful to look at the Second National Inci-

dence Studies of Missing, Abducted,

Runaway, and Thrown-away Children (NIS-

MART-2) for additional data about preva-

lence. In 1999, approximately 1,682,900

youth were runaway or thrown-away at

some point; approximately 71% of them

were considered at risk for prostitution

(Hammer, Finkelhor, & Sedlak, 2002). Estes

and Weiner estimate that 10–15% of children

living on the streets are trafficked for sex

(2001; see also Mukasey et al., 2007), while

ECPAT International (End Child Prostitution

Child Pornography and Trafficking of Chil-

dren for Sexual Purposes) estimates that one

third of teens on the street will be exploited

334 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

within 48 hours of their appearance there

(Friedman, 2005).

National arrest data are useful but limited

because they rely exclusively on law enforce-

ment’s ability to identify and arrest involved

youth who are trained by their pimps to evade

authorities and lie about their age (Smith et al.,

2009). Moreover, there are different views

among law enforcement as to whether victims

of CSEC are indeed victims or offenders, and

therefore how and if to record data when

they come into contact with an exploited

minor. Finally there is evidence that commer-

cial sexual exploitation of girls, in particular,

is increasingly occurring “indoors,” out of

sight of law enforcement (Finkelhor &

Ormrod, 2004).

It is not surprising then that the official data

sources all acknowledge that their counts are

lower than the actual incidence. As imperfect as

they are, official data show that nationwide, out

of 2,111,200 juvenile arrests in 2008, only 500

were for prostitution and commercialized vice.

Of these youth, 76% were female, and 11% of

all minors arrested for prostitution were under

the age of 15 (Puzzanchera, 2009). Two federal

data collection efforts highlight the limitations

of existing official data. Data from the FBI’s

National Incident-Based Reporting System

(NIBRS) collected from 1997 to 2000 by 19

states showed 14,230 prostitution incidents

known to the police (in both victim and

offender data) and, of those, 240 incidents

involved a minor as a victim or offender.

Similarly, a 2009 Department of Justice

report on data from the federal Human Traf-

ficking Reporting System reported only 391

incidents of child sex trafficking identified for

2007–2008, prompting critiques of the data

collection methodology (Kyckelhahn, Beck,

& Cohen, 2009; McGaha & Evans, 2009).

Due to the limitations of national data,

advocates and programs tend to rely on local

data (Friedman, 2005), but individual states

and localities also struggle to capture the prev-

alence of this “underground and transient

population” (Lloyd, 2005). A 2001 report

estimates that 5,000 adolescents in New

York City alone are exploited annually

through prostitution (Spangenberg, 2001). A

2001 effort to count the incidence of prosti-

tution in Chicago estimated that 1,800–4,000

girls and women were involved in on-street

and off-street prostitution (O’Leary &

Howard, 2001), and a 2008 report estimated

that 250 girls are exploited through prostitu-

tion in Georgia each month, concentrated in

Atlanta (Lynch & Widner, 2008).

Some states have developed collaborative

reporting mechanisms to better capture these

numbers. Within the greater Boston area,

from 2001 to 2003, the child abuse unit of

the Suffolk County District Attorney’s Office

received only seven referrals for sexually

exploited children (S. Goldfarb, personal com-

munication, 2010). Other partner agencies,

including the Department of Children and

Families and the police, had comparably small

numbers. Anecdotal information from law

enforcement, programs, and advocates, how-

ever, indicated a far larger number of child

victims. To more accurately capture the

number of child victims, the SEEN Coalition

(Support to End Exploitation Now) launched

a database in March 2005 as a clearing-

house for such cases, which could now be

reported centrally by law enforcement, social

services, juvenile justice, public health, and

community-based agencies, all of which had

some, but not exclusive, contact with CSEC

in Boston. Between March 2005 and March

2011, the database in Suffolk County totaled

over 400 cases of sexually exploited and high-

risk youth. Although this is likely still an

undercount, this database affords some de-

scription of youth identified as potential

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 335

victims of CSEC. Of the 400 youth in the

database, 52% were 13–15 years old at time of

referral, and 39% were 16–17. The 400 are also

disproportionately minority youth: 40%

Black, 21% Hispanic, and 27% White.

The vast majority of adolescents arrested

for prostitution are identified as “White” or

“Black,” which reflects well-known limita-

tions of human services and juvenile justice

race data (Flowers, 2001), and the age of entry

into prostitution appears to be younger for

girls of color (Raphael, 2004). Further, as with

much delinquency, African American girls and

women are arrested for prostitution at a far

higher rate than their White counterparts

(Flowers, 2001; MacKinnon & Dworkin,

1997; see also Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6,

this volume). As summarized by Vednita

Carter, a leading service provider for exploited

women and girls, “This fight against sexual

slavery is the key to dismantling systems of dual

oppression—of racism and sexism” (quoted in

Farley, 2003). CSEC affects adolescents from

families across the income spectrum. How-

ever, researchers, service providers, and law

enforcement acknowledge that poverty ren-

ders youth disproportionately at risk for re-

cruitment into prostitution, and makes it more

difficult to exit and more likely that a girl will

be arrested (Estes & Weiner, 2001; Irazola,

Williamson, Chen, Garrett, & Clawson, 2008;

Lloyd, 2005).

Entry Into Commercial Sexual Exploitation

Adolescent girls likely to take risks, to feel

misunderstood by their parents, and to seek

romantic relationships are vulnerable to pred-

ators, who capitalize on those developmentally

normal characteristics. However, girls with

histories of childhood sexual abuse are at

increased risk of recruitment, and that history

remains the most common characteristic of

commercially sexually exploited girls.

Among adult women who were first

prostituted during their adolescent years, re-

ports estimate that between 33% and 90% had

been abused (Harlan, Rodgers, & Slattery,

1981; Raphael, 2004). For example, of 106

adult women studied in Boston who were

incarcerated or arrested for prostitution-

related offenses, 68% reported having been

sexually abused and almost half reported being

raped before the age of 10 (Norton-Hawk,

2002). This finding is repeated in many smaller

studies and appears regardless of other factors,

such as running away and substance abuse

(Tyler, Hoyt, Whitbeck, & Cauce, 2001).

For example, the Huckleberry House Project

in San Francisco reported that 90% of girls in

their program who were exploited through

prostitution, had been sexually molested

(Harlan et al., 1981). Two other studies of

juveniles place the percentage of girls with

sexual abuse histories between 70% and 80%

(Bagley & Young, 1987; Silbert & Pines, 1982).

The Letot Center, a juvenile justice facility

in Dallas, Texas, working with commercially

sexually exploited children, found that 93–95%

of commercially sexually exploited children had

been previously physically and sexually abused

(Smith et al., 2009).

Most exploited girls have survived a child-

hood trauma history of chronic physical,

emotional, and sexual abuse by multiple per-

petrators (Farley & Kelly, 2000; Williams &

Frederick, 2009). Specifically, exploited girls

are likely to be victims of incest (Silbert &

Pines, 1982), leading Dworkin (1997) to de-

scribe incest as “boot camp” for prostitution.

Children who were sexually abused are

28 times more likely to be arrested for prosti-

tution at some point in their lives than children

who were not sexually abused (Widom, 1995).

The younger a girl is when she first becomes

336 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

commercially sexually exploited, the greater

the likelihood that she has a history of child

sexual abuse, and the greater the extent of the

abuse is likely to have been (Council for

Prostitution Alternatives, 1991).

In addition to a history of childhood abuse,

commercially sexually exploited girls are likely

to have experienced other forms of family

disruption and loss (Clawson et al., 2009).

Multiple studies have found that exploited girls

frequently come from homes where one or

more caregiver was addicted to alcohol or other

drugs (Raphael, 2004). One study of 222 pros-

tituted womeninChicagofound that83% were

raised in a home where one or both parents had

an active addiction (O’Leary & Howard, 2001).

Further, prostituted girls are likely to have

witnessed their mother being beaten by an

intimate partner (Raphael, 2004). In addition,

many girls exploited through prostitution have

experienced the loss of a parent through death,

divorce, or abandonment (Norton-Hawk,

2002; Raphael & Shapiro, 2002).

Research has also shown a correlation

between school-related problems, including

learning disabilities, and commercial sexual

exploitation (Clawson et al., 2009; Williams &

Frederick, 2009). These findings suggest that

these girls experience school failure and the

low self-esteem that accompanies it, which

may make them more vulnerable to recruit-

ment by a pimp (Harway & Liss, 1999).

These significant family disruptions often

result in a girl’s involvement in the child and

family services system, including placement in

foster care or group homes, which, through

running away as well as the fact that pimps

target these programs, places her at high risk

for commercial sexual exploitation. As an

illustration, one study in Canada of 47 women

in prostitution found that 64% had been in-

volved in the child welfare system, and, of

these, 77.8% were in foster care or group

homes (Nixon, Tutty, Downe, Gorkoff, &

Ursel, 2002). Girls who run from their homes,

group homes, foster homes, and treatment

centers are at greater risk of being targeted

by a pimp (Goldblatt Grace, 2008/2009; Wil-

liams & Frederick, 2009). Researchers have

found that the majority of prostituted women

were runaways as children: 96% in San

Francisco (Silbert & Pines, 1981), 72% in

Boston (Norton-Hawk, 2002), and 56% in

Chicago (Raphael & Shapiro, 2002). A survey

of 103 CSEC victims conducted by the Clark

County, Nevada, Public Defenders Office–

Juvenile Division calculated that the average

age a prostituted youth first ran away from

home was 13 years old (Smith et al., 2009).

Experts anecdotally state that within 48 hours

of running away an adolescent will be ap-

proached to participate in prostitution or

another form of commercial sexual exploita-

tion (Friedman, 2005).

Recruitment

CSEC is brutal, and has been called modern

day slavery. The vast majority of commercially

sexually exploited girls have pimps (D. Gavin,

personal communication, 2009; Finkelhor &

Ormrod, 2004; Giobbe, 1993). For example,

as of mid-2008, Boston police had identified

approximately 90 pimps in the Boston

area (K. O’Connell, personal communication,

2008). Pimps actively seek girls in the child

and family services system, knowing that trau-

matized girls without a stable support system

are their easiest prey. Girls who have survived

child sexual abuse have already been taught

lessons prior to their recruitment that make

the pimp’s job easier—their bodies are not

their own, adults having sex with children is

normal, secrets are to be kept, and no one can

keep you safe (Flowers, 2001; Lloyd, 2005;

Raphael, 2004; Spangenberg, 2001). Of the

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 337

first 40 girls living in group homes served by

the My Life My Choice Project in Boston, 38

had been approached by a pimp at some time

(Smith et al., 2009). In addition, pimps fre-

quent areas where they hope to find runaways,

including bus stops and train stations, and

spend time where they know that they can

find girls, including at schools and malls. Social

networking sites (including MySpace) have

also provided fertile ground for pimps to reach

multiple girls at one time.

Once connected to these girls in some way,

pimps may use a variety of tactics, including

force and coercion, to recruit young women.

The most common tactic, however, is seduc-

tion (Flowers, 2001; Lloyd, 2005; National

Center for Missing and Exploited Children,

2002; Raphael, 2004). Pimps traditionally

spend time “grooming” a young woman,

slowly isolating her and increasing her depen-

dence on him for both material items and

emotional sustenance. Within a year, the

pimp will begin the process of “turning her

out.” This process, and the violence, degrada-

tion, and brainwashing that follows, renders an

adolescent girl in a state similar to a battered

woman—both terrified of her perpetrator and

willingtolay downher life, and her body,for his

needs (Goldblatt Grace, 2008/2009; Lloyd,

2005; Raphael, 2004; Spangenberg, 2001).

Further, approximately 20% of youth—both

girls and boys—are trafficked nationally by

organized criminal networks, crossing the

United States through well-established prosti-

tution tracks (Estes & Weiner, 2001).

Over the past 10 years, the picture of

CSEC has changed dramatically. A decade

ago, the vast majority of exploitation of girls

occurred on the streets, in plain sight of law

enforcement and the community. Today, in

most communities across the country, the

buying and selling of children has gone in-

doors. Pimps routinely sell girls over the

Internet, on sites such as Craigslist. Girls are

placed in a motel room, apartment, or private

home and are required to service a steady

stream of “tricks” to meet their quota, on

average 10–20 per night (Goldblatt Grace,

2008/2009; Smith et al., 2009; U.S. Depart-

ment of Justice, 2010).

Impact of CSEC

Victims of CSEC report experiencing daily,

routine violence by pimps, johns, other

women, and even law enforcement (Goldblatt

Grace, 2008/2009; Nixon et al., 2002;

Norton-Hawk, 2002; Raphael, 2004; Young

Women’s Empowerment Project, 2009). One

study of 800 women found that 85% had

experienced rapes, 95% assaults, and 77% kid-

napping by pimps (Council for Prostitution

Alternatives, 1991). A similar study found

that almost 20% of the women interviewed

had been assaulted, sexually assaulted, or

propositioned by law enforcement (Nixon

et al., 2002) and these experiences of

“institutional violence” are confirmed by

young women exploited by CSEC (Young

Women’s Empowerment Project, 2009).

One research study described prostituted

women as “[T]he most raped class of women

in the history of our planet” (Hunter & Reed,

1990; see also Kristoff & WuDunn, 2009).

Most of this violence goes unreported by

the victims due to fear of retaliation or that

law enforcement may arrest them or return

them to their abusive homes (Flowers, 2001).

Girls’ reproductive health, including exposure

to sexually transmitted infections (STIs) such

as HIV, is consistently compromised by their

exploitation (Farley & Kelly, 2000).

In response to this brutality, girls often

use substances in order to survive their

daily trauma (Goldblatt Grace, 2008/2009).

One large study of homeless youth exploited

338 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

through prostitution found that more than

75% “abuse” alcohol or drugs, while virtually

all admitted to some level of use. These rates

were notably higher than for homeless youth

not exploited through prostitution (Yates,

Mackenzie, Pennbridge, & Swofford, 1991).

While a significant percentage of girls enter

prostitution with no drug or alcohol abuse

history (Farley & Kelly, 2000), some studies

suggest that girls who become exploited are

likely to have begun using substances at an

earlier age than their “at risk” peers who do

not become exploited (Inciardi, Pottieger,

Forney, Chitwood, & McBride, 1991; Nadon,

Koverola, & Schluderman, 1998).

Despite the profound physical impact of

being commercially sexually exploited, girls

rarely receive regular prophylactic health care

and are, in fact, often restricted from obtaining

health care by their pimps until their health

issue becomes critical. Therefore, these girls

are seen most frequently in emergency rooms

and clinics where providers are likely not to

have an ongoing relationship with them.

In addition to the physical consequences,

girls suffer severe psychological consequences

of commercial sexual exploitation (Goldblatt

Grace, 2008/2009). Women and girls who

have survived prostitution demonstrate high

rates of dissociative disorders, self-destructive

behaviors (including cutting), suicide attempts,

and clinical depression (Farley & Kelly, 2000;

Giobbe, 1993; Lloyd, 2005; Nixon et al.,

2002). Almost 50% of prostituted women in

one study had attempted suicide, and approxi-

mately 20% engaged in self-mutilation, such as

cutting (Parriott, 1994). One prostituted

woman stated, “When I’m in pain, I like to

hurt myself because the pain goes away”

(Nixon et al., 2002, p. 1032).

As a result of the chronic psychological

and physical violence, commercially sexually

exploited girls often develop symptoms of

posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) (Gold-

blatt Grace, 2008/2009). Farley and colleagues

found that almost 75% of prostituted women

in five countries and 68% in the United States

met the diagnostic criteria for PTSD (Farley,

Baral, Kiremire, & Sezgin, 1998). Their feel-

ings of powerlessness are reinforced by social

isolation, captivity, verbal abuse, threats, in-

timidation, sexual assaults, and physical

abuse—all of which are common practice

for pimps (Dworkin, 1997; Goldblatt Grace,

2008/2009; Silbert & Pines, 1981). Some

exploited girls may display symptoms of

“the Stockholm Syndrome,” otherwise most

frequently seen among POWs (Graham &

Wish, 1994). Here, as a means of emotional

and physical survival, the girl identifies with

her captor, expressing extreme gratitude over

the smallest acts of kindness or mercy (i.e., “he

didn’t beat me today”), denying the extent of

violence and injury, rooting for her pimp,

being hypervigilant about his needs, and iden-

tifying anyone trying to persecute him or help

her escape as the enemy. She may lash out at

law enforcement or anyone else attempting to

help her exit and insist that she is fine and

happy in her current situation (Graham &

Wish, 1994; Lloyd, 2005).

Further, the manifestations of her trauma

may make her reluctant to trust outsiders

trying to help her (Friedman, 2005; Goldblatt

Grace, 2008/2009; Raphael, 2004). The clin-

ical manifestations of PTSD “can limit an

individual’s ability to function effectively,

decreasing the likelihood that he or she can

take advantage of available resources and

possibly minimizing any likelihood of leav-

ing prostitution” (Valera, Sawyer, & Schiraldi,

2001, p. 59). Further, her self-esteem is so

battered that she does not believe she could

ever warrant being cared for, being respected

in her community, or valued in her personal

relationships (Farley, 1998). “It is sadly the

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 339

sense of being without real hope, without a

sense of possibility, without a belief in their

inherent ability to grow and change that keeps

so many girls and young women trapped in the

commercial sex industry” (Lloyd, 2008, p. 2).

Like soldiers returning from a war zone, these

girls have been damaged mind, body, and soul

by their experiences. And yet, they must

return to that war zone every night.

COMMERCIAL SEXUAL EXPLOITATION AND THE LAW

There are international, federal, and state

sources of law and policy relating to CSEC,

which can be categorized as:

& Laws aimed at aiding and enhancing

prosecution of perpetrators of CSEC

(i.e., pimps, johns); and & Laws aimed at providing legal protec-

tion, services or compensation to vic-

tims of CSEC (recently called “Safe

Harbor” laws.

Legislation may have elements of both and

may also encourage or mandate research and

expanded data collection to better understand

the issue (see Table 16.1).

Although research supports the view that

youth are victims of CSEC, and the Trafficking

Victims Protection Act (TVPA, 2000), the criti-

cal U.S. federal legislation addressing CSEC,

clearly takes that position, comprehensive legis-

lation addressing CSEC is not present in all

states. Over the past two years, there has been

a great deal of U.S. state legislative activity

aimed at CSEC and an increasing effort to

pass laws to protect its victims, yet a survey of

state legislation shows it is still more heavily

weighted toward laws easing and enhancing

prosecution of perpetrators than laws providing

victim assistance and protection (see Table 16.1).

In the absence of comprehensive legislation and

policy addressing this issue, the twin goals ani-

mating all legislation, policy, and practice—law

enforcement and victim protection—can con-

flict, with neither goal being fully realized.

Absent comprehensive legislation directed at

this multifaceted issue, existing laws can be

misapplied or have unintended consequences,

yielding results contrary to sound public policy

and research.

International CSEC and Trafficking of Minors

Advocates for victims of sexual exploitation

within the United States argue that efforts to

address international trafficking of minors

receive far more funding, official support,

and sympathetic media attention than do

efforts within the United States. They argue

that this is misguided since research shows that

only about 10% of CSEC occurring in the

United States appears to be tied to interna-

tional networks (Mukasey et al., 2007). While

international efforts to address trafficking may

have limited direct effect on eradicating

CSEC within the United States, they set

an important standard by defining the prob-

lem in human rights terms and spotlighting

its connection to the broader issues of

global physical, psychological, and economic

exploitation of women and girls (Kristof &

WuDunn, 2009).

The Convention on the Rights of the Child and the Optional Protocol The Optional Protocol to the United Nations Convention

on the Rights of the Child on the sale of

children, child prostitution, and child por-

nography (United Nations, 2000) seeks to

criminalize among its signatory countries

“. . . offering, delivering, or accepting, by

340 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

whatever means, a child for the purposes

of sexual exploitation . . . ” (Optional

Protocol, CRC 3(i)(a)), which is defined

broadly as “. . . the use of a child in sexual

activities for remuneration or any other form

of consideration” (Optional Protocol, CRC

2(b)). The Protocol takes a holistic approach,

and, while it emphasizes prosecution of those

who sexually exploit children, it focuses

much of its attention on protecting the rights

of the child victims at all stages of that

prosecution and providing services to prevent

children from becoming exploited. It takes

the position that sexual exploitation is the

result of “. . . under-development, poverty,

economic disparities, inequitable socio-

economic structures, disfunctioning families,

lack of education . . . gender discrimination,

[and] irresponsible adult sexual behaviour”

(Optional Protocol, CRC Preamble; Lynch

& Widner, 2008).

The United States is not a signatory to the

United Nations Convention on the Rights of

the Child or the Optional Protocol; however,

its holistic approach and clarity about the

victimization of children through prostitution

is consistent with that expressed in the federal

TVPA (2000). Moreover, as with many human

rights protocols, it provides a framework,

which can be useful to document and reform

the incidence of and response to domestic

CSEC (Lynch & Widner, 2008).

United States Federal Law

In 2000, Congress passed the TVPA, which was

reauthorized and expanded in 2003, 2005, and

2008 and sets federal policy concerning CSEC

today. The TVPA provides a comprehensive

federal framework, clearly defining commer-

cially sexually exploited children as victims and

addressing both law enforcement and protec-

tion of both U.S. and non-U.S. citizens

(Hyland, 2001). Using the language of traffick-

ing, it defines an extensive set of rights for

victims of CSEC, but its policy of protecting

minors who are victims of sexual exploitation

has not been communicated clearly and imple-

mented comprehensively by the states (Smith

et al., 2009) and so, while a victim protection

focus is increasing among the states, the TVPA

has largely been used in the prosecution of

pimps (Mukasey et al., 2007).

Aiding and Enhancing Prosecution of Perpetrators Federal legislation focused on criminalizing and aiding law enforcement efforts

around sex trafficking began with the White

Slave Traffic Act, popularly known as the Mann

Act, originally passed in 1910, which prohibited

knowingly transporting individuals in interstate

or foreign commerce to engage in prostitution

or any criminalized sex act. The PROTECTAct

(Prosecutorial Remedies and Other Tools to

End the Exploitation of Children Today)

enhanced the Mann Act by broadening the

crime and increasing penalties for certain sexual

offenses related to children (2003).

The framework for prosecution was

expanded in the TVPA, which creates crimes

of: (a) forced labor; (b) trafficking with respect

to peonage, slavery, involuntary servitude, or

forced labor; (c) sex trafficking of children or by

force, fraud, or coercion; and (d) unlawful conduct

with documents in furtherance of trafficking.

The TVPA’s emphasis on protecting minors is

reflected in the fact that proof of force, fraud, or

coercion is not needed if the victim is under 18

years of age (TVPA, 22 U.S.C. § 7102 (8)(A); 42 U.S.C. § 14044e (2007)) and sex trafficking is defined broadly as “the recruitment, harboring,

transportation, provision, or obtaining of a

person for the purpose of a commercial sex

act” (TVPA, 22 U.S.C. §§ 7102). Although the vast majority of prosecu-

tions and services provided under the TVPA

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 341

have involved international trafficking, it is

applicable in cases of domestic sex trafficking

and even in cases of intrastate sex trafficking.

Despite the name, transportation of a person is

not required to make a case of trafficking, nor

is movement across state lines needed to prove

that the crime was “in or affecting interstate or

foreign commerce,” which is a requirement

for federal jurisdiction (Smith et al., 2009).

Federal courts have rejected challenges to

prosecutions of intrastate trafficking on the

grounds that the conduct did not affect inter-

state commerce, finding that intrastate traf-

ficking feeds the interstate economy through

the use of hotels, phones, and products from

other states sufficient for federal jurisdiction

under the TVPA (see, e.g., United States v.

Evans, 2007; United States v. Paris, 2007).

In an August 2010 report to Congress, the

Department of Justice noted that

[S]ince its inception in 2003, the In-

nocence Lost National Initiative

(ILNI) has located and recovered 918

children, resulting in 369 indictments

and 554 convictions of traffickers in

the federal and state criminal justice

systems, disruption of 92 criminal

enterprises disrupted [sic], and disman-

tling of 44 criminal enterprises. (p. 33)

The ILNI is a federal/state partnership

focusing on child victims of domestic commer-

cial sexual exploitation. The report goes on to

note the lengthy sentences received by many of

the pimps prosecuted under federal law.

The FBI and U.S. Department of Justice

have also expanded efforts to prosecute indi-

viduals engaged in child pornography through

the Internet and U.S. mail as another form of

CSEC (Mukasey et al., 2007; U.S. Depart-

ment of Justice, 2010; U.S. Government

Report, 2001). These efforts have been

bolstered by U.S. Supreme Court decisions

allowing child pornography prosecutions un-

der federal and state law holding that child

pornography is not protected as free speech

under the first amendment as long as the

statute is not overbroad (see, e.g., New York

v. Ferber, 1982; United States v. Williams, 2008).

Providing Services, Compensation, or Pro- tection to Victims The TVPA has extensive provisions aimed at protecting victims of

CSEC including the T-visa nonimmigrant

status, which provides legal status to non-

U.S. citizens who are victims of severe forms

of trafficking (child victims of sex trafficking

are considered severe victims) (22 U.S.C.

§7101 (b)(19)(2007)). Notably, the TVPA sets out a framework of protections for

CSEC victims who are in custody that re-

inforces its policy against criminal treatment of

CSEC victims, including protections

not to be detained in facilities in-

appropriate to their status as crime

victims;

[to] receive necessary medical care

and other assistance; and

[to] be provided protection if a

victim’s safety is at risk. . . . (TVPA,

22 U.S.C. § 7105 (c)(1)(A-C) (2007))

The TVPA also requires data collection

and reporting on incidence of severe sex traf-

ficking, and expanded services to trafficking

victims from federal agencies such as the De-

partment of Health and Human Services and

Department of Education (22 U.S.C.A. § 7109a). Under these provisions a number of

street outreach and legal services programs

have been funded, but funds have been slow

to come to others, most notably residential

programs for juvenile victims of sex trafficking

(Smith et al., 2009; U.S. Department of

Justice, 2009, 2010).

342 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

While the TVPA’s languageprovides strong

leadership to address CSEC, its principles have

not been consistently implemented by states

and local jurisdictions. The TVPA’s protections

against the use of detention are routinely vio-

lated as states and local jurisdictions use delin-

quencychargesandjuvenilejusticeintervention

to hold girls who are victims of CSEC. Over

theyears, the failure of states to implement these

protections has resulted from a lack of local

understanding of TVPA protections; a lack of

training of local authorities; conflicts between

local law enforcement, social services, and ad-

vocacy communities about how to define and

address CSEC; and a lack of targeted federal

resources to the states (Smith et al., 2009).

State Responses

CSEC obviously violates laws existing on the

books in every state, but, while more states are

legislating in this area, most do not have inten-

tional and comprehensive legislative responses

to the issue as we now understand it. At the local

level, girls exploited through CSEC are com-

monly charged with a range of delinquency or

status offenses, which misidentify them and

trigger incorrect official responses that can be

harmfultothegirlsinitiallyandintotheirfutures

(Lynch & Widner, 2008; Smith et al., 2009).

Since 2000, almost every state and the

District of Columbia have passed some law

addressing CSEC by (a) enhancing and aiding

prosecution of perpetrators (pimps and johns),

and/or (b) protecting and assisting the child

victim. The U.S. Department of Justice cre-

ated a Model State Anti-Trafficking Criminal

Statute (U.S. Department of Justice, 2004) to

promote a uniform response across the states

focusing on prosecution, and as Table 16.1

indicates, state statues have also focused on

enhancing and aiding prosecution of perpe-

trators of CSEC. Among states with laws

targeting CSEC, those enhancing prosecution

still outnumber those focusing on victim pro-

tection. Thus, even with the recent flurry of

state legislation, many girls who are victims of

CSEC lack a well-designed safety net and

continue to be handled within the juvenile

and criminal justice systems while state and

county child and family services, juvenile

justice, and public health systems struggle to

develop appropriate and comprehensive re-

sponses to the issue.

Laws Aimed at Aiding and Enhancing Prosecution of Perpetrators of CSEC Al- most every state has statutes to assist the pros-

ecution of pimps and johns who sexually

exploit youth, and/or to enhance penalties

for those convicted. The best of these accom-

plish their goal by defining commercial sexual

exploitation and trafficking broadly to be con-

sistent with the TVPA and by expanding

existing crimes and enhancing sentences

when crimes involve trafficking of minors.

For example, these statutes address all forms

of trafficking and eliminate the requirement of

force or coercion for trafficking/commercial

sexual exploitation of minors (Polaris Project,

2006). It is important to note that while

statutes aimed at prosecuting perpetrators are

widespread, many state laws define CSEC or

trafficking too narrowly to address the prob-

lem fully (Polaris Project, 2006).

Laws Aimed at Providing Legal Protection, Services, or Compensation to Victims As Table 16.1 reflects, fewer states have legislation

directed at protecting the victims of CSEC than

at prosecuting the perpetrator. Among state

laws directed at victim protection, the most

common provide social services to CSEC vic-

tims or create commissions and task forces to

study the issue. Far less common are laws

providing legal protection to CSEC victims,

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 343

such as protection from prosecution by creating

a defense of coercion by trafficking, setting a

minimum age under which one could not be

charged with prostitution, or sealing records of

convictions for prostitution related crimes. Also

less common are state laws allowing victims of

CSEC to seek civil remedies against traffickers.

Texas has one such statute passed in 2009,

which allows the victim to recover damages

arising from trafficking from a defendant who

“engages in the trafficking of persons or who

intentionally or knowingly benefits from par-

ticipating in a venture that traffics another

person” (V.T.C.A. § 98.002). Having been acquitted or not prosecuted is no defense to

this civil claim, which is clearly written to cover

both pimps and johns.

The reluctance of states to pass protective

legislation for child victims of sexual exploi-

tation is striking given what we know about

the backgrounds of these girls and the expe-

rience of CSEC, and given federal and state

statements that sexually exploited children are

victims (Mukasey et al., 2009; TVPA, 2000;

U.S. Department of Justice, 2010). Inexplica-

bly, states that define the crime of commercial

sexual exploitation in terms clearly denoting

the minor as a victim also fail to provide

services or legal protections for that child

victim (see Table 16.1). As with Raquel in

the opening case example, once charged with

delinquency, either for prostitution or any

number of related offenses such as trespass,

larceny, simple assault, or running away; girls

may be detained preadjudication, committed

to the juvenile justice agency, and face ancil-

lary consequences of delinquency such as

exclusion from school (see Sherman & Blitz-

man, Chapter 4, this volume). Moreover,

individuals found delinquent for certain sex

acts or solicitation of those acts may be re-

quired to register on state sex offender regis-

tries, which sweep in hundreds of prostituted

individuals, including minors who are victims

of sexual exploitation (Duncan, 2009). Finally,

being charged with a crime can prevent girls

from receiving federal funds available for vic-

tims of violent crime (Smith et al., 2009).

Table 16.1. Count of States with Laws in Illustrative Categories

Categories of State Statutes Addressing Commercial Sexual

Exploitation of Children

Number of States

with Provision�

Human Trafficking and/or Commercial Sexual Exploitation Defined: Statutes that make

human trafficking and/or commercial sexual exploitation a crime, defining its elements and degrees. These

statutes often address sentencing.

45 and DC; 3 pending

Prosecution of Perpetrators: Statutes that create enhanced sentences or expand existing crimes for

traffickers, pimps, and/or johns. These statutes are frequently based on the age of the trafficking victim.

50 and DC

Assistance and Protective Services for Victims: Statutorily created resources for victims of

trafficking. These include forms of legal protection, as well as public assistance, safe homes, and

administrative bodies to assist victims of trafficking.

29 and DC; 5 pending

Protections for Juveniles Charged With Prostitution and Prostitution-Related Crimes:

Statutes that allow for trafficking as a full defense to prosecution, set an age floor under which minors

cannot be charged with prostitution, or allow a juvenile to enter a diversion program or be adjudicated a

child in need of services instead of a delinquent when charged with prostitution. This category also includes

statutes allowing juveniles to seal convictions for prostitution-related crimes.

17; 5 pending

Research Commission and/or Task Force Established: Statutorily created commissions and task

forces to deal exclusively with the problem of human trafficking.

27 and DC; 2 pending

Civil Cause of Action: Allowing victims of trafficking to bring civil causes of action against their

traffickers to recover damages such as restitution and punitive damages.

17 & DC; 3 pending

� The count of state provisions is current as of March 2011.

344 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

Use of the juvenile justice process and

system for these girls is not surprising, given

its history as a social institution to reform

girls of “immoral” conduct. Some commen-

tators note that the sexual behavior of girls has

always been a particular concern of the juve-

nile court, as girls were often charged with

“incorrigibility” as a proxy for being sexually

active (Chesney-Lind & Shelden, 1998). In

this way, arguments for less juvenile justice

response and more child and family services

protection push against extensive juvenile jus-

tice history (Brenzel, 1983; Knupfer, 2001).

The legal inconsistency that results when

girls, who cannot consent to sex under statutory

rape laws, are charged with prostitution was

corrected in Michigan and Illinois, by amend-

ments that provide an age under which a

girl cannot be charged with prostitution—

Michigan, 16; Illinois, 18—(e.g., Mich.

Comp. Laws § 750.448, § 750.449 (2007); Lynch & Widner, 2008). Other states have

similar legislative age requirements pending.

Advocates for girls caution that juvenile justice

intervention, which often includes detention,

tells the exploited girl that she is to blame for

her victimization, contrary to reality and best

treatment practices (Smith et al., 2009). How-

ever, absent specific statutory language, state

courts frustrated by the system’s inability to

protect girls from sexual exploitation may up-

hold prosecutions of exploited girls for prostitu-

tion (see e.g., In the Matter of B.D.S.D., 2009; In

re Nicolette R., 2004; Annitto, in press).

Prompted by the tensions inherent in pros-

ecutions of victims of sexual exploitation and

the recognition that commercially sexually

exploitedyouth presenta uniqueserviceprofile,

four states (New York, Illinois, Connecticut,

and Washington) 1 have passed comprehensive

“Safe Harbor” legislation offering a targeted

social service network as well as legal protection

for victims of CSEC (Annitto, in press). New

York’s Safe Harbor for Sexually Exploited Chil-

dren Act was the first of these (Annitto, in press;

Smith et al., 2009). The Act expands the defi-

nition of PINS (Persons in Need of Services),

which is the New York state status offender law,

to include sexually exploited children, and re-

quires the PINS petition be substituted, by

defense motion, in every charge of prostitution

of an individual below 18yearsof age(NY Fam.

Ct. § 311.4; 712; 732 (2007)). The Act further requires specialized services for sexually

exploited children including “safe and secure

long term housing and specialized services”

(NY Soc. Serv. § 447-a & 447-b (2007)). The Act further provides a presumption that

youth under its provisions meet criteria for

certification as victims of a severe form of

trafficking under the TVPA (NY Soc. Serv.

447-a (2007)). Finally, the Act allows the court

to reinstate the delinquency charges if the youth

is unwilling to cooperate with specialized ser-

vices (NY Fam. Ct. § 311.4 (2007)). The Act is significant, in part, because it allows exploited

girls to be properly identified rather than cate-

gorized with other youth, and through that

characterization it triggers a set of responses

designed for this unique population.

A COMPREHENSIVE RESPONSE

States should formalize their prosecution and

protection responses in comprehensive legis-

lation. On the protective side, state laws and

regulations should support a continuum of

services that are central to engaging and sup-

porting commercially sexually exploited girls.

Providing a treatment continuum is imperative

so “women and girls . . . believe that a full

recovery is possible and that someone will be

there to listen to them and support them1Current as of March 2011.

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 345

through the process” (Raphael, 2004, p. 213).

Specifically, a full continuum of services for

commercially sexually exploited girls would

include the following (Clawson et al., 2009).

Identification

Identifying domestic victims of CSEC can be

difficult, especially if states rely exclusively on

law enforcement. Each agency conducting out-

reach to this population seems to utilize their

own assessment tools; however, there are no

published protocols for medical providers and

child protection workers like there are for

domestic violence and international trafficking

victims. A multidisciplinary approach to iden-

tification is critical; finding these often invisible

victims requires a coordinated effort, including

service providers, law enforcement, school

based personnel, and the faith community.

In order to ensure that identification is

possible, providers across disciplines must re-

ceive effective training about victimization

and CSEC, shifting provider attitudes from

believing that prostitution is “a victimless

crime.” Providers must learn to ask appropriate

questions on every intake and assessment of an

adolescent girl, including, “Have you ever had

to exchange sex for money, food, or shelter?”

This type of questioning will open dialogue and

improve access to services. One adult survivor

recalls being an adolescent and going to a local

clinic four separate times for abortion services

while she was under the control of a pimp. Not

once was this young woman asked what was

leadingto these pregnancies,andthiswindowof

opportunity to provide her with some support

and a path to exit was lost each time.

Outreach Services in Places Where Exploited Youth Congregate or Work

Outreach services must be offered in a non-

judgmental, careful way that begins the trust-

building process. Developing a trusting rela-

tionship with a girl who is being prostituted is

extremely difficult for a variety of reasons,

including her trauma history, threats to her

safety by her pimp, and possibly her prior

experiences with “the system” (Clawson

et al., 2009). Outreach workers must be will-

ing to attempt to build a relationship with a

victim over and over again, for as long a period

as necessary. This relationship can slowly,

over time, begin to erode her dependence

on her pimp and facilitate access to resources

(MacInnes, 1998). One approach used by

agencies is to establish drop-in centers to

meet the short-term needs of exploited youth

(i.e., food, hygiene products, etc.), in an effort

to build relationships aimed at long-term

change (Girls Educational & Mentoring

Services, 2009; N. Hotaling, personal com-

munication, 2006; Priebe & Suhr, 2005).

Comprehensive Case Management Aimed at Short-Term Stabilization and Long-Term Planning

Each of the most well-established programs for

commercially sexually exploited girls include

comprehensive case management (K. Carlson,

personal communication, 2009; Girls Educa-

tional & Mentoring Services, 2009; N. Hotal-

ing, personal communication, 2006; National

Center for Missing and Exploited Children,

2002). The most important facet of case man-

agement is the relationship formed between

the case manager and the victim. There are

multiple examples of this type of trusting

relationship around the country, including

the Gaining Independence for Tomorrow

(GIFT) Program in Boston, Massachusetts.

Funded by the child and family services sys-

tem, GIFT pairs commercially sexually

exploited girls or girls considered at high

risk of exploitation with a “life coach,” an

346 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

intensive case manager who provides daily

support, both emotional and in terms of con-

crete resources (K. Carlson, personal commu-

nication, 2009). Effective case managers are

able to leverage their relationship with a victim

to help her find and access resources, with a

focus on physical safety and basic needs

(K. Carlson, personal communication, 2009;

Girls Educational & Mentoring Services, 2009;

N. Hotaling, personal communication, 2006;

National Center for Missing and Exploited

Children, 2002). Intensive case management

should include, but not be limited to, support

and guidance in the following realms: access to

and organizing medical care, educational and

vocational planning, legal services, shelter/

housing; and navigating the child and family

services and juvenile justice systems. All of this

must occur with a positive youth development

approach that emphasizes supporting the whole

girl, helping her find her strengths and her

passions (see Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume;

Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this volume).

Supportive Housing and Therapeutic Recovery Services

Girls exiting “the life” rarely have safe, sup-

portive homes to which they can return, and

frequently do not find foster homes and group

homes well versed in their experiences and

needs. Housing programs serving adult

women leaving prostitution emphasize the

importance of a housing community that is

both nurturing and therapeutic to prevent

relapse and build stability (Carter, 2003;

Hotaling, Burris, Johnson, Bird, & Melbye,

2003; Rabinovitch, 2003; Raphael, 2004).

Women often enter these homes with both

skepticism and a desperate desire to live: as

described by a survivor interviewed by

Raphael (2004), “I didn’t have an ounce of

hope. I never thought in a million years it

would work. I was just tired, tired, and vul-

nerable enough to be willing to stay”

(Howard, in Raphael, 2004, p. 147).

There are currently not nearly enough

residential programs serving commercially

sexually exploited girls in the United States.

The Los Angeles Times reported that more than

a month after 52 children were found during a

nationwide FBI initiative, one girl remained

in detention and the others had been sent

home or to foster care (Markman, 2009).

The residential programs that exist are most

often relatively small (6–10 beds) and provide

a comprehensive array of services, including

mental health services, family support services,

education support, career planning, life skills

education, and recreational programming.

Therapeutic housing programs range from

those that explicitly focus only on commer-

cially sexually exploited girls (such as Girls

Educational & Mentoring Services [GEMS].

Angela’s House, and ACT Group Home of

Germaine Lawrence) to those that serve a

range of traumatized girls but have developed

specific expertise with victims of CSEC (e.g.,

residential treatment programs of Germaine

Lawrence). A primary focus of housing pro-

grams must be supporting a girl’s recovery

through understanding her trauma history,

and the survival and coping skills she learned

in “the life,” which must be unlearned and

replaced.

While programs have data supporting

their impact, more evaluation is needed to

determine what makes a program successful

and, indeed, to determine what constitutes

success. Germaine Lawrence, for example,

has been focusing on program evaluation.

During its first year of operation, the ACT

Group Home (“Acknowledge, Commit,

Transform”), when compared to a previous

treatment program at the same site, demon-

strated a 78% decrease in the number of young

The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 347

women who had unplanned discharges due to

running away, hospitalizations, and incarcera-

tions (Thomson, Hirshberg, Howley, Corbett,

& Valila, 2011).

Relapse Prevention and Aftercare

Girls who have been commercially sexually

exploited need long-term services as they tran-

sition into the community. Victims must re-

ceive support in changing their identity from a

victim to a leader and valued member of society

(Lloyd, 2008; A. Porter, personal communica-

tion, 2006; M. Smith, personal communica-

tion, 2006). Programs that employ survivors,

such as GEMS, Standing Against Global

Exploitation (SAGE), and My Life My Choice,

believe strongly in the need for such internships

and employment opportunities. Further, to

promote girls’ stability, programs must offer

them long-term opportunities to participate

in case management and support as well as skill

building groups through adulthood.

Given the range of needs of sexually

exploited girls and the fact that they enter

the system at different points, cross-system

and public/private collaborations are critical

to a comprehensive response (Clawson et al.,

2009; MacInnes, 1998; see Farrell &

Myers, Chapter 21, this volume; Sherman

& Greenstone, Chapter 7, this volume).

Effective programs engage multidisciplinary

allies in order to develop efficacious partner-

ships on behalf of these victims (A. Adams,

personal communication, March 2006; N.

Hotaling, personal communication, June

2006; National Center for Missing and

Exploited Children, 2002; K. Seitz, personal

communication, October 2006). To ensure

that these partnerships are grounded in a

mutual understanding of the needs of com-

mercially sexually exploited girls, focused

training on commercial sexual exploitation

for all service providers (including law

enforcement) is paramount (Raphael, 2004).

There are examples of such collaborations

throughout the United States and Canada. In

the SEEN Coalition of the Suffolk County

Children’s Advocacy Center, for example,

with a collective goal of increasing awareness

of, identification of, and services to commer-

cially sexually exploited adolescents, project

partners developed “Multidisciplinary Team

Guidelines,” which were launched in October

2006. These guidelines ensure that within

48 hours of any agency identifying a youth

who may be exploited, representatives from all

relevant agencies (including law enforcement,

child protective services, medical providers,

district attorneys, etc.) convene via phone or

in person to develop an immediate service plan

aimed at ensuring her safety and planning

for her recovery. The model is predicated

on working in collaboration with a victim;

however, the team will convene to exchange

information, whether the victim is ready to

receive these services or not. If the victim is

not yet ready to receive services, the collabo-

ration ensures that she does not “fall through

the cracks” of the systems (Clawson et al.,

2009; SEEN Coalition, 2009).

CONCLUSION

Commercially sexually exploited girls in our

communities require a coordinated and

empathic response from the service providers

they encounter. This means that law enforce-

ment, child and family services, juvenile justice

systems, medical providers, school-based per-

sonnel, and the like, need to work in collabora-

tion to weave a safety net that has heretofore

been absent in the lives of exploited girls. To do

this effectively, our legislation must encompass

not only the procedures and penalties associated

348 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

with prosecution of those who exploit these

girls, but a mandate to protect and support girls

who have been commercially sexually

exploited. We need to move beyond the vic-

tim/offender dichotomy and build a more

nuanced and comprehensive approach that in-

vests in each girl’s recovery as much as we invest

in her exit. Only then will we begin to stem the

tide of commercial sexual exploitation in this

country, and build communities where every

child has a right to safety and support.

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The System Response to the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Girls 351

17 CHAPTER

How American Government Frames Youth Problems

TIMOTHY ROSS AND JOEL MILLER

For purposes of assigning children into a

system we label them as Bad, Sad, Mad

or Can’t Add. It is like attaching a

mailing label—the Bad child gets sent

to juvenile justice system. The Sad child

goes into the child welfare system. The

Mad child enters the mental health sys-

tem. Can’t Add goes to special education.

Sorting often depends upon issues of race

and class. Minority and poor children are

more likely to be labeled Bad.

—Robert Schwartz, 2005

A cross the country, mayors, commis-

sioners, superintendents, governors,

andstatepolicymakersareinnovatingtoaddress

theneedsofvulnerableyouth.Theseeffortstake

many forms: restructuring high schools to im-

prove graduation rates, creating developmen-

tally appropriate interventions to reduce

juvenile delinquency, and revamping child

welfare practices to keep more youth safely in

their homes are just a few of these strategies.

Many initiatives, however, are plagued by

“crosscutting problems”—issues that cut across

the different agencies that serve youth. Unless

crosscutting issues are addressed proactively,

they may undermine reform initiatives.

This chapter examines how government

in the United States frames youth problems.

The chapter starts by describing how the

structure of American government, com-

bined with bureaucratic service delivery

systems, leads to fragmented and at times

inconsistent policies concerning youth, in-

cluding youth caught up in the juvenile

justice system. The chapter then describes

the types of issues this fragmentation creates

for youth involved in multiple youth-serving

systems. The chapter uses several illustrations,

such as how youth in foster care who become

involved in the juvenile justice system are

sent to detention facilities at higher rates than

their nonfoster peers, as examples of how

fragmentation can contribute to negative

outcomes for youth. The chapter contains

several examples of solutions to these prob-

lems and concludes that efforts to solve frag-

mentation issues are making a difference in

the lives of youth.

THE ROLE OF FEDERALISM IN FRAMING YOUTH ISSUES

The structure of American government cre-

ates a patchwork of policy and responsibility

in youth services. This section describes how

federalism—the division of responsibilities and

authority between national and state govern-

ments and among the executive, legislative,

and judicial branches of government—

352

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

influences juvenile justice policy. While juve-

nile justice is the example used here, the same

description of the role of federalism in framing

youth issues applies to other youth-serving

systems, such as education and child welfare,

and to other social services (see Farrell &

Myers, Chapter 21, this volume).

Juvenile justice authorities have an awe-

some power—the right to authorize the

monitoring of youth behavior, to compel

youth to participate in programs, and ulti-

mately the right to separate youth from their

families and communities in secure facilities.

Many levels of government are involved in

the regulation of this power. At the federal

level, the Office of Juvenile Justice and De-

linquency Prevention (OJJDP), a part of the

United States Department of Justice, carries

out federal juvenile justice policy. OJJDP was

established by Congress through the Juvenile

Justice and Delinquency Prevention Act of

1974, Public Law 93-415. Federal officials

work to ensure compliance with federal

juvenile justice laws and distribute funding

for programs and research. In fiscal year 2008,

OJJDP distributed $60 million of “formula

grants” and millions more in special programs

and research (see Office of Juvenile Justice

and Delinquency Prevention, 2008).

State governments, however, play a dom-

inant role in juvenile justice policy. State laws,

for example, delineate what constitutes a de-

linquent act within their boundaries and the

circumstances in which youth can be

“bootstrapped” to criminal court to be prose-

cuted as adults. States usually provide substan-

tial funding to cover the costs of incarceration

and for alternatives to incarceration. Funding

decisions play a major role in influencing how

individual cases will be handled, in part by

determining the types of programs available to

youth and the number of slots available (see

Sherman & Blitzman, Chapter 4, this volume).

Moreover, different states organize re-

sponsibility for juvenile justice in different

ways. In some states, agencies within depart-

ments of corrections or criminal justice are in

charge of juvenile justice, while in others, this

responsibility lies with departments of health

and human services. States also vary in the

balance of authority between state and local

juvenile justice agencies. In some states, state

officials maintain most authority over juvenile

justice, while in others, responsibility is decen-

tralized to local counties or cities—with many

states having decentralized some responsibili-

ties while maintaining central control over

others (King, 2006). The organization of ju-

venile justice services influences the orienta-

tion of the executive branch toward youth

involved in the juvenile justice system. Agency

affiliation can dictate salaries, union affilia-

tions, and qualifications of personnel hired

to work with youth. Juvenile justice staff

affiliated with social service departments, for

example, are likely to use their discretion in

carrying out policy in different ways than staff

housed in corrections departments.

The legislative and judicial branches of

state and federal government also influence

specific areas of juvenile justice policy. Con-

gress has long played a role in establishing the

legal framework and funding of juvenile justice

through the Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention Act and its reauthorizations. As part

of these laws, Congress passed four mandates

down to the states. States, for example, are

required to deinstitutionalize status offenders

(youth engaged in behavior that is not illegal,

but because of their status as minors makes

them a concern for government) (Ross, 2009)

and develop plans to alleviate disproportionate

minority contact (when the proportion of

minority youth involved in the juvenile justice

system exceeds the proportion in the general

population). In exchange for compliance with

How American Government Frames Youth Problems 353

these mandates, the federal government pro-

vides juvenile justice funding to the states. In

areas outside of federal mandates, state legisla-

tures influence juvenile justice practice by

passing laws that define and categorize juvenile

acts, providing funding, and conducting over-

sight hearings, as do city councils in many large

urban jurisdictions.

In addition to its role in overseeing indi-

vidual cases, the judiciary also makes decisions

that influence juvenile justice policy. In many

jurisdictions, judicial rulings have established

rights or determined that the executive branch

has failed to abide by laws and regulations.

Such suits may be filed in state or federal

courts. The federal Supreme Court has set

constitutionally minimum rights, with which

the states must comply, in many areas of the

juvenile justice process. For example, In re

Gault (1969) determined that juveniles have

many of the same due process rights as adults

as established by the 14th Amendment,

including the right to a lawyer and the pro-

tection against self-incrimination. States, by

legislation or court decision, can exceed these

federal minimums as some states have done by

providing for the right to a jury in delinquency

trials, even though the federal Supreme Court

decided that one was not required (McKeiver v.

Pennsylvania, 1971; see Sherman & Blitzman,

Chapter 4, this volume).

The Role of Democracy in Framing Youth Issues

Democratic governments are not isolated from

their citizens. All three branches of govern-

ment are attuned to public opinion, with the

job security of elected officials closely tied to

the passions of the electorate. In the juvenile

justice arena, three groups play particularly

active roles: economic stakeholders in juvenile

justice, nonprofit research and advocacy groups,

and professional organizations.

Economic stakeholders in juvenile justice

include staff at juvenile incarceration facili-

ties, alternative programs, and probation of-

ficers. In some jurisdictions, these groups are

part of public employee unions that work to

increase pay, job security, and working con-

ditions for their members. In New York,

for example, the executive branch of the

state government sought to consolidate youth

prison operations, use more community-

based options, and close down several facili-

ties in 2007 and 2008. These efforts were

stymied by the legislature, under pressure

from public employee unions (Confessore,

2009). Legislators who opposed this effort

acted in part to protect the jobs of their

constituents. Concerns about public safety

rang hollow: The consolidation would not

have resulted in the release of prisoners. Even

if it had, most of the youth prisons are located

in low-income, rural districts, while most

youth prisoners come from urban population

centers, especially New York City. Released

prisoners would not return to the districts

of the legislators who opposed shutting the

youth prisons. Similarly, many nonprofit

service organizations, either individually or

through membership associations, lobby for

increased funding for the programs they

operate (see Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday,

Chapter 20, this volume).

The juvenile justice field includes many

nonprofit research and advocacy groups. For

an extensive list that includes hyperlinks

to group home pages, see www.act4jj.org or

the Children’s Defense Fund juvenile justice

resources page [www.childrensdefense.org].

These groups are often able to influence policy

by demonstrating new programs, raising pub-

lic awareness, and providing expertise and

354 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

research. The Vera Institute of Justice (www

.vera.org), for example, has demonstrated and

evaluated several innovative programs such as

community service, substance abuse treat-

ment, and family therapy for court-involved

youth (Roberts, 2009). Where evaluations

found them to be successful, the demonstra-

tions became freestanding nonprofits that ran

programs and worked with other jurisdictions

to replicate innovations. The Burns Institute

has drawn public attention to, and developed

solutions for, disproportionate minority

contact in the juvenile justice system (www

.burnsinstitute.org). Private philanthropic

funders such as the Annie E. Casey Founda-

tion (www.aecf.org) have advanced reforms

such as the Juvenile Detention Alternative

Initiative, and influenced juvenile justice and

youth policy by providing funding to study

new issues or evaluate promising practices

and programs (see Mendel, 2009; see Bell &

Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume; Farrell &

Myers, Chapter 21, this volume; Schiraldi,

Schindler, & Goliday, Chapter 20, this vol-

ume; Schneider & Simpson, Chapter 22, this

volume).

National professional associations such as

the National Council of Juvenile and Family

Court Judges, the American Bar Association,

and the National District Attorneys Associa-

tion and their local branches also influence

policy. In 2009, for example, the chair of the

National District Attorneys Association,

speaking at a congressional hearing, opposed

legislation that would require parole hearings

for all juvenile offenders sentenced to life in

prison without the possibility of parole every

3 years after they serve the first 15 years of their

sentence. Representatives value the positions

of these associations for at least two reasons.

In addition to their expertise, compared to

other citizens, association members are often

directly affected by policy changes and are far

more likely to base their votes on juvenile

justice issues.

This constellation of stakeholders and pol-

icy makers in the juvenile justice system is

replicated throughout youth services, from

adolescent mental health to afterschool pro-

grams. Democratic federalism’s checks and

balances have many advantages: democratic

accountability, oversight, forums for debate,

flexibility for adapting to local conditions, and

other benefits associated with American gov-

ernment. These are huge advantages that

should not be minimized. At the same time,

the multiple nodes of influence present a

challenge to developing a coordinated and

coherent youth service policy. There are

many other challenges as well, and a better

understanding of how government frames

youth services requires a brief foray into

how bureaucracies organize their work.

The Role of Bureaucracy in Framing Youth Issues

Understanding and applying policy in a par-

ticular field at a particular time requires spe-

cialized knowledge and ongoing attention to

changes at the local, state, and federal levels. In

part to grapple with this complexity, govern-

ment is divided into functional organizations.

Departments of education operate the schools,

police enforce laws, and sanitation depart-

ments collect refuse. This specialization allows

individual departments to develop knowledge

and expertise in a particular area and gives

agency staff a better chance to stay abreast of

the many developments within their field. It

also results in staff that are trained in narrow

disciplines and narrow codes of conduct (see

Farrell & Myers, Chapter 21, this volume).

Agency executives and their staff are re-

sponsible for meeting specific obligations in a

specific service domain. Moreover, they must

How American Government Frames Youth Problems 355

meet these obligations efficiently, for agencies

usually face high demand with a minimum

of resources. They must also treat their clients

equally, an aspect of fairness that is valued

in democracies and is often embedded in

rules and regulations. The challenge, then, is

to organize staff to meet as much of the

demand as possible within the agency’s re-

sources without giving preferential treatment

to any particular group. This set of constraints

encourages bureaucratic behavior—that is, be-

havior that is closely structured by institutional

rules—within agencies (Allison, 1971; Lipsky,

1980; Wilson, 1989).

To meet these challenges, bureaucracies

develop standard operating procedures, or

SOPs. SOPs are directives, usually written

in a guide or manual, which tell employees

how to handle specific situations. They

embody policy, regulation, and law. For exam-

ple, when a youth enters a juvenile detention

facility, an SOP will direct detention staff on

what questions intake staff are to ask the youth,

when they are supposed to be seen by medical

staff for a physical, and how they are to assign

the youth a place in a cell.

SOPs are usually designed to ensure that

staff prioritize the core mission of their agency.

They are an efficient way to handle many

service demands, allow staff to develop further

expertise through repetition, and can be easily

communicated to new staff. Moreover, SOPs

prevent staff from engaging in activities that

they may be restricted from, either legally,

ethically, or by policy. Usually, SOPs are estab-

lished and then develop over several years.

Once in place, they are difficult to change.

Thus far, this chapter has focused on two

points. First, the form of American govern-

ment creates many opportunities for influ-

ence, but creates a patchwork of funding,

laws, and policies in any one area of youth

services. Second, to make carrying out policy

manageable, responsibility for youth services is

divided into bureaucracies that focus on a

specific set of issues (e.g., juvenile justice, child

welfare, education) and that operate in pre-

dictable ways. We now turn to some of the

problems this creates for vulnerable youth who

come in contact with government agencies—

and eventually to some of their solutions.

THE TUNNEL PROBLEM, OR “PROBLEM SOLVED!”

The public agency that first provides services

to a youth often determines the public re-

sponse regardless of whether it has conducted

a broad assessment of the youth’s underlying

problems. Each of the many systems that serve

youth has fixed services or solutions to offer.

Because most agency SOPs call primarily for

solutions within their systems, agency staff

usually send youth down one of a small num-

ber of “service tunnels.” The tunnel may be

the most appropriate pathway among that par-

ticular agency’s options, but it may not be an

effective course of action overall. Once a

young person starts down a particular tunnel,

it is often hard to reverse course and take a

different path. And because youth often have

issues that cut across several areas of specializa-

tion, there are many situations where many

youth serving agencies need to coordinate

their efforts (see Farrell & Myers, Chapter

21, this volume; Sherman & Greenstone,

Chapter 7, this volume).

A clinically depressed youth who often

skips school and occasionally self-medicates

with marijuana, for example, will receive mark-

edly different treatment depending on which

tunnelsheenters.If theteenreceivesareferralto

the mental health system, she will likely receive

some counseling. The school system, or the

police if they pick up the youth for skipping

356 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

school, may demand that the parent file a status

offense petition to address the truancy. This

may result in services that focus on truancy or

other educational issues, or merely a warning

from a probation officer. Depending on the

relationship between the youth and her parents,

a status offense petition—a formal legal docu-

ment that alleges the youth is a status offender—

might lead to a court appearance and placement

in foster care. School officials might bypass the

status offender system and file an educational

neglect petition that triggers a child protective

services investigation. If police or school safety

officials arrest the youth for smoking marijuana,

she will enter the juvenile justice system. Juve-

nile justice officials may end up putting the

youth on probation, sending her to an alterna-

tive program, or ordering her to placement in a

secure facility—youth prison.

The tunnel problem can lead to perverse

and unintended consequences. In an example

based on an actual case, police arrested a

mother and her teen daughter who were

working together to sell marijuana. Though

the daughter might be seen as a child welfare

case, the arrest sent the daughter into the

juvenile justice tunnel. Juvenile justice officials

felt uncomfortable giving the daughter proba-

tion because of her unstable home life and

recommended that she be sent to placement.

State law mandates that the minimum sen-

tence to juvenile placement is 12 months. In

contrast, the mother received a 30-day jail

sentence.

In another example, a study of the impli-

cations of a status offender law found that

several schools routinely threatened to make

child maltreatment reports of educational

neglect if a parent did not file a status offender

petition (Souweine & Khashu, 2001). Yet a

study on the educational impact of child

welfare placement shows that school attend-

ance rates decline among status offenders

who enter the child welfare system (Conger

& Rebeck, 2001). Another study found that

over half of all status offenders placed in foster

care in one jurisdiction left these placements

after 2 months, and 90% returned to their

families (Ross, Wamsley, & Khashu, 2001).

These quick turnarounds meant that youth

did not have time to form bonds or mentor-

ing relationships with child care workers.

Indeed, knowing that most status offenders

leave foster care quickly, child care workers

have more of an incentive to invest their time

and energy working with other youth, leav-

ing status offenders without appropriate ser-

vices targeted to their needs. This may be one

reason status offenders leave care without

permission (“go AWOL”) at far higher rates

than youth who enter foster care for other

reasons (Finkelstein, Wamsley, Currie, & Mi-

randa, 2004; Ross et al., 2001). Attempting

to resolve a truancy problem may lead youth

down a tunnel that exacerbates the issue and

creates further obstacles to his or her healthy

development.

Any discussion of the services that youth

receive would be incomplete without a dis-

cussion of racial bias. Youth of color, especially

African Americans, are more likely to receive

harsher treatment for similar infractions when

involved in school discipline proceedings,

child welfare cases, or the juvenile justice

system (Bishop, 2005; Leiber, Johnson,

Fox, & Lacks, 2007; Mooradian, 2007;

Pope, Lovell, & Hsia, 2002; Skiba, 2000;

Sheppard & Benjamin-Coleman, 2001; see

also Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume;

Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this volume).

In juvenile justice, this has led to widespread

concern with disproportionate minority con-

tact, which occurs when the proportion of

youth of color who come into contact with

the juvenile justice system and, most specifi-

cally, are detained or confined in secure

How American Government Frames Youth Problems 357

detention facilities, secure correctional facili-

ties, jails, and lockups, exceeds the proportion

of such groups in the general population.

Disproportionate minority contact increases

as juveniles penetrate deeper into the juvenile

justice system (see Bell & Mariscal, Chapter 6,

this volume). Concern over the overrepresen-

tation of minority youth (defined by OJJDP as

youth of African American, American Indian,

Asian, Pacific Islander, and Hispanic dissent) in

the juvenile justice system led Congress to

incorporate the disproportionate minority

confinement (DMC) mandate within its

1988 reauthorization of the Juvenile Justice

and Delinquency Prevention Act ( JJDPA) of

1974, which required states to assess the extent

of DMC and take steps to address the problem.

Racially biased results in the juvenile

justice system occur for many reasons

(Mauer, 2000; Penn, Greene, & Gabbidon,

2005; Pope & Leiber, 2005; see also Bell &

Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume; Vaught,

Chapter 15, this volume). Our point here is

not that most juvenile justice officials have

overt racial animus—indeed, outward expres-

sions of racism are rare, juvenile justice per-

sonnel are a diverse group, and many staff

choose to work in the field out of compassion

for vulnerable youth. In addition to conscious

and unconscious racial bias, the unequal

distribution of resources across racial and eth-

nic groups and bias in society as a whole

contribute to biased results in the juvenile

justice and other youth-serving systems

(Annie E. Casey Foundation, 2006; Arya,

Augarten, & Shelton, 2008; Fulbright-Anderson

et al., 2005). Decisions at arrest, adjudication,

detention, and disposition are all influenced by

racial stereotypes and cultural markers such as

dress and demeanor, as well as by concerns

about the family, neighborhood, and commu-

nity resources available to court-involved

youth. In neighborhoods of concentrated

disadvantage, which are disproportionately

composed of racial and ethnic minorities, fewer

available resources contribute to decisions that

send minority youth down more punitive ser-

vice tunnels than their White peers. Tunneling,

then, is not only a function of a youth’s entry

point, but is also influenced by conscious and

unconscious biases on the part of individuals

and in institutional procedures.

These examples demonstrate how tunnel-

ing can lead to government responses that are

either arbitrary or inappropriate. And once

youth enter a particular tunnel, the fractured

systems that serve youth may cause additional

problems for both kids and agencies. SOPs are

usually designed to process cases, not to reverse

what has already taken place, and so serve to

move youth further down the tunnel they have

already entered.

Challenges to Service Coordination and Coherence

Three challenges obstruct efforts to mitigate

the tunnel problem in youth services. The

following section discusses how limited infor-

mation flows, diffusion of responsibility, and

unloading cases contributes to the fragmenta-

tion of youth service delivery. Each section

includes a discussion of solutions to these

problems.

LIMITED INFORMATION FLOW, OR “I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT

THE PROBLEM”

Many crosscutting issues revolve around the

difficulties of sharing information across agen-

cies (see Schneider & Simpson, Chapter 22,

this volume). Agency databases rarely “talk” to

each other for bureaucratic, legal, budgetary,

and technological reasons, and this lack of

358 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

communication is reflected in the practices of

caseworkers and other staff in different agen-

cies. Laws and regulations often protect the

confidentiality of youth involved in the juve-

nile justice, child welfare, educational, and

other systems—and inappropriate releases of

information can result in criminal or civil

penalties for individuals and institutions

(e.g., Gudeman 2006).

Legal issues are only one aspect of the

problem. Communication challenges are

also related to the size of youth service agen-

cies and the complexity of their organization.

Departments and the nonprofit service pro-

viders with whom they often contract employ

many people. Even in medium-sized counties,

youth service agencies each have dozens of

employees focused on their agency’s particular

mission. In major urban centers, human ser-

vice agencies have hundreds or even thousands

of staff and may contract with dozens of

nonprofit service providers.

Coordinating the flow of information

within and across organizations of this size

and number is challenging even when the

organizations agree to share information and

have a compatible view of how to handle most

situations (Agranoff & McGuire, 2004; Ross,

2009; Wildavsky & Pressman, 1973). In many

parts of government including youth services,

however, agencies and their leaders frequently

see themselves in competition with one an-

other for budget allocations, for leadership of

important initiatives, or for other resources.

Moreover, the particular mission of an agency

often shapes its organizational culture in ways

that conflict with other youth service agencies.

Thus, trust among youth-serving agencies

may be low even when leaders and staff at

these agencies share many of the same values.

Low levels of trust hinder information flow.

Project Confirm, an effort to bridge the

gap between the child welfare and juvenile

justice systems that started in the late 1990s and

continues today, arose out of a common feel-

ing among New York City family court

judges, juvenile justice officials, and child

welfare staff that the lack of a release resource

(an adult present in court who is authorized to

take custody of a youth) caused arrested foster

youth to be unnecessarily detained in juvenile

detention facilities. None of these actors knew

the extent of the problem, in part because the

data systems of the different agencies were not

integrated. Electronic matching of the data

showed that foster youth accounted for 2%

of all youth in New York City but 15% of

detained youth, even though foster youth

were not arrested for more serious delin-

quency charges than their nonfoster peers

(Conger & Ross, 2006; Ross & Conger,

2002).

This information persuaded officials to

take action that led to the creation of Project

Confirm: a relatively simple intervention that

eliminated “the foster care bias” in detention

decisions for low-level first-time delinquent

youth. “Real time” matching of administra-

tive data—cross-checking juvenile entries into

detention, as they happened, with the city

child welfare database—allowed Project Con-

firm staff to learn if youth coming into the

juvenile justice system were in foster care. If

they were, project staff contacted their child

welfare caseworker and insured that they ap-

peared in court, advocated for the youth, and

took the youth back to their placements if the

court allowed release. Prior to Project Con-

firm, caseworkers rarely found out if youth on

their caseload had been arrested and did

not know how to proceed if they did learn

of an arrest.

Information-sharing issues may compli-

cate efforts by juvenile justice and medical staff

to coordinate care and follow best medical

practices (see Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3,

How American Government Frames Youth Problems 359

this volume). To prevent substance abuse,

some juvenile facilities confiscate all drugs

when a youth enters detention. While drugs

for diabetes and other conditions are allowed,

a youth’s condition often needs to be con-

firmed in writing before medications are per-

mitted. Parents may bring medications, in

appropriately marked pharmaceutical contain-

ers, to detention facilities, assuming the par-

ents have been contacted and have the means

to travel to the facility where their child is

detained. State laws and the federal Health

Insurance Portability and Accountability Act

(HIPAA) protect the privacy of health infor-

mation, and can lead to delays in confirming

medical conditions. Delays and other issues

in providing medical care in juvenile facilities

have led to numerous high-profile scandals

concerning harm to medically fragile youth

(Shirk, 2004).

Information-sharing challenges can

make it difficult to continue a youth’s educa-

tion when he or she is involved in the juve-

nile justice system. Like health records,

education records are protected information

that require written authorization to release,

as mandated by the Family Educational

Rights and Privacy Act of 1974 (known

as FERPA or the Buckley Amendment, 20

U.S.C. § 1232). While juvenile justice agen- cies usually have information sharing agree-

ments with education agencies, education

staff may place a lower priority on processing

records requests from juvenile justice staff

compared to requests from supervisors in

their own department. Moreover, since in-

volvement in the juvenile justice system is not

a typical experience for most students, edu-

cation staff may not know the SOPs and legal

agreements that facilitate record sharing. The

lack of information may lead to educational

programs for youth in juvenile justice facili-

ties that are at an inappropriate level or fail to

take the special aptitudes or disabilities of

individual youth into consideration. The

lack of appropriate educational placement

may contribute to school failure.

Advances in information technology have

created many opportunities to resolve these

issues. OJJDP has worked with the Center

for Network Development for several years

to create guidelines for sharing information

across agencies and to establish technical stan-

dards such as Juvenile XML to facilitate the

electronic transfer of information while com-

plying with privacy laws. In 2006, OJJDP

endorsed a set of guidelines for information

exchange and several states have created multi-

agency collaboratives (see Mankey, Baca,

Rondenell, Webb, & McHugh, 2006). To

facilitate this process, this initiative produced

an online compendium of state confidentiality

laws in different youth serving fields. In child

welfare, the Administration for Children and

Families Court Improvement Program is

working with states and localities to develop

data sharing agreements and model protocols

for the National Information Exchange Model

(NIEM) (www.acf.hhs.gov/programs/cb/

programs_fund/state_tribal/ct_imprv.htm).

The American Bar Association, the Annie

E. Casey Foundation, and the Children’s

Partnership have also advanced the issue.

DIFFUSION OF RESPONSIBILITY, OR “IT’S NOT MY PROBLEM”

Information sharing is only one step in ame-

liorating cross-agency problems. Even when

agencies know that they have a common

client, tension around appropriate roles and

responsibilities—especially in periods when

high caseloads are the norm—often results

in a lack of follow-through by frontline staff

and their managers. When responsibility is

360 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

diffuse, youth fall through the cracks (see

Farrell & Myers, Chapter 21, this volume).

During the implementation of Project

Confirm, many child welfare caseworkers as-

sumed that once police arrested a foster youth,

their responsibilities ended because “the kid

belonged to juvenile justice” (Ross & Conger,

2002). In other words, many caseworkers

thought that only one government agency

took responsibility for an individual child at

any one time. Because parents are either un-

able or forbidden to help an arrested foster

youth, caseworkers need to come to court

to advocate for youth and to take youth

back to their placements if the court decides

to release them.

To educate caseworkers about their re-

sponsibilities concerning arrested youth in

foster care, Project Confirm routinely faxed

a letter to caseworkers and their supervisors

from the commissioner of child welfare that

reiterated caseworkers’ responsibility to go to

court on delinquency cases. Program planners

made numerous presentations to agency staff

and foster care providers to educate them on

the problem of foster children being un-

necessarily detained and their responsibility

in resolving it. Nonetheless, the rate of case-

worker appearances at court in delinquency

cases exceeded 90% only after program staff

met caseworkers at court—and informed the

caseworkers’supervisors if they did not appear.

Status offender systems also encounter

diffusion of responsibility problems. As men-

tioned above, status offenders are youth who

have not committed delinquent acts, but their

behavior concerns government because of

their status as minors. Status offenses include

running away from home, not obeying par-

ents, truancy, and drinking alcohol. Social

service and juvenile probation staff may see

youth running away from home as a missing

persons issue that police should handle. Police

may view such events, especially repeat run-

aways from the same home, as a child welfare

or juvenile probation issue, not a law enforce-

ment matter. All agencies, including the family

court, look to parents to take responsibility for

their children’s actions, especially for issues

like running away, which may take place

several times over brief periods. With respon-

sibility diffused across many agencies, and with

permanent solutions not readily available, the

chances that no one will take responsibility for

a troubled youth increase.

As social service systems have evolved,

many systems have identified situations where

the diffusion of responsibility is an impedi-

ment to helping youth and have developed

SOPs to address this issue. In New York City,

detailed protocols now exist for allocating

responsibility for finding youth who run

away from home. Because most runaway cases

are resolved within 24 hours without police

intervention, parents are not referred to the

police automatically. In many instances, par-

ents know the whereabouts of their son or

daughter and want police assistance in return-

ing their children to their custody—a situation

where a social service intervention focused on

family functioning likely offers a more effec-

tive and long lasting solution. SOPs crafted

with other agencies can establish shared

understandings of problems and create trust

among frontline staff that leads to a problem-

solving orientation rather than competition

(Ross, 2009).

The One City, One Community initiative

in Brooklyn, New York, is another example of

such an effort. One City, One Community

involves 10 human service agencies providing

family services, including agencies focused on

juvenilejustice,childwelfare,education,health,

andhousing.Problemsthatoverlaptwoor more

of the agencies may be referred to case confer-

encing. The case conference not only seeks to

How American Government Frames Youth Problems 361

resolve the individual case, but also to develop

SOPs and shared understandings so that the

next time the same problem arises, case confer-

encing is unnecessary (for more information,

see www.actnyc.org/Onecity.html).

UNLOADING CASES AND SHIFTING BURDENS, OR “IT’S

YOUR PROBLEM NOW”

As the examples above demonstrate, officials

and staff often want to solve cross-agency

problems when they have the tools to do so.

In some instances, however, agencies, staff,

and parents act to rid themselves of responsi-

bility for troubled youth. Often, “unloading

a case” results in a youth entering a more

punitive system, as the following example

illustrates. Hard data on this phenomenon

are rare, but there are enough anecdotes and

stories to suggest the dynamic is not un-

common (Morris, 2005; Morris & Freundlich,

2004; Ross & Conger, 2002).

While planning Project Confirm, pro-

gram designers heard many stories of foster

care staff who called police to have youth in

their care arrested—often for minor incidents

that biological parents resolve without police

interference. Though there are situations

where police intervention is necessary and

appropriate, some frontline child welfare staff

acknowledged calling the police as a way to

assert authority or to have responsibility for a

difficult youth transferred to juvenile justice.

In some cases, these youth may have suffered

from mental health issues, but the lack of

access to mental health services led to volun-

tary placements in foster care. According to

the Rochester Youth Study, one in five male

delinquents and one in three female delin-

quents has a diagnosable mental health prob-

lem (Huizinga, Loeber, Thornberry, &

Cothern, 2000; Teplin, Abram, McClelland,

Dulcan, & Mericle, 2002; Thornberry,

Krohn, Smith, Lizotte, & Porter, 2003).

The same dynamic occurs in schools. It

is increasingly common for teachers and school

administrators to relyonpolice arrests to impose

discipline, assert authority, and have responsi-

bility for youth transferred to another agency.

The New York Civil Liberties Union, for

example, cited hundreds of cases of juvenile

arrests by school safety officers for behavior not

classified as criminal (Hentoff, 2008). In many

jurisdictions, school safety officers are now

part of the police department, leading to con-

cerns that youth, especially African American

youth, are being funneled into a school-to-

prison pipeline (Miller, Ross, & Sturgis,

2005; National Association for the Advance-

ment of Colored People (NAACP) Legal De-

fense Fund,Inc., 2007;Oferet al.,2009; see also

Boundy & Karger, Chapter 14, this volume).

Once a youth has a juvenile record, other

agencies may avoid reassuming a responsibility

that falls within their domain. Detained youth

in New York City, for example, are automati-

cally enrolled in an in-facility educational

program. Many court-involved youth are

already behind educationally, but ironically,

New York City students taking courses while

in detention receive only half credit for their

efforts. Upon discharge from detention or

other juvenile justice facilities, youth need

to register at a new school or reregister at

their previous school. According to J.G. et al.

v. Mills et al., a lawsuit filed in 2004, many

schools either refused to register youth with

juvenile records or made the process so cum-

bersome that enrollment was significantly

delayed—leading to truancy and further edu-

cational disadvantage, and increasing the risk

of further involvement with the justice system

(www.advocatesforchildren.org/jg.php; Garry,

1996). When court-involved youth did register

362 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

at a school, school policies and administra-

tive actions led to youth being pushed to

drop out in some situations (Fine, 1991; Ruiz

v. Pedota, 2004).

When agencies shift burdens or refuse to

assume their responsibilities, youth do not

receive the services they need. Left un-

addressed, youth problems may fester and

deepen, reducing the chances they will be

resolved. The deeper a youth’s problems, the

more likely punitive systems such as juvenile

justice will become involved in a youth’s life

(see Beyer, Chapter 1, this volume).

This pessimistic conclusion should be bal-

anced by acknowledging that in many of these

examples, agency managers worked together

across systems to resolve the issues once they

were identified. Reducing the unnecessary

detention of foster youth, for example, re-

quired the coordination of nonprofit service

providers, the public child welfare agency, the

juvenile justice agency, the family court, and

others for Project Confirm to work. Despite

that challenge, the effort succeeded. The law-

suits cited above, J.G. et al. v. Mills et al. (2005)

and Ruiz v. Pedota (2004), prompted educa-

tion officials to work that much harder with

state and local juvenile justice agencies and

nonprofit service providers to ensure access to

education. In both if these cases, advocacy and

working across agency boundaries led to

strong efforts to ameliorate problems.

LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL?

This chapter highlights how a fragmented

system of services for youth can lead to un-

desirable outcomes and arbitrary patterns of

service provision, as divergent service

“tunnels” direct similar youth in quite differ-

ent directions. Yet, paradoxically, it is precisely

this fragmentation that may yet provide the

basis for solutions.

In recent years, agencies and actors at

different levels of government have engaged

in a broad spectrum of local innovation and

experimentation. Problem-solving courts, as-

sessment and screening tools for objective iden-

tification and targeting of needs, community-

based alternatives to residential placement, and

evidence-based therapies for troubled youth

represent only a sampling of the many prom-

ising models that have emerged. Contact

information, funding, and other information

for model programs in juvenile justice can

be found at the OJJDP Model Programs

Guide Web site (www2.dsgonline.com/

mpg/). In turn, a vibrant civil society ranging

from shoestring community organizations to

philanthropies managing billions of dollars

have advocated for, financed, and helped di-

rect these innovations. The successes of this

activity have created new pressures for reform

on youth-serving systems across the nation.

Three specific trends hold particular

promise for addressing the problems of frag-

mentation and tunneling described in this

chapter: an improved understanding of youth

development, a renewed commitment to ef-

fective programming across settings, and evi-

dence of increasing integration of services and

systems for youth across sectors.

Enhanced Knowledge of Youth Development

Advances in knowledge about youth, the con-

texts in which they live, the systems they

encounter, and the services they receive are

a reason for optimism. Longitudinal studies

have highlighted the multiple and cumulative

impacts of a range of systems on the develop-

ment of young people, highlighting both

“risk” and “protective” factors in their

How American Government Frames Youth Problems 363

successful transition to adolescence and adult-

hood (Horton, 2004; Thornberry, Huizinga,

& Loeber, 2004; Wasserman et al., 2003).

These advances have led to a greater emphasis

on “positive youth development,” instead of a

focus only on youth problems (see Lerner

et al., Chapter 5, this volume). Knowledge

of the links between brain and social develop-

ment has increased our understanding of

youth capacities, leading to better insight

into the likely effectiveness of different inter-

ventions (e.g., Shonkoff, Boyce, & McEwen,

2009). Studies of neighborhood violence

show how repeated exposure leads to trau-

matic reactions and other mental health issues

that are associated with various negative

behaviors (Foy & Goguen, 1998; Gibson,

Morris, & Beaver, 2009; Osofsky, 1995).

Effective Programming for Youth Across Sectors

This enhanced understanding has led to a

greater emphasis on effective programming

for youth, particularly services that take mul-

tiple problems into consideration. Program

evaluations have provided a body of knowl-

edge about what works with children and

youth. Lifecourse Interventions to Nurture

Kids Successfully (LINKS), for example, is a

continually updated online database of what

works (and what does not work) that contains

information on over 400 programs evaluated

using a random assignment, intent-to-treat

methodology—the gold standard in research

(www.childtrends.org/links). Similarly, Blue-

prints for Violence Prevention at the Center

for the Study of Violence maintains an up-to-

date list of state-of-the-art evidence-based

programs for youth (www.colorado.edu/

cspv/blueprints) (see Butts & Roman,

Chapter 24, this volume; Greenwood &

Turner, Chapter 23, this volume).

Multisystemic Therapy (MST) and

Functional Family Therapy (FFT) are among

the more popular programs drawn from these

lists. Reflecting up-to-date knowledge about

youth development, these programs locate

the source and the solution of youth’s trou-

bles in family dynamics and other social

systems in which youth are embedded. By

working with youth and their caregivers,

these programs aim to establish or reestablish

appropriate and supportive parent–child rela-

tionships and improve functioning across a

range of social environments.

Many of these programs can be used to

address mental health, substance abuse, child

welfare, and/or delinquency issues. As gov-

ernment has increased its use of contracted

services over the past few decades, the pro-

grams have become available across juvenile

justice, child welfare, and mental health set-

tings. As more agencies across youth-serving

sectors begin to embrace these core programs,

it may begin to matter a little less which tunnel

a youth goes down.

Tackling Fragmentation

Finally, many government agencies are paying

increased attention to interagency partnerships

that aim to coordinate youth-service sectors.

This represents a direct assault on the problems

of tunneling described in this chapter. From

improvements in technology to the re-

definition of traditional roles and responsibili-

ties among practitioners, evidence of this trend

is increasing. By 2005, for example, over half

of the states had formal agreements for col-

laboration between child welfare and juvenile

justice agencies for “dually involved” youth

(Petro, 2005). In Arkansas, a recent law man-

dates that placement decisions for dually in-

volved youth be made by a single judge. The

Child Welfare League of America, under the

364 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

sponsorship of the MacArthur Foundation, has

developed a “system coordination and integra-

tion” approach, piloted in a number of local

sites, to strengthen coordination of child wel-

fare and juvenile justice systems by helping

local jurisdictions revise policies and develop

protocols to better manage the needs of youth

across multiple systems (Wiig & Tuell, 2008).

EMERGING LESSONS

There are some important lessons to be

learned from efforts to overcome fragmenta-

tion and tunneling. First, clear lines of re-

sponsibility for addressing coordination issues

must be established, usually by agency leaders.

Where responsibility is diffuse, the persistence

and urgency needed to come to agreements

on how to resolve problems dissipates. A clear

mandate supported by an agency head in-

creases the odds of solving interagency

problems.

Second, the office or person in charge of

the effort must have resources that are useful to

multiple agencies. Although these resources

may include funding, often the more impor-

tant resource is the ability to solve the prob-

lems of other agencies. In some instances, this

may be an ability to facilitate information flow,

resulting in an exchange of information that

resolves issues for two or more agencies. In

other cases, a critical resource may be access to

small amounts of time from specialized staff,

such as lawyers, database developers, or

accounting experts. Being able to expand or

coordinate training to include staff from mul-

tiple agencies is another resource, as is having

the authority to order changes in procedures in

one agency that are causing difficulties in

another. For the person or office mandated

to find solutions, these resources provide the

political bargaining chips “to get things done.”

Acquiring and using these resources requires a

person with strong managerial and political

skills. An ever-present awareness of how deci-

sions and actions will be perceived by a range

of partners is needed to detect and avoid the

minefields of turf wars, conflicting role defi-

nitions, and legal obstacles.

Third, successful initiatives institutionalize

change by modifying standard operating pro-

cedures so that staff are able to routinely solve

coordination issues. Talented leaders repeat-

edly asked to resolve the same issues not only

grow weary, but, by making their presence

necessary to resolve problems, undermine

their own efforts. If solutions are not institu-

tionalized, staff reversion to the patterns that

caused the problems occurs easily and often.

To ensure that new SOPs have taken root,

managers need data to detect when procedures

are failing and to take corrective actions. Suc-

cessful SOPs not only incorporate detailed

discussions of responsibilities, but also provide

for routine interagency data sharing and

monitoring.

A final characteristic of successful efforts is

political will. Initiatives succeed when exec-

utives, managers, and staff believe in the effort

and are willing to spend their political capital

to help them overcome the inevitable obstacles

that appear. After all, if coordinating youth

services were easy, it would have happened

long ago, as the costs to young people, their

families and communities, and the public are

enormous.

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368 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

18 CHAPTER

Youth Perspectives on Health Care

RACHEL OLIVERI, ILA DESHMUKH TOWERY,

LEAH JACOBS, AND FRANCINE H. JACOBS

A growing body of research on the health

issues faced by young people who are

considered “at risk” suggests that they dis-

proportionately experience negative physical

and mental health outcomes (Acoca, 2000;

Juszczak & Cooper, 2002). Youth involved in

the juvenile justice system are at particular

risk for poor health outcomes (Acoca, 2000;

Golzari, Hunt, & Anoshiravani, 2006;

Pumariega et al., 1999; Shelton, 2002; Teplin

et al., 2005; Teplin, Abram, McClelland,

Dulcan, & Mericle, 2006) as they make

transitions to and from their communities

and correctional facilities (Golzari et al.,

2006) and experience ensuing gaps in health

care.

Despite a positive association between

access to health and human services and suc-

cessful community reentry and reintegration

for system-involved youth (Maschi, Hatcher,

Schwalbe, & Rosato, 2008), little is known

about how young people involved in the

juvenile justice system gain access to, prefer

to receive, and use health-care (Atkins et al.,

1999; Maschi et al., 2008; Soler, 2002). This

chapter explores the health-care experiences

of 11 system-involved youth of color—6 boys

and 5 girls. In contrast to typical approaches to

understanding health-care access and utiliza-

tion that view youth behavior primarily from a

deficit-based perspective (e.g., by focusing on

what these youth do not do), we look to the

youth themselves to illuminate their perspec-

tives about the barriers and facilitators to their

health-care access. This alternative orientation

reframes the discourse as youth centered, so

that the systems of care these youth encounter

can be more responsive to their needs. In the

following literature review, we explore facili-

tators and barriers to care relevant to adoles-

cents in general, examine the health risks and

health-care disparities particular to system-in-

volved youth, and then offer an ecological frame-

work as a useful theoretical model for

understanding the relationship between these

youth and the systems with which they

interact.

A DEVELOPMENTAL CONTEXT

Standard recommendations for maintaining

health are straightforward: engaging in pre-

ventive care and living a healthy lifestyle can

dramatically decrease the risk of illness and

injury (Centers for Disease Control and Pre-

vention, 2009). However, people of color and

those with low socioeconomic status continue

to disproportionately experience disease and

injury, and face barriers to accessing and

utilizing preventive, high-quality, and seamless

care shown to play an important role in

improving health outcomes (Agency for

Healthcare Research and Quality [AHRQ],

369

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

2000, 2006; Dietrich & Marton, 1982; Insti-

tute of Medicine, 1996; see also Braverman &

Morris, Chapter 3, this volume). Further,

adolescents in the United States and elsewhere

face some of the most significant barriers

to preventive and seamless care (Weineck,

Zuvekas, & Drilea, 1996; Gleeson, Robinson,

& Neal, 2002; Klein, Wilson, McNulty,

Kapphahn,&Collins,1999;Weineck,Zuvekas,

& Drilea, 1996), including cost or lack of

adequate insurance, inconvenience, lack of

information about services, and a history of

negative interactions or relationships with

health-care providers (Tylee, Haller, Graham,

Churchill, & Sanci, 2007).

Adolescents may also experience emotions

associated with their developmental status that

can impede their access to, and use of, health

care. For instance, they may feel embarrassed

when asked to disclose private health informa-

tion (especially regarding sexual health and sub-

stance use) (Ackard & Neumark-Sztainer, 2001;

Oppong-Odiseng & Heycock, 1997). More-

over, at a time when they are seeking greater

independence, adolescents often are not given

the opportunity to speak with their providers

privately, may feel vulnerable to breaches in

confidentiality,and,asaresult,maybereluctant

to confide in their providers (Klein, McNulty,

& Flatau, 1998; Klein et al., 2006), worrying

that a parent will find out about particular

health issues (Tylee et al., 2007).

As a result of their minor status, youth are

often dependent on others, especially their

parents or other family members, to provide

information about, and access to, health care

(Ackard & Neumark-Sztainer, 2001; Marcell &

Halpern, 2007). Mothers in particular play an

important role here (Ackard & Neumark-

Sztainer, 2001; Jacobs, Oliveri, & Greenstone,

2009; Marcell & Halpern, 2007; Tinsley,

Markey, Ericksen, Kwasman, & Ortiz,

2002). Surveying over 6,500 youth, Ackard

and Neumark-Sztainer (2001) found mothers,

over other family members, professionals, or

peers, most frequently identified as the pri-

mary source of health-related information.

More specifically, mothers have been found

to play an important role in influencing teen

sexual behaviors, as they most frequently ini-

tiate conversations pertaining to sex (Marcell

& Halpern, 2007). In sum, the role of familial

supports, or lack thereof, appears critical

to our understanding of youth’s access to,

and utilization of, health care.

Understanding How System-Involved Youth Access Care

Youth engaged in the juvenile justice system

are particularly vulnerable to disparities in

access to quality and preventive health care.

Health risks for system-involved youth include

increased risk for sexually transmitted diseases,

substance abuse, psychological disorders,

asthma, orthopedic problems and dental prob-

lems (American Academy of Pediatrics, 2001;

Soler, 2002; Teplin et al., 2006). Factors asso-

ciated with involvement in the juvenile justice

system, such as poverty and involvement

with the child welfare system, increase the

likelihood that these youth will have physical

and mental health problems, and decrease the

likelihood that they will have access to high-

quality and consistent health-care services

throughout their childhoods (see Braverman &

Morris, Chapter 3, this volume). Feinstein,

Lampkin, Lorish, Klerman, Maisiak, and

Oh (1998) found that two thirds of youth

entering detainment did not have a regular

source of health care, and four fifths did not

have a primary health-care provider. System-

involved youth are more likely to lack health

insurance and to receive inadequate and

disjointed health care than are youth who

are not system-involved (American Academy

370 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

of Pediatrics, 2001; Golzari, Hunt, & Cham-

berlain, 2008; Sherman, 2005; Teplin et al.,

2006; see also Sherman & Blitzman, Chapter 4,

this volume).

While disparities in access to appropriate

health-care services exist, recent studies suggest

that improved access to care upon community

reentry, especially through “continuous,”

“wraparound,” and “medical home” models,

help youth make the transition from detainment

to their communities (Baltodano, Mathur, &

Rutherford, 2005; Golzari et al., 2008; Hussey,

Drinkard, Falletta, & Flannery, 2008; Maschi

et al., 2008; Pullmann et al., 2006). However,

there remains much to learn about the types of

services necessary to engage youth in care and

how to best provide services to youth.

While research has begun to seek out youth

perspectives on health-care access and utiliza-

tion, we still know little about health mainte-

nance behaviors and preferences of youth

involved with the juvenile justice system. In

a small survey (n ¼ 50) of system-involved youth, Anderson, Vostanis, and Spencer

(2004) found these youth more likely than

non-system-involved youth to seek out care

primarily in times of crisis, and therefore access

emergency medical care more frequently than

primary medical care. In terms of perceptions

of health, these youth expressed stigmatized

views of mental health disorders, expressing

reluctance to visit a mental health clinician.

It is not surprising that system-involved

youth may be hesitant to seek medical care.

In addition to the barriers in access to care

generally associated with adolescence, these

youth also experience disincentives and barri-

ers associated with their involvement in the

juvenile justice system (American Academy of

Pediatrics, 2001; Atkins et al., 1999; Golzari

et al., 2008). They may be disempowered due

to the biases and diagnoses of practitioners

and the treatments prescribed to them

(e.g., in-patient psychiatric services instead

of community-based services). They may

also be less likely to actually receive care given

the stigma they face in society, which frames

them as “troublemakers” or “delinquents.”

System-involved youth want a say in their

health care; and in light of their systemic

disenfranchisement, providing them that voice

may benefit their overall health and well-

being. Results from an adapted administration

of the National Youth Risk Behavior Survey

found that, out of a sample of 1,780 detained

youth, over 80% are interested in learning

more about personal health care, and 68%

would participate in developing health educa-

tion programming (Morris et al., 1995). In

addition, scholars in the areas of juvenile

delinquency and medicine, as well as public

health, believe that responding to the health

needs of juvenile system–involved youth is

a societal responsibility that must be addressed

systemically (Foster, Qaseem, & Connor,

2004; National Mental Health Association,

2006; Shelton, 2002; Shi & Stephens, 2005).

THE ECOLOGICAL FRAMEWORK: A THEORETICAL MODEL FOR UNDERSTANDING YOUTH’S

RELATIONSHIP TO THE HEALTH-CARE SYSTEM

Researchers suggest that a young person’s

ecological context (Bronfenbrenner, 1979,

2001)—the nested systems (e.g., family and

community) within which youth development

is situated—is critical in shaping young people’s

health-care beliefs and practices, as well as in

structuring their access to care (Jacobs, 2007;

Kreipe, Ryan, & Seibold-Simpson, 2004;

Prothrow-Stith & Spivak, 2004; Shi & Stevens,

2005; Wickrama, Conger, Wallace, & Elder,

1999). An ecological framework proposes that

Youth Perspectives on Health Care 371

development is the product of complex,

repeated interactions among the individual,

with his or her individual qualities and abilities,

and the multiple systems within which that

individual is situated. Explicating the relation-

ship between the child and his or her develop-

mental outcomes requires a close examination

of his or her ecological contexts and the pro-

cesses through which he or she interacts with

these contexts.

The ecological framework is particularly

useful for exploring youth perception of the

health-care system because it allows us to

consider an individual in relation to the multiple

systems—both immediate and more distant—

in which he or she is situated. Bronfenbrenner

(1979, 2001) described four interrelated sys-

tems that both affect and are affected by an

individual: the micro-, meso-, exo-, and macro-

system. The microsystem is the immediate

environment within which the child is located

and with which he/she interacts directly. This

might mean, for example, the relationship that

occurs between a child and his or her mother

in the home. The mesosystem is a group of

microsystems with which the child interacts at

a certain point in time, such as juvenile deten-

tion in the case of system-involved youth or a

health center. The exosystem involves the

multiple contexts with which the child is

not directly involved, but that indirectly affect

a child’s development, such as a parent’s place

of employment, which may or may not

allow parents time off to take their child to

see a physician. Finally, the macrosystem

affects the child both directly and indirectly

through cultural, political, and economic

forces, by shaping the child’s interaction

with all other ecological systems. For a child

involved with the juvenile justice system, cul-

tural values pertaining to the level of accept-

able punishment and political ideologies that

shape funding of rehabilitative and health-care

programming would be examples of macro-

system effects (see Hawkins, Vashchenko, &

Davis, Chapter 12, this volume; Lerner et al.,

Chapter 5, this volume).

The ecological framework is a useful heu-

ristic for examining the complex relationships

among youth and the multiple systems with

which they interact as they develop health

behaviors and maintain, or neglect, their

health. Thus, it provides the basic scaffolding

for this chapter. Understanding youth’s beliefs

and experiences from their own perspective is

also a critical feature of this analysis, and we

forefront their voices for this reason.

We next describe our methodology for this

study, presenting an argument for incorporating

youth perspectives in research, outlining our

data collection and analysis methods, and de-

scribing the study participants. We then present

analysis and findings from our interviews with

these youth. Finally, we conclude with a sum-

mary of the lessons learned from this investiga-

tion, and its implications for future programs,

policies, and research to improve health-care

quality and access for system-involved youth.

METHODS

This study forefronts the voices of system-

involved youth whose perspectives on health

and health care are often omitted from

research, yet which are critical both to under-

standing adolescent barriers to health care and

to crafting solutions to which youth will

respond (Armstrong, Hill, & Secker, 2000;

Chandra & Minkovitz, 2006). The absence

of youth perspectives on their own health and

health care may reflect the positioning of the

overall health care and juvenile justice systems,

which hold power and seek control over this

minority group (Foucault, 1980; Oakley,

1972; Mayall, 1998; Smith, 1988). Broadening

372 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

medical knowledge and practice to include

the knowledge, concerns, and preferences of

patients can help destabilize these power rela-

tionships such that the needs of these youth

are adequately met. In the case of system-

involved youth, this would mean incorporat-

ing the perspective of youth who are currently

disengaged and may be distrustful of system-

involved professionals (Hawkins & Weis,

1985), and may also be unlikely to receive

support in attaining health care (Feinstein

et al., 1998).

Data Collection and Analysis

This study examines a subset of data in the

form of in-depth, open-ended, one-on-one

interviews focused on the experiences of

youth of color as they reenter their commu-

nities from residential juvenile justice facilities.

By choosing to use interviews as a way of

getting at experience and perspective, we draw

on a conception of self as subject rather than

object (Foucault, 1980; Gubrium & Holstein,

2001; Scheurich, 1997), arguing for the pos-

sibility that an individual can “reflect on his or

her individual experience, personally describe

it, and communicate opinions about it and its

surrounding world in his or her own terms”

(Gubrium & Holstein, 2001, p. 6).

We analyze the interviews in an iterative

and inductive manner, using within-case and

cross-case analysis to identify broad themes

that emerged. We then examine smaller sec-

tions of interview data to develop hypotheses

and identify overarching themes about the

experiences being described (Taylor & Bogdan,

1984; Scheurich, 1997). In some cases, we

highlight themes that appear across interviews,

and in others, we focus on particular experi-

ences of one or two youth that illustrate what

we understand to be a more general dilemma

in the lives of these youth.

Participants This chapter highlights the experiences of 11 youth, 6 girls and 5 boys,

ranging in age from 15 to 20 years old.

These young people—all African American

or Latino/a, and recently reentering their

communities—were interviewed as part of

a broader evaluation of the Massachusetts

Health Passport Project (MHPP) (Jacobs

et al., 2009), a program designed to connect

reentering teens to health services in their

communities. Through their connection to

MHPP, these youth had access to health-care

services; however, not all of them chose to

use these services, and many had a limited

connection to MHPP. Each youth was inter-

viewed once, for approximately 1 hour, at a

location of his or her choice. The interviews

covered the youth’s health-care utilization

patterns, their health-care preferences, and

the possible factors that facilitated or im-

peded their access to health-care services.

FINDINGS

The study findings are organized into two over-

arching, obviously related themes: connection to

care and lack of connection to care. The first includes

positive and consistent relationships with pro-

viders, support from mothers, and youth taking

an active role in managing their care; the

second includes lack of trust in providers, in-

consistent care, and inefficient and inaccessible

care. Table 18.1 presents an overview of our

findings, noting the facilitators and barriers to

care each study participant identified.

Connection to Care

Whether they saw primary care doctors or

used walk-in health clinics or the emergency

room, all of the youth had access to some form

of health care, and recognized it as important.

Youth Perspectives on Health Care 373

In part this was predetermined for the youth

we interviewed who, as system-involved

youth in Massachusetts, are provided with

MassHealth (the state version of Medicaid).

In addition, all these youth were enrolled in

MHPP, which was poised to facilitate their

access to and use of care; indeed, several youth

identified it as an important source of support.

Others did so with support from people in

their lives, especially their primary care pro-

viders, their mothers, and the youth’s own

initiative; particular features of the clinics

they visited also played a key role.

Positive and Consistent Relationships with Providers The youth identified their relationships with health-care providers as a

key factor in their use of health care. Eight

youth reported seeing a primary care doctor

on a regular basis, in some cases even making

their own appointments as well as appoint-

ments for other members of their families.

The majority of youth had been seeing

the same primary care doctor for many years

(some since childhood) and, in most cases,

these doctors saw other members of their

families as well.

More than half of the youth described

positive relationships with their doctors,

which facilitated their receiving “continuity

of care.” For instance, Jasmine, whose pedia-

trician had been seeing her and many

members of her family since birth, described

trusting her doctor both because he was

familiar to her and because he was

“straightforward”—he knew her well enough

to know when something was really wrong

with her and when she was “pretending” to

be sick. She contrasted this relationship with

experiences she had with doctors she saw

while in foster care and in DYS (Department

of Youth Services) custody:

What I like about him is he gets to the

point, he doesn’t, like, beat around the

bush like normal doctors would. . . .

I’ve been locked up before [where I

had a different doctor]. . . . And

when I was in foster homes, I had a

different doctor [and those doctors

“beat around the bush”]. It’s kind of

funny. I think it’s kind of funny—I

was, like, pretending I was sick and

he’s so real. Like, I had to go to the

Table 18.1. Summary of Findings by Participant 1

Name Age

Positive and

Consistent

Relationships With

Providers

Support

From

Mothers

Youth Taking an

Active Role in

Managing Health

Care

Inconsistent Care

and Lack of Trust

in Providers

Inefficient and

Inaccessible

Health Care

Alisha 17 X X X X

Andre 19 X X

Darrell 17 X X

Jasmine 15 X X

Jose 15 X X X

Leo 20 X X X

Linda 16 X X

Maria 18 X X

Monique 17 X X

Shade 15 X X

Tyrone 21 X X X

1 Names have been changed in order to protect the anonymity of the youth interviewed.

374 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

doctors and he told my mom I wasn’t

sick at all, that I was just pretending, so

I think he’s really straightforward.

Similarly, Monique, who, along with

several close family members, had been see-

ing her doctors at a specific medical practice

for many years, described having a very good

relationship with these doctors that was

marked by warmth, trust, and familiarity.

Several times during her interview, Monique

linked this warm relationship to the practice

with her desire to continue seeing him rather

than other medical professionals. For in-

stance, when explaining why she liked the

health service she received from this practice,

she said:

They are very generous and nice, and

I like to stay with them because I’m

used to them now, so . . . I would

rather, you know, stick with the

same person instead of going to some-

body different that don’t know me.

And later on in the interview, when talk-

ing about her resistance to seeing different

health-care providers, Monique said about

one practitioner:

She is so stupid. I don’t know what is

wrong with her but she don’t know

anything, and she, like, tells you

something way different. One of my

friends went to go see her and she said,

“Oh, I think you have like an infec-

tion in your ear” but then she was like

“Oh, I think you have a cyst,” and like

my friend was like “No, what are you

talking about?” You know it had

nothing to do with what she went

to see her for. Like it was, I don’t

know. But like [the MHPP nurse]

here, she’s great, I think, but for

me, it’s different because I’m so close

with my doctor, so you know, I never

have any, there is no point in me going

to see anybody here or anything.

Monique pointed out that having a per-

sonal relationship with her doctors, with

whom she is “so close,” plays an important

role in both her preferences for her medical

care as well as the perceived quality of care she

receives. Like Jasmine, Monique believed a

long-term, close relationship with a doctor

allows for appropriate medical diagnoses. For

Jasmine, this close relationship meant, for

example, that her doctor knew when she

was not really sick. Meanwhile, Monique

did not trust a provider who did not “know”

her to give her an accurate diagnosis.

The importance of trust in facilitating a

positive relationship between providers and

youth also comes through in the interview

with Jose, who described himself as in “good

health” but experiencing some problems with

his vision. He reported going to his doctor of

six years every two or three months and

conveyed that his trust in his doctors overrides

any fears he may have:

I trust them. I won’t be scared because

my brother, he goes there too, and

he be scared to get the needles. I be

laughing at him, but I trust them.

They say they know where they’re

going and I trust them.

Jose repeatedly noted that he trusts his

doctors. Though he did not elaborate on

how he came to trust them, factors such as

the longevity of the relationship, that other

family members go to the same health center,

and that, as Jose reported, “they call, they

check” about his appointments every few

Youth Perspectives on Health Care 375

months, likely contributed to Jose’s develop-

ing this sense of trust.

Unlike Jasmine, Monique, and Jose,

Tyrone and Andre did not have a long-term

relationship with their doctor, to whom they

were connected through MHPP, yet they

nonetheless succeeded in developing a per-

sonal connection with him. Both of these

young men, in their late teens at the time of

the interview, said that prior to this MHPP-

affiliated doctor, “Dr. Evans,” they had not

seen a primary care physician since childhood.

While they had been going to Dr. Evans for

less than a year at the time they were inter-

viewed, they reported seeing him fairly

frequently. In a 10-month period, Tyrone,

who mentioned having dental and nutritional

needs, as well as being hit by a car and sustain-

ing a serious injury, reported seeing Dr. Evans

seven times. Andre, whose health concerns

included sexually transmitted infection (STI)

testing and a dermatological problem, reported

seeing him three times in the same period.

Tyrone’s close relationship with Dr. Evans

appeared to have contributed to his desire to

keep his doctor informed about his health: “I

came to see him because I always update him

on my medical history: I just got hit by a car,

this is what is going on with me.” Tyrone also

indicated his trust in Dr. Evans’s medical ad-

vice, noting: “I’d tell him the situation, and if

he understood what I was describing to him,

follow whatever he says.” Finally, Tyrone

referred to Dr. Evans by his first name and

said he would call him or go in to see him with

any concerning medical problem: “ . . . if I’m

having a pain in my neck or something, I’ll talk

to Mark.”

While Tyrone did not make explicit what

about Dr. Evans made him feel especially con-

nected to him, Andre did. Andre described

Dr. Evans as “nice” and expressed his appreci-

ation for the way Dr. Evans “just talked about

everything before he did it and explained

things.” Andre also spoke favorably of the staff

at the health center where Dr. Evans is located:

. . . They just keep it short and sweet

and they pay attention. When they

talk to you, they don’t make you feel

like it’s routine. . . . They come in

with you, you sit down wherever

you want—you can even sit down

in their rolling chair. . . . They just

don’t, “Okay wait right there, we’ll

be back,” and they come back, do the

same thing like routine. When they

don’t do that it makes it seem like

they’re more concerned. They make

you feel more comfortable.

Andre pointed to the ways in which the

health center staff were attentive and respectful

to him, which helped him to feel “more

comfortable” and cared for than perhaps he

has felt in other health-care settings. Given his

positive orientation toward both Dr. Evans

and the health center, it is not surprising

that Andre also answered affirmatively when

asked if he planned to continue seeing

Dr. Evans regularly, and if he thought

Dr. Evans would be in his life for a while.

Tyrone’s and Andre’s stories suggest that

the opportunity to participate in a program

like MHPP, which connected them to a doc-

tor and a health center committed to serving

disenfranchised youth populations, as well as

the active role these young men played in their

health care (e.g., communicating regularly

with Dr. Evans and attending their appoint-

ments) most likely contributed to their expe-

riencing continuity of care.

Support from Mothers Several youth we interviewed identified their mothers as their

primary source of health-care support. They

376 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

described how they talk to their mothers

about their health concerns and how their

mothers facilitate their access to care by sched-

uling, reminding them, and getting them to

appointments. When asked how he knows

when to go to the doctor, Jose said in addition

to his doctor calling to remind him, “My mom

knows. She always schedules for me.” Darrell

described his mother’s persistence with his

doctor’s appointments:

My mother always be like, “You got a

doctor’s appointment so cancel what-

ever you’re doing.” She’s always pres-

suring me about my doctor’s

appointments because she thinks that’s

healthy for me too. She’s always on

top of that with me.

Similarly, Leo noted how his mother

makes his appointments and takes him to

the doctor when he is sick. He also described

how his mother was his health advocate during

his experience with childhood asthma, refus-

ing the doctor’s recommended daily treatment

for fear he might become dependent on the

medication. Alisha and Shad�e also cited ma- ternal support as important, ranging from their

mothers’ making doctors appointments for

them to accompanying them to the doctor.

As Alisha noted:

Whatever happens to me basically

she’s there, she has to be there, I’m

only 17. If I’m 18 I can go on my own,

but she’s the one that gets me to

MassHealth, or whatever. . . . Cause

honestly, if I didn’t have no one, like I

said I’m close to her, if I didn’t have no

one to relate to and let them know

what’s going on, I mean I don’t know

how I would be. I probably would be

a whole different person.

Youth Taking an Active Role in Managing Health Care Several youth took an active role in their health care—for instance, finding

their own doctors, keeping their doctors

informed about their health concerns, and

picking up their own prescriptions. Andre,

for example, made the initial contact with

MHPP himself. As he explained: “I wanted

to get a STI check up and I called [the MHPP

advocate] and she told me about the program

and I came down here.“ When asked how he

knew what number to call, he explained:

“I knew her [the MHPP staff person] from

DYS and her card is up there at the CRC

[community reentry center] so when I did go

there I took down her number.”

In some cases, these young people primar-

ily managed their own care because there was

no one else to do so. But in others, they did

so even when they had parents in their lives

who were involved in their health care. For

instance, Alisha, who described being very

close with her mother and wanting her

mother to be aware of her health issues, also

said that she, not her mother, made her

doctors’ appointments. This combination of

maternal support and independence seemed

to reflect the examples her mother set about

how to take care of herself:

INTERVIEWER: What do you feel is the most

important thing you’ve learned from your

mom about your health and health care?

ALISHA: She, I don’t know, she shows me how

to do things like I’m supposed to take care

of myself. When I have to get an appoint-

ment, she tells me never forget that

appointment that you made, you have to

take the bus, taxi, whatever is available, and

she tells me basically to be on top of it.

INTERVIEWER: Mmm. And do you feel

you are?

ALISHA: Yeah.

Youth Perspectives on Health Care 377

Alisha’s description of what she learned

from her mother suggests that it was her

mother’s example that facilitated her subse-

quent independence in managing her health.

Jasmine, whose mother was very mini-

mally involved in her health care, also sought

out doctors on her own. Jasmine described her

parents and family members as having different

beliefs about health than her own. She said, in

her family, “If we’re just feeling ill, we usually

just take some Tylenol, lie down, or some-

thing. Or sometimes we just ignore it, just

do what we have to do. But if we have to see

the doctor we would go to the doctors.”

However, Jasmine described experiencing a

number of health concerns, including sexually

transmitted diseases and pregnancy scares,

along with worries about her parents’ health.

These issues contributed to Jasmine’s concerns

for her own health and seemed to prompt

her to take an active role in managing her

own care.

A fear of experiencing problems like those

of the adults in their lives also shaped the

youth’s interest in gaining access to regular

care. Like Alisha, who was worried that she

would develop diabetes as other members of

her family had, Monique, whose aunt was

going blind as a result of diabetes and whose

mother rarely went to the doctor, was worried

both about her family members and herself.

She said that when she gets sick, her mother

tells her to “ride it through,” but that she calls

the doctor anyway, “just in case.” And when

she was asked to identify her health concerns

for herself and her family, Monique replied:

“Only to just go to the doctors so they won’t

end up like my aunt.” Notably, then, while

Alisha’s ownership over her health care seemed

to stem from what she considered to be

positive modeling by her mother, Jasmine’s

and Monique’s seemed to be a reaction to the

perceived negative examples set for them.

A desire for independence, autonomy, and

privacy was also a factor in some of the youth’s

taking an active role in their health care. Four

of the six girls—Jasmine, Shad�e, Monique, and Linda—spoke about wanting private, confi-

dential relationships with their doctors to con-

trol the flow of information about their health

issues, particularly where gynecological issues

were concerned. In addition, they linked their

preferences for independent relationships with

their doctors to their growing older. For in-

stance, when asked how she would feel if her

doctor contacted a parent, Monique, whose

mother had played a big role in her health care

while she was growing up, said: “I think that

they shouldn’t because that’s . . . I don’t know

how to say it, but you know . . . confidential.

And yeah, I don’t think, yeah, I wouldn’t

like it.” And when asked why she felt this

way, she said,

I don’t know, I’m getting older now

so . . . I just feel like everything, not

everything, well yeah most of the

things I do is me, I’m just confidential

and independent. . . . But once I

turned like 10 I think, I just, I think

10, 12, I was just like, I’m going by

myself, you know, you don’t have to

be here, especially when I had like my

first Pap smear, I was like no . . . I

don’t want you around.

However, at the same time as they wanted

independence in their health care, some of the

girls we interviewed also wanted their parents

involved. Jasmine, for example, spoke about

both wanting and not wanting her parents to

know about her health issues:

Sometimes I would like for them to

know what’s going on with me . . .

sometimes I just want to be grown

378 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

and do everything by myself. I think

when it gets really serious like STD, if

I get one or if I overdose on drugs or if

I’m like really sick in the hospital or

have to be kept overnight, [then I

would want my parents to know],

[but like] when [I have] pregnancy

scares. I don’t like my parents in my

business when that happened.

Given their developmental context, these

girls’ dual desire for parental involvement and

independence is not surprising—as adoles-

cents, they are both beginning to seek auton-

omy while continuing to seek some support or

guidance from their caregivers.

Though it was unclear if family played any

role in Tyrone’s independent management of

this health care, he described setting up his own

appointments (medical and dental) and going

to his appointments by himself. He also played

an active role in sustaining his relationship with

his doctor, describing how he “comes to see,”

“updates,” “follows,” and “talks to” his doctor

on a regular basis. Notably, when Tyrone was

asked if he knew of other youth participating in

MHPP, he said no and continues, “ . . . not a

lot of them are independent . . . the youngest

are like mighty young so somebody might set

it [their health care] up for them,” perhaps

acknowledging that not all youth in the system

are able to be as independent as he is.

Lack of Connection to Care

These youth also identified experiencing

points of discontinuity in their health care.

Based on their descriptions, factors that seem

to have played a role here included the lack

of trusting relationships with health-care

providers, a history of inconsistent care, and

perceptions of the health-care system as

inefficient or inaccessible.

Inconsistent Care and Lack of Trust Youth were aware of discontinuity in their health care

arising from communication breakdowns that

occurred when multiple, unrelated doctors saw

them. Alisha, for instance, described being di-

agnosed with methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus

aureus (MRSA)—a hard-to-treat strain of staph

infection—while in DYS custody. She noted

that DYS medical providers treated her, but

that the responsibility for following up on her

treatment with her primary care doctor fell to

her and her mother, leaving Alisha uncertain

about what her doctor knew about the infec-

tion and her treatment:

ALISHA: . . . When I was locked up, they

gave [my mom] a lot of options for services

for me and when I got MRSA in there, they

told her and they told her when I got home

how to treat it and whatever. . . .

INTERVIEWER: So they told your mom what

to do. And in terms of your medical docu-

ments, you obviously received medical care

while you were in lockup, do you know if

your own doctor, who you’ve been seeing

since you were little, do you know if that

doctor knows what you got in lockup?

ALISHA: No. No I don’t think so.

INTERVIEWER: You don’t think so? Do you

think it’s important for him to know?

ALISHA: Yeah I do, I think it’s important for

him to know . . . well he knows now be-

cause I told him, but I told him, “Well I got

MRSA here,” and he was like, “I didn’t hear

about that, when did you get that?” and I

was like, “When I was locked up.” And he

asked my mom for the paperwork.

INTERVIEWER: Whose job do you think it is to

communicate, like let’s say you’re in lockup

and you already have a doctor from when

you were like little, whose job is it to

communicate what happens during lockup

to that other doctor?

Youth Perspectives on Health Care 379

ALISHA: The nurses, the nurse staff that works

in the lockup facilities. . . . I mean ’cause

she is the one treating you for everything so

she should be the one letting your doctor,

your primary care know.

Alisha’s experience highlights how dis-

continuities in care, paired with unclear lines

of communication, could lead to insufficient

follow-up—if she hadn’t brought up her in-

fection with her doctor on her own, he would

never have known she had had it. Moreover,

even after she made her doctor aware of her

health issues while in DYS, she was still unsure

about whether her records had been properly

handed over to him.

Two youth, Maria and Linda, reported

that they did not have primary care doctors

and relied on hospital emergency rooms (ERs)

for their care—not because they preferred the

ER, but because they either did not have or

were unable to find doctors whom they

trusted. Maria, who reported she was often

sick with respiratory infections, said she knew

she was “supposed to have a doctor.” How-

ever, she chose not to see him because he was

not solving her recurrent problems. So she said

she often went to the ER when she got sick,

but did not find this care to be helpful either.

Maria describes how she began using the ER

rather than her primary care doctor and

how her dissatisfaction with both—in terms

of the quality of care she was receiving and in

terms of the quality of her relationship to her

doctors—led her to revert to over-the-counter

self-care:

MARIA: I don’t know, I had [my primary care

doctor] and she told me that it was asthma

that was what was going on with me. But

then when I went to the hospital they told

me it was respiratory infection. And it

keeps happening, like four times in six

months I can’t breathe. And they made me

sit in the waiting room for 2 hours . . .

and I don’t know the lady, my doctor’s

name, they don’t know it, so I don’t know,

and I don’t like waiting for them. I get

better eventually.

INTERVIEWER: And in general when you feel

sick then, what’s the first thing that comes

to mind for you to do?

MARIA: I go buy the pills from the store, like

Nyquil and stuff, and Tylenol.

Because I know that [going to the doc-

tor] is a waste of time. By the time I get an

appointment, it will probably be over with.

And if I go to the emergency room, it just

makes me mad because I have to wait all the

time—I left like three times when I went. I

was waiting there for three hours and I left.

INTERVIEWER: So right now you don’t have

a medical provider?

MARIA: No.

INTERVIEWER: Okay, and what are you look-

ing for in a medical provider?

MARIA: I don’t know, like for them to be

normal . . . for them to actually care to

help me, not just think it’s another job,

actually care to help.

INTERVIEWER: Okay, do you feel that that’s

happened to you a lot, you’ve come across

doctors who don’t care?

MARIA: Yeah, they have other appointments

so they hurry up and rush, and they just

make whatever they say goes and it might

not even be right that time. . . .

INTERVIEWER: You feel you’ve been rushed

through. This last time, you said that you,

you were told that it was asthma or some

kind of asthma related and then you went to

the ER and they actually, is that right you

went to the ER and they said . . .

MARIA: Yeah . . .

INTERVIEWER: . . . that it was a respiratory

infection? Did they give you anything?

380 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

MARIA: I had two ear infections with it.

And . . .

INTERVIEWER: So you had a respiratory infec-

tion and ear infections . . .

MARIA: Two ear infections. And I went in

there, they gave me four pills, Domax, [and]

it didn’t go away after them four pills. It

was there for another week and a half, so

I don’t know why they just gave me four

pills, but yeah . . .

INTERVIEWER: Yeah, it sounds like you are

really frustrated.

MARIA: I know that’s why I don’t go no

more . . .

INTERVIEWER: And do you feel that there are

any consequences to you not going?

MARIA: Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t know

what’s wrong. When I was younger I had

surgery, I don’t know what it was for, like

bladder or something, and I was supposed

to get it checked back, and I never went,

I don’t know what the hell is going on with

me now.

INTERVIEWER: You feel there is something

going on bladder-wise?

MARIA: No, they gave me surgery to not get

UTI’s anymore and like, at the end of last

year I had one. And I went to [my doctor],

and I gave him my number and everything

and he never called me back to tell me

nothing. So . . . maybe there is nothing

wrong. But he never called me.

Several factors contributed to Maria’s frus-

tration. First, her primary care doctor offered

her diagnoses that were not confirmed by the

doctors she saw in the ER, and the treatments

she was receiving did not seem to be working—

her health problems recurred. In addition,

when she visited the ER, Maria experienced

very long wait times and visits with doctors

who seemed not to “care.” As evidence of

doctors’ lack of care, Maria cited being

“rushed” in and out by doctors whose names

she did not know and vice versa. She was further

frustrated with what she perceived as a lack

of communication on the part of her doctors,

for instance, when her doctor failed to call her

back to let her know if anything was wrong

following a urinary tract infection (UTI). As

with other youth, having a caring, responsive

relationship with her doctor(s) was very impor-

tant to Maria; and in the absence of that rela-

tionship, she chose self-diagnosis and self-care,

and remained worried about her health.

Linda also spoke about frequenting the ER,

rather than a primary care doctor, for her own

and her child’s health care. She noted that

although she did call primary care doctors

when she or her son had a problem, the ER

held a certain appeal because she did not have to

wait for an appointment and could get imme-

diate care. Linda also explained that she was

following the example her mother set for her

when she was growing up: “If [my son is] sick, I

bring him straight to the emergency. . . . I call

the doctor and if they can’t bring me in, I bring

him to the emergency room. . . . And that’s

what my mom did with me.”

Linda’s current preferences had not al-

ways been the case. She explained that she

had seen a doctor regularly—one whom she

had been seeing since she was 5 years old and

with whom she felt comfortable—until he

“disappeared.” Linda was not sure whether

he quit or had been fired, but she was unable

to track him down and subsequently did not

seek out another regular doctor because

she was “scared” and did not “want to go

to anyone else.” From that point on, Linda

went to the doctor only when she had to, for

instance, when she was pregnant and needed

prenatal care.

INTERVIEWER: You say you don’t have a

medical provider. Are you looking for one?

Youth Perspectives on Health Care 381

LINDA: No. . . . I know I need one, because

I know I need to go to . . . but I don’t

like that.

INTERVIEWER: You don’t like what?

LINDA: To go to the doctors. Like even my

prenatal checkups, I only went because

I had to. But like if I couldn’t have went,

I wouldn’t have went. . . .

INTERVIEWER: How come?

LINDA: I don’t like doctors. Like, I don’t

know, once [my childhood doctor] left

me, I was like “what a loser,” you know.

And I don’t feel comfortable like going to

the doctors and getting in one of those

Johnny’s, like . . .

INTERVIEWER: Okay, so you had your doctor,

did you like him?

LINDA: Yeah . . . I really liked him because he

was like always my doctor and then once

he left I was like, “Well, I’m not just going to

go to any person” so . . . I tried to track him

down, but it didn’t work. Like I called a lot

of offices, like “do you have a [childhood

doctor’s name]” and they were like “no.”

INTERVIEWER: And they didn’t tell you what

happened to him?

LINDA: They said “he’s not here anymore”

and then they like referred me to this other

lady. . . . [so] I just kind of left the office.

Linda’s explanation suggests that multiple

factors, including the immediacy of care she

received, the absence of a personal relationship

with a primary care doctor, and the example

set by her mother, played a role in her choice

to use the ER. Notably, Linda said that

she “know[s] she need[s]” a regular primary

care doctor, but was reluctant to try and start a

relationship with someone she was unfamiliar

with, preferring to use the ER instead. In

this sense, Linda’s preferences for a personal

relationship with her doctor echoed the pref-

erences of the other interviewees, who all

noted that having a trusting, personal relation-

ship with their doctors was critical. And fur-

ther, Maria’s and Linda’s stories suggest that

the absence of such a relationship may lead a

young person to rely on the ER or over-the-

counter self-care.

The lack of a trusting, personal relation-

ship with doctors was also implicated in the

discontinuity of care experienced by Darrell

and Leo. Darrell, who said, “I think about my

health a lot,” was not asked and did not offer

how long he had been seeing his doctor,

though he did say he went to the doctor

annually. He confided:

I didn’t used to like to go to the

doctors when I was younger. I didn’t

like needles or nothing. Now when I

go to the doctors I be thinking about

what they be puttin’ in them needles.

They know what they doin’, but I

don’t know. . . . They don’t hurt, but

I don’t like the look of needles.

Darrell’s fear of something he does not

understand contributes to his feelings of am-

bivalence about doctors.

Leo, who did not report having a current

personal connection to a doctor or health

center, explained that he used to go to the

doctor regularly but “now that I’m grown it

slowed down.” He said he used to worry about

his health “because I grew up with asthma,”

but since outgrowing it, he is no longer too

concerned about his health. Leo reported that

he used to have a regular doctor whom he

liked because “she knew me—she was

straight.” Similar to some of the other youth,

Leo expressed an appreciation for his former

doctor’s familiarity with him, and straightfor-

ward approach to care.

Leo did not offer an explanation for why

he no longer sees his childhood doctor, and he

382 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

reported mixed perceptions of doctors in gen-

eral. At one point he said he has had “positive”

experiences going to doctors “because when I

need something done, it gets done.” However,

later in the interview, he conveyed a strong

lack of trust in them:

INTERVIEWER: Would the members of your

family go to the doctors if they weren’t

feeling well?

LEO: Yeah.

INTERVIEWER: Do they trust doctors?

LEO: Me personally, I don’t. I can’t speak for

everyone in my family. They [doctors] think

everything is a problem. You need drugs.

INTERVIEWER: So you don’t trust medicine,

but . . .

LEO: See, I grew up with asthma. My mother

noticed that it would get worse in February.

She realized it was seasonal. So they [doc-

tors] told her to give it to me daily, but she

wouldn’t do it. She told them straight up,

“I’m not doing it. I’m not getting my baby

hooked on drugs.” So she didn’t and it’s a

good thing because I grew out of it. I would

probably still be messing with it every day.

INTERVIEWER: So she would just give it to you

when you needed it?

LEO: When I needed it.

INTERVIEWER: So you don’t trust medicine.

Would you say that you trust doctors?

LEO: Doctors my age, they don’t know any-

thing. They be trying to operate on things

early. Some don’t even know what they’re

talking about. Unless you have gray hair on

your head, I’m not messing with you. If I

think you are anywhere near my age—you

don’t know what you’re talking about.

INTERVIEWER: So you will trust a doctor if

they’re experienced?

LEO: Yeah.

INTERVIEWER: You think they tend to exag-

gerate stuff?

LEO: Yeah, you need this . . . you need

that. . . .

INTERVIEWER: You think you mainly feel this

way because of that experience with the

asthma when you’re younger?

LEO: Yeah.

Leo’s experience with childhood asthma

appears to have instilled in him an enduring

mistrust of doctors and a strong preference

for doctors who are experienced and

knowledgeable.

Inefficient and Inaccessible Health Care A number of youth identified the health-care system’s inefficiency or in-

accessibility as an impediment to accessing

regular, preventive care. Waiting a long time

for care was a common complaint and source

of disconnection from the health-care system

among our interviewees. For instance, Leo

noted, “If the line’s too long and I get tired of

waiting, then it’s time to go.” Similarly, Linda

said having to wait for an appointment was one

reason that she chose to use the ER, and

Maria, who described being frustrated even

with the wait time for the ER, reverted to

over-the-counter self-care.

Conversely, when the wait at a health

center is “short and sweet” as Andre described

what happens at the MHPP-affiliated health

center, it has great appeal:

. . . When it really comes down to it,

that’s all you want is to get what you

came here for . . . it’s fast and easy.

Other clinics would just be so long

and then they’d be overcrowded and

overbooked.

Some of our informants also raised con-

cerns related to the ability to travel to and

afford care. Tyrone noted that he lived a long

Youth Perspectives on Health Care 383

distance from the MHPP-affiliated clinic, re-

quiring several modes of public transportation

to get there. Jose said he could not get to the

eye doctor because he would need to take the

bus and did not have a bus pass (earlier in

the interview he noted how expensive the

bus is). Leo raised concerns about health insur-

ance, comparing coverage within and outside

the DYS facilities: “Out here you have to worry

about whether or not insurance is going to

cover it. In there you got no choice. They pay

for it. So you’re going to take it.”

While Leo resides in Massachusetts, where

he receives state-sponsored health insurance as

long as he is committed to DYS, he may have

been worried about his coverage, as he was

soon to age out of the system. His concern

may also reflect a misunderstanding about his

health coverage benefits, and thus speaks to the

need for DYS staff and/or health-care provid-

ers to educate youth about the coverage to

which they are entitled. It also underscores the

critical need for affordable health-care cover-

age for system-involved youth nationwide.

CONCLUSIONS

The system-involved youth of color in this

study reported health concerns similar to those

documented in the literature, including sexu-

ally transmitted infections, pregnancy, asthma,

dental problems, and serious injury (American

Academy of Pediatrics, 2001; Soler, 2002;

Teplin et al., 2006). While much of the extant

literature assumes a deficit orientation, de-

scribing the many risks and vulnerabilities of

system-involved youth of color, the majority

of youth in this study reported greater access to

and utilization of preventive and quality

health-care services than found in other stud-

ies of system-involved youth reviewed here.

These youth revealed valuable assets and

supports that facilitated their access to and

utilization of care, including positive relation-

ships with their doctors, support from their

mothers, personal initiative in managing their

care, and connection to MHPP. In addition,

the youth in this study benefited from receiv-

ing health insurance coverage for the duration

of their involvement in the juvenile justice

system, unlike many youth nationwide.

Nevertheless, despite their many personal

assets and external supports, several youth

experienced inadequate and disjointed care,

reflecting the literature on system-involved

youth and health care (American Academy

of Pediatrics, 2001; Golzari et al., 2008;

Maschi et al., 2008; Sherman, 2005).

Figure 18.1 outlines the various factors

that, according to the youth in this study,

connected them to or prevented them from

connecting to the health-care system, as well as

the outcomes of these connections and missed

connections.

This model illustrates how, on one hand,

specific relationships and support systems fa-

cilitate continuity of care and potentially result

in improved health outcomes, such as in-

creased health-care utilization and appropriate

diagnoses. On the other hand, breakdowns in

these very relationships and systems contribute

to discontinuity of care and potentially result

in negative health outcomes, such as decreased

preventive health-care utilization, reliance on

the emergency room, and self-diagnoses.

Youth perspectives on their health-care

preferences, facilitators, and barriers to care

are lacking in the literature, and seem essential

to informing practice and policy aimed at

improving health outcomes for system-

involved youth. This study brings a select

set of youth voices into the conversation

and examines the relationships between these

youth and the multiple systems within which

they interact (e.g., family, health, juvenile

384 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

justice). Applying the ecological framework

to this study allowed us to examine system-

involved youth in context and better under-

stand their perceptions of, and relationship to,

the health-care system. For example, several

youth in the study independently managed

their health care or expressed a preference

for autonomy from parents and privacy

regarding their health concerns. Others wel-

comed the involvement of parents and other

external supports in their care while others

desired both independence and some support.

These findings suggest that providing effective

care requires sensitivity on the part of health-

care providers to each youth’s individual de-

sires and preferences.

In addition to their personal preferences

for care, youth’s family relationships, in par-

ticular their relationships with their mothers,

played a key role in their health-care practices.

The majority of youth we interviewed cited

their mothers’ influence on the frequency and

type of their health-care utilization. For most

of these youth, maternal involvement served

as a facilitator to positive health outcomes.

However, the example of the young woman

who reported seeking care at the emergency

room, where her mother had always taken her,

suggests that some types of familial modeling

may serve as a barrier to preventive care.

Youth also spoke of their relationships to

doctors and to community and system sup-

ports such as MHPP as key to their health-care

access and utilization. They noted in particular

that trust, longevity of the relationship, and

efficiency of care were important character-

istics that enabled them to have more positive

experiences receiving care.

Lerner and Castellino (2002) suggest that

enhancing developmental outcomes during

adolescence is not necessarily a matter of

changing the adolescent or the systems in

which she is situated. Instead, enhancing

development involves making changes to the

nature of the relationship of the adolescent to those

systems. This study suggests that listening and

responding to youth’s preferences for care are

critical to improving the relationship between

system-involved youth and the health-care

system. We imagine the youth in this study

Figure 18.1 Factors Connecting or Disconnecting Youth from Care

Continuity of Care

Discontinuity of Care

REPORTED CONTRIBUTING FACTORS REPORTED OUTCOMES

Positive relationship with doctor Support from mothers Independent health-care maintenance

Receipt of routine, preventive care Increased health-care utilization Appropriate diagnoses

Absence of regular, preventive care Lack of treatment Undiagnosed or misdiagnosed health issues

Inconsistent care Lack of trust in providers Inefficient and inaccessible health-care system

Youth Perspectives on Health Care 385

are not entirely atypical of the general popu-

lation of system-involved youth, in that they

are interested and involved in their health care

and they benefit from external supports in

maintaining their health and in navigating

the health-care system. Families, communi-

ties, and the juvenile justice and health-care

systems share the responsibility for improving

the accessibility, efficiency, and quality of care

for these youth.

Advocates of preventive and quality health

and mental health care for system-involved

youth assert that such care will likely enhance

their quality of life and decrease recidivism,

reducing further costly system involvement

(Pumariega et al., 1999; Teplin et al., 2002).

Further, Golzari et al. (2008) argue that the

time of a committed youth’s release from the

juvenile detention system provides a “critical

opportunity” for connecting his or her to the

health-care system. They make a case for paying

special attention to ensuring youth confined

to correctional facilities are connected to a

“medical home” prior to release, as articulated

in a 2001 policy statement of the American

Academy of Pediatrics (AAP). The concept of a

“medical home” involves “health care delivered

or directed by a physician who provides pre-

ventive, acute, and chronic care that is accessible,

continuous, comprehensive, compassionate,

and coordinated with specialized services such

as mental health provided by community

agencies” (Golzari et al., 2008, p. 397). 1

It is this type of accessible, continuous,

and compassionate care that the system-

involved youth in this study desire. They

emphasize, in particular, close, trusting rela-

tionships with, and support from, doctors,

health centers, mothers, and staff of commu-

nity-based health access programs as the core

facilitator of their connection to the health-

care system. It thus seems imperative that

policies and programs aiming to improve

health-care access and utilization for system-

involved youth pay particular attention to

developing such relationships at all levels (e.

g., between youth and parents, between par-

ents and the health-care system, and between

the juvenile justice and health-care systems).

Moreover, this study underscores the central

role youth voices can and should play in

informing policies and programs.

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388 U N D E R S T A N D I N G Y O U T H I N C O N T E X T

SECTION IV

WORKING FOR

CHANGE

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

19 CHAPTER

Youth-Led Change

BARRY DYM, KEN TANGVIK, JESUS GERENA, AND JESSICA DYM BARTLETT

B y now, it is a matter of faith—and knowl-

edge, too—that young people are influ-

enced by the families and communities in

which they grow up (Bronfenbrenner, 1979;

Lerner, 2006; Leventhal & Brooks-Gunn,

2004). Educational opportunities shape work

trajectories. Reading at home influences edu-

cational success (National Institute of Child

Health and Human Development, 2000). Se-

curely attached relationships with parents go a

long way toward creating a solid sense of self

(Ainsworth & Bowlby, 1991). These influences

are both positive and negative. When the most

alluring work opportunity is running drugs,

for example, that then becomes a regular tra-

jectory. When parental violence and abuse fill

the home, it is likely to spill over onto the lives

of the children. Conflict-ridden family envi-

ronments may perpetuate and even amplify

youth hostility and aggression (Kolko, 2002).

Young people replay violent experiences from

childhood, sometimes recasting themselves as

victims, other times internalizing the role of

aggressor (Fraiberg, Adelson, & Shapiro, 1975).

Generally, troubled contexts are more likely to

produce troubled youth, and cycles of violence

continue (Kaufman & Zigler, 1989). But the

reverse is also true. Positive environments

support youth who succeed in life; and even

in the presence of deeply flawed relationships,

benevolent influences within youth ecologies

beget resilient pathways of growth (Lieberman,

Padron, Van Horn, & Harris, 2005).

This chapter is a case study of one orga-

nization, the Hyde Square Task Force (HSTF),

in the Jamaica Plain neighborhood of Boston.

Its purpose is to illustrate how young people,

equipped with the right supports, are capable

of carrying the burden of organizational and

community change, and by so doing avoid

many of the risks that lead to incarceration

in the juvenile justice system. As such, much

of its theoretical foundation is woven through

the story.

HYDE SQUARE TASK FORCE

We are in Jamaica Plain, a largely Latino

Boston neighborhood. The time is early eve-

ning, July 1989. Claudio Martinez, executive

director of the Hyde Square Task Force, is

remembering his experience of the area that

gave rise to the Task Force, as it is known.

I was walking along Centre Street

with Neil, my 2-year-old son. At al-

most every corner, dealers offer me

drugs, especially cocaine. The Boston

Police Department used to call this

neighborhood—the neighborhood I

live in, by the way—the cocaine capital

of the city. There are abandoned build-

ings strewn throughout, abandoned

by landlords because property values

had sunk so low that they were money

391

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

sinks. Some had become “crack

houses.” Others had fallen to arson,

an attempt to realize at least some gain

on investment. There are daily shoot-

ings in JP [ Jamaica Plain].

Landlords aren’t the only ones who

have abandoned the Hyde Square

area. Most elected officials ignore it

because almost no one votes. So they,

the politicians, can’t be held account-

able. The police department has

largely abandoned it—not officially,

of course, but they never come

around. In fact, there is no local police

station in the area, so when young

people are shot the response from the

nearest police precinct (West Rox-

bury, a middle-class, mostly white

neighborhood) takes hours, with little

or no follow up to catch the criminal.

And without their presence, there’s

nothing to stop the rule of the dealers,

mostly members of street gangs, al-

ways on the ready to protect their

markets. Some residents describe the

scene as the Wild West.

Most importantly, youth have

abandoned the streets. Parents of

young people work hard to protect

them from the violence, the prostitu-

tion, the drugs. The best practice is to

keep them locked inside their homes.

One of the leaders of the Hyde Square

Task Force, Brenda Rodriguez, used

to tell me about peering, hour after

hour, day after day, out of the second

floor window of her family’s apart-

ment, viewing the scene below like a

movie. The message to the children?

Go to school and come home, do not

stray. It’s a matter of life and death.

Outside of school, there are very

few opportunities for the children.

This is the Hyde/Jackson Square

area in the neighborhoods of Jamaica

Plain and Roxbury in Boston during

the late 80s and early 90s. This was

going to be the legacy I’d leave to my

son if we didn’t do anything about it.

(C. Martinez, personal communica-

tion, April 27, 2007)

But they did do something about it. By all

accounts, the young people of JP were subject

to many positive and negative influences,

but, if school dropout rates and single-parent

families or rates of violence are any measure,

the destructive outweighed the constructive—

or, at least, far outpaced national averages

(O’Keefe, Cohen, & Nyberg, 2009). In the

year 2000, 17% of adults (age 25 and older)

did not have a high school diploma or GED,

and 28% of children (under age 18) lived

below the poverty level (U.S. Department of

Commerce, 2010).

Today, the Hyde Square area is vibrant and

alive with street traffic. It is lined with small,

locally owned stores. Mozart Park, once the

center of drug trade, has been refurbished

with swings, seesaws, and murals painted by

young people. In fact, young people them-

selves have had a large hand in reviving the

neighborhood. This is the story of how a

youth community organization, under the

guidance and protective wing of the Hyde

Square Task Force, helped to change their

own community.

YOUTH AND DEVELOPMENTAL SYSTEMS

The attention to familial and community in-

fluence has surely been an advance on the idea

that children have a basic character, ready to

unfold in orderly stages no matter what the

392 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

context (Bronfenbrenner, 1979; Erikson,

1950; Lerner, 2006; Shonkoff & Phillips,

2000). As early as the 17th century, English

philosopher John Locke rejected the Cartesian

notion that the qualities one has from birth

dictate development over the course of a life-

time. In its place, he proposed that the human

mind was a blank slate—a tabula rasa—empty

of ideas yet well equipped to acquire knowl-

edge through experience (Locke, 1892).

But one-directional frameworks taking either

side of the nature–nurture debate inevitably

lead to oversimplified descriptions of develop-

mental processes. An exclusive focus on

the environments in which young people

develop, then, also bears certain problems

and maybe creates problems, as well. For

example, the “inventionist” argument that

the stage of adolescence is merely a social

construction (Bakan, 1972) takes the nurture

position to its logical extreme (Steinberg,

2005). Youth development is undeniably a

socially mediated process (Vygotsky, 1978),

but the idea that contexts are the sole deter-

minant of development generally reinforces

the belief that children are passive recipients,

or even victims, of their surroundings.

It may be easy to sympathize with at-risk

youth and their families and easy to concep-

tualize programmatic interventions that

put more and better content into them. It is

even easy to make a case for charitable contri-

bution directed their way. The field of social

work emerged from this model. Friendly visitors

from the upper class volunteered to lessen

the burden of the poor by helping to instill

them with better behavior (Barker, 1998);

and our culture’s proclivity to correct other

people’s “pathology” continues to the pre-

sent day (Saleebey, 2009). But hierarchical

interventions based on reducing personal def-

icits reinforce the distance between the

empowered and disempowered, and fail to

acknowledge the reciprocity of relationships.

No matter how good the input—love, knowl-

edge, opportunity—the youth we seek to help

remain passive, unable to affect the course of

their lives.

We can also agree that children affect their

surroundings (Bell, 1968; Bell & Chapman,

1986; Lewis & Rosenblum, 1974; see also

Jacobs, Miranda-Julian, & Kaplan, Chapter

10, this volume). They may arrive in the world

helpless and dependent, but infants are far

from passive beings. On the road to indepen-

dence, children are active contributors to

their environments, shaping others’ actions

and emotions as much as they are shaped by

them (Lerner, 2002; Shonkoff & Phillips,

2000). Any new parents can tell you that.

The birth of a child disrupts the rhythm of

their days, the roles they play in their marriage,

their extended family, and, often enough, their

work lives. Patterns of intimacy and financial

well-being shift in expected and unexpected

ways (Minuchin, 1974). The same is true

for new teachers, whose personal character

and security are supported and challenged in

a variety of ways by the children they are

asked to “mold” (Klein & Gilkerson, 2000).

Even grandparents feel the change (Smith &

Drew, 2002).

Children and youth develop in the con-

text of complex transactions with their envi-

ronments and the people in them

(Bronfenbrenner, 1979; Ford & Lerner,

1992; Gottlieb, 1997; Magnusson, 1995).

In light of this fact, simple cause-and-effect

statements, standing alone, oversimplify com-

plicated developmental realities in at least three

ways. First, there are other factors, such as

genetic predispositions toward health and ill-

ness, strength and weakness, resilience, and the

tendency to fall prey to contextual influence

(Masten & Powell, 2003; Rutter, 2007; see

Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3, this volume).

Youth-Led Change 393

There are received conditions, like fetal alcohol

syndrome (Olson, O’Connor, & Fitzgerald,

2000; Shonkoff & Marshall, 2000), and envi-

ronmental conditions, such as moldy apart-

ments that increase chances of asthma

(Jaakkola & Williams, 2003; Zock, Jarvis,

Luczynska, Sunyer, & Burney, 2002). There

are cultural assumptions—for example, some

children are more worthy of our attention than

others and therefore deserve more of society’s

resources; others are less deserving and may

even deserve to be punished for their transgres-

sions. These cultural beliefs are woven into

youth policy and practice. In the United States,

for instance, fluctuations in juvenile justice

policy have alternated between the goals of

rehabilitation and punishment, reflecting on-

going shifts in our attitudes about youth, re-

sponsibility, and delinquency (Barton, 2006; see

also Jacobs, Miranda-Julian, & Kaplan, Chapter

10, this volume; Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goli-

day, Chapter 20, this volume).

There are also economic and educational

conditions that increase or decrease the likeli-

hood that youth will have access to society’s

resources. The negative end of this continuum

has garnered much attention from experts.

Kozol (1991) observed “savage inequalities”

in our nation’s education of poor children;

Garbarino (1995) described “socially toxic”

environments that cheat children out of a

healthy future. (See also Bruyere & Garbarino,

Chapter 13, this volume.) When more than 13

million American children are living in pov-

erty, including 35% of African American chil-

dren and 31% of Hispanic children, families

are less likely to be able to fulfill children’s basic

needs—healthy food, safe housing, effective

health care, and educational opportunity

(Wight, Chau, & Aratani, 2010).

On the other end of the spectrum, we

know that when children are raised in nurturing

environments and given sufficient resources,

they thrive (Shonkoff & Phillips, 2000). They

also grow into youth and adults who “give

back” to society (Lerner, 2004). And there

is more good news. Several decades of scienti-

fic research on children’s response to stress

supports a more optimistic view—that even

in the presence of adversity, young people are

innately self-righting. That is, positive adapta-

tion to adversity, or resilience, arises from ordi-

nary developmental processes (Masten, 2001;

Masten & Coatsworth, 1998; Werner & Smith,

2001). Accordingly, we need only protect and

enhance extant adaptive systems to “steer

development in a more favorable direction”

(Masten & Coatsworth, 1998, p. 216).

YOUTH AND SYSTEMIC CHANGE

A more thoroughly systemic and ecological

perspective envisions youth within a complex

field of action in which they are also active

participants (Bronfenbrenner, 1979; Magnusson

& Stattin, 1998). Urie Bronfenbrenner (1979),

for example, described children developing

through their interaction with layer upon

layer of psychological, social, and cultural

dynamics. In this evolving, ever more com-

plex process, biology, behavior, family, school,

and community—the child’s immediate

environment—are inseparable from, and

interwoven with, cultural values and norms,

with each of these factors fueling and modify-

ing one another and individual development

over time. Influence among children and

adults, youth and communities, is therefore

multidirectional, multidimensional, and tem-

poral (Bronfenbrenner, 1979; Lerner, 2006;

Rutter, 2007). According to ecological per-

spectives, then, it is impossible to understand

youth without direct knowledge of the

environments in which they live and grow

(Magnusson & Stattin, 1998).

394 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

If all children and all relationships be-

tween children and adults exist within larger

contexts (Bronfenbrenner, 1979; Garbarino,

1995; Lerner, 1991), it makes no sense, for

example, to say that I influence you, and the

action stops there. As we know, it doesn’t.

You respond to my influence, I to yours, and

both of us to others who are affected by our

change. Things get complicated. At least, we

should speak about reciprocal influence and

patterns of interaction in which certain be-

haviors appear regularly—and which make

specific behaviors, like dropping out of

school or having children, much harder to

change. Consider, for instance, an adolescent

girl, growing up in an impoverished neigh-

borhood. She is struggling in school and

has many friends and family members who

had children during their teen years. She is also

more likely to become pregnant than her socially

advantaged peers (Moore & Brooks-Gunn,

2002). It seems unlikely that providing her

with information about birth control will, in

and of itself, prevent her from becoming

pregnant. Indeed, despite substantial funding,

intervention programs have had little success

in postponing sexual initiation and curbing

early pregnancy (Leadbeater & Banister,

2007). These disappointing results may well

reflect models of intervention that do not

adequately account for the powerful impact

of youth ecologies.

It follows, then, that we should be con-

cerned with the ongoing, complex, and often

unpredictable interaction of youth and their

environment as much as with any single influ-

ence. The pattern’s the thing (Bateson, 1979).

This is particularly true when trying to un-

derstand the maintenance of the status quo. Set

patterns undermine change and maintain sta-

bility. If you change one element in a complex

field without changing the others, the change

will not last, which is why young people often

have to leave their communities to “better”

themselves.

The implication that this kind of systems

theory has for intervention and change efforts

needs to be drawn sharply: In order to change

one part of a system, you need to change other

aspects of the system as well. You need to

support change in adolescent behavior, for

example, by strengthening the peer groups in

which youth live (Brown, 2004). In order to

change attitudes toward schools, you probably

have to change or build those community

attitudes that work against school failure. Not

that some children would not pull through

admirably in virtually any context, but many

will not, and most certainly will not in a

sustained way. Sustained change in individuals

requires an edifice of change. Or, to paraphrase

Hillary Clinton, it takes a communityto raise—

and to change—a child (Clinton, 1996).

Fortunately and unfortunately, a develop-

mental systems approach to youth change

complicates the matter. Because the approach

encompasses a multitude of transactions and

settings (Delgado, 2002), interventions aimed

at altering the behavior of young people (or

families) without consideration of the larger

context in which they are embedded are not

sufficient to effect lasting change. A holistic

view of young people considers person-in-

context relations and resists temptation to

privilege any particular capacity or interaction

(Damon, 2004; Lerner, 2004). If, as a posi-

tive youth development (PYD) framework

suggests, youth are resources to be developed

(Roth, Brooks-Gunn, Murray, & Foster,

1998; see also Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this

volume), so must their environments be culti-

vated. For instance, the family context is a key

component of positive youth development

even when school is the primary target.

According to Melvin Delgado, a leading

expert on youth development, “(B)roadening

Youth-Led Change 395

the concept of youth development to include

family or community serves to ground it and

give it context, as well as give it a vehicle with

limitless possibilities” (Delgado, 2002, p. 28).

ALIGNING SYSTEMS FOR POSITIVE CHANGE

The question, then, is how to get all or enough

of the pieces in complex systems moving in the

same direction at the same time so they can

support one another. One of the more effi-

cient ways to do so is through the introduction

of virtuous cycles (Dym & Hutson, 2005), in

which one good thing leads to another and

then another. These cycles form a very concise

way to conceptualize the interaction of indi-

vidual and social change.

In vicious cycles, one troublesome experi-

ence leads to another, which leads to yet

another, each event bolstering the others

(Dym & Hutson, 2005). It is easy enough,

for example, to conceptualize the Jamaica

Plain described earlier by Martinez as repre-

senting a powerful vicious cycle. As drugs and

violence begin to build in the Hyde Square

neighborhood, countervailing forces, like

close-knit community, education and after-

school activities for youth, begin to dissipate

or depart. As they depart, there is more room

for violence and drugs. With the increased

violence, the countervailing forces decline

further, and so forth.

This kind of cycle would be discouraging

enough, but often, like a vortex, vicious cycles

draw other forces into their downward pull.

Over time, for example, property values fall,

opening the door to more absentee landlords,

who tend minimally to the rental units, which

begin to attract residents who care less about

the dilapidated apartments than they would for

well-kept ones. Neither the landlords nor the

residents now care as much about, or identify

with, the neighborhood, and so it goes.

There is no single starting place for vicious

or virtuous cycles. We could have focused first

on the poverty in the neighborhood that

opened the doors to drug dealers and prosti-

tutes, or on the schools that did not challenge

the dealers for the loyalty of the children, or

the landlords and their perfidious pursuit of

profit at the expense of vulnerable people. But

once we begin, we can weave the other forces

into the cycle in order to portray it as a vivid

phenomenon with a life virtually of its own, or

seemingly independent of each of the other

parts. In this deteriorating situation, you

might expect Martinez and others like him

to leave the neighborhood. But he did not.

With Nelson Aroyo, a local Whole Foods

Market butcher, and the Task Force’s board

president, Martinez stayed and contributed to

the creation of virtuous cycles that gradually

challenged and eventually began to compete

powerfully with the downward pull.

According to cybernetic and systems the-

ory (Ashby, 1956; von Bertalanffy, 1968;

Wiener, 1948), one can begin to describe

vicious and virtuous cycles anywhere, that is,

with any single part of the cycle. So it is in

describing the virtuous cycle experienced in JP.

We could begin by noting the Dominican and

Puerto Rican immigrants who came to live in

the Hyde Square area of JP, and who brought

with them large, tight-knit families that were

less vulnerable to the downward pull. Or we

might begin with the perception of an im-

proved political climate—more receptivity to

the concerns of immigrant communities—in

city and state politics (C. Martinez, personal

communication, April 27, 2007). But we will

begin with the youth organizers and their

community bias, because the focus of this

chapter is on the capacity of young people to

contribute to, and even lead, social change.

396 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

Let us return to a contained description of

a vicious cycle, in order to see how it might be

turned around. For instance, poor school sys-

tems and minimal parental expectations in the

JP of 1987 led to poor academic performance

and the alienation of young people from

schools, which, in turn, made it harder for

schools to perform effectively, which in turn

made it harder to attract good teachers, which

in turn further alienated young people—and

so it went. Sadly, this kind of downward drift

represents a great deal of experience in urban

school systems (Kozol, 1991).

Here is one way to think about turning

these school systems around. Young people,

with the guidance of caring and connected

adults, begin to demand better teachers and

a curriculum that is more connected with

their personal and cultural experience. A few

teachers respond, leading to better engage-

ment among students, leading to more teach-

ers responding. The principal, who began

with a tepid response, now warms to the

possibilities, hiring teachers who want to

work with each of these students in ways

that better engage them. Eventually, parents,

who had been alienated from the “Anglo”

school that they felt condescended to them,

grow more engaged. This further emboldens

the principal, who engages the students as

allies in change. In this virtuous cycle, parents

are drawn to the school and become integral

to the upward trend. These are the kinds of

cycles we want to nurture as antidotes to and

bulwarks against the vicious kinds.

Again, within a more reciprocal world-

view, young people are active players (Bron-

fenbrenner, 1979; Magnusson & Stattin,

1998). On their own, most probably, they

cannot determine their own destiny—at least,

not completely—but they can take the lead,

and they can partner with others who lead the

cycle upward (Delgado, 2002). And as they

participate in this civic process, their confi-

dence and skills can grow; so, too, their belief

in themselves, and their belief that collective

action can have identifiable, positive impacts

on their own and their community’s lives.

What is more, the young people’s changes

are integral to other changes. With time and

the initiation of more virtuous cycles, the

changing identity of the Jamaica Plain youth

has grown embedded in community develop-

ment. In a way, JP is a culture that has learned

to need a proactive response from young

people. It needs the leadership of youth.

No matter how well planned and how

talented the social planners, however, most

change efforts do not get off the ground.

They may begin well. They may attract

some others to their cause. But it is very

hard to change a system—a person, commu-

nity, or organization—when it is tightly orga-

nized and on balance (Dym & Hutson, 1997).

No matter how we might dislike the JP of

1987, poverty and social disorganization had

built strong roots.

To initiate change, it is almost always nec-

essary to create or discover moments when

systems are less stable (Barton, 1994; Gould,

1980; Minuchin, 1974). As the physicist Ilia

Prigogine put it, systems that are far from

equilibrium are also vulnerable to change

(Prigogine & Stengers, 1984). Patterns of inter-

action are not so closely tied; there is room for

new ideas and new behaviors. If, as Prigogine

suggested, all systems oscillate between states

of equilibrium and disequilibrium, there is truly

ample opportunity for change.

Those who like their change in tidy,

unthreatening increments may dislike or mis-

trust such ideas when applied to communities,

particularly their own. But it bears out in

general and specifically with the Hyde Square

Task Force. Time after time, their change

projects are initiated by a jolt to the system

Youth-Led Change 397

(Jesus Gerena, personal communication,

June 23, 2007). They protested and fought

the introduction of Kmart into the business

district of JP because they believed it would

crowd out so many of the community’s own

small businesses. The fight was messy and long

but opened the possibility of constructive,

youth-led change. Similar jolts have been

administered to the Boston Public Schools

(BPS) around issues of cultural discrimination

and the neglect of adolescent health and edu-

cation concerns. Currently, HSTF is taking on

the cause of young immigrants, who are so

readily “lost” in educational and other Amer-

ican institutions, with a similarly aggressive

beginning; there will be more on this matter

later when we describe the youth community

leadership model of the Task Force.

YOUTH DEVELOPMENT AND THE HYDE SQUARE TASK FORCE

Before describing the HSTF model of youth

development, it is important to understand the

way members view the community and the

local political context that frames their work:

The Hyde/Jackson Square area of Jamaica

Plain and Roxbury is known as Boston’s

“Latin Quarter.” The area has a predomi-

nantly Latino population—mostly people

from Puerto Rico and the Dominican

Republic. It also has a long history of poor

voter participation in city elections compared

to more affluent, White neighborhoods, tra-

ditionally lagging 10–20% below citywide

averages (Jamaica Plain Neighborhood Devel-

opment Corporation, 2010). Because JP’s

residents are of more modest means as well,

the Task Force believes that JP commands less

of the city’s attention and resources than do

other neighborhoods. Indeed, it sees Boston

and Massachusetts as somewhere between

uncaring and hostile to the Latino and African

American youth who constitute the majority

of the JP community. In its view, this is a world

in which immigrant and other minority chil-

dren do not get to live and work on a level

playing field.

The work of the Task Force, then, begins

with this assumption: Young people will feel

empowered only when they are empowered,

and that empowerment is not simply a psy-

chological phenomenon. It is at least equally

a political determination. It is essential to

marry the psychological and political within

the context of a supportive community—not

one that already exists, not one that you hope

is there, but one that you help to create.

Through political campaigns and community

improvement projects—such as the radical

transformation of Mozart Park, the attractive

murals on T (subway and bus) stations, dance

concerts, annual dinners, and a host of other

activities—the young people of HSTF “build”

community by bringing together the people,

expressing cultural preferences in public

spaces, and enjoying ordinary activities

with neighbors. Most of all, however, youth

empowerment is closely associated with

changing the distribution of power and privi-

lege in Jamaica Plain and beyond, in Boston

and Massachusetts.

For an organization rooted in community,

this effort begins with bringing out the vote.

Every July, young people from the Task Force

target those who do not vote and begin to

knock on their doors to inform them how

their behavior is impeding the opportunity of

community children and youth. They call this

annual project the “Vote for Me” campaign.

The campaign is led by young people. The

more seasoned and experienced youth leaders

develop a strategy and target nonvoters of the

district. They develop a 3-month plan that

includes hundreds of hours door knocking,

398 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

phone banking, and educating the neighbor-

hood. Their goal is to contact their targets a

minimum of five times before the election and

to track those contacts to make sure it works.

In 2008, they targeted 1,584 individuals, moti-

vated them to go to the polls, and succeeded in

getting 80% of them to vote (Ken Tangvik,

personal communication, May 15, 2007). In

the past 10 years, their collective work has

helped turned one of the lowest voting dis-

tricts in the city into one on par with their

more affluent peers.

The HSTF has been able to articulate and

refine a model of youth development that

grew primarily out of its own distinctive

experience. The journey began with the effort

to make the Hyde Square area of Jamaica Plain

safe for its citizens. With the safety program

under way and showing signs of success—

police were finally a presence, and violent

crime rates were down—the Task Force

shifted its emphasis to providing opportunities

to poor, mostly Latino youth. At first, they

practiced what would now be known as

largely a prevention model. Through safety

and after-school programs, they tried to get

young people out of harm’s way and into

productive activities. Soon, prevention was

not enough; and there was certainly no desire

to rescue the youth by helping them to leave

Hyde Square. Instead, the Task Force insisted

that the young people create or help to create

their own opportunities, and that they do so

within the cultural and political fabric of their

community.

In the once prominent prevention model,

teenagers are seen as potential problems that

need to be short-circuited for the good of the

larger society (Delgado, 2002). Programs are

established to keep the kids busy and off the

streets until they reach the safer confines of

young adulthood. This is a deficit model,

which was replaced by a more developmental

perspective (National Youth Development

Information Center [NYDIC], 1998; Roth

et al., 1998).

There are at least two phases or strains in

the youth community development (YCD)

model: One sees teenagers having multiple

potential pathways and an intervention’s job

as steering them along the positive pathways;

the other emphasizes not only youth’s capacity

to live out productive lives for themselves, but

also to become assets to the communities in

which they live (Hart, 1998).

Ken Tangvik, HSTF Program Manager

and a founding member of the Task Force

(and also professor of literature at Roxbury

Community College) identifies YCD’s oper-

ating assumptions as the following:

In a youth development model, teens

develop their academic, social, cul-

tural, creative and life skills so that

they can reach their personal goals and

develop a lifelong commitment to

serving in their community. We

expect that teens will experience

the intrinsic rewards that are gained

through serving others. A fundamen-

tal belief of the youth development

model is that when youth are fully

engaged and play an active role in

their community, they are able to

make better decisions about their

lives, have a sense of responsibility

for their actions, perform better in

school, have high self-esteem, and

have more options in choosing a col-

lege. Youth can play a role in influ-

encing their community’s capacity

and in doing so, they enhance their

own capacities. (Tangvik, 2007, p. 6)

The YCD model accepts much of the

optimistic perspective of the earlier version,

Youth-Led Change 399

but shifts emphasis from individual develop-

ment and contribution to a more collective

view (Tangvik, 2007). As John F. Kennedy

might have put it, “Ask not what your com-

munity can do for you, ask what you can do for

your community.” From the youth community

development perspective, this is more than an

ethical imperative, it is cold, hard psychological

and sociological reality. Young people, in effect,

cannot fully develop as solid citizens and good

people without roots in, and contribution to,

the community in which they live.

This model is predicated on the belief

that individual development is tied to com-

munity development—tied not just to the

community as it is but as it might be. In

other words, YCD is intimately tied to the

imperative of change, to the idea that, ulti-

mately, young people will only thrive in a

more just society. This is not a just society that

they discover or join, but a society that they

help to create (Tangvik, 2007). According to

the Task Force’s reading of the YCD model,

young people can and should lead the way to

a just society. They have the greatest stake in

the future. They understand the communities

in which they live better than the planners

and politicians. They have the potential to

be what, over the centuries, has been called

a vanguard, but with a particular flavor: local.

HSTF’s youth community organizers

(YCOs) are a local vanguard, largely sticking

to their own affairs but visible to others to

emulate or join. It is also a very sophisticated

model rooted in ecological or systemic think-

ing, in which all parts are connected and the

whole is greater than the sum of its parts

(Bronfenbrenner, 1979; von Bertalanffy,

1968). Tangvik continues:

This model, which utilizes the inher-

ent idealism of teens, rests on the

philosophy that we must develop

comprehensive and seamless

community-wide efforts that pro-

mote positive youth development

for all youth, not only the youth

involved in our programs. Those

engaged in youth community devel-

opment realize that organizations

serving youth cannot do this work

alone. We understand that it is our

role to mobilize the community, so

that all sectors of society are involved

in providing for the needs of youth. In

the YCD model, youth development

should be imbedded within the con-

sciousness of the entire community

so that an ecology that supports and

understands youth development is

created and maintained. (2007, p. 7)

In order to engage at the YCD level,

YCO’s must examine all of the social, eco-

nomic, and political forces acting on them-

selves, their families, and communities

(Delgado, 2002). The youth take the lead in

challenging the levels of inequality that leave

many urban minority communities impover-

ished and isolated. In YCD, youth are sup-

ported by caring adults who work with them

to develop strategy and implement political

action. In this process, teens learn the rules of

political engagement in society but they also

develop the awareness that they can be a

historical force that can create a new, exciting,

diverse society with new rules of engagement.

Through these activities, youth develop a new

consciousness, and build a sense of personal

efficacy and a belief that social change is

possible (Dominguez, 2000). In the dynamic

interaction between teens and adult staff and

volunteers, the adults are also transformed

through a process that organizational theorist

Scharmer (2009) describes as “generative

listening,” when:

400 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

you realize at the end of the conver-

sation that you are no longer the same

person you were when it began. You

have gone through a subtle but pro-

found change that has connected you

to a deeper source of knowing, in-

cluding the knowledge of your best

future possibility and self. (p.13)

Thus,

adults working in the field of youth

community development also experi-

ence the process of transformation,

which makes this work both challeng-

ing and exciting. In the youth com-

munity development model we don’t

only prepare youth for the future; we

expect youth to play a critical role in

creating a new future for themselves

and their community. (p.13)

Readiness and Change

How exactly does the HSTF initiate the

change that is so critical to its idea of youth

development? In its most concise form, the

method goes like this: The young people

identify injustice, analyze its roots, deter-

mine the levers of power to resist or encourage

change, then create projects that redress in-

justice and introduce new, more democratic

programs. An often unnamed part of this

method—preparing the ground for all of these

steps to have their intended impact—is critical

to its success.

We call the prepared ground readiness

(Dym, 1995). When ready, all people, orga-

nizations, communities—systems of all

kinds—can change with relative ease. Earlier,

we referred to Prigogine’s observation about

systems far from equilibrium. HSTF often

begins its interventions by shocking, jolting,

or threatening the people and systems it

wishes to change, thus throwing them or

threatening to throw them into disequi-

librium. Its first major intervention, for

example, began with a protest against the

introduction of Kmart into the Hyde Square

neighborhood. The protest claimed that

Kmart would, first, cause many of the small,

local businesses to fail or flee, thus under-

cutting a key element of the JP culture, and,

second, enforce an entry-level pay scale con-

sistent with living in poverty. For months

the HSTF disrupted planning and construc-

tion, until the planners gave up and joined

with the Task Force in community-based

economic development programs.

Similar protests have targeted government

agencies and the Boston School Committee.

Invariably, young people appear before the

television cameras to express their point of

view—both their protest and their proposals

for a better way. Behind almost every pro-

grammatic suggestion is the threat to jolt the

system, to throw it into disequilibrium.

But, as chaos theorists (e.g., Lazlo, 1987;

Maturana & Varela, 1980; Selvini Palazzoli,

Boscolo, Cecchin, & Prata, 1978) of all stripes

know, you do not have to jolt systems to create

readiness for change. There are regularly

occurring moments in which confusion and

doubt reign, when a lack of confidence or the

sheer lack of answers opens organizations to

suggestion and change (Dym & Hutson, 1997,

2005). Currently, for example, Martinez has

discovered that several thousand Spanish-

speaking children had fallen between the

cracks of the Boston Public Schools—had

essentially received very little formal educa-

tion. He publicized the oversight but no great

protest was necessary. The system knew it did

not know what to do and readied itself for

change (C. Martinez, personal communica-

tion, March 14, 2009).

Youth-Led Change 401

There are moments when organizations

and communities are receptive to, and even

eager for, change—moments when they are

determined to get to a better place. When

change agents have become sensitive to

these states of readiness, when they have be-

come opportunistic at the core and look for

great moments to introduce innovative ideas,

they exponentially increase their chances of

success (Dym & Hutson, 1997, 2005). This,

we believe, is the current state of affairs for the

Task Force.

Over a couple of decades now, the Task

Force has both proven its ability to be both

disruptive and constructive when the oppor-

tunity arises. The YCOs, moreover, have

bolstered these abilities with traditional politi-

cal clout: their tenacious and dependable abil-

ity to bring out the vote. As a result, the young

people are more and more welcomed into the

halls of power. The YCOs have almost be-

come key and integral players on the Boston

scene, able to influence policy—and the per-

ception of Latinos, in general, and of Latino

youth, in particular.

Core Principles of the YCD Model

A summary of the core principles of this model

is as follows:

& Creating readiness for change. As we

have suggested, the young people do

this either by creating disequilibrium

in the institutions that constrain their

development or by looking for open-

ings in those institutions. & Planning to take advantage of opportunities

when they arise. The youth organiz-

ing team identifies injustice—

discriminationorunequaldistribution

of resources, for example—

studies its causes and context, and

analyzes the levers of power (the

people who maintain the injustice or

who have the power to change it).

Based on these analyses, the young

people devise a plan to make the

change. Parenthetically, the analytical

appetite and capacity, easily applied to

other aspects of life, has been whetted

and honed immensely during these

activities. & Introducing a virtuous cycle. The youth

introduce a plan—for instance, writ-

ing a civics curriculum that includes

the experience of Latinos, even be-

fore the voyage to the United States.

They then gain support from those in

power, who introduce them to re-

sources to implement the plan. As

the plan—let’s say the curriculum—

gets under way, it is shared with others

who have community and institu-

tional support. When their “buy

in” is achieved, the youth might

turn to the distribution and teaching

of the curriculum, and so the cycle

grows in strength and in breadth of

support. & Connecting the virtuous cycle to other

virtuous cycles. Youth organizing

teams, currently or in the past, may

have worked in other arenas, such as

improving the experience of immi-

grants. These activities would have

touched on similar themes as well

as encountered similar institutional

impediments and supports—in polit-

ical and educational arenas, among

grassroots organizations and networks

that have built up around the Task

Force. When two, three, and four

virtuous cycles begin to mesh, the

potential for large systems change

is greatest.

402 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

& Initiating personal change. The engage-

ment in this kind of social change, in

turn, changes those involved. This

comes from the experience of effi-

cacy and the confidence it builds. It

comes from public recognition and

the transformation of one’s position

in society from problem to asset, from

troubled youth to active citizen.

This is the core of the Hyde Square

program. To live freely, participants believe,

you should change society for the better—not

by whining but through effort, thought, dis-

cipline, and teamwork. The young people

become leaders on a personal level by taking

charge of their own, individual lives, on a

social level by initiating and carrying forth

projects. Throughout the projects, they, in

effect, make promises to their communities.

Thus, they put the pressure on themselves by

embedding expectations in a very public way.

A distinctive element of the Task Force is

that, while the adult members are pleased

when the young people go off to college,

that is not the central objective. The central

objective is to help raise good citizens,

with a strong sense of themselves within their

community—social activists, not for the sake

of protest and criticism, but for the sake of

raising up their community. By raising the

social, educational, and economic opportuni-

ties around them, the youth continually affirm

their own value.

A THEORY OF CHANGE: INTERSECTING AND

REINFORCING VIRTUOUS CYCLES

In 2006, the Hyde Square Task Force con-

structed its strategic plan. The organization

had been successful, along many indices, for

years and had begun to think about expansion.

It could open branches in other areas of

the city or in other, nearby cities. It could

franchise its method, teaching other youth-

development organizations how to be success-

ful in the Hyde Square way. And there were

outsiders, funders and supporters who encour-

aged this path.

The staff and youth—who participated

equally in the planning activities—would

have none of it. They were rooted in a

community—the Hyde Square section of

Jamaica Plain—and they liked it that way,

felt loyal to, and strengthened by, being part

of a community.

As seems true for so many of the younger

generations, there is a suspicion among Task

Force staff and youth about universal solutions,

even those progressive solutions, like social-

ism, that have animated past generations of

social justice advocates. If they were going

to spread the word about youth community

development, it was going to be through

partnerships with other rooted community

groups or with institutions that could be

influenced from the outside—institutions

such as the Boston Public Schools and a variety

of health-care organizations.

At a “macro” level, the theory goes essen-

tially like this: One organization after another,

in sequence or simultaneously, gets worked up

against an injustice. It could be immigration

policy, an unjust war, or consistently in-

adequate educational opportunities for the

poor. Gradually, spontaneously, and in a great

variety of ways, various local groups develop

approaches or solutions to the problem. At

first, these groups and approaches are distinct,

even unknown to others. But gradually infor-

mation flows, in either the old-fashioned

way—word of mouth at conferences and in-

formal get-togethers, or through contempo-

rary forms of communication, like e-mail,

Youth-Led Change 403

Web sites, and blogs—social media. As com-

munication builds and commonalities are

noted, a spontaneous growth builds: there

is a gathering of force, a “viral” spread.

The Seattle protest against the International

Monetary Fund is given as an example of this

viral spread. Sometimes, for example, immi-

grants’ rights movements, which may lack

central organization or even centrally agreed

upon principles, take this form (Hardt &

Negri, 2004).

It is a form of large social action that

depends on the convergence of many locally

fed, locally oriented, locally intended move-

ments. While this idea of linked local and viral

social movements has a kind of elegance to it,

it is difficult to place a great deal of faith in it.

At the local level, however, the idea of

linked local movements is easier to visualize,

and we would like to do so as linked virtuous

cycles, phenomena in which one good result

leads to another, then another. These virtuous

cycles can encompass a single arena, say edu-

cation, health care, or immigrants’ rights.

One example was an earlier virtuous cycle,

in which the youth community organizing

team at HSTF called for the inclusion of

Dominican and Puerto Rican history and

culture within its civic curriculum. At the

very local level, some teachers, and then the

principal, grew interested, which in turn drew

parents into the “movement.”

This virtuous cycle might have stopped

here, but because the YCOs had earlier

worked with the Boston Public Schools to

create an adolescent health curriculum, they

had enough credibility to gain the attention

of the BPS. Moreover, they always approached

purveyors of injustice with the threat of

disruption—protest, articles in the newspa-

pers, and the like. The BPS agreed that a

more inclusive civics program was a good

thing for a school system whose student

body majority consisted of people of color.

So the BPS and HSTF began to collaborate on

curriculum development, which brought fun-

ders and politicians into the fold ( J. Gerena,

personal communication, May 7, 2009). Thus,

the scope of the cycle widened.

Here is how it links to another, then

another. The Task Force is also interested

in immigrants’ rights and the development

of immigrants during adolescence; one of its

key staff members, Ken Tangvik, developed a

youth community organizing approach that

he believes can be adaptable in other places.

The Task Force readily found funding for

a pilot project in Boston to try it out.

The educational materials and motivational

techniques it uses overlap but do not dupli-

cate the BPS project; they have begun to

draw in political groups that are not part of

the curriculum project. A second, linked

virtuous cycle has been created; each supports

the other.

CONCLUSION

Hopefully, the idea of linked, virtuous cycles,

with the potential for exponential growth—

perhaps viral growth—is now possible to vi-

sualize. We certainly do not know enough

about how to encourage or feed these links,

how to build several linkages into viral expe-

rience, but the idea is surely intriguing, and its

potential seems within reach.

Throughout the United States and the

world, there are many examples of youth-

led change and youth community deve-

lopment (Coyle, 2000; Hardiman, 1998;

IMPACT, 1998; Sanchez, 2000). We have

chosen the Hyde Square Task Force because

of our familiarity with it and because it

so beautifully embodies the emerging theory

of youth community development.

404 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

We begin with the idea that the fate of

young people is inextricably connected to the

families, communities, and institutions in

which they live. When young people can

both affirm these connections and act to

change them for the better, they deepen

their sense of belonging, build their sense

of efficacy, grow in confidence, and con-

firm the possibility of a constructive—or

constructed—future. The act of engaging

and changing society is transformational to

individuals, groups, communities, and institu-

tions. This transformational activity, in turn,

strengthens a community’s ability to raise the

next generation of youth. This is the essence of

civic engagement and civil society.

A Note of Gratitude to Hyde Square Task Force

Our thanks to the HSTF staff for offering

the program to us to serve as the example of

youth-led change in our chapter. HSTF staff,

with the backing and support of community

youth, have effectively positioned themselves to

leverage projects generated by young people.

By capitalizing on opportunities, youth and

staff and HSTF have helped change the

perception of young people and helped shape

the policies and future initiatives across Boston.

Here is a brief introduction to key HSTF

staff members:

Claudio Martinez, Executive Director: Clau-

dio has been appointed by the Mayor

to the Boston School Committee, the

city-wide governing body for the

Boston Public Schools. He also sits

on the boards of some of the city’s

major foundations, such as The Bos-

ton Foundation and the Nellie Mae

Foundation, which provide him a

bully pulpit from which to influence

the course of philanthropy—more

oriented to social justice and strategic

intervention than to “charity”—and

to address social issues in general.

Jesus Gerena, former Deputy Director and

Director of Organizing: Jesus has been

an elected member of the Jamaica

Plain Neighborhood Council since

2001 and Chair of this body. He is

cochair of the English for New

Bostonians Oversight Committee, a

member of the Boston Grants Initia-

tive Oversight Committee, a former

board member of City-Life/Vida

Urbana, where he served as its trea-

surer and president. He is also leading

an effort to create a youth organizing

collaborative for education reform,

a first in the City of Boston. Jesus is

currently the Boston Director of the

Family Independence Initiative.

Ken Tangvik, Director of Program Develop-

ment: Ken is one of the HSTF found-

ers, a longtime political activist in

Boston, and creator of many of the

Task Force’s signature programs, such

as the one that currently focuses on

English Language Learners. In addi-

tion, Ken is a professor at Roxbury

Community College, where he

focuses on English language literacy

and literature.

Brenda Rodriguez-Andujar, Director of School-

Based and Cultural Programs: Brenda is

cochair of the Program Design and

Curriculum Committee of the state-

wide Latino After-School Initiative,

and is engaged in various initiatives

with the Boston Museum of Fine

Arts, Berklee College of Music, and

the Massachusetts Cultural Council.

Yi Chin Chen, Director of Lifelong Learning

and Economic Development: Yi Chin

Youth-Led Change 405

represents HSTF on several city and

statewide committees, advisory boards,

and initiatives on higher education,

youth leadership, and community

health, such as Harvard School of Pub-

lic Health Community Engagement

Committee, Children’s Hospital Nu-

trition and Obesity Working Group,

Boston Youth Service Network, Bos-

ton Food and Fitness Collaborative,

and Boston After-School and Beyond

Teen Initiative Working Group.

Chrismaldi Vasquez, Manager of Organizing

and Policy Initiatives: A former youth

involved with HSTF, Chrismaldi is a

member of the City of Boston’s Elec-

tion Advisory Committee, and the

Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority’s

(MBTA) Police Community Advis-

ory Group.

Ana Almeida, After School and Women

Engaged in Physical Activity (WEPA)

Programs Manager: Ana is currently a

member of the Curley Consortium,

and is a representative of HSTF in

both the Boston Girls’ Sports Coali-

tion and the BostNet Middle School

Advisory Council.

Galicia Escafullery, Boston Climate Action

Leadership Committee. Galicia is a

former HSTF youth.

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408 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

20 CHAPTER

The End of the Reform School?

VINCENT SCHIRALDI, MARC SCHINDLER, AND SEAN J. GOLIDAY �

The mood and temper of the public with

regard to the treatment of crime and crim-

inals is one of the most unfailing tests of the

civilization of any country

—Churchill, 1910

Young girls are stripped naked and

placed in dank, unlit rooms in a Mississippi

youth correctional facility for days at a time

for relatively minor misbehavior. While

there, they urinate and defecate through

a hole in the floor. For punishment, youth

report staff force them to eat their own vomit

or risk being physically assaulted

—U.S. Department of

Justice, 2003

Y oung people confined in our nation’s

capital take their shirts off at night,

stuffing them around the toilets in their cells

to avoid rats and cockroaches crawling on

them while they sleep (see Jerry M. v. District

of Columbia,1986). Girls in this same Washing-

ton, DC, facility are deprived of feminine

napkins when they have their periods, forcing

them to sneak napkins from the cafeteria

(S. Harrison, personal communication,

September 15, 2008).

After a 14-year-old girl at a state boot

camp died while being forced to exercise

without water, stories of human rights abuses

poured out of South Dakota’s facilities for

delinquent youth. Guards shackled youth to

fixed restraints on the floor or beds after

cutting their clothes off, chained youth inside

their cells and placed them in isolation for 23

hours a day for extended periods of time, and

sprayed them with pepper spray while naked

and handcuffed, spread-eagled to their beds

(Human Rights Watch, 2000).

Over 160 years ago, in 1848, American

reformers began experimenting with a new

approach to troubled youth. Dubbed alterna-

tively “training schools” or “reform schools,”

these large, congregate care facilities have been

guilty of scandalous abuses, unconstitutional

conditions, and disappointing public safety

outcomes almost since their inception.

This chapter will briefly outline the trou-

bled history of the training school model—

historically viewed as a correctional institution

intended 1 as a vehicle for rehabilitating or

caring for delinquent and status offending

youth primarily through confinement and

vocational training. Research on the impact

of reform school institutionalization on young

people’s recidivism, mental health, suicide risk,

1 Training schools are usually state operated large, con-

gregrate care juvenile facilities, akin to state prisons for

adult offenders.

� Vincent Schiraldi, MSW, is the former Director of DC

DYRS; Marc Schindler, JD, is the former Chief of Staff

at DC DYRS, and Sean J. Goliday, PhD, is a former

Research Analyst at DC DYRS.

409

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

educational attainment, and future employabil-

ity will be examined. The outcomes of some

promising approaches toworking with multiple

contact delinquent youth in noninstitutional

settings will then be reviewed. We will then

examine three jurisdictions—Massachusetts,

Missouri, and the District of Columbia—that

have entirely eschewed the use of large state

reform schools and look at the outcomes in

those states. Next, we will look at the move to

substantially downsize locked custody in the

nation’s three largest states, California, Texas,

and New York, along with the Juvenile Deten-

tion Alternatives Initiative, which is helping to

reduce detention and, in some cases, training

school populations in jurisdictions throughout

the country.

Finally, we will summarize the implications

of this analysis, which we believe makes a strong

case for the elimination of the use of reform

schools in favor of a rational, evidence-based

approach to working with delinquent youth.

This approach includes the use of a rigorous

continuum of services, supports, and opportu-

nities, including small, homelike and decent

secure care for the small percentage of youth

who need to be so confined. The approach is

premised on the tenets of positive youth devel-

opment (PYD), a strengths-based way of think-

ing about the development of children and

youth and the factors that facilitate or impede

their individual growth and their achievement

of key developmental stages (Butts, Bazemore,

& Meroe, 2010; Butts, Mayer, & Ruth, 2005;

Eccles & Gootman, 2002; Lerner et al., 2005;

Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this volume).

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE REFORM SCHOOL

We have 100 boys sleeping in one room

40 by 80 feet, low ceiling, and the beds are

“two story”; there are no bathroom privi-

leges of any kind in the building . . . .

Can we not prevail upon this assembly

to give us relief? In the name of

humanity!

—Mayor’s message with

accompany documents

to the municipal assembly of

St. Louis, 1893

These reports are shocking. It’s appalling

to think of guards cutting the clothes off of

children, shackling them naked to their

beds, or chaining them to their doors.

Americans criticize other societies who treat

their children this way. They should not

allow these kinds of practices to take place

in their own country.

—Bochenek, 2000

For the first half of the19th century, chil-

dren were treated as simply smaller versions of

adults when it came to arrest, trial, conviction

and incarceration. For young and old, convic-

tion and sentencing meant confinement in

“penitentiaries” with brutal and mind-

numbing conditions, ranging from harsh phys-

ical labor, to beatings, to enforced silence

whose violation was severely punished. Grad-

ually, reformers, elected officials, and judges

began a form of nullification, refusing to

convict or sentence youthful offenders to in-

carceration due to the appalling conditions

they would experience in confinement.

In the mid-1800s states began to create

separate but similar facilities for youthful of-

fenders to imprison them apart from adults

(Miller, 1991). In 1886, the Lyman School for

Boys opened in Lyman, Massachusetts, the

first in what would become a nationwide

experiment with placing troubled youth

into prisonlike facilities to achieve their refor-

mation. Ironically, in 1971, the Lyman School

410 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

would be the final training school to be shut-

tered by Massachusetts Department of Youth

Services Secretary Jerome Miller, part of what

became the United States’ first systemwide

deinstitutionalization of a state training

school system during which five reform

schools were closed in a 2-year period and

replaced with small secure facilities and a

continuum of community-based programs

(Loughran, 1997).

IMPACT OF REFORM SCHOOLS ON THEIR WARDS

When custody meets care, custody always

wins.

—Rothman, 1971

Research has borne out that the reform-

ers’, advocates’, and civil litigators’ cause for

alarm was justified. Increasingly sophisticated

studies have found that placement in congre-

gate care facilities like reform schools may

expose youth to more intensely delinquent

or disturbed youth, increase recidivism,

destabilize the mental health of young

people and place them at greater risk of sui-

cide, and retard employment and educational

prospects.

In their summary of the growing body of

research on the impact of congregate care

confinement of delinquent youth, Holman

and Ziedenberg (2006) observe that the intui-

tive belief that training schools are “schools for

crime” has some support in the research litera-

ture. For example, careful studies of youth in

Arkansas’s juvenile justice system found that,

controlling for other factors, prior juvenile

justice institutionalization was the strongest

predictor of future reoffending (Benda & Tollet,

1999). The chances of being recommitted to

the Arkansas Department of Youth Services

(DYS) increased 13-fold for youth with prior

commitments. As a predictor of recommitment

to DYS, previous commitment was 4 times

stronger than carrying a weapon, 6 times stron-

ger than membership in a gang, and 22 times

stronger than poor parental relationships.

The Oregon Social Learning Center

coined the phrase peer deviancy training to

explain their findings that delinquent youth

grouped in congregate care were significantly

more likely to reoffend than those who

receive individualized treatment (Dishion,

McCord, & Poulin, 1999). Such youth also

experienced higher rates of substance abuse,

school difficulties, violence, and adjustment

difficulties.

Researchers have also shown that delin-

quent behavior, even serious delinquency, is

normative behavior for teenage males and that

incarceration can slow the natural process of

maturing out of delinquency. Elliott (1994) has

found that as many as one third of adolescent

males engage in serious and violent delinquent

behavior but that most “age out” of their

delinquency in young adulthood, particularly

if they establish a relationship with a significant

other or obtain gainful employment. Incarcer-

ation may interrupt this maturation process

as it disrupts the youth’s natural engagement

with significant others and employment

(Golub, 1990).

Grisso (2004) estimates that as many as

two thirds of youth in confinement meet

diagnostic criteria for mental illness, with

one third needing ongoing clinical care (see

Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3, this volume).

Yet such facilities often appear to exacerbate

mental illness rather than treat it. Forrest,

Tambor, Riley, Ensminger, and Starfield

(2000) observe that transition into incarcera-

tion itself may be responsible for some of these

psychological outcomes. Kashani and col-

leagues (1980) found that, for one third of

The End of the Reform School? 411

incarcerated youth diagnosed with depression,

the onset of their depression occurred post-

confinement. Youth in confinement are 2 to 4

times as likely to commit suicide as youth in

the general public, a particularly appalling

finding given that staff at such facilities are

specifically charged with the duty of prevent-

ing suicides (Parent et al., 1994). Approxi-

mately 11,000 youth engaged in 17,000

suicidal acts in juvenile justice facilities annu-

ally, and juvenile justice systems often engage

in practices, such as the use of isolation (Parent

et al., 1994), that are antithetical to suicide

prevention (Hayes, 2009).

In a 2009 report published by the Annie E.

Casey Foundation, Mendel found that con-

finement is associated with a variety of

“negative life consequences” including ren-

dering youth less likely to complete high

school, avoid rearrest, find employment, and

form stable families (see Figure 20.1).

Far too often, education and employment

for youth in confinement is irrevocably inter-

rupted, giving the lie to the “reform school”

euphemism (see also Vaught, Chapter 15, this

volume). The U.S. Department of Education

has found that 43% of incarcerated youth

receiving remedial education services in de-

tention did not return to school after release,

and another 16% dropped out within five

months (LeBlanc, 1991). Balfanz, Spiridakis,

Neild, and Legters (2003) found that within a

year, two thirds to three quarters of ninth

graders released from incarceration had

dropped out. This failure to reconnect with

schools, combined with the stigma associated

with incarceration, negatively impacts job

prospects for former training school residents.

One study by the National Bureau of Eco-

nomic Research found that incarcerating

youth reduced work time over the next decade

by 25–30% (Freeman, 1991). Western and

Beckett (1999) found that, when controlling

for other factors, youth who had been incar-

cerated spent three fewer weeks working in

the following year, on average, than nonincar-

cerated youth; for African American youth, it

was five fewer workweeks postincarceration.

Figure 20.1 Outcomes for Youth Released from Detention

Sources: America’s Promise report on national rates of high school dropouts. Retrieved from www.msnbc.msn.com/id/23889321/; LeBlanc, 1991;

The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse (CASA) at Columbia University; Office of State Courts Administrator, Florida Juvenile

Delinquency Court Assessment (2003); Substance use, abuse, and dependence among youths who have been in jail of a detention center.

(2004). The NSDUH report.

412 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

One researcher concluded “the process of in-

carceration could actually change an individual

into a less stable employee” (Bushway, 1998).

EVIDENCE-BASED PRACTICES AND PROGRAMMING

APPROACHES

These “negative life consequences,” as the

Mendel report dubs them, stand in stark con-

trast to some of the outcomes being experi-

enced by evidence based programs and

promising approaches.

The Center for the Study and Prevention

of Violence (CSPV) at the University of Col-

orado at Boulder, in its Blueprints for Vio-

lence Prevention initiative, has studied and

written extensively about which violence pre-

vention programs are effective.

CSPV has reviewed more than 800 pro-

grams and has found 11 that meet the criteria

for “model” programs and 17 that meet the

criteria for “promising approaches” (Tolan &

Guerra, 1994; see Greenwood & Turner,

Chapter 23, this volume, for a detailed discus-

sion of evidence-based practice).

Three of the Blueprints’ evidence-based

model programs are widely used with youth in

the juvenile justice system:

& Multisystemic Therapy (MST) is an in-

tensive treatment program for serious

youth offenders focused on improving

the family’s capacity to overcome the

known causes of delinquency. A

master’s-level therapist with a very

small caseload comes to the youth’s

home and other places where the

youth is involved in the community,

and is available to the family 24 hours

per day, 7 days per week. MST inter-

ventions typically aim to improve

families’ discipline practices and abili-

ties to communicate, decrease youth

association with deviant peers, increase

youth association with positive peers

and recreational activities, improve

youth school or vocational perform-

ance,anddevelopasupportnetworkof

extended family, neighbors, and

friends to help youth and their families

achieve and maintain such changes

(www.colorado.edu). MST has been

shown to decrease recidivism up to

70% as well as achieving other positive

outcomes (mstservices.com). & Functional Family Therapy. (FFT) is a

structured, family-based prevention

and intervention program for at-risk

youth that works to change behaviors

by engaging and motivating families

and youth (Alexander et al., 1998). A

short-term intervention of up to 30

hours offered mainly in clinical settings

but sometimes in-home, this therapy

focuses on family communication,

parenting skills, and conflict manage-

ment skills. FFT has been shown to

reduce recidivism between 25% and

60% (Alexander et al., 1998). & Multidimensional Treatment Foster Care.

(MTFC) places adolescents who need

out-of-home placement due to seri-

ous delinquency in specially trained

and supported foster homes, rather

than incarceration or group home

settings. The foster care placements,

which last for six to nine months,

focus on academic and positive living

skills; daily structure and supervision

based on clear expectations, limits and

consequences; and support for youth

in developing positive peer relation-

ships. At the same time, the youth’s

family receives therapy and parenting

The End of the Reform School? 413

skills training to promote successful

return after the program (Westermark,

Hannsson, & Vinnerljung, 2008).

Studies have found that placement in

MTFC can prevent escalation of de-

linquency and other problem behav-

iors such as youth violence. MTFC is

more economical and effective than

placement in group or congregate care

settings, such as reform schools, in de-

creasing offense and incarceration rates

after program completion (Leve &

Chamberlain, 2007).

Another emerging approach to working

with youth in the juvenile justice system is

based on the tenets of positive youth develop-

ment (PYD) (Butts et al., 2005; Lerner et al.,

2005). Evidence-based practices like MST,

FFT, and MTFC are individual programs that

do not necessarily equate to systemic reform.

PYD, however, represents a paradigm shift,

reconceptualizing the focus of juvenile justice

efforts from one informed by the deficits of

these youth to an alternative that also reflects

their individual, family, and community assets

(see Lerner et al., Chapter 5, this volume).

While most juvenile justice practice seeks

(often unsuccessfully) only to extinguish nega-

tive behaviors, jurisdictions are beginning

to embrace PYD as a key to preventing and

reducing delinquent behavior through a com-

bination of identifying and building on youth’s

strengths as well as meeting their needs. PYD, as

it is being defined by the District of Columbia

Department of Youth Rehabilitation Services

(DYRS), means purposefully seeking to meet

the needs of young people and building their

competencies to enable them to become suc-

cessful adults. Rather than seeing young people

as problems, this developmental approach views

youth and their families as resources and builds

on their strengths and capabilities.

Thus, a PYD approach views the youth as

an active participant in the change process,

instead of as a client or target of change. While

traditional juvenile justice work with young

people has often favored control of their be-

havior as a central goal, for PYD, connecting

the youth with community resources is the

focus. For example, a traditional juvenile jus-

tice approach might involve sending a youth to

job counseling and ordering community ser-

vice as a punishment; PYD, in contrast, looks

to engage the youth in career exploration and

career-path work experience and use commu-

nity service as service learning and job

preparation. Most important, in the traditional

juvenile justice approach, the aim is to

diminish a youth’s problems or deficits; in

the PYD approach, it is to build on a youth’s

strengths and assets. DYRS’s leadership de-

cided to implement this approach based on

a review of the research literature (e.g., Butts

et al., 2005; Butts, 2008; Schwartz, 2000),

that led it to conclude that this approach is

the best way to improve public safety in

communities.

SMALLER IS BETTER

Juvenile facilities should be small enough

so the facility administrator can know the

life story of every kid in them.

—P. DeMuro, 1988

Although there had been calls to reform

the training school model almost since its

inception, the first successful juvenile justice

deinstitutionalization effort came in the early

1970s in Massachusetts under the stewardship

of Jerome G. Miller, then secretary of the

Department of Youth Services. After spending

years attempting to reform the state’s training

schools, Miller decided that it was the

414 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

institutional model itself that was broken and

should be dismantled. Over a 2-year period,

Miller closed all eight training schools in

Massachusetts, which at the time housed ap-

proximately 1,000 youth, replacing them with

two 30-bed facilities and a network of in-

home services, group homes, and residential

placements (Krisberg & Austin, 1998).

Two separate analyses found numerous

benefits to Miller’s deinstitutionalized and re-

gionalized system. Harvard researchers Coates,

Miller, and Ohlin (1978) found that, while

overall recidivism rates for youth in the Massa-

chusetts system rose slightly shortly following

the closing of the institutions (from 66% in the

institution-based system, pre-Miller, to 74%

postreforms), regions of the state where a fuller

continuum of care was put into place experi-

enced a significant decline in recidivism. In

addition, “graduates” of the new system were

half as likely to go to adult prison as participants

in the old, institution-based system. The second

analysis conducted by the National Council

on Crime and Delinquency (NCCD) (Austin,

Elms, Krisberg, & Steele, 1991) was published

after recidivism rates for youth in the deinsti-

tutionalized Massachusetts system had declined

considerably, and concluded that, 15 years after

the “Massachusetts Experiment:”

& Massachusetts ranked 46th nationally

in overall rates of juvenile delinquency. & Department of Youth Services youth

made up only 1.3% of all youth arrests

statewide in 1984. & In the decade following Miller’s re-

forms, the number of DYS youth

arraigned for new offenses declined

by 36%. & Not only were there fewer arraign-

ments of DYS youth since the re-

forms, but those arraignments were

for less serious offenses.

& By 1985, only 51% of DYS youth

were rearraigned within a year of

release, a significant decline from

the 74% figure reported by Coates,

Miller, and Ohlin shortly after the

closing of the institutions in 1974. & Recidivism rates for youth in Massa-

chusetts’s system were lower than for

delinquent youth in nine other state

systems analyzed by NCCD. & If Massachusetts were to return to

confining youth for the average length

of stay for most systems nationwide at

the time (1985), the state would have

needed to spend an additional $11

million annually and open 287 new

secure beds.

Although the Massachusetts Experiment

did not unleash a wave of successful juvenile

justice deinstitutionalization efforts in other

states, it did provide policy makers, research-

ers, lawyers, and advocates with a strong alter-

native example of a system that did not rely on

large, locked institutions as its foundation, and

yet was able to provide public safety and youth

rehabilitation. Miller’s innovations also helped

lay the groundwork for robust continua of care

for delinquent youth—a model that is con-

sidered the “gold standard” nationally for

diversifying youth services and reducing over-

reliance on training schools to the present day.

With an eye to Massachusetts’s experi-

ment, Missouri officials began to experiment

with smaller secure care facilities in the 1970s.

The experiment really took off in the early

1980s when, in 1981, the state closed Chill-

icothe, its one girls’ reform school, and closed

the brutal Booneville training school for boys

in 1983 (Abrams, 2004).

In their place, Missouri had begun open-

ing small secure care facilities throughout the

state, generally much closer to the youth’s

The End of the Reform School? 415

homes than the distant training schools had

been. At first, these facilities were located in

abandoned schools, residential homes, even a

convent—none larger than three dozen beds.

Eventually, as the “Missouri Model” began to

take off, the state built new facilities of 40 or

fewer beds, in dormitory settings. At first, as

Mendel (2009) points out, going small was no

panacea, and the youth in the Missouri facili-

ties began to act out in their smaller, more

decent and less hardware-driven facilities. But

in 1988, Mark Steward took over as the de-

partment’s director and initiated a successful

effort to reform DYS inside and out. He

launched a positive peer culture (PPC) envi-

ronment in DYS’s secure units, which is a

peer-helping model designed to improve so-

cial competence and cultivate strengths in

troubled and troubling youth by demanding

responsibility and empowering youth to dis-

cover their greatest human potential (www

.cachildwelfareclearinghouse.org). Moreover,

he improved case management and case coor-

dination with secure care programming, and

created a network of day treatment centers to

help ease the transition of youth back into the

community following release from secure care.

The results have been impressive. As of

2003, 3 years after discharge, 91% of DYS

youth had avoided reincarceration and 70%

have remained crime free (Decker, 2009).

Eighty-four percent of DYS youth were pro-

ductively involved in their communities

through either school or work. Outcomes

such as these led to Missouri’s receipt of the

prestigious Innovations in American Govern-

ment award from Harvard’s Kennedy School

of Government in 2008, being named a Guid-

ing Light in Reform by the American Youth

Policy Forum, and being designated as a model

site by the Annie E. Casey Foundation, the

Edna McConnell Clark Foundation, and the

National Council on Crime and Delinquency.

As Missouri’s outcomes have garnered

attention, replication of the Missouri model

has begun in several jurisdictions throughout

the country. In 2005, Steward retired and

started a consulting firm—the Missouri Youth

Services Institute (MYSI)—with several

former DYS staff. MYSI is now providing

training, coaching, and technical assistance

to juvenile justice agencies in the District

of Columbia, Louisiana, New Mexico, and

San Francisco County, California, and has

recently completed work in Santa Clara

County, California. Steward reports (personal

communication, December 15, 2009) that

they have had inquiries for technical assistance

from another half dozen states.

Washington, DC’s Department of Youth Rehabilitation Services

In the District of Columbia, the Department

of Youth Rehabilitation Services (DYRS)—

Washington, DC’s cabinet-level juvenile jus-

tice agency—has been engaged in a major

reform effort since 2005. Between 2005 and

2009, the agency reduced the population of

committed youth in locked custody by half,

closed its one remaining large (212-bed) train-

ing school, and replaced it with a 60-bed

facility—the New Beginnings Youth Devel-

opment Center—partially modeled after the

Hillsborough facility outside of St. Louis. All

of the agency’s staff at New Beginnings have

been trained on the “DC model” (DC’s ver-

sion of the “Missouri model”) by MYSI staff,

which provides ongoing coaching and techni-

cal assistance as the agency makes the difficult

transition from a correctional model to a

deinstitutionalized system.

DYRS’s innovation is noteworthy given

that the agency has been deeply troubled for

decades. DYRS is in its 24th year under a court

consent decree for deplorable conditions in its

416 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

facilities and inadequate community-based

services ( Jerry M. v. District of Columbia,1986).

In 2004, plaintiffs in the lawsuit moved to

place the agency in court receivership, then

withdrew the motion in December 2007, as

the reforms progressed. Reducing unnecessary

use of incarceration has been a hallmark of the

reform effort. For youth in locked custody,

DYRS has reduced the population in its one

secure facility for committed youth from 130

committed youth in 2005 to 60 in 2009, and

from approximately 125 pretrial detained

youth in 2005 to an average of 94 in 2008.

As a participating jurisdiction in the Juvenile

Detention Alternatives Initiative ( JDAI), city

agencies and the courts have developed an

array of detention alternatives, including eve-

ning reporting centers, balanced and restor-

ative justice centers, third-party monitoring,

and others. Between January 2006 and De-

cember 2009, 93% of youth released from a

DYRS alternative to detention appeared in

court without rearrest while awaiting their

hearings, with only 5% rearrested and 2%

failing to appear for a court hearing.

DYRS has revised its approach to direct

care within its facilities to create a positive peer

culture and therapeutic milieu modeled after

the Missouri Division of Youth Services. Con-

sistent with a PYD approach, DYRS has

engaged youth in positive activities such as

performing Shakespeare in their communities,

rebuilding homes destroyed by Hurricane

Katrina, participating in citywide football

and basketball leagues (including being the

junior varsity champions in 2006), and engag-

ing in a wilderness/cultural exchange on the

Navajo Nation in the Southwest, that simply

were not permitted or encouraged during the

agency’s prior correctional-oriented era. For

youth under DYRS’s care who are in the

community, DYRS is creating a continuum

of youth- and family-focused, assets-based

services, supports, and opportunities for youth

either in lieu of secure confinement or as

aftercare following secure confinement.

As DYRS adopted a PYD focus in 2005, it

achieved a substantial movement of less seri-

ously delinquent youth from deep-end, secure

custody to community-based care, thereby

reserving the most expensive (i.e., locked)

programming for the youth with the most

serious offenses. DYRS concurrently im-

proved secure care for youth involved in seri-

ous and violent offenses, assuring that they

remain confined longer in order to receive

appropriate treatment services. In 2005, fully

42% of youth in DYRS’s most secure setting,

the Oak Hill Youth Center, were Tier 3 (low

offense severity) youth, compared to only 30%

who were Tier 1, high-severity youth. In

December 2007, the numbers were dramati-

cally different: 59% of Oak Hill youth were

Tier 1, while only 10% were Tier 3 youth. In

2005, 19% of the youth committed to DYRS

were confined in Oak Hill, 22% were in

distant residential treatment centers (RTCs),

and only 28% were in their own homes. By

2007, 12% of DYRS committed youth were

confined in Oak Hill, 11% were in RTCs, and

45% were in their own homes (Department of

Youth Rehabilitation Services, 2008).

The DYRS reform has substantially re-

duced the number of youth in secure care, while

improving conditions for those who remain

confined,allthroughastrengths-basedapproach.

Importantly, these changes have occurred while

there has also been a reduction in recidivism

among DYRS youth compared to 2004, and a

continued decline in serious juvenile crime in

Washington, D.C. (see Figure 20.2).

DYRS has also added evidence-based,

promising programs based on research from

OJJDP and others and consistent with the

tenets of PYD. For example, the Civic Justice

Corps (CJC) is a workforce development

The End of the Reform School? 417

program modeled on the Depression-era

Civilian Conservation Corps program.

DYRS has also helped to create MST,

MTFC, and FFT as part of its community-

based continuum of care. These have all been

utilized to build on young people’s assets in

noninstitutional settings. In addition, DYRS

has created a Youth Family Team Meeting

(YFTM) case planning process, combined

with a basic screening system to develop

case plans for all DYRS-committed youth.

In its YFTMs, youth and their parents have

a substantial voice in developing the youth’s

case plan (now called an “individual develop-

ment plan”), and each case plan builds on the

youth’s strengths as well as attempts to meet his

or her needs. This in turn helps steer youth

into appropriate placements in either commu-

nity settings or secure confinement.

The Structured Decision Making (SDM)

assessment used by DYRS is a validated risk

instrument used to ensure that all youth are

assessed using an equitable set of criteria.

DYRS’ adaptation of SDM seeks to balance

public safety concerns with effective individ-

ualized service interventions, based on the

tenets of positive youth development.

The SDM model used by DYRS is driven

by a robust risk assessment that collects data

along two axes: risk and current offense severity.

Each axis produces a composite scale that takes

into account a number of factors known to

stimulate or buffer against future delinquency.

For example, the SDM risk assessment axis

considers such factors as age at first offense,

number of prior adjudications, number of

prior adjudications for violent offenses, num-

ber of prior placements, school attendance,

substance abuse, family criminality, abuse and

neglect. Each factor is assigned a weighted

numeric value (positive or negative, depend-

ing on the relationship to delinquency) and

they are then summed to generate two com-

posite scores: (1) one related to offense severity

and (2) another related to the risk level. These

two scores are subsequently combined, and

Figure 20.2 End of Fiscal Year Population for Committed Youth in Custody in the District of Columbia,

2004 to 2009

Note: 2009 population count as of August 31, 2009.

Source: DC Department of Youth Rehabilitation Services.

418 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

each youth is placed in a nine-cell matrix

created to determine the level of restrictiveness

for each youth.

DYRS youth typically fall in one of three

risk categories:

& High risk. Those youth with a high risk

and high offense score, who pose very

serious risk to public safety and/or self,

and require 24-hour close supervision

in a residential, staff-secured facility

(e.g., DYRS’ New Beginnings Youth

Development Center or Residential

Treatment Center). & Medium risk. Those youth with a

moderate SDM score, who pose a

serious threat to public safety and/

or self, and require intense supervi-

sion and close monitoring. They can

be placed in a staff-supervised facility,

in a homelike environment in a com-

munity setting, or closely monitored

home environment (e.g., group

home or foster care). & Low risk. Those youth with a low

SDM score, who pose minimum risk

to public safety and/or self, and require

strong and effective in-home supervi-

sion by vendor or parent/guardian

(e.g., at-home wraparound services

or independent living program with

moderate to low supervision).

DYRS uses this information in each

Youth Family Team Meeting to determine

the level of restrictiveness and to ensure that

youth are linked to the appropriate services,

supports, and opportunities.

In 2005, when the reforms were first

initiated, DYRS engaged a representative

cross-section of community stakeholders and

interagency representatives in a planning pro-

cess to guide and inform the development of a

community-based continuum of services, sup-

ports, and opportunities for court-involved

youth in the District of Columbia (see Green-

wood & Turner, Chapter 23, this volume).

These stakeholders recommended that DYRS

implement a decentralized and regionally

based structure that would support youth as

much as possible within their own families and

neighborhoods, referred to as the Lead Entity/

Service Coalition model.

Based on the design recommendations, in

2009 DYRS established the Lead Entities/

Service Coalition framework, in which two

lead entities (community-based organizations)

were identified to implement service coalitions

for defined regions of the District of Columbia.

Region I, with the East of the River Clergy

Police Partnership as the Lead Entity, was com-

prised of youthresiding inWards7 and 8 (eastof

the river); Region II,with Progressive Life, Inc,

as the Lead Entity, was comprised of youth

residing in Wards 1–6 (west of the river).

The traditional approach to working with

youth involved in the juvenile justice system

has provided scant investment, involvement,

and input from families or the community.

Research finds that youth from disjointed

neighborhoods end up in the juvenile justice

systems at higher rates than youth from more

organized communities (Nakhaie & Sacco,

2009). Paradoxically, research also shows that

incarcerating large numbers of people from

neighborhoods further destabilizes those

neighborhoods (Clear, Rose, & Rider,

2001). The Lead Entity/Service Coalition

concept incorporates these research findings

in an approach that will focus on building the

capacity of DC’s communities to work with

their own court-involved youth. An important

part of the Service Coalition concept is to help

rebuild fragmented communities and involve

young people and their families in community

development, thereby improving them and

The End of the Reform School? 419

their communities by promoting community

cohesiveness, encouraging reliance on com-

munity resources, contributing to community

development, and enhancing community ca-

pacity to respond to the needs of DYRS youth

and families. Strengthening communities in

the service of better outcomes for youth is

another component of the DYRS reforms that

is consistent with the PYD framework.

The tension between public safety and

providing court-involved youth with the op-

portunity to become productive citizens by

building on their and their families’ strengths

in the least restrictive, most homelike environ-

ment was paramount in the design of the Lead

Entity/Service Coalition concept. Commu-

nity service plans for youth, which the Lead

Entities/Service Coalitions will be responsible

for resourcing, will be guided by a series of

complementary formal assessments and the

Youth Family Team Meeting case-planning

process. The Youth Family Team Meetings

will inform decisions on: (a) services needed

to support the youth and their family; (b)

whether a youth can be served safely in the

community; and (c) the level of restrictiveness

that is needed to accommodate the youth’s

needs, which could include placement in a

residential treatment facility, secure care facil-

ity, independent living, or home.

Effective community organizing and part-

nerships will be key to successful implemen-

tation of the Lead Entity/Service Coalition

concept. These relationships will result in

increased monitoring and support of youth

involved in the juvenile justice system, ulti-

mately through a shared responsibility be-

tween government and the community in

which youth live. Creating this sense of shared

responsibility and accountability for our youth

will no longer rest with a single case manager

or government agency. The Lead Entities will

have the ability to provide increased oversight

and monitoring of youth through the Service

Coalition partners; develop, maintain, and

sustain working partnerships with critical pub-

lic sector agencies; educate, motivate, orga-

nize, and mobilize communities in which they

work to support DYRS youth and their fami-

lies consistent with the principles of PYD; and

establish partnerships/relationships with an

array of neighborhood/community-based

youth- and family-serving organizations, pro-

grams and individuals that have strong ties to

the community and experience and/or a de-

sire to work with DYRS youth and families.

The Service Coalitions will be responsible

for arranging the provision of core services,

supports, and opportunities that will include

but not be limited to the following: indepen-

dent and transitional living, transformative

mentoring, third-party monitoring, residen-

tial services (therapeutic group homes, etc.),

mental health and substance abuse services,

work readiness, job placement, tutoring, rec-

reation and sports activities, leadership devel-

opment, college preparation, vocational

training, arts, and cultural activities, as well

as parent/family support.

The Lead Entity/Service Coalition con-

cept will be the centerpiece of the DYRS’

reform effort in creating an effective neighbor-

hood/community-basednetworkof caring and

support for committed youth and their families

that will have the capacity to extend beyond a

youth’s formal involvement with DYRS while

helping to support families and strengthen

communities.

While DYRS has undergone significant

reform, many challenges remain. Many

correctional-minded staff have been resistant

to the strengths-based approach. Personnel

policies and civil service protections reduce

the ability of management to make the kinds of

sweeping staff changes required to dramatically

affect the required change in agency culture.

420 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

Similarly, community providers in the District

of Columbia were accustomed to a correctional-

oriented approach to working with delinquent

youth. Although community vendors are gener-

ally more familiar with youth development

practices and therefore less resistant to these

reforms than DYRS secure custody staff,

DYRS expects that new PYD-oriented requests

for proposals for community-based program-

ming and a systemwide PYD training require-

mentforallDYRSvendorswill improvepractice

even further and make the DYRS continuum

even more asset based.

LESS IS MORE

An honest appraisal of the long-term

consequences of confining juveniles demon-

strates its destructiveness.

—Horn, 2009

After what seemed like an unrelenting

increase in incarcerated juvenile justice popu-

lations in the waning decades of the 20th

century, states around the country have begun

to make more sparing use of incarceration in

the new millennium. While these states are not

necessarily entirely abandoning the use of re-

form schools, the substantial and widespread

decline in the population of youth in custody in

America has not been widely publicized and is a

positive development given the poor outcomes

exhibited by the training school model.

In a National Center for Juvenile Justice

report sponsored by the Office of Juvenile

Justice Prevention, Sickmund (in press) reports

that the number of youth in custody in Amer-

ica, defined as youth who are both detained

preadjudication and committed postadjudica-

tion, has declined by 27% from 2000 to 2008.

Youth custody rates declined in 35 states from

1997 to 2007 (see Figure 20.3). This stands in

stark contrast to the relentless growth of prison

populations, which have grown approximately

29% during this same time period, and have

increased nationally every year since 1977,

despite a substantial decline in the nation’s

crime rate (Glaze, Minton, & West, 2009).

Illustrative of this trend are the nation’s

three largest states—California, New York,

and Texas—each of which has experienced

substantial declines in juvenile training school

populations and has gone about reducing in-

carcerated populations in diverse ways. Follow-

ing are brief presentations of their approaches.

Texas

In 2006, Texas experienced a series of well-

publicized scandals in facilities operated by the

Texas Youth Commission (TYC). The follow-

ing year, the Texas legislature passed Senate Bill

103, which precluded courts from confining

misdemeanants in TYC facilities. SB 103 also

created a centralized review board to evaluate

extensions of lengths of stay for youth, which

were common before the law’s passage (W.

Harrell, personal communication, August 7,

2009). Now a release review panel reviews

any proposed extension of a youth’s stay. Over-

all, TYC’s population has declined by 51.4%

since 2006 (see Figure 20.4), almost all of which

occurred since the 2007 scandals broke and SB

103 took effect. Initial signs are that the decline

in the population has not negatively affected

youth crime. From 2006 to 2008, there was a

4.4% drop in overall juvenile arrests in Texas

(Texas Department of Public Safety, 2009).

New York

In 2004, under the leadership of Commis-

sioner Martin Horn, New York City’s Proba-

tion Department launched “Project Zero,”

whose ambitious goal was to have “ZERO

New York City kids sent to out-of-city

The End of the Reform School? 421

Figure 20.3 Change in the Number of Youth in Custody in the United States, 1997 to 2007

Data Sources: Census of juveniles in residential placement [machine-readable data files], 1997, 1999, 2001, 2003, 2006, 2007; Children in custody census of

public and private juvenile detention, correctional, and shelter facilities [machine-readable data files], 1995; Juvenile residential facility census [machine-ready

data files], 2000, 2002, 2004, 2006, 2008; Sickmund, in press.

Figure 20.4 End of Fiscal Year Population for Youth in Custody in State Operated Facilities

in Texas 2006 to 2008

Source: Texas Youth Commission.

422 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

placement” (Horn, 2009, p. 4). Notably, Proj-

ect Zero was a finalist in the prestigious Inno-

vations in Government Awards granted by the

Harvard University Kennedy School of Gov-

ernment. Citing an 81% rearrest rate upon

release from state custody, Horn (2009) de-

scribes that Project Zero was developed in

response to the poor long-term consequences

of confining juveniles. Horn’s department

created a research-validated instrument to

guide sentencing recommendations that re-

sulted in a reduction in placement recommen-

dations from 40% (1,257) to 18% (795)

between 2004 and 2007. The Probation De-

partment also increased the number of youth it

diverted by 206% from 1,070 youth in 2002 to

3,271 in 2007. Between 2006 and 2008, in-

carcerations of New York youth declined

overall by 38%, with the greatest reductions

experienced in the low (52%) and medium

(33%) risk categories (New York City Juvenile

Justice Programming, 2009).

One of the ways New York’s Probation

Department was able to reduce state commit-

ments was through the use of a community-

based intensive care program, Project Esper-

anza. Youth participating in Project Esperanza

experienced a drop in recidivism from 50% in

1999 to 16% in 2007 (Morais, 2008).

In February 2007, New York City Chil-

dren’s Services, under the leadership of Com-

missioner John Mattingly, launched its

Juvenile Justice Initiative (JJI), whose goals

are to “reduce the number of delinquent youth

in residential facilities; shorten lengths of stay

of those youth that are placed in residential

care; reduce recidivism; and improve individ-

ual and family functioning.”

JJI brings together the three evidence-

based practices mentioned earlier in this

chapter—Multisystemic Therapy (MST),

Functional Family Therapy (FFT), and Mul-

tidimensional Treatment Foster Care

(MTFC)—along with its “Blue Sky Project,”

a first-ever combination of these three

evidence-based programs that will allow youth

to transition from one such program to an-

other as their and their families’ needs dictate.

While it is impossible to separate the impact of

JJI from Project Zero, the number of youth

from New York City placed in the Office of

Children and Family Services’ (OCFS) facili-

ties and Residential Placements has declined

from 1,523 to 955 between 2005 and 2008, in

all likelihood due to the combined impact of

these two programs. In 2002, 14.3% of all

New York City youth arrested were incarcer-

ated in state facilities; by 2008, that had de-

clined to 6.1% (see Figure 20.5).

In addition to the alternative programs

that have drastically reduced the number of

New York City youth confined in state train-

ing schools, state–county partnerships have

helped drive down the population of youth

in OCFS facilities coming from other parts of

the state. For example, the state’s Division of

Probation and Correctional Alternatives has

funded the adoption of evidence-based cor-

rectional alternatives in seven counties:

Dutchess, Monroe, Niagra, Onandoga,

Orange, Oswego, and Schenectedy. Remark-

ably, Onandoga’s Probation Rehabilitation

Intensive Services and Management (PRISM)

contributed to a 73% reduction in commit-

ments from Onandoga County to OCFS

between 1995 and 2008 (from 103 to 28).

As the population in OCFS facilities has

declined, the agency, under the leadership of

Commissioner Gladys Carrion, has sought to

close a remarkable number of facilities and

shift a small portion of the funds saved to

community-based programs. Since 2007 the

state has closed or downsized a total of 13

facilities: In 2007 the state approved the clo-

sure of one facility and four more the following

year. In 2009, the state legislature agreed to

The End of the Reform School? 423

close six additional facilities along with merging

two distant facilities in the Adirondack Moun-

tains and closing one wing of the Lansing

facility for girls. The state allocated $5 million

from the cost savings to support local alterna-

tives to detention. In 2010, OCFS has proposed

closing two additional facilities, including the

notorious Tryon Center for boys.

The primary reason Commissioner Car-

rion has fought to close down facilities is her

recognition that these remote institutions, with

their entrenched punitive culture, are harmful

and dangerous places for young people. In

August 2009, the United States Justice Depart-

ment filed a report outlining abusive conditions

in four OCFS facilities, raising the specter of

litigation. The Justice Department documented

numerous instances of excessive use of force by

staff, including broken bones and knocked-out

teeth for minor transgressions like talking in

line or swiping food. Rather than disputing the

Justice Department’s findings, OCFS officials

have pointed to them as evidence for the need

to further downsize the state’s youth prison

system.

Upon Commissioner Carrion’s urging,

New York Governor David Patterson estab-

lished a Task Force on Transforming the Ju-

venile Justice System chaired by John Jay

College of Criminal Justice president and

former Justice Department official Jeremy

Travis with representation by key stakeholders

from throughout the state. In December 2009,

the Task Force concluded that:

New York State’s current approach

fails the young people who are drawn

into the system, the public whose

safety it is intended to protect, and

the principles of good governance

that demand effective use of scarce

state resources (2009 New York

Task Force on Reforming Transform-

ing Juvenile Justice Report, p. 88).

Figure 20.5 End of Fiscal Year Population for Youth in Custody in State Operated Facilities

in New York, 2005 to 2008

Source: State of New York Office of Children and Family Services.

424 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

Summarizing the finding of the report,

New York Times reporter Nicholas Confessore

wrote:

New York’s system of juvenile prisons

is broken, with young people battling

mental illness or addiction held along-

side violent offenders in abysmal fa-

cilities where they receive little

counseling, can be physically abused

and rarely get even a basic education,

according to a report by a state panel.

The problems are so acute that the

state agency overseeing the prisons

has asked New York’s Family Court

judges not to send youth to any of

them unless they are a significant risk

to public safety, recommending alter-

natives, like therapeutic foster care.

(Confessore, 2009, p. 1)

Travis himself put it more succinctly, “I

was not proud of my state when I saw some of

these facilities.” After the release of the Task

Force’s report, Commissioner Carrion circu-

lated a letter to all New York City’s juvenile

court judges urging them not to send adjudi-

cated youth to OCFS facilities.

However, despite the serious problems in

OCFS facilities, intense opposition from the

legislators representing the districts where the

facilities are located has often made it difficult

for the state to shut down facilities and realign

savings to help fund workable alternatives. In

2008, OCFS announced its intention to close

six underutilized facilities, but state legislators

reduced that number to four. Due to the

insistence of Senator Catherine Young, the

legislature agreed to keep open the Great Valley

Juvenile Center—although the facility was vir-

tually empty. In addition, the legislature did not

reinvest the cost savings for community-based

programming in 2008. According to State As-

semblyman William Scarborough, a Queens

assemblyman who supported closing all six fa-

cilities, legislators received letters from unions

that represent prison employees with the mes-

sage, “You can’t close our facilities—they con-

tribute a million dollars to our economy.” State

Senator Carl Kruger contends that Project Zero

is asking too much when it seeks to have the state

transfer funds to the city as facilities close to help

pay for alternatives. “The city would like the

state to pay for everything,” Kruger said. “They

would like to hijack as much money from us as

they can” (Morais, 2008).

California

In California, however, that kind of re-

alignment of funds and fiscal incentives is cred-

ited with spurring what is likely the most

significant percentage reduction in the size of

a state juvenile correctional system since the

Massachusetts deinstitutionalization of the

1970s. In 1996, California’s youth corrections

population peaked at 9,572, by far the largest

system in the country (nearly double the size of

the Texas Youth Commission, for example).

By the end of 2008, that number had declined

to 1,568, an 83.6% decline over a 12-year

period. This decline is even more dramatic

when juxtaposed with the 21% increase in

California’s adult prison population between

1996 and 2008 (see Figure 20.6).

In 1996, after years of criticism about the

conditions of confinement in California’s

juvenile prisons, media and academic exposes,

and unacceptably high recidivism rates, the

California legislature passed a law charging

counties on a sliding scale for the state confine-

ment of nonviolent youth. This initiated a sharp

decline in the population of what was then

known as the California Youth Authority.

Still, conditions of confinement contin-

ued to be appalling. In 2004, there were several

suicides in CYA facilities. In 2005, guards at

the Chaderjian Youth Facility were videotaped

The End of the Reform School? 425

beating young wards who lay helpless on the

floor. The tape aired in newscasts throughout

the state, and State Senator Gloria Romero

took this opportunity to call for major system

reforms. Public outcry reached a fever pitch,

legislative hearings ensued, and the Prison

Law Office, a nonprofit prisoners’ rights

group, filed the Margaret Farrell v. Matthew

Cate lawsuit. That suit resulted in a consent

decree requiring the state to implement a set of

six remedial plans guaranteeing ward safety;

improving conditions of confinement; and

upgrading its education, health care, sex of-

fender treatment, and other programs.

To implement these court-ordered

changes, the Legislature began to pour hun-

dreds of millions of dollars into the state’s youth

corrections system. This, combined with the

population decline and the state’s refusal to

close partially filled facilities, drove the unit

cost of state youth confinement to new heights.

Between 1996 and 2008, annual institutional

costs in California’s training schools rose almost

sevenfold, from $36,000 per ward per year to

$ 252,000 2 (see Figure 20.7).

Figure 20.6 End of Fiscal Year Population for Youth in Custody in California State

Operated Facilities, 1996 to 2008

Source: California Division of Juvenile Justice.

2 New York policy makers should take note here. In

2009, the United States Justice Department investigated

several New York facilities and sent a CRIPA Investi-

gation Letter. As of the writing of this chapter, New

York officials are in negotiations with the Justice De-

partment over a consent decree concerning facility

conditions. Meanwhile, in January 2009, New York’s

Legal Aid Society filed a class action lawsuit against

OCFS. The downsizing of OCFS facilities, coupled

with the increased costs that will almost certainly be

attendant upon litigation, could make a California-style

realignment of juvenile services to the counties more

attractive to both state and county policy makers.

Indeed, in the recently released Task Force for Trans-

forming Juvenile Justice report, New York Governor

Patterson’s Task Force recommends a realignment of

juvenile services from the state to the counties.

426 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

For decades, state policy makers and advo-

cates had been discussing the realignment of

juvenile justice from the behemoth state system

to counties, but could not agree on the mecha-

nism and a dollar figure for diverted youth. A

string of California governors protected the

troubled state youth agency as a “tough on

crime” political necessity. County governments

turned away from realignment because they

were afraid the state would not provide ade-

quate funds for the caseload shift—a fear based

in part on their disappointing experience with

California’s old “Probation Subsidy” program,

in which counties were charged for sending

offenders to state prison but received ever-

decreasing funds from the state to fund alterna-

tive programs. These obstacles to realignment

began to evaporate as the cost of operating the

state system approached $250,000 per youth

per year. Aghast at the cost and under pressure

from advocates and disgruntled lawmakers,

Governor Schwarzenegger finally offered

counties a youth corrections realignment deal

they could live with.

The result, in 2007, was the landmark

California youth corrections realignment

measure known as Senate Bill 81. SB 81

banned all future commitments of nonviolent

youth to the state system, allowing state com-

mitment only if the youth was found to have

committed an offense on the statutory list of

crimes for which juveniles could be tried as

adults. SB 81 phased all currently confined

nonviolent youth out of state custody. Impor-

tantly, SB 81 established a state Youthful Of-

fender Block Grant fund that paid counties the

equivalent of $117,000 for each nonviolent

youth retained by or returned to county con-

trol. This subsidy to counties is meant to be

ongoing, renewed from year to year. For fiscal

year 2009–2010, this fund provided nearly

$100 million to counties based on a statutory

Figure 20.7 California Division of Juvenile Facilities Annual Institutional Cost per Ward, 1996 to 2008

Sources: California state budgets, California Department of Finance, California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.

The End of the Reform School? 427

distribution formula. Modest one-time fund-

ing ($100 million) was also made available to

renovate or build new county juvenile

facilities.

Since its enactment in 2007, the re-

alignment package has caused a rapid decline

in the state youth training school population,

from 2,500 to 1,500 inmates within two years.

While an analysis of the impact of Cal-

ifornia’s dwindling state training school pop-

ulation on juvenile crime rates is beyond the

scope of this chapter, changes in California’s

youth crime rates at least support the conten-

tion that the massive downsizing of state juve-

nile corrections in California has not created a

juvenile crime wave in the Golden State.

While the incarcerated state youth population

in California declined by 83.6% from 1996 to

2008, the juvenile arrest rate per 100,000

juveniles declined by 32.2%. Meanwhile, as

the adult prison population was increasing by

21.2%, the adult arrest rate per 100,000 de-

clined by a more modest 14.5%. So, despite the

fact that the state of California made very

deliberate, dichotomous choices about the

use of incarceration for its adult and juvenile

populations, substantially increasing its adult

prison population while substantially decreas-

ing its population of confined juveniles, juve-

nile arrest rates fell at more than twice the rate

of the decline in adult arrests, demonstrating

that public safety can be achieved, or at least

not compromised, by a reduced use of incar-

ceration (see Figure 20.8).

Recently, lawyers from the Prison Law

Office moved to place the remainder of the

state system into receivership for the state’s

alleged failure to comply with the terms of the

consent decree. Both the state’s Little Hoover

Commission and the California Legislative

Figure 20.8 Adult and Juvenile Arrests and Incarceration Rates in California, 1996 to 2008

Note: CA arrest rates were based on arrests per 100,000 for total law violations and were only available up to 2007.

Sources: California Department of Justice, California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.

428 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

Analyst Office have called for the complete

closure of the state juvenile corrections system,

recommending a full realignment of youth

corrections to the counties. As of the writing

of this chapter, the fate of the remaining vestige

of the once largest juvenile justice agency in the

nation hangs very much in the balance.

JUVENILE DETENTION ALTERNATIVES INITIATIVE (JDAI)

Although its primary focus is on preadjudi-

cated, detained populations, no narrative of

the juvenile deinstitutionalization movement

would be complete without including a discus-

sion of the Juvenile Detention Alternatives

Initiative ( JDAI), pioneered by the Annie E.

Casey Foundation. JDAI, which has been in

effect since 1994, is an initiative that brings

together a jurisdiction’s key stakeholders to

“right size” their use of juvenile detention,

improve risk screening, decrease case processing

times, improve/expand alternatives to deten-

tion, and reduce disproportionate detention of

minority youth. Started 15 years ago as a pilot in

five sites, JDAI is now operating in 110 juris-

dictions in 27 states and the District of Colum-

bia. By August 2009, JDAI sites will be home to

35% of the nation’s young people (see Bell &

Mariscal, Chapter 6, this volume; Schneider &

Simpson, Chapter 22, this volume).

During its impressive replication period,

JDAI boasts the following accomplishments:

& JDAI sites have seen their detention

populations decline by 35% versus

pre-JDAI, in excess of the declines

witnessed in non-JDAI jurisdictions. & From 2003 to 2006, JDAI sites wit-

nessed a greater reduction in detention

population than the remainder of U.S.

jurisdictions combined.

& JDAI model sites Bernalillo County

(Albuquerque), New Mexico; Mult-

nomah County (Portland), Oregon;

and Santa Cruz County, California,

have experienced declines in juvenile

arrests for serious offenses of 27%, 43%,

and 46%, respectively—a far better de-

cline than juvenile violent arrests for

the same time period nationally. & Twenty-seven JDAI sites have closed

detention units or whole facilities,

and a handful of others have obviated

the need to construct new facilities,

saving taxpayers millions of dollars in

construction and operation costs

(Mendel, 2009).

In addition, and perhaps most germane to

our discussion, there is increasing evidence

that, in addition to salutary impacts on deten-

tion populations, successful JDAI sites are

experiencing reductions in training school

commitments. Given the connection between

detention and subsequent conviction and in-

carceration, this is hardly surprising.

Cook County (Chicago), Illinois, another

of JDAI’s model sites, reduced state training

school commitments by half between 1997

and 2004, while model site Santa Cruz elim-

inated state corrections commitments entirely

and reduced commitments to its county ranch

from 35 to 5 and to residential treatment from

104 to 38 from 1996 to 2005. JDAI sites in

Virginia reduced commitments by 45%, while

Alabama’s JDAI counties reduced commit-

ments by 27%. Overall, combined JDAI sites

committed 2,015 fewer youth to state training

schools in 2007 than they did prior to joining

JDAI, a 23% decline. Data such as these have

prompted the Casey Foundation to announce

the future expansion of JDAI to focus on

training school populations as well as

detention.

The End of the Reform School? 429

THE END OF THE REFORM SCHOOL?

It is certainly too soon to sound the death knell

for the United States’ 168-year experiment

with the reform school. Despite ample evi-

dence of the negative outcomes of training

school commitments in terms of well-

documented abuses of youth in custody,

exacerbating effects on recidivism, and debili-

tating impacts on mental health, education,

and employment—the training school model

remains the bulwark of most state systems in

the 21st century.

However, there are many promising signs

that the reform school’s veneer is irreparably

cracked, particularly in comparison to the

continued growth of America’s prisons. The

United States Justice Department and numer-

ous research organizations are promoting the

use of evidence-based practices targeted at

training school-bound youth that achieve far

better outcomes. More assets-based positive

youth development programs are showing

promising initial signs in the District of Co-

lumbia. Massachusetts, Missouri, and now the

District of Columbia have closed their training

schools and opened significantly smaller reha-

bilitative programs in their place, utilizing

assets-based approaches as their underpinning.

More than two thirds of the states have

reduced institutional populations since 2000.

The nation’s largest three states, California,

Texas, and New York, have actively and suc-

cessfully promoted policies to reduce state

training school commitments by 84%, 51%,

and 37%, respectfully. New York City’s former

probation commissioner has proposed com-

mitting no New York City youth to state

training schools (which San Francisco, San

Jose, and Santa Clara counties in California

have already achieved), and California’s re-

maining state training schools are facing the

very real possibility of being realigned out of

existence.

Policy makers now have a broad menu

of approaches to achieve complete deinsti-

tutionalization and replacement of their train-

ing school-based systems with a positive youth

development/evidence-based continuum of

care that, at its deepest end, utilizes small,

homelike, Missouri-style facilities that promote

rehabilitation and family/community re-

integration. The available evidence and expe-

rience recommends such an approach over the

current institution-based system. If juvenile

justice leaders and policy makers pay attention

to this kind of evidence, they might truly bring

about the end of the reform school.

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432 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

21 CHAPTER

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth

ANNE F. FARRELL AND DIANE M. MYERS

A lthough virtually every change effort

directed at public systems exhorts its

constituents to collaborate, little research

exists on best practices, and the effectiveness

of collaborative efforts often goes un-

documented. It is widely assumed that collab-

oration is the preferred vehicle for the

successful integration of services from various

stakeholders, yet empirical scrutiny of collab-

orative practices is scarce. Rarely does research

assess the effect of collaboration as a variable

separate from other aspects of intervention

under investigation. In fact, some might argue

that interventions might be more successful

were inefficient collaboration between agen-

cies eliminated from the equation. Alterna-

tively, collaboration has potential to address

the fragmented and sometimes adversarial

nature of interventions that necessarily cross

systemic boundaries.

At-risk youth, and those with experiences

in the juvenile justice system, are often served

by at least five categorical agencies: child

welfare, mental health, public health, educa-

tion, and juvenile justice (England & Cole,

1992; Maschi, Hatcher, Schwalbe, & Rosato,

2008). Within the juvenile justice system,

youth interface with law enforcement, the

courts, juvenile justice residential facilities

(JJRFs), parole and probation officers, and

various agencies that work to provide

alternatives to incarceration, outreach and

tracking, rehabilitation, probation services,

and community behavioral health services.

The experiences—and outcomes—of youth

involved in components of juvenile justice are

undoubtedly influenced by this array of agen-

cies and personnel. It behooves the juvenile

justice community, then, to ensure that vari-

ous components are not working at cross

purposes; beyond that, a shared vision and

collaborative efforts within and across these

systems has potential to positively influence

youth. Indeed, as we write this, promising

work is under way, and we review some of it.

As researchers and practitioners, our work

across youth-serving systems is informed by

prevention logic and reliance on an ever-

evolving evidence base. Implicit in this chapter

is an endorsement of a public health perspec-

tive, one that emphasizes the need for a multi-

tiered approach that consists of (a) prevention;

(b) early identification of, and intervention

for, youth at risk and with emerging problems;

and (c) intensive interventions for youth with

established problems. We begin with an over-

view of juvenile justice today, review defini-

tions of collaboration, and then examine the

literature on the processes, challenges, bene-

fits, and outcomes of cross-system collabora-

tions. We discuss collaborative change efforts

to date. In so doing, we mention initiatives

433

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

whose components have been articulated suf-

ficiently to support replication, with results

that have been published or otherwise dissem-

inated to a professional audience. We do not

assert these examples to be exhaustive or

conclusive; to the contrary, we regret that

space does not permit a fuller review.

JUVENILE JUSTICE: ONE SYSTEM OR MANY?

Juvenile justice is complex and diverse. A

single youth’s pathway through juvenile justice

may begin with the school truant officer and

conclude years later with postincarceration

monitoring by a parole department. As earlier

chapters in this volume delineate, that youth is

likely to have fit a profile of individual and

social/environmental risk and received a range

of interventions, supports, deterrents, and

consequences. Many individuals and entities,

governmental and nongovernmental, interact

with the youth and his or her family along the

way. Yet, the experience of “the system” is

typically a fragmented one in which no uni-

fying approach can be discerned; prevention

efforts are minimal and disjointed; approaches

taken by various entities are inconsistent (or

incompatible); the health, mental health, and

educational needs of youth may be neglected;

various domains of the youth’s functioning are

addressed by separate agencies; and the inter-

ventions applied lack empirical support

(Myers & Farrell, 2008). There is mounting

evidence that involvement in the juvenile

justice system itself is iatrogenic beyond

known risk factors; that is, the grouping of

youth with deviant behaviors can exacerbate

rather than reduce problem behavior (Cecile

& Born, 2009; Dodge, Dishion, & Lansford,

2006; Gatti, Tremblay, & Vitaro, 2009;

Huizinga, Schumann, Ehret, & Elliott, 2001).

The evolution of juvenile justice mirrors

the history of social services in general

(Levine, 1979). New programs are created

in response to needs or fashions, and they

emerge in relative isolation by virtue of expe-

diency; that is, collaborative development of

new programs is prohibitively cumbersome.

Another dimension of fragmentation is the

wide variability in its organization and admin-

istration (King, 2006), which reflects the

piecemeal manner of U.S. policy making in

the social arena (Gallagher, 1981), and shifts in

the guiding social philosophy behind the treat-

ment of youth offenders (Bazemore &

Umbreit, 1995; Fass & Pi, 2002; Nelson,

Jolivette, Leone, & Mathur, 2010). The

United States lacks national policy on offend-

ers, and states treat juveniles differently by such

factors as age and offense and take a wide range

of approaches to sentencing, diversion, incar-

ceration, and rehabilitation. This variation

complicates any attempt to replicate strategies

demonstrated to be effective.

The juvenile justice “system” has tradi-

tionally functioned as a constellation of youth

service agencies whose primary mission was to

accept children for whom no other individual

or agency would take responsibility (Federal

Advisory Committee on Juvenile Justice

[FACJJ], 2009). Whereas there is recognition

of how ill-equipped juvenile justice entities

are to manage the range of adolescent needs,

the system continues to “serve” thousands of

youth with rates of disabilities, mental health

problems, substance abuse, and abuse and

neglect that are higher than the general popu-

lation (Abram, Teplin, McClelland, & Dulcan,

2003; Gagnon & Barber, 2010; Teplin et al.,

2006; see Braverman & Morris, Chapter 3,

this volume). Juvenile justice serves as a

“holding facility” for youth who lack access

to community care (Cauffman, Scholle,

Mulvey, & Kelleher, 2005). A U.S. Congress

434 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

report (2004) indicated that two thirds of

detention facilities confine youth who await

treatment. In some cases, parents relinquish

custody of their children to child welfare and

juvenile justice agencies for the purpose of

securing otherwise unavailable behavioral

health services (Government Accountability

Office, 2003). Despite this, comprehensive

screening for health and mental health diffi-

culties and appropriate treatment for identified

disorders is a rarity (Gallagher & Dobrin,

2007; Hoge, 2002), health-care practices are

inconsistent, and there are almost no data on

the effectiveness of services provided during

incarceration (Desai et al., 2006; Gallagher &

Dobrin, 2007; Houchins, Jolivette, Shippen, &

Lambert, 2010).

The question of whether juvenile justice

can be a single, integrated system remains

unanswered. At present, it is a patchwork of

public and private entities operating with

diverse levels of integration, varying forms

of governance, and insufficient evaluation

(Myers & Farrell, 2008). While a fragmented

and ineffective state of affairs seems to largely

characterize juvenile justice, there is cause for

optimism. The shared wisdom of the contrib-

utors to this volume, criticism of “get tough”

approaches (e.g., Skiba, 2000), the burgeoning

number of innovative collaborations and alter-

natives to incarceration (e.g., Skowyra &

Cocozza, 2007; Tuell, 2000), and the growing

application of research-supported approaches

(e.g., Nelson et al., 2010; Quinn & Shera,

2009; Zahn, Day, Mihalic, & Tichavsky,

2009), all suggest that positive change may

be under way. Achieving and sustaining

change, however, requires consistent applica-

tion, data collection, evaluation, and “scaling

up” of promising and successful initiatives

(e.g., Horner & Sugai, 2006). Rather than

viewing juvenile justice as separate from other

systems, we advocate a reorientation that

envisions a linked continuum of interventions

along the pathway of youth who are at risk

for and demonstrate delinquent behavior

(see also Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this

volume). Effective collaboration across and

within youth-serving systems appears neces-

sary to address the complex problem of

juvenile crime.

COLLABORATION: THE NEW IMPERATIVE

Collaboration is sometimes a necessity for

private, public, and private-public endeavors

in human services. In this section we discuss

collaboration as “the new imperative,” define

and distinguish collaboration and other means

of interaction, and discuss the benefits and

challenges of collaboration.

Definitions, Preconditions, and Benefits

Before undertaking a discussion of collabora-

tion, we review its increasing prominence,

define and distinguish it from other forms

of organizational interface, and discuss the

preconditions to, benefits of, and barriers to

collaboration

The New Imperative Three distinct sets of organizations operate within the United

States: public (governmental), private

(business), and the voluntary sector, including

nongovernmental organizations such as inde-

pendent agencies, nonprofits, and philanthro-

pies (Najam, 2000). As government has

become increasingly reliant on the private

sector for delivery of publicly financed services

(Gazley & Brudney, 2007; Salamon, 2002;

Selsky & Parker, 2005), discussion of the

promise and perils of “new governance”

(i.e., the public sector’s increasing reliance

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 435

on and integration with private and voluntary

agencies for service delivery, with some

expectation of accountability) has gained

prominence. Scholarly scrutiny of collaboration

has increased as well, with the context for

examination ranging from infant–toddler care

(Peterson, 1991) to nuclear weapons complexes

(Butterfield, Reed, & Lemak, 2004). Gazley

and Brudney (2007) state that collaboration

research has focused primarily on the private

sector and assert the existence of a research gap

with respect to “new governance.” Whereas

public funding often carries an evaluation man-

date (Lane & Turner, 1999), there is insufficient

evidence that intersector and interagency ini-

tiatives produce sustained change (Charles &

Horwath, 2009). Existing evaluation practices

may lack the breadth, depth, longevity, and

developmental focus needed to address com-

plex, multilevel projects (Benjamin & Greene,

2009; Fetterman, 2001; see also Butts &

Roman, Chapter 24, this volume).

Three interrelated factors have influenced

the collaboration imperative. First, there is a

fundamental understanding that the multi-

determined, sometimes intransigent nature

of delinquency compels the involvement of

multiple systems and the organizations that

comprisethem.Somecollaborationarisesspon-

taneously from recognition that a single agency

cannot “do it alone.” In the midst of program

implementation, an agency may find its mission

“creeping” towardfunctionsthatit ismarginally

or inadequately prepared to fulfill. The second

factor emerges from the (first) fundamental

presumption: public and philanthropic funders

require organizations to demonstrate collabora-

tion within networked environments in order

to address complex policy goals (Thomson,

Perry, & Miller, 2007). A third factor relates

to organizational uncertainty with respect to

resources; coalitions emerge during economic

downturns or when public policy results in the

reallocation of resources. Within the array of

collaborations there exists a dramatic tension

between a demand for standardized, replicable

components and a preference for initiatives that

reflect unique regional or community charac-

teristics. The juvenile justice system is inher-

entlyinteragencyand intersector, so theabsence

of intentional collaboration can become prob-

lematic as stakeholders with diverse interests

approachproblems rangingfrom the disposition

of an individual youth to the integration of

prevention and intervention initiatives (see

Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this volume).

Stakeholder theory examines collabora-

tion from three perspectives: as motivated

by instrumental or strategic advantage, as

demanded by moral or ethical obligation to

stakeholders (e.g., to public benefit), and by

describing its characteristics and operation

(Butterfield et al., 2004). Butterfield and col-

leagues define a stakeholder as a group or

individual who can affect or be affected by

organizational actions. The stakeholders to

change efforts in juvenile justice include: gov-

ernmental entities with direct involvement

(e.g., U.S. Department of Justice [DOJ] and

the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention [OJJDP]); federal agencies with

youth, family, and public health-related mis-

sions (U.S. Department of Education, Depart-

ment of Housing and Urban Development

[HUD], U.S. Department of Health and

Human Services [HHS], including the Ad-

ministration for Children and Families, the

National Institutes of Health, and the Sub-

stance Abuse and Mental Health Services

Administration [SAMHSA]) and their state

counterparts; a myriad of private agencies

who fund and provide services; and the private

citizens these efforts are intended to benefit.

In sum, then, collaboration has emerged as

an imperative for organizations addressing

complex social problems such as juvenile

436 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

justice, and most funders require both collab-

oration and program evaluation, although the

extent, quality, and consequences of evalua-

tion vary (Benjamin & Greene, 2009). A vast

array of organizations and individuals are in-

volved in and affected by change efforts in

juvenile justice. As a consequence, collabora-

tion is necessary—but not sufficient—to im-

prove outcomes. Collaboration is the vehicle

for reform efforts, a means to an end. Effective

collaboration occurs in a stagelike process that

requires extensive preparation, ongoing com-

munication, rigorous examination, sustained

commitment, and a longitudinal focus. In

short, effective collaboration is hard work of

long duration. In the sections that follow, we

describe the preconditions, processes, and out-

comes of collaboration, and apply them to

juvenile justice.

Definitions and Distinctions The motiva- tion to collaborate is influenced by common

perceptions of its components, the depth and

level of collaboration required to meet pro-

grammatic objectives, and the potential bene-

fits of and barriers to collaborating.

What Is Collaboration? There is no singular or universal definition. A number of related

terms describe the processes by which multiple

organizations aim to achieve short- and long-

term goals that would not be attained in

independent efforts. Among them are coordi-

nation, collaboration, cooperation, strategic

alliance, partnership, coalition, task force,

and network. Perhaps the most widely refer-

enced definition of collaboration was provided

by Wood and Gray (1991), “Collaboration

occurs when a group of autonomous stake-

holders of a problem domain engage in an

interactive process, using shared rules, norms,

and structures, to act or decide on issues

related to that domain” (p. 146).

Several authors have distinguished collab-

oration from other activities that are jointly

undertaken. Peterson (1991, p. 90) stated that

interagency coordination occurs when “two

or more agencies synchronize their activities

to promote compatible schedules, events, ser-

vices, or other kinds of work that contribute to

the achievement of each agency’s individual

mission and goals.” She contrasts coordina-

tion, in which autonomous agencies work

together on a common task, with collabora-

tion, which entails “a much more intensive

and continuous interaction among agencies

involving a joint commitment and joint

activity” that is “guided by a common plan

and set of implementation strategies designed

and approved by all agencies involved” (p. 91).

Similarly, Fosler (2002, p. 19) stated that col-

laboration requires “a higher degree of mutual

planning . . . conscious alignment of goals,

strategies, agendas, resources, and activities;

an equitable commitment.” Cooperation

and coordination do not typically entail

explicit negotiation of roles, resources, and

allocation of power. Whereas collaboration, part-

nership, and strategic alliance appear to be nearly

synonymous (Gajda, 2004), they do not appear

to be functionally equivalent to networking,

coordination, and task forces. Despite some

subtle definitional differences, this chapter

employs the terms collaboration and partnership

interchangeably, and does not assume that all

partnerships involve equal contributions.

Depth and Level of Collaboration Sowa (2008) examined interagency collaborations in hu-

man services and categorized them according

to depth: shallow, medium, and deep.

Shallow collaborations involve time-limited

interactions that do not extend beyond their

contractual mandates, demonstrate little to no

cross-training of staff, and rarely include the

development of new managerial entities and

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 437

processes. Capacity-building collaborations,

categorized as medium, include an exchange

of human and other resources, including

sharing of personnel, training, and policies.

They have a discernible impact on participat-

ing agencies and may also affect other pro-

viders as well as third-party conveners (e.g.,

public or private funders). The deepest level

of collaboration is community building,

which is similar to (and includes the effects

of ) capacity building, but extends beyond

that, largely by virtue of dissemination of

effective strategies that emerge.

The Strategic Alliance Formative Assess-

ment Rubric (SAFAR; Gajda, 2004) repre-

sents various levels of integration and their

corresponding purposes, strategies, and fea-

tures, essentially describing a continuum of

collaboration-related activities. Networking is

a flexible web of communication with little

structure and virtually no group decision mak-

ing. In cooperation, agencies work together to

ensure task completion. Structure is minimal,

communication is informal, and there may be

some facilitative leaders. Partnership entails

sharing resources to achieve common goals,

requires a central, guiding group of individu-

als, involves shared decision making, and in-

cludes formal systems and channels for

communication, yet each entity maintains

autonomy. Levels of integration beyond part-

nership are merging and unifying. In a merger,

resources are pooled to create a new project,

program, or organization. When unifying

occurs, one entity is subsumed or assimilated

into the other. SAFAR’s relevance to the

current discussion lies not just in delineating

levels of collaboration but also in the extent to

which agencies may hesitate to engage in

collaboration due to concerns about abdicat-

ing their organizational priorities, sharing

scarce human and other capital, and being

subsumed by another entity.

Why Collaborate? Benefits of Interagency Partnerships Several authors discuss moti- vating factors and perceived benefits of inter-

agency partnerships. For example, Gazley and

Brudney (2007) surveyed 285 nonprofit lead-

ers and 311 public (governmental) executives

regarding their experiences in cross-agency

collaborations. Several motivations to collab-

orate were common across these two groups,

including the benefits of jointly addressing

problems, cost effectiveness, improved access

to services, stronger communities, better com-

munity relations, and promotion of shared

goals. Nonprofit leaders were more inclined

to view collaboration as an opportunity to gain

resources and build relationships, and govern-

ment leaders were more likely to cite the

likelihood of improving service quality.

The literature addresses additional factors

that motivate interorganizational collaboration:

mandate (e.g., statute, regulation); asymmetry

(one organization imposes collaboration on

another); reciprocity, mutuality of interest,

or complementarity; desire for efficiency,

stability, predictability, or access to resources;

perceived crisis; buffer economic stress and risk;

generation of collective benefit (power or in-

fluence); and enhanced legitimacy or prestige

(Andranovich, 1995; Butterfield et al., 2004;

Gazley & Brudney, 2007; Heugens, Van Den

Bosch, & Van Riel, 2002; Rosenheck et al.,

1998; Thomson et al., 2007; Wood & Gray,

1991). Foster and Meinhard’s (2002) survey

concludes that the predisposition to collabora-

tion emerges from a combination of agency,

environmental, andattitudinal factors. Environ-

ment motivates agencies to collaborate when

leaders are uncertain about the future climate

for their work and discourages collaboration

when the climate for operation appears secure.

Organizational size does not reliably predict the

likelihood or quality of collaboration (Foster &

Meinhard, 2002).

438 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

Why Not Collaborate? Perceived and Actual Barriers As discussed above, induce- ments to and the benefits of collaboration are

detailed in the literature, and (as discussed

below) there is ample information on “what

works.” There are doubtless unsuccessful col-

laborations from which lessons can be drawn.

Despite the fact that there is likely much to be

learned by examining failed, incomplete, or

partially successful collaborations, there is very

little discussion of “what doesn’t work”

(the bias in the scholarly literature is toward

publication of studies with significant effect).

Caruso, Rogers, and Bazerman (2009) list

three reasons for failed collaborations: inter-

group bias, territoriality, and poor negotiation

and communication.

Sherif’s seminal work in social psychology

(M. Sherif & Sherif, 1969) demonstrated that

groups with separate identities, interpersonal

norms, goals, values, and histories demonstrate

conflict and competition. Intergroup bias, the

tendency to trust one’s own group members

more, interferes with the development of

working relationships and communication.

Although cross-agency collaborations often

involve an expectation that personnel work

together productively, Sherif’s work implies

that “turf issues” can readily sabotage attempts

at collaboration, particularly when collabora-

tions are mandated, coerced, hastily convened,

or occur in a competitive or hostile climate.

Their experiments involving intergroup rela-

tions also revealed that working together on

superordinate goals is an effective means of

reducing conflict and inducing change among

participants.

Some authors have examined barriers to

collaboration. Results of Gazley and Brudney’s

(2007) survey indicate that reluctance to col-

laborate emerges from a perception of limited

organizational capacity to manage relations

and anticipation that the quality of relations

emerging from collaboration may not be alto-

gether helpful. In the case of government–

nonprofit collaborations, nonprofit leaders

were concerned about the possibility that their

organizations would “lose out,” expressed

concern about governments not fulfilling their

commitments, and expressed concerns that

their agencies would lose volunteers or donors

as a consequence. Using data from 440 orga-

nizations, Thomson and colleagues (2007)

examined the construct validity of a multi-

dimensional model of collaboration. The

responses of experienced collaborators were

examined against five hypothesized dimen-

sions of collaboration: governance, adminis-

tration, organizational autonomy, mutuality,

and norms (reciprocity and trust). With the

exception of the reciprocity norm, the model

demonstrated good fit, essentially endorsing

that the five stated dimensions constitute

collaboration. Presumably, the absence of

these dimensions would negate the likelihood

of successful, sustainable collaboration.

Lane and Turner (1999) discuss the value

of collaboration in a restorative justice inter-

vention in California. Although their report is

descriptive (not empirical), these authors

note several factors whose absence would be

detrimental to success. This includes letting go

of preexisting interorganizational animosities,

compromising one’s interests for the greater

needs of the project, establishing role expect-

ations (in particular for the organizational

representatives who worked most closely

with other agencies), and embedding evalua-

tion personnel and procedures prior to project

initiation.

In sum, the collaboration literature is

mostly descriptive, includes a number of

definitions, and falls short of comprehensive

theory. In spite of this, its elements have been

examined and validated, although there is an

understandable bias toward demonstration of

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 439

the outcomes of fruitful elements and collab-

orations. Consistent with intergroup relations

theory, barriers to collaboration include pre-

existing animosity, squabbles and resentments

over turf infringements, and ineffective plan-

ning and communication. In the next section,

we provide a context for collaboration in

juvenile justice.

JUVENILE JUSTICE COLLABORATIONS IN

SERVICE OF SYSTEMS CHANGE

In this section we describe the public health

model, which includes primary prevention,

intervention for at-risk groups, and tertiary

interventions for established problems. This

approach drives models and systems in much

of human services and demonstrates promise as

an approach to both framing and conducting

intervention in juvenile justice.

The Public Health Context

The public health approach to prevention and

intervention has been applied successfully to

and is widely embraced in preventive efforts

across systems (health, education, child

welfare, youth violence, and mental health)

and disciplines (e.g., Walker et al., 1996).

The Commission on Chronic Illness (1957)

first promulgated preventive public health

approaches over 50 years ago. Often repre-

sented by a triangle with three levels (see

Figure 21.1), the public health model encom-

passes primary, secondary, and tertiary

interventions.

Figure 21.1 Public Health Model

Tertiary: Individualized interventions for

established problems

Secondary: Targeted

intervention for at- risk groups

Primary (universal) preventions for all members of population

Source: Adapted from the Center for Positive Interventions and Supports (www.pbis.org).

440 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

The first level, primary prevention, is

universal and designed to benefit all members

of a population by preventing future problems.

In the case of youth, preventive interventions

range from social services, education, and

health care to tobacco and substance abuse

resistance efforts and public safety messages

about seat belts. Secondary interventions pro-

vide targeted interventions for groups of indi-

viduals who are at risk, and for those who did

not respond to primary prevention. Secondary

interventions are designed to reverse, stop, or

slow a condition’s progress (Evans & Seligman,

2005). Frequent developmental surveillance

for children with asthma, group counseling

for individuals predisposed toward substance

abuse, and skills training for youth with school

discipline infractions are examples of second-

ary interventions. They often entail increased

surveillance (monitoring) by professionals to

examine and address risk.

Tertiary interventions are undertaken

when individuals do not respond to primary

or secondary levels of prevention and are

indicated for problems warranting individual-

ized, relatively intensive care. In recognition

that primary and secondary strategies are not

always effective; tertiary interventions are

comprehensive, initiated promptly, and of

duration commensurate with need. Tertiary

interventions may involve a greater degree

of segregation from the general population.

Inpatient hospital stays, individual and family

therapy, and special education are tertiary

interventions. Tertiary prevention strategies

aim to reduce the disability associated with a

problem in order to restore maximal function

(Commission on Chronic Illness, 1957).

Framed in the public health perspective,

entry into state custody is a tertiary interven-

tion. Youth enter JJRFs because they have not

responded to primary (e.g., school and com-

munity) and secondary (e.g., probation,

detention, diversion) efforts. Whereas the

public health model would suggest that the

primary aim of a tertiary intervention is reha-

bilitation, a punishment orientation has

exerted influence on juvenile justice. In part

due to this excessive reliance on punishment,

some researchers recently extended positive

behavior interventions and supports into

juvenile justice settings (Jolivette & Nelson,

2010).

How Effective Are Interventions for Youth? A model of universal care is a con- venient heuristic, however, how useful is it if

we lack effective primary, secondary, and ter-

tiary interventions for youth? Weisz, Sandler,

Durlak, and Anton (2005) summarized the

evidence base for youth mental health inter-

ventions across an array of systems. These

authors reported mean effect sizes in the

.50s (medium effects) for generic prevention

studies and significant long-term benefit

(lower delinquency rates) for prevention pro-

grams that combine youth and family sup-

ports. Taken in the aggregate, these studies

provide solid support for the effectiveness of

universal and targeted interventions. The mag-

nitude of treatment effects for established

problems (tertiary interventions) was similarly

impressive across age groups. Youth who re-

ceived interventions were better off than 75%

of children in control groups. Weisz et al.

(2005) also report impressive outcomes for

specific modalities, including substantial effects

for cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT), re-

spectable outcomes for family therapy, and

moderate effects for school interventions.

Other authors document the effectiveness

of primary, secondary, and tertiary school in-

terventions conducted within positive behav-

ior interventions and supports (Hawken,

Adolphson, MacLeod, & Schumann, 2009;

Sugai & Horner, 2009). Empirical support

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 441

for comprehensive team approaches such as

wraparound (Eber et al., 2009) and Multi-

systemic Therapy (MST: Schaeffer & Borduin,

2005) is also emerging (see also Greenwood &

Turner, Chapter 23, this volume; Schiraldi,

Schindler, & Goliday, Chapter 20, this

volume).

Andrews et al. (1990) defined effective

interventions for delinquent youth as affecting

recidivism and adhering to three principles.

They: (1) address criminogenic factors (e.g.,

those that predict criminality, including peer

group, self-control, and substance use); (2) are

responsive (e.g., alter criminogenic factors);

and (3) address risk. Effect sizes for programs

that do not meet these principles are virtually

zero (Andrews & Bonta, 2006). Programs that

address these critical factors, usually based on

social learning and cognitive-behavioral

approaches, have effect sizes equating to a

50% reduction in recidivism.

Perhaps the most striking finding of

Lipsey’s (2009) meta-analysis of interventions

for juvenile offenders was the absence of

relationship between level of juvenile justice

supervision and recidivism. The effects of

interventions on youth with similar profiles

(risk, age, gender, ethnicity) did not differ

whether the offender underwent treatment

in the community following diversion, during

incarceration, or on probation or parole.

Quality of program implementation out-

weighed the effects of level of juvenile super-

vision. The best predictors of recidivism were

overall risk (higher recidivism) and history of

aggression (lower recidivism). Counseling in-

terventions were effective in reducing recidi-

vism by 10–13%. Nontherapeutic interventions

(deterrence and discipline) were not effective,

demonstrating no effect and increasing recidi-

vism, respectively. Although Lipsey’s findings

suggest that decision making regarding the

context for juvenile intervention (community,

JJRF, etc.) may not reflect a systematic ap-

proach, they are encouraging because “good

programs can be effective within institutional

environments” (p. 143).

Weisz et al. (2005) note that publication

bias may artificially inflate effect sizes to some

extent, but even if that is the case, the data

nevertheless indicate the existence of a range

of interventions that make a meaningful dif-

ference in the lives of youth and families. It is

also likely that they result in savings when the

cost of managing delinquent behavior is con-

sidered. We conclude that the service systems

that comprise juvenile justice have access to

empirically supported interventions. Deliver-

ing these interventions with fidelity and effi-

cacy requires a commitment to early detection

and intervention and the collective efforts of

all stakeholders.

Juvenile Justice Collaborations

Although effective collaboration may occur

within and between individual organizations,

the sheer number of stakeholders makes it

adauntingtask.Presumably,allagenciescharged

with responsibility in the field of juvenile justice

strive to meet similar goals, such as reducing

juvenile crime, decreasing recidivism rates, and

preventing delinquency (U.S. Department of

Justice, 2003). Despitecommonpurposes,there

are philosophical, logistical, procedural, and

systemic issues that impede cohesive delivery

of services. Agencies may approach treatment

differently. Legal, technical, and territorial

obstacles prevent adequate interagency com-

munication. In addition, service providers

define outcomes and track data differently,

making it difficult to assess effects and ident-

ify areas requiring attention. Change must

occur across all involved systems, a challenge

that has thus far hindered large-scale collabo-

rative efforts (Nelson et al., 2010).

442 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

As the Federal Advisory Committee on

Juvenile Justice (FACJJ) states (2009, p. 1),

there has been a “deficit of leadership” with

respect to juvenile justice. Its annual report

articulates a number of challenges, poses

solutions from policy and research to practice,

and calls for “bold leadership.” Serious efforts

toward systemwide change must begin at

the top. This likely means the federal level,

where there needs to be increased focus on the

development of national outcomes, unified

systems, and a consistent way of tracking

data allowing for assessment of progress toward

national goals. To some extent, the Juvenile

Detention Alternatives Initiative (JDAI) has

addressed the leadership void. The Annie E.

Casey Foundation (AECF, 2009) established

the JDAI in 1992 with the aim of reducing the

inappropriate and unnecessary confinement of

youth and impelling reform. The JDAI’s first

core strategy is collaboration between major

juvenile justice agencies, other governmental

entities, and community organizations, which

is presumed to be a factor in observed reduc-

tions in juvenile crime, diminished numbers of

youth in detention and related changes among

JDAI sites. By beginning with a systematic

approach to connecting interagency stake-

holders, JDAI jurisdictions establish the foun-

dation necessary to support reform efforts.

Because juvenile justice is driven largely by

the states, an interconnected data system is

vital. With common definitions, categories,

and databases, the U.S. would more accurately

be able to assess trends, recidivism rates, and

successes in the juvenile justice system and be

better equipped to enact prevention and treat-

ment (see Schneider & Simpson, Chapter 22,

this volume).

This call for national, interagency collab-

oration does not diminish existing and emerg-

ing collaborative initiatives. There is evidence,

as delineated below that collaboration can

result in a more efficient, effective system

(see e.g., Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday,

Chapter 20, this volume). The challenge,

then, is this: How do we replicate successful

small to midscale collaborations on a national

level? The following sections outline some

collaborative efforts and suggest how those

efforts may fit into a vision of a systemwide,

multitier intervention model.

Examples of Collaboration in Juvenile Justice

For would-be collaborators in the juvenile

justice system, there are many common goals:

decreased recidivism, improved academic and

vocational outcomes, more cohesive service

provision, better communication among

service providers, and the development of

systems and strategies for working together.

Below are examples of collaborations that

exemplify characteristics that, if applied at a

large-scale level, could change the fragmented

nature of service delivery to the vulnerable

youth in our juvenile justice facilities.

Many collaborative efforts have focused

on prevention. JDAI stresses reduction of

secure confinement in over 100 sites. Its sites

have demonstrated impressive initial outcomes

including lower numbers of juveniles in de-

tention, reduced racial disparities, and lever-

aging fiscal support for alternatives to

detention (AECF, 2009). The Center for

Families, Children, and the Courts (CFCC)

in California has established Collaborative

Justice for Juvenile Offenders, which features

collaboration across courts (e.g., family court,

juvenile drug court, youth mental health

court) and processing, planning, and decision

making (CFCC, 2009). Several states feature

collaboratives; many focus on similar out-

comes such as reducing recidivism, decreasing

racial overrepresentation, and providing better

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 443

service coordination. Questions remain,

however: Are observed changes attributable

to change efforts and/or are there other

factors at work? Is it the collaboration per se

that leverages change, or is it specific qualities

of the interventions or agencies themselves?

Without more focused, rigorous research,

these questions remain unanswered. It be-

hooves policy makers and funders to ask

why time-consuming and costly interventions

are needed, and it behooves the juvenile justice

community to communicate why they are

warranted.

National Collaborative Efforts in Juvenile Justice

One of the most disheartening statistics about

youth in juvenile justice facilities is their under-

achievement in academics (e.g., Burrell &

Warboys, 2000; Center on Crime, Communi-

ties, and Culture, 1997; Gemignani, 1994;

Leone, Quinn, & Osher, 2002; Mathur &

Schoenfeld, 2010; see also Boundy & Karger,

Chapter 14, this volume). Academic failure is

associated with poor outcomes inside and

outside of juvenile justice. Educational and

vocational outcomes for youth in juvenile jus-

tice reflect the fragmentation in education, a

lack of meaningful focus on behavior in

schools, a disproportionate number of poor

minority students requiring special education

services, and the challenge of collaboration

between local education authorities and juve-

nile justice entities.

The National Collaboration Project assists

states with implementing the juvenile justice

requirements of the No Child Left Behind

Act (NCLB; Blomberg, Blomberg, Waldo,

Pesta, & Bellows, 2006). The project, housed

at Florida State University’s College of

Criminology and Criminal Justice and funded

through Congress, seeks to meet the following

goals: (a) identify the administrative structure

of each state’s juvenile justice education sys-

tem; (b) determine education evaluation

capacities and detect any common problems

shared by several states, as well as unique

problems; (c) develop a national network of

agencies, evaluators, and administrators to as-

sume responsibility for juvenile justice educa-

tion; (d) provide NCLB information to all

states; and (e) measure and report progress

on states’ abilities to meet NCLB requirements

and evaluation procedures (Blomberg et al.,

2006). The goals of the project are daunting

but necessary if juvenile justice facilities are to

be in compliance with federal education law—

and if youth exiting juvenile justice will be

prepared to function in society.

The National Collaboration Project’s am-

bitious goals reflect critical elements of an

effective collaboration between the country’s

educational leaders and the juvenile justice

community. The Project aims to achieve

successful interstate collaboration by: deter-

mining each state’s ability to collect data and

self-evaluate, disseminating relevant informa-

tion and standards, and establishing a national

support staff. The U.S. Departments of

Education and Justice have recognized the

quality of Florida’s juvenile justice education

system as exemplary (Blomberg et al., 2006).

Accordingly, the National Collaboration Proj-

ect seeks to apply Florida’s model nationwide

by replicating its successful elements.

Another example of collaborative potential

within juvenile justice isthe Blueprint for Change,

which is a comprehensive model for the iden-

tification and treatment of youth with mental

health needs. The Blueprint was developed by

the National Center for Mental Health and

Juvenile Justice as a framework to improve

the delivery of mental health services to youth

in the juvenile justice system (Skowyra &

Cocozza, 2006). A cornerstone of the Blueprint

444 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

is collaboration: “the juvenile justice system

and mental health systems should collaborate

in all areas and at all critical intervention points”

(Skowyra & Cocozza, 2006, p. 4). It calls for

inclusion of family members and caregivers,

joint identification of funding mechanisms,

collaboration at every stage of juvenile justice

processing, and cross-training for juvenile

justice and mental health staff. All interagency

collaborations require this cross-training to

ensure that all service providers are fluent

with the terms and systems of each agency;

thisisacriticalfeatureofsuccessfulcollaboration

that cannot be overlooked.

A shared feature of these two examples

is the development of a national model based

on research conducted with smaller scale pro-

grams. A specific interagency collaborative

example cited in the Blueprint is the Integrated

Treatment Model established by the Washington

State Juvenile Rehabilitation Administra-

tion, which uses evidence-based practices

(e.g., Functional Family Therapy, cognitive-

behavioral therapy) to provide treatment

to youth from admittance to release (see

Greenwood&Turner,Chapter23,thisvolume).

All staff are trained in these practices, which are

extended into aftercare during community

reentry (Skowyra & Cocozza, 2006).

One case study investigated the relation-

ship between Medicaid and the delivery of

health and mental health services to youth

in the juvenile justice system in four states

(Hanlon, May, & Kaye, 2008). Based on this

work, Hanlon et al. identified strategies to

combat barriers to collaboration, including

improving the knowledge of how involved

systems operate and giving collaborators the

tools to work together to address challenges

with effects across programs and systems.

Interestingly, these authors note parallel com-

plications in juvenile justice and youth health

care. In spite of the fact that Medicaid is a

federal program, it is partly state funded and is

administered at the state level; as a conse-

quence, both Medicaid and juvenile justice

systems and processes vary greatly across

the 50 states. Whereas their report was not

positioned primarily as a demonstration of

collaboration, Hanlon and colleagues cited

collaboration as “key to surfacing and address-

ing the barriers to physical and mental health

coverage and care” (p. 15). They emphasize

that recommended practices such as screen-

ing, early identification, provider continuity,

interdisciplinary teaming, and empirically

supported interventions can all be achieved

under Medicaid when providers and systems

operate in coordination.

A fourth example of national interagency

collaboration is the Juvenile Justice Division

of the Child Welfare League of America

(CWLA). This project focuses on developing

a multisystem, integrated approach to service

delivery and program development (Tuell,

2008). The CWLA Juvenile Justice Division

has worked to help state and local jurisdic-

tions provide more cohesive services to ad-

judicated youth. Components of the CWLA

approach include identifying goals and

barriers, data collection, outcome evalua-

tion, and adherence to best practices—all

critical features of successful collaboration.

While the CWLA is the leader of the collab-

orative effort, there is an executive commit-

tee and a stakeholder-oversight committee,

both of which facilitate implementation of

CWLA objectives at sites across the country.

CWLA partners, while acknowledging the

need for multisystem collaboration, also

acknowledge the challenges that accompany

the implementation, coordination, and inte-

gration of services. Critical to their efforts

are the presence of a guiding, integrative

national entity and the partners at the state

and local levels.

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 445

Learning From Collaborations

What we can learn from collaborations is

constrained by the evaluation models used

to assess their successes. The descriptions

above suggest progress in the nature and extent

of collaboration, yet the evaluation designs

employed are largely descriptive and research

progress is yet to be reflected in the peer-

reviewed (scholarly) literature, a critical

benchmark. Assessment of adherence (fidelity)

to existing models of intervention or of the

collaboration itself is scant to nonexistent. (We

take up this point later.) Further, while the

examples above do reveal momentum toward

collaboration, they tend to focus on the part-

nership between juvenile justice and one key

stakeholder or system (i.e., education, health/

mental health, and child welfare). In order to

have a chance at success, youth in juvenile

justice need coordinated care that meets their

substantial needs from the moment of their

arrest, throughout their incarceration, and

during their parole in the community, all of

which fall under the jurisdiction of the juve-

nile justice system. In addition, there needs to

be a general consensus on what is considered

“success” for these youth: Is it not recidivat-

ing? Is it earning a high school diploma or a

college degree? Is it finding gainful employ-

ment? Independent housing? A family? Until

we can operationally define and measure

“success” for adjudicated youth, it will be

difficult to determine if we are making prog-

ress toward that outcome. For youth at risk,

the main goal is clear: avoid entry into the

system. A primary level of intervention re-

quires collaboration between the judicial sys-

tem, the health-care system (both mental and

physical health), the education system, and any

other service providers (e.g., child welfare,

substance abuse treatment). The challenge

that remains is to effect collaboration between

the juvenile justice system and all other sys-

tems that impact the lives of youth in juvenile

justice facilities: How can we get all of the

necessary agencies to overcome logistical, ter-

ritorial, and bureaucratic barriers to collabo-

rate and best serve this country’s most

vulnerable youth?

DIMENSIONS OF EFFECTIVE COLLABORATION:

RECOMMENDED PRACTICES

How can collaborative reform efforts of

national significance be undertaken within

a fragmented system that is populated by a

vastly diverse constellation of entities and

approaches; governed by federal, state, and

local legislative mandates; subject to inconsis-

tent or dwindling fiscal support; hampered by

a shifting mission, demonstrating a poor track

record; and subject to limited or ambivalent

public support? It is clear that collaboration is

necessary, desirable, and challenging. To be

successful, collaborations in juvenile justice

need to adhere to general principles as well

as attending to specific elements that reflect

the unique characteristics of the juvenile

justice environment.

General Guidelines and Processes

An examination of the collaboration literature

and a synthesis of the inherent benefits and

challenges of collaboration reveal some key

guidelines, processes, and procedures that are

summarized in Table 21.1. As mentioned

earlier, Thomson et al. (2007) validated five

dimensions of collaboration: governance, ad-

ministration, organizational autonomy, mutu-

ality, and norms. An explicit, prospective

approach must be taken to establishing and

revising these dimensions. Before involving all

446 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

levels of their organizations, leaders of collab-

orating agencies need to agree upon ground

rules for communication, negotiation, and

personnel roles. Sowa cautions that structures

and procedures that appear “similar in theory

or on paper may operate in significantly dif-

ferent ways when implemented, ways that

have important implications for the efficacy

of programs or services” (2008, p. 317).

Applying an existing collaborative model in

a new context may require thoughtful adapta-

tions that both tailor the intervention to local

need and maintain fidelity to the model. For

example, Jolivette and Nelson (2010) describe

contextual factors and adaptations to consider

in planning the implementation of PBIS

within secure facilities. These authors call for

a leadership team with representation across

systems, buildings, shifts, and staff from intake

workers to security. Members of the leadership

team need to secure “buy in” and establish a

common vernacular among diverse roles.

Gajda and Koliba (2007) state that success-

ful collaboration requires preparation, and the

first priority is the development of a sense of

shared purpose. These authors propose the

development of “communities of practice”

that develop into cycles of inquiry, involving

four components: dialogue, decision making,

action, and evaluation. Ongoing evaluation

should be conducted by a third party who is

integrally involved in all parts of the cycle of

inquiry. Before embarking on collaboration,

it is important to increase collaboration liter-

acy among stakeholders and to identify and

inventory individual and shared resources.

Once collaboration is initiated, the evaluator

is responsible to formatively assess quality

and development and to analyze outcomes

in close dialogue with participants (Gajda &

Koliba, 2007).

Wood and Gray (1991) propose the use of

a skilled convener who has both legitimate

expertise and interpersonal power, and who

employs a variety of tactics to promote a sense

of common purpose. Because of the risk that

intergroup bias will undermine the develop-

ment of a shared psychological ownership of

problems, it is critical to link the interests of

individuals and agencies to the superordinate

goals of the collaboration and to cast the

collaboration as a solution to mutual needs.

Within a given collaboration, it is common

for stakeholders to assume a “fixed pie” of

resources, that is to assume that resources are

static and limited, instead of adopting creative

Table 21.1. General Guidelines for Interagency and Cross-System Collaboration

& A prospective approach to establishing governance and administration and ensuring organizational autonomy while encouraging

compromise and shared vision

& Means to motivate and promote interagency norms of reciprocity and trust

& “Buy in” and visible support from organizational leadership

& Sufficient resources for training, support, and to ensure fidelity

& Mutual agreement on channels and frequency of communication, negotiation/compromise, and personnel roles

& A stagelike view of collaboration with dialogue, decision making, action, and evaluation

& Third party evaluation, both formative and summative, of processes and outcomes

& Leadership or co-leadership by a skilled convener with both role and personal power

& Rapport and consensus building activities at all levels of collaboration

& Flexible allocation and use of resources, and incentives for discovery and use of new resources and other explicit means of avoiding

“fixed pie” myth

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 447

and collaborative strategies to attain new re-

sources and use existing ones in novel ways

(Caruso et al., 2009).

Recommendations for Collaboration in Juvenile Justice

The limited success of juvenile justice to date

illustrates some principles that simply do not

work (Leone et al., 2002): single strategies,

categorical focus, fragmented services, and re-

active approaches. Distilling generic elements

of collaboration, considering the unique prob-

lems facing the juvenile justice community, and

recognizing the contributions of scholars and

practitioners to date, we recommend a series of

strategies and components.

Overarching Strategies We identify five overarching strategies to promote the likeli-

hood that collaborations will meet success in

the form of improved outcomes. First, a

preventive, proactive, public health framework

is critical to systems change in juvenile justice

(Leone et al., 2002; Myers & Farrell, 2008;

Nelson et al., 2010). That is, screening and

assessment of youth risks and problems is a

critical strategy across the continuum of youth

and family-serving entities and systems.

Second, a solid evidence base must form the

rationale for the inclusion of an intervention.

Third, interagency collaborations need to be

prospective, articulate a shared vision of prob-

lems and solutions, and incorporate evolving

knowledge about effective collaboration.

Fourth, universal and consistent data collection

systems are critical, and there needs to be a

core set of youth factors, intervention compo-

nents, and outcomes that are required within

funded initiatives. Fifth, evaluation needs to be

meaningfully and formatively embedded in

collaboration efforts. There are methodological

hurdles, but these are surmountable.

Recommended Components Any juve- nile justice collaboration that hopes to be

successful needs to adopt a planful, phaselike

approach. Critical elements of that approach

appear in Table 21.2 (Altschuler, Armstrong,

& Mackenzie, 1999; Andrews et al., 1990;

R. Axelsson & Axelsson, 2006; Lane &

Turner, 1999; Leone et al., 2002; Lipsey,

2009; Rosenheck et al., 1998; Soler, 1992;

Sowa, 2008;Wood & Gray, 1991).

As the table suggests, vigorous, healthy,

participatory leadership is critical to success of

cross-agency and cross-system collaboration,

but collaboration needs to be enacted at all

levels because shared endeavors often outlast

the tenure of leaders and participants. This

underscores the need for explicit develop-

ment of and respect for norms, communica-

tion and conflict resolution, and relationship

building from leadership to line participants.

Because collaboration may initially result

in perceived threat, opportunities for positive

interpersonal contact, consensus building,

cross-training, and program development

need to occur at multiple levels and include

community input. Figure 21.2 is a schematic

of the components and processes of collabo-

ration. It emphasizes a prospective approach

and ongoing monitoring of the components

of collaboration and the processes by which

they are achieved.

The Future: Shared Vision and Universal Commitment

We have little doubt that these strategies and

components are evident in current collabora-

tions. Achieving widespread, significant

change requires a national commitment

(FACJJ, 2009) and a context for implementa-

tion. Creating the context for systems change

requires efforts in policy, systems of care, and

information systems.

448 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

Policy For new and innovative collaborations to thrive, predictable, flexible funding is

needed. Policy changes are needed to eliminate

or reduce categorical funding requirements and

to revise confidentiality strictures to allow in-

formation sharing and cross-agency communi-

cation (while also protecting youth interests).

Public funding should require collaborations

to articulate their anticipated and actual level

of integration (e.g., networking, coordinating,

collaborating/partnership) with partners, to re-

port on the extent to which partnerships adhere

to recommended strategies for collaboration,

demonstrate fidelity to empirically supported

methods, and engage in coordinated evaluation

and reporting. Incentives are needed for the

dissemination of effective efforts, in the peer-

reviewed literature as well as in more transla-

tional and interdisciplinary outlets. As the field

evolves, it will be critical to “scale up” models

with demonstrated effectiveness, allowing

ample time for planning and implementation.

Additionally, information sharing, dissemina-

tion, and data systems will require fiscal support.

Table 21.2. Recommended Components of Collaborations in Juvenile Justice

Leadership Presence and Multilevel Input

Effective leadership that seeks input from all levels of organizations involved and solicits meaningful community input about local

problems and resources

Leaders attend interorganizational meetings and training sessions and participate actively in cross training and establishment of

norms

Leadership support for establishment and endorsement of clear goals, target population, fidelity, and baseline data

Organizational Commitment Evidenced By:

Prospective approach and universal participation

Explicit standards and methods for communication within and across collaborating agencies, including opportunities for “top down”

and “bottom up” information sharing

Time and fiscal support for staff involvement in the form of travel and time release, workload adjustments, etc.

Staff training to support novel roles and functions assumed under the collaboration (including increasing collaboration literacy)

Ensure generic collaboration literacy (e.g., effective strategies) and working knowledge of the norms, culture, and mandates of other

organizations (regulations), professions (e.g., jargon used by the courts, mental health professionals, corrections personnel, etc.), and

work environments (e.g., labor considerations)

Organizational staff take an active role in training personnel from other agencies regarding their work, professions, roles, jargon, etc.,

with emphasis on shared objectives

To minimize in-group bias, encouragement and support for cross-agency and system collaboration at all levels (e.g., meetings,

collaborative presentations and reports)

Data Collection, Evaluation, and Outcomes

Universal commitment to collecting and sharing data, with corresponding definitional clarity, data input methods and standards, and

periodic reporting; positive consequences for adherence to data protocols

Incentives for cross-agency and cross-system collaboration in service of dissemination (e.g., coauthored reports, publicly accessible

datasets for secondary data analysis)

Ongoing dialogue with third-party evaluators and openness to course corrections

Interventions

Consensus building on the use of research supported methods

An array of services that are responsive to the specific needs and risk factors apparent in the target population and reflect the

available systems of care

Emphasis on the family as the unit of intervention rather than a sole focus on the identified youth

Case management and youth support that includes “brokering” and advocacy for cross-categorical services and transition

Service integration at all levels, especially at top and at client level case management teams (e.g., MST and wraparound approaches)

Shared problem solving and resource building on ability to deliver evidence-based interventions throughout the multiple systems

(e.g., education, child welfare, mental health, juvenile justice) and contexts for youth care and supervision (school, community, JJRFs,

probation)

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 449

Systems of Care Efforts are needed to re- duce and remove interagency rivalries, and

these can be undertaken in advance of formal

collaborations. Examples include working

groups at the national, state, and local levels

and through professional organizations. For a

culture of collaboration to develop, collabora-

tion literacy is needed, along with additional

Figure 21.2 Schematic of Process of Collaboration

450 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

mechanisms for managing interagency com-

munication. Personnel preparation efforts and

staff training can more effectively shape per-

sonnel expectations to reflect cross-agency,

interdisciplinary, and cross-systems perspec-

tives. A climate of collaboration must include

openness to evaluation and data collection

efforts and a commitment to collective scru-

tiny of efforts.

Information Sharing, Data Systems, Research, and Dissemination Because a feedback loop is essential to creating, imple-

menting and replicating effective collabora-

tions (see Figure 21.2), a leadership group

comprised of public officials, researchers, pro-

viders, and technicians should be convened

to develop consensus on youth factors, inter-

vention elements, and outcomes to be moni-

tored. Such a panel might also establish

operational definitions for these variables, de-

fine the infrastructure needed to achieve them,

and develop and disseminate products to

communicate these standards.

Likewise, we advise the formation of an

evaluation advisory committee that includes

researchers, policy makers, funders, and prac-

titioners. Building on common definitions and

jointly derived outcomes, the group would

develop standards and guidelines for evaluating

juvenile justice change efforts, particularly

collaborative ones. Collaborative ventures

should employ models with demonstrated

success, assessing fidelity to the model as

part of evaluation. For example, we (Myers &

Farrell, 2008) and others (Hanlon et al., 2008)

have advocated the use of evidence-based

interventions such as MST and CBT. It is

possible to create multiphase, multicom-

ponent, multisite models in which the process

and products of collaboration are evaluated

within the research design. As such, the effec-

tiveness of MST can be evaluated within and

outside of formal collaborations, with site

and participant selection conducted according

to predetermined criteria (e.g., random,

matched) and incrementally across time (sites

or components are added in varying phases

of the project and events with potential to

threaten internal validity are monitored). The

use of untried interventions within collabora-

tions necessitate a more complex implementa-

tion plan and corresponding evaluation

components, but can be accommodated within

a careful, prospective evaluation plan.

CONCLUSION

The juvenile justice system, defined broadly to

include all youth serving systems, has multiple

opportunities to benefit youth at risk, those

with emerging and established problems, and

youth in detention, along with their families

and the larger society. There are evidence-

based interventions across primary, secondary,

and tertiary levels of intervention and these

can be leveraged successfully across contexts

ranging from schools and community clinics

to locked detention facilities. Realizing the

system’s potential to improve lives requires a

shared vision, universal commitment, and the

sustained effort of entities with their own

vested interests, histories, values, and guiding

principles. Collaborative efforts in juvenile

justice face a number of challenges and require

planning, human and material resources, data

collection, and evaluation. In spite of the

challenges, the evidence in this chapter sug-

gests that collaborative efforts in juvenile jus-

tice can indeed effect change beyond what any

single entity or system can hope to accomplish.

What remains to be done is the development

of a culture of collaboration, improved

surveillance, more widespread application of

evidence-based interventions, information

Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 451

sharing, abandonment of ineffective strategies,

and dissemination and scaling up of effective

approaches. This will require scrutiny, sacri-

fice, compromise, and hard work, but our

youth deserve no less.

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Collaboration in the Service of Better Systems for Youth 455

22 CHAPTER

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies

STAN SCHNEIDER AND LOLA SIMPSON

T his chapter highlights how the quality,

availability, and use of data can either

promote or impede the ability of human

services agencies to operate, plan, and make

sound decisions. Although the chapter’s focus

is on how juvenile justice agencies deal with

the challenges of deficient information sys-

tems, the strategies to address these challenges

are applicable to a wide range of human

service programs and agencies.

The chapter begins with a brief review of

the history of juvenile justice agencies, their

information systems, and their use of data, as

well as an introduction to the Juvenile Deten-

tion Alternatives Initiative (JDAI) (Mendel,

2009), which provides technical assistance to

some juvenile justice jurisdictions to create,

implement, and maintain effective informa-

tion systems. This background information

will provide the context for the subsequent

detailed analysis of the technical, logistical, and

resource challenges that must be addressed to

enable agencies to use data to make policy and

programmatic decisions. Important consider-

ations when using a data-driven approach to

decision making—one in which data are used

to inform changes in policies and practices at

each stage of a program’s development and

implementation—are also presented. Case

studies of three JDAI jurisdictions provide

examples of how the sites addressed challenges

by: (a) using data to assess policies and the

status of outcomes, (b) asking probing ques-

tions, (c) conducting further analyses if

needed, (d) identifying strengths and weak-

nesses of programs and practices, and (e) de-

fining and implementing programmatic

solutions. With this approach, the sites imple-

mented needed reforms and provided better

outcomes for the youth and communities that

they serve. The chapter concludes with a brief

discussion of future directions for data systems

development and implementation.

JUVENILE JUSTICE AGENCIES AND THEIR DATA SYSTEMS

As information systems technology has rapidly

advanced over the past 50 years, criminal and

juvenile justice agencies have undergone sub-

stantial transformations in how they maintain

and use data. Starting in the 1960s, most state

and local criminal and juvenile justice agen-

cies, which had previously maintained exclu-

sively paper files, experienced a dramatic

increase in information processing capacity

when mainframe computer systems were de-

veloped to automate basic information proc-

essing tasks. [The term mainframe is generally

used to describe any large, institutional

456

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

computer that is compatible with computer

architecture designed in the 1960s, such as the

IBM System/360 that was launched in 1965

(Ebbers, O’Brien, & Ogden, 2006)]. Main-

frames have massive capacity for data storage

and are typically used by government agencies

or large businesses to quickly process high

volumes of data.

By increasing automation, mainframe

computer systems significantly improved agen-

cies’ capacities for data analysis and reporting.

Although they reduce agencies’ reliance on

maintaining paper files, which is time consum-

ing and inefficient to manage, mainframes do

not lend themselves to efficient use of data in

day-to-day operations (Morton, 2001). Perhaps

the most substantial problem with these systems

is that, because they are designed to address the

operational needs of a single agency, they

operate by integrating information vertically

within an agency, not horizontally with systems

in other agencies (Marks, 2003). In general,

information is not automatically exchanged

between mainframe systems, and even discrete

data transfers or information requests between

systems are sometimes impossible because of

different technological standards, such as com-

puter language and content format (Marks,

2003). Until the 1980s, not only did juvenile

justice agencies seldom share information, but

many maintained substantially less data than

they do today. Courts tended to be the main

repository for juvenile justice data because

they were the only agency legally required to

collect and maintain information about juvenile

cases (Etten & Petrone, 1994); other juvenile

justice agencies often had to collect their

own data or go without, in part due to the

lack of capacity for data exchange with main-

frame computers.

In the past 10–20 years, these mainframe

computer systems have increasingly been

replaced by integrated information systems

that can maintain data from several depart-

ments within an organization and further im-

prove data quality and facilitate data analysis

and sharing of information within and be-

tween agencies. For example, an integrated

information system for JDAI may include data

from juvenile court intake, probation intake,

detention admission, and programs offering

alternatives to detention. Despite the intro-

duction of integrated information systems,

agencies must overcome a number of obstacles

so that data are readily available to use for

assessment, planning, and accountability; to

inform day-to-day use by caseworkers; and

to share with other legitimate agencies that

provide related services.

The inability to share information, either

between departments in the same agency or

across agencies, has often prevented agencies

from reaching their goals, such as providing

better services or monitoring juvenile offend-

ers in the justice system. Service delivery by

agencies that serve the same youth and family

populations may remain fragmented due to

challenges related to system fragmentation,

lack of data sharing, inadequate analytical

personnel, and lack of quality controls. These

agencies often lack the ability to effectively

plan, monitor, and evaluate efforts to attain

youth and family outcomes, or hold account-

able the community-based organizations that

receive government funding. These challenges

can also have devastating consequences. For

example, an assessment of Minnesota’s crimi-

nal and juvenile justice information systems in

the 1990s found that information systems

statewide contained incomplete records and

substantial gaps in information, in part due to

the inability of agencies and departments to

share information related to criminal records.

The incomplete records impeded the investi-

gation of a suspect who went on to commit a

murder–kidnapping in 1999, inciting public

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 457

outrage about the quality of information man-

agement and sharing statewide (Morton, 2001).

Recognition of these kinds of challenges has

provided the impetus for several juvenile justice

jurisdictions to invest in improved information

systems and data sharing protocols.

Although many of the challenges and

solutions described in this chapter are related

to the experiences of JDAI and its sites, they

are applicable to a wide range of human

services agencies that depend on data to estab-

lish policies and make programmatic decisions.

THE JUVENILE DETENTION ALTERNATIVES INITIATIVE

In December 1992, the Annie E. Casey Foun-

dation launched JDAI, a multi-year, multi-site

project to demonstrate that juvenile justice

jurisdictions can establish more effective and

efficient systems to accomplish the purposes of

juvenile detention. Based on its positive early

experience in Broward County, Florida, the

Foundation made the decision to invest con-

siderable fiscal resources and Foundation staff

time to develop and implement the initiative

in other jurisdictions. The decision to move

forward with the project was also given impe-

tus by the rapidly increasing number of youth

being held in secure detention nationally.

Nationwide each year, police make 2.2 million

juvenile arrests. Of these, 1.7 million cases are

referredtojuvenilecourts;anestimated400,000

young people cycle through juvenile detention

centers; and nearly 100,000 youth are confined

in juvenile jails, prisons, boot camps, and other

residentialfacilitiesonanygivennight(AnnieE.

Casey Foundation, 2008, p. 6). Jurisdictions

apply to participate in the Initiative, and those

that are selected receive modest grant support

from the Foundation for training, planning,

and coordination, as well as an elaborate mix

of technical support, staff training, resource

materials, and opportunities to learn from a

growing network of other JDAI reform sites.

JDAI helps sites to increase their capacity

to collect and use data to assess the state of

juvenile detention, plan and develop policies,

and evaluate outcomes. Sites use these data in

working toward JDAI’s five objectives for

reform in the juvenile justice system:

1. Decrease the number of youth offend-

ers unnecessarily or inappropriately

detained.

2. Reduce the number of youth who fail

to appear for a scheduled court

appointment, or reoffend pending

adjudication.

3. Redirect public funds toward effective

juvenile justice processes and public

safety strategies.

4. Reduce the disproportionate minor-

ity confinement and contact of the

juvenile justice system.

5. Improve conditions in secure deten-

tion facilities.

JDAI began operations in five jurisdic-

tions, known as “sites,” that served as learning

partners and worked with the Foundation to

test the hypotheses of the Initiative. These

sites’ experiences helped to shape and direct

the Initiative as it moved toward further de-

velopment and wider implementation. By

2009, JDAI reform efforts were underway in

more than 100 sites in 24 states and the District

of Columbia. It is estimated that JDAI is

now operational in sites that cumulatively

are responsible for almost 75% of the country’s

detained population (Mendel, 2009; see, e.g.,

Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday, Chapter 20,

this volume).

Sites that receive a JDAI grant agree to

limit secure detention to those youth who are

458 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

likely to reoffend and/or miss their court dates

if not detained. Thus, sites need data at the

outset of their participation in JDAI to char-

acterize detention utilization, inform deci-

sions regarding changes in policy and

practice, and assess the results of those deci-

sions. Many sites begin JDAI with less than

ideal information systems and with data that

are incomplete or invalid. Moreover, the sites

have neither the time nor the resources to

develop and implement the ideal information

system. In fact, in the beginning, sites tended

to base their policies on anecdotal information

rather than on data (Busch, 1999).

Metis Associates—a research and evalua-

tion firm based in New York City—is among a

number of technical assistance providers work-

ing with JDAI sites on specific topics. Metis

provides customized technical assistance to

local JDAI “team leaders”—retired judges,

prosecutors, attorneys, policy makers, and

probation officers—and helps to address the

sites’ needs for computer-infrastructure assist-

ance, data quality assurance, and human re-

sources to manage and interpret data.

CHALLENGES TO USING A DATA-DRIVEN APPROACH TO DECISION MAKING

It is important for juvenile justice agencies to

use data to guide assessment and planning,

inform their actions and strategies at key de-

cision points—including, for example, law

enforcement referrals or arrests, court intake

and petition filing, juvenile hearings, and de-

tention admission—and make appropriate and

timely referrals to other agencies for coordi-

nated treatment and services. However, these

agencies, and others that serve youth, face a

variety of challenges—technical and logistical

issues and lack of resources—in this regard.

Although most juvenile justice jurisdictions

use data from their computer information

systems to prepare reports on the numbers

and characteristics of youth in their systems,

they do not regularly use the data to inform

and guide policy decisions (Busch, 1999; see

Butts & Roman, Chapter 24, this volume).

The data are also not regularly obtained from,

or shared with, other agencies to promote “the

interagency collaboration that is at the heart of

juvenile justice reform” (Busch, 1999, p. 12),

which can lead to “resentment between

agency staff, duplication of data collection

efforts, and a breakdown in communications

and functioning of the juvenile justice system”

(Etten & Petrone, 1994, p. 65).

The challenges described next are com-

mon to JDAI sites and are illustrative of the

limitations and difficulties often faced by other

public agencies.

Fragmented Systems That Are Not Designed to Effectively Integrate Data

Several state and local systems’ (e.g., the juve-

nile court system) JDAI sites are undergoing

major, multi-year conversions to new and

upgraded information systems. However,

lengthy delays in developing and implement-

ing the new systems and difficulties associated

with obtaining data from different depart-

ments (e.g., detention and probation), can

create confusion for sites regarding how

they can access and manage information

contained in different information systems.

In addition, the data systems that agencies

now have were not developed for the system-

atic examination of youth in detention, which

is now required by juvenile justice agencies

and JDAI.

One common problem is the presence of

“system smokestacks”—multiple information

systems that do not share data with each other,

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 459

thereby increasing costs and creating in-

efficiencies such as increased case processing

time. This problem particularly pertains to

large, mainframe information systems that

exist throughout human services agencies.

Thus, statewide initiatives such as JDAI strive

to influence the development of statewide

systems and the data they will contain, as

well as how those data will be defined.

Until their information systems can

be improved, some JDAI sites are using

“workaround” approaches, such as simple

Excel spreadsheets, so they can begin imme-

diately using data for their JDAI work. For

example, some sites use spreadsheets to main-

tain data on detention admissions that can be

partitioned by various indicators, such as race/

ethnicity. The data in these spreadsheets can be

merged with information from other databases

to create a more complete case record.

Inefficiencies Resulting From Lack of Data Sharing and Duplicative Data Collection

Because youth in the juvenile justice system

often have multiple presenting needs and

underlying problems, a variety of outside agen-

cies maybeinvolvedwiththeseyouthincluding

agencies that provide social services (e.g., child

welfare), probation, mental health, substance

abuse prevention and treatment, education, and

employment preparation. Staff at these agencies

are often overwhelmed by the size and com-

plexity of their caseloads and struggle to find

time to carry out their responsibilities; their

efforts would be more efficient were there

greater coordination within and across multiple

agencies (Howell, Kelly, Palmer, & Magnum,

2004; see Farrell & Myers, Chapter 21, this

volume; Ross & Miller, Chapter 17, this vol-

ume). However, a core problem associated with

each agency’s current information system is that

it contains both data that are common across

multiple agencies as well as data that are idio-

syncratic for the youth served within that

particular agency.

Inefficiencies arise and extra costs are

incurred when multiple agencies collect and

maintain the same data. Although the creation

and implementation of an integrated informa-

tion system—one that holds data across de-

partments within an agency as well as across

agencies—can be costly and time consuming,

agencies with such systems have enjoyed many

benefits of optimal information sharing.

Indeed, the sharing of these data provides

agencies and service providers with a more

complete and accurate picture of the charac-

teristics, strengths, and needs of the youth

being served, so that treatments, services,

and referrals can be adjusted accordingly. In

addition, the time for data collection and entry

is substantially reduced because redundant data

collection and entry across agencies is elimi-

nated, leaving frontline staff more time to deal

directly with the youth for whom they are

responsible. As stated by Etten and Petrone,

“Because of overlapping goals of juvenile jus-

tice agencies, there are overlapping informa-

tion needs among these agencies. As expected,

with little or no information sharing between

agencies in many jurisdictions, several agencies

collect the same data” (1994, p. 45). Eliminat-

ing redundant data collection and entry can

also reduce unnecessary staffing costs and

lower the chances of data entry error. Even

in jurisdictions that previously managed to

share information between multiple agencies

while maintaining separate stand-alone infor-

mation systems, the data sharing process has

generally been streamlined by using an inte-

grated computer system. In fact, the immedi-

ate and seamless automated data-sharing

processes of integrated systems are generally

less labor and resource intensive than data

460 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

transfers that are arranged between two stand-

alone systems (Morton, 2001).

Inadequate Quality Control Procedures to Ensure That Data Are Complete and Accurate

The quality of data is directly linked to both

the quality of the information systems and

personnel and to the importance placed on

data quality in the local organizational culture.

For example, some new JDAI sites face chal-

lenges related to missing cases or missing key

data—such as geographic coding, average

daily population (ADP), average length of

stay (ALOS), and outcomes information asso-

ciated with alternatives to detention (ATD)

programs—that are required to conduct JDAI

work. In other cases, these data may only exist

in paper form.

In addition, rigorous quality control pro-

cedures must be developed and applied to the

data processing life cycle—particularly data

entry—where errors can be introduced. A

data dictionary that describes each variable,

its location in various systems, its legitimate

codes, the data ranges, and other key items is

an important component of a quality control

procedure. It is also important for the infor-

mation system to check for matches on the

case name and unique case ID number, and for

agency staff to develop a process for identify-

ing duplicated cases and determining the cause

of the problem.

Lack of Standardization of Data Variables

The quality of data is a product of the systems

through which the data are collected

and managed, and the data collected by

JDAI are no exception. Changing from older

mainframe systems to one integrated system

can affect the information, even if the

change improves the collection and manage-

ment of data.

Because JDAI is a data-driven initiative,

sites must rely on a proper information system

at the beginning of their involvement with the

initiative; when system changes do occur, their

effects on data need to be understood and

factored into the interpretation of findings.

For example, when the systems used by JDAI

sites are improved and data become more

complete and accurate, the ADP of youth in

detention might increase strictly as a conse-

quence of changes in the computer system,

even if a site has made programmatic changes

that should result in a reduction in ADP. It

is therefore essential that sites make consistent

use of the definitions of JDAI indicators,

and exceptions should require some form of

approval and always be noted as metadata.

Lack of standardization in defining and report-

ing data can also adversely affect an agency’s

ability to detect trends over time and conduct

comparisons.

Insufficient Analytical Personnel to Analyze and Interpret Data

Juvenile justice agencies often lack staff with

adequate training and experience to extract,

analyze, interpret, and display data. Agencies

should develop a written job description that

specifies these requisite skills and should be

able to certify that a person/persons with these

skills will be available, either through internal

staff or external consultants.

Often, the best approach for quickly ac-

quiring technical support is to seek assistance

from a local source, such as a university/college

faculty member with expertise in juvenile

justice research and analysis. In some cases,

local JDAI site coordinators, who are local staff

hired to implement JDAI reform efforts, have

become more involved in data analysis as a

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 461

consequence of bringing in local consulting

support. For example, a local criminal justice

advocacy group has been helping one JDAI site

coordinator to analyze and review case-level

data to identify discrepancies. In these situa-

tions, it is important to develop a memorandum

of understanding with the external resource

that clarifies the resource’s roles and responsi-

bilities, work tasks, deliverables, and timelines,

and that also includes statements about data

ownership and confidentiality protection.

Reluctance and/or Inability of Stakeholders to Use Data to Make Program Changes

Even when agencies have access to basic data

and sufficient data analysis capacity, stakeholder

partners often lack the will or capability to make

changes in policy and practice on the basis

of quantitative findings, or to perform more

in-depth analyses of the data to gain further

insight regarding a given problem or condition.

IMPORTANT CONSIDERATIONS WHEN USING A DATA-DRIVEN

APPROACH TO DECISION MAKING

The challenges previously noted must be met

before attempting to implement a data-

driven approach to decision making. Once

that is done, however, the following consid-

erations must be addressed to construct a

quality system.

Ensure the Confidentiality of Case-Level Data

Agencies that seek to integrate information

systems and share data may face legal barriers

related to confidentiality. Juvenile justice

agencies, for example, generally must abide

by a constellation of federal, state, and local

laws regarding sharing juvenile records. Most

state laws require that juvenile records be kept

confidential and shared only with the juvenile,

his or her family, and the agency itself except

under specific circumstances. Additionally, the

circumstances under which juvenile records

may be shared vary substantially from state to

state. The array of state and local laws govern-

ing data sharing can be confusing, leading

some agency staff to unfortunately avoid

information sharing altogether, even when it

is legal and appropriate (Etten & Petrone,

1994). Based on their review of federal and

state legal barriers to sharing information,

many of which deal with the issue of confi-

dentiality, Etten and Petrone (1994) concluded

that “there are very few legal barriers to

information sharing among juvenile justice

agencies, but instead the barriers are often a

product of long-standing agency practice and

mistrust among agencies” (p. 79). Etten and

Petrone refer to this embedded reluctance to

share information within and across agencies

as information territorialism.

In response to the complex array of infor-

mation sharing laws that can prevent the

exchange of juvenile justice data, the U.S.

Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention (2009) has authorized the devel-

opment of an online resource outlining juve-

nile information guidelines for each state,

called the State Statutes on Juvenile Interagency

Information and Record Sharing. This Web site is

designed to assist state and local officials in

understanding their state’s requirements for

information sharing.

Analyze and Interpret Data to Inform Policy and Management Decisions

Complete, accurate, and timely data can help

decision makers better understand who is

462 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

served by their agency; the nature of their living

conditions; the treatments and services being

provided; and the discernible impact of those

conditions, treatments, and services on their

well-being. When these data are not readily

available to decision makers, decisions are made

anecdotally or in a crisis-driven manner. As

Busch (1999) observes, “The harder it is to

generate reports, the less useful an information

system is to policy-makers” (p. 39).

Even when complete, accurate, and

timely data are available, it is not always easy

to correctly interpret their meaning. The

correct interpretation requires appropriately

framing the questions to be answered or the

hypotheses to be tested. For example, if a

jurisdiction suspects that race may be a factor

in the treatment and degree of success of youth

in its juvenile justice system, it might seek

information on any disparate treatment or

results at various decision points in the system.

If there appears to be disparate treatment or

results, this could lead to further investigation

and dialogue with staff members to determine

if race was a factor in decisions made at that

decision point.

A broad systems view is also required of

those who make agency decisions and set pol-

icy. Such a systems view requires “a shift from

thinking about individual cases and somewhat

vague generalities to thinking about how real

changes in decision making would affect real

groups of youth” (Busch, 1999, p. 37).

Sharing Data From Systems for Real-Time Use in Making Day-to-Day Decisions

Juvenile justice agencies have begun to recog-

nize the value of sharing information for

improving their work, especially at decision

points (Roberts, 2004). Instances where jus-

tice professionals can benefit from timely ac-

cess to other agencies’ information systems

abound. For example, a probation officer

needs to know about a youth’s history of

program placements in order to decide which

program to recommend. A judge needs to

know information about an individual’s prior

arrests and convictions when making decisions

at a juvenile hearing, and a judge also must

know a youth’s history of running away and

failing to appear for court dates when deciding

whether to detain him or her at pre-trial

(Etten & Petrone, 1994). Furthermore, inves-

tigators have often suggested that cases could

be solved more efficiently if they had access to

related information held by other agencies and

neighboring jurisdictions (Mitchell, 2008). A

final example is that law enforcement officers

responding to a 911 call from a particular

address often need to know information about

prior incidents at that home and the criminal

records of the individuals residing there (Mor-

ton, 2001). In short, integrated information

systems can lead to better overall quality of

operations across agencies.

Information sharing is most useful when

information can be accessed immediately and

regardless of location. In addition, information

should be available to those staff members who

are responsible for decisions and actions at key

decision points. At each point in the decision-

making process, information regarding that

decision needs to be available to the staff

who will be making further decisions, which

is challenging when the data reside in other

agencies’ information systems. A reasonable

level of interagency trust and communication

is needed to ensure cross-agency data sharing

to help staff make more informed decisions.

Case Studies: Agencies Working Through System-Related Challenges

This section of the chapter offers illustrative

examples of successful JDAI sites that have

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 463

used data to assess progress, identify program

and practice strengths and weaknesses, and

define and implement solutions. In each

case, stakeholders were on board and commit-

ted to JDAI goals. The necessary in-depth

analyses were driven by the data and led by

site personnel—either internally or exter-

nally—who understood how to interpret

and organize data in meaningful ways. These

personnel were also capable of providing di-

rection and coaching to the stakeholders about

what the data suggest. To some extent, each of

these agencies and their stakeholders valued

data; invested in computer systems, analytical

personnel resources, and quality controls to

improve data validity; and developed inter-

agency data-sharing agreements with related

agencies, such as law enforcement agencies,

schools, and child welfare agencies in the case

of JDAI. This framework can be adopted in

almost any organization that relies on data to

inform policy and practice changes.

The JDAI Approach JDAI begins with a systematic assessment of each site’s data man-

agement and utilization capacity in its first year

of JDAI implementation. The assessment

covers the information systems available to

organize and manage the data needed for

detention reform; the site’s in-house analytical

resources and capacity to collect, analyze,

and interpret data; and the site’s ability to

produce reports and analyses partitioned

by gender, race/ethnicity, and geographic

location. Figure 22.1 shows JDAI’s approach

to using data to address challenges as presented

at the workshop on Using Data Reports to Affect

Policy, Practice, and Community Good Will at the

JDAI National Inter-Site Conference in 2008.

Technical assistance providers offer advice

and support for using a Risk Assessment In-

strument (RAI), also referred to in some sites

as a Detention Risk Assessment Instrument

(DRAI), which is used to objectively screen

youth to determine the likelihood that the

Figure 22.1 The Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative Approach to Addressing Challenges

Define and implement programmatic solutions

Assess the work and status of outcomes through data reports and analyses

Ask probing questions about the data

Identify practice and program strengths and weaknesses based on the data analysis

Conduct further analyses (dig down) when needed

1

2

5

3

4

Source: From Using Data Reports to Affect Policy, Practice, and Community Good Will facilitated by L. Simpson at the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile

Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

464 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

youth will be arrested again if released from

detention; manage and utilize data; and iden-

tify and address racial and ethnic disparities.

Metis Associates is one of the technical assist-

ance providers for data management and data

utilization and works closely with the JDAI

team leaders and other site personnel to help

them manage and use data, prepare reports and

analyses to examine reform changes, and mon-

itor progress.

The three JDAI sites presented as case

studies in this chapter were selected because

they not only have the proper computer sys-

tems and resources to effectively collect and

manage data, but they also exemplify the JDAI

approach to using data to address challenges.

The examples illustrate how the sites used data

to identify detention-related policies and prac-

tices that can reduce inappropriate detention

and lead to less costly alternatives to detention.

The experiences of these sites are instructive

because they exemplify the rewards of having

an adequate information system infrastructure,

a focus on data quality, and a culture that values

data for program assessment, planning and

decision making.

Case Study 1: Norfolk, Virginia The Norfolk, Virginia, Department of Juvenile Justice began

implementing JDAI in Fall 2005. The Norfolk

Court Service Unit is under the state Depart-

ment of Juvenile Services, and the Norfolk

Juvenile Detention Center is managed locally.

Both the Norfolk Court Service Unit and the

Detention Center use the statewide, integrated

Juvenile Tracking System (JTS). This system has

been in use since the mid-1990s, and over the

years has gone through many enhancements. 1

When the site began JDAI, it was expe-

riencing chronic and severe overcrowding.

Its goals as a JDAI site were to guarantee public

safety by ensuring that the youth appear in

court, ensure that the right youth are detained

for the right amount of time, improve condi-

tions of confinement, and eliminate over-

crowding. As shown in Table 22.1, the

percentage of youth in detention in 2005

due to violations of probation (VOP) was

31%, compared to 23% for misdemeanors,

41% for felonies, and 4% for contempt of

court for failure to appear.

In addition, detention admissions had

peaked before fiscal year 2005 at 754. Table

22.2 shows that African American youth com-

prised 89% of the population in detention for

VOP (versus 57% of the overall youth popula-

tion in Norfolk, Virginia), in contrast with

White youth, who comprised 10% of the pop-

ulation in detention for VOP (versus 36% of the

overall youth population in Norfolk, Virginia).

Based on these statistics, the Norfolk site

began its work in JDAI by focusing on three

strategies: (1) updating the admissions policy

by modifying use of Norfolk’s Detention

1 Claudette Overton (2008), the director of Norfolk

Court Service Unit presented this case study at the

JDAI National Inter-Site Conference in 2008.

Table 22.1. Secure Detention: Percentage of ADP by Offense Type: Norfolk, Virginia

Fiscal Year Felonies Misdemeanors Violations

Contempt of Court for

Failure to Appear

2003 35.6% 23.0% 32.8% 4.1%

2004 39.3% 23.1% 30.1% 4.7%

2005 40.7% 23.3% 30.8% 3.8%

Source: From Data-Driven Management: An Effective Strategy for Management Juveniles, Programs, Services, and Other Resources. Presented by C. Overton at

the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 465

Assessment Instrument (DAI), (2) using data to

drive decision making, and (3) ensuring strong

and effective collaboration by establishing a

steering committee. The steering committee,

which includes 30 high-ranking officials with

policy-making authority to oversee the deten-

tion reform process, provides a system of

communication, coordination, and collabora-

tion, and approves the detention vision, goals,

and work plans. Subcommittees include 50

supervisors and line staff with specialized

knowledge who are charged with making

recommendations to the steering committee.

In the 4 years since beginning JDAI, the site

has made substantial progress. In the first year,

the site reduced overcrowding. In the second

year, it eliminated overcrowding, implemented

comprehensive screening procedures, worked

on reducing the number of charges for failure to

appear, added a court expeditor to help ease

bottlenecks in processing youth, and revised its

VOP policy. The site uses a statewide, inte-

grated computerized information system and

has adequate personnel to support data analysis,

submit required JDAI reports, and use data to

examine and monitor progress.

To reduce the number of youth charged

for violating probation, the Department:

& Made rigorous use of a formalized

system of graduated sanctions and

incentives;

& Ensured the timely response to

violations; & Made better use of community-based

services; & Implemented an administrative re-

view by supervisors; & Required supervisory approval for

detainment and recommendation

on court dates; & Introduced mandatory risk screening

at intake using the DAI; & Required violations to be filed on

youth charged as absent without leave

(AWOL) or for misdemeanors within

48 hours and for youth charged with

felonies within 24 hours; and & Made recommendations for using less

restrictive alternatives to detention.

Likely as a result of these changes in VOP

policy, there was a 63% reduction in VOP

filings, from a high of 244 in 2004 to 90 in

2008 (Figure 22.2). By 2008, there was a 100%

reduction in the number of days of overcap-

acity from the high in 2004 of 321 days

(Figure 22.3). The site was much more data

driven and had achieved sustainability with

regard to improvements and progress resulting

from changes in admissions policies and

practices.

Upon reviewing the site’s quarterly data,

the Court Service Unit director, the JDAI

Table 22.2. Probation Violations by Race: Norfolk, Virginia

Group Probation Violation Holds

Norfolk’s Youth Population

(Ages 10–17)

American Indian � 1% 0.4% Asian � 1% 2.7% African American 89% 57.0%

Hispanic � 1% 3.8% White 10% 36.2%

Total 100% (N ¼ 226) 100% (N ¼ 24,311)

Source: From Data-Driven Management: An Effective Strategy for Management Juveniles, Programs, Services, and Other Resources. Presented by C. Overton at

the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

466 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

site coordinator, and other staff including

managers and an analyst, began to notice an

increase in the ALOS for youth held on

probation violations in 2007 after the initial

VOP policy was implemented. Following a

preliminary review of some of the relevant

data, the Norfolk work group began to analyze

the length of stay of probation violators by:

Figure 22.3 Secure Detention: Trend in Number of Days over Capacity: Norfolk, Virginia

284

321

235

44 39

00

50

100

150

200

250

300

350

2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008

Year

N u m

b e r

o f D

a ys

o ve

r C

a p a ci

ty

Source: From Data-Driven Management: An Effective Strategy for Management Juveniles, Programs, Services, and Other Resources. Presented by C. Overton at

the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

Figure 22.2 Trends in Probation Violations: Norfolk, Virginia

226.1

164

110

90

244238230

0

50

100

150

200

250

300

2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008

Year

P ro

b a tio

n V

io la

tio n s

Source: From Data-Driven Management: An Effective Strategy for Management Juveniles, Programs, Services, and Other Resources. Presented by C. Overton at

the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 467

& Creating a work group of supervisors

and line staff; & Examining scores from the DAI; & Examining the youth’s initial charges; & Examining who was filing the charges

(e.g., probation officer/supervisor); & Determining who the judge was; & Determining if a written plan of ac-

tion was prepared by the probation

officer and submitted to the judge at

the hearing; & Examining how many youth were

AWOL; & Examining the factors that impacted

the length of stay; & Consulting other court service units

on AWOLs; and & Receiving input from the detention

utilization subcommittee.

Figure 22.4 presents ALOS over time. A

review of the data showed that the probation

officers’ practices varied across locations where

they worked. Three quarters of the youth held

on VOP filings were youth who were AWOL

when the VOP was filed, regardless of their

DAI score, and when the youth were even-

tually picked up, they were placed in deten-

tion. Only 25% of these cases had a plan

submitted to the court at the initial hearing,

resulting in youth staying longer in detention.

These findings led the Court Service Unit

staff to revise the first VOP policy and develop

a sanction grid as a guide to address probation

violations and other issues of noncompliance.

Input was sought from probation officers

through focus groups, and trained probation

officers on the revised policy, how to use the

new sanction grid, and when it is appropriate

to file a violation against a youth on probation.

By 2008, the site’s third year of JDAI imple-

mentation, the average length of stay on VOP

cases decreased from 33 days in 2007 to 28 days

(Figure 22.4). This is still considered too long,

and the site continues to use data to monitor

changes in these policies and practices.

The site also examined the number of

youth who failed to appear for their court

Figure 22.4 Secure Detention: Trend in ALOS on Probation Violations: Norfolk, Virginia

36 37 35 35 33

28

0

10

20

30

40

50

2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008

Year

A L O

S o

n P

ro b a tio

n V

io la

tio n s

Source: From Data-Driven Management: An Effective Strategy for Management Juveniles, Programs, Services, and Other Resources. Presented by C. Overton at

the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

468 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

dates. A more in-depth analysis of the data

showed that when summonses were issued to

the youth, no notification was given to the

parent by the arresting officer, and no effort was

made by the arresting officer or Court Service

Unit staff to contact the parents. Staff also used

data from the detention report to determine

that there had been a substantial reduction in

contempt of court/violate court orders.

Clark County, Nevada The Clark County, Nevada, Department of Juvenile Justice Ser-

vices (DJJS) began JDAI in 2003. DJJS uses

FamilyTRACS, an automated case manage-

ment application that is used for multiple

purposes by multiple agencies. This system

holds all case-related data on youth at all stages

of their involvement with DJJS and is the

primary source of data for reports that support

JDAI reform efforts. The JDAI site coordina-

tor is a member of the Department’s manage-

ment team and also sits on all JDAI-related

committees, creating an organic flow of infor-

mation among all internal and external stake-

holders. In addition, he has a background in

juvenile justice, probation, and data analysis, as

well as experience teaching at one of the most

severely “at-risk” high schools in Las Vegas. 2

A review of the data from the site’s first

quarter in JDAI (January to March 2007)

raised a question regarding racial disparity in

the ADP of youth in detention. The data

showed that Hispanic youth represented

37% of the total ADP, which was an 18%

increase from the previous quarter and a sub-

stantially higher proportion compared to

White and African American youth for the

same period. The management team con-

ducted a yearlong monthly trend analysis of

the ADP, disaggregated by gender and race/

ethnicity, to determine why and how this

disparity occurred and if the finding was a

regularly occurring trend. The trend analysis

revealed that the Hispanic population in de-

tention closely followed the school calendar;

detention admissions for these youth showed

the greatest increases shortly after the begin-

ning of each new semester. The committee

on disproportionate minority confinement

(DMC) took on the issue, and met with

representatives from juvenile probation,

intake, booking, and the interpreter’s office

to establish hypotheses regarding the disparity.

A monthly detention population report

partitioned by gender, race/ethnicity, and

charge showed that Hispanic youth consti-

tuted 47% of cases with bench warrants issued

by a judge (e.g., for failure to appear). The

DMC and management team agreed that there

was a disparity for Hispanic youth, and then

began to investigate the bench warrants. Their

analysis first examined the proportion of war-

rants issued, dismissed, and served over a

1-year period, and then examined identifiable

trends over a 5-year period. This analysis led to

the creation of a process for examining deten-

tion use, issues related to DMC, and racial and

ethnic disparities. In conducting these analy-

ses, the management team and committee had

to overcome their “culture of politeness” and

start asking probing questions (Table 22.3),

even if some of the questions regarding race

were uncomfortable.

The next step in the site’s investigation was

to carefully examine the county’s demo-

graphics by reviewing data from the school

district. Using these data, the team was able to

show that there had not been a dramatic

increase in the population of Hispanic youth

in the jurisdiction. In fact, the data showed

that Hispanic youth ages 8–17 accounted for

just 29% of the district’s student body but

2 Michael Walker (2008), the JDAI site coordinator and

management analyst, presented this case study at the

JDAI National Inter-Site Conference in 2008.

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 469

accounted for 35% of the referrals and 47% of

the bench warrants (Figure 22.5).

Again challenging what they came to see

as their culture of politeness, the management

team asked more specific, probing questions

and conducted an in-depth analysis to answer

the following questions:

& Where are the referrals coming from? & Who lives in these neighborhoods?

& What other factors might be influ-

encing the situation?

The first step in answering these questions

was to map the home zip codes for all youth

with bench warrants in the past year and

examine any other factors that might contrib-

ute to the racial disparity (Figure 22.6).

The team also used other indicators from

the following sources to geocode the map:

Table 22.3. Asking the Right Questions: Clark County, Nevada

JDAI Begins the Probe DMC Deepens the Probe

Who’s at the front doors of the system

(detention?)

Who exactly is over-represented in the system?

What do we know about them?

Why are they there? Are system policies and practices biased and/or

subjective?

Are policy and program decisions data-driven?

How long do they stay? (LOS) How long is the judicial process?

Is there disparity in LOS for kids of color?

Why?

Source: From Developing DMC Strategies: Using Data and Geo-Mapping. Presented by M. Walker at the Annie E. Casey

Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

Figure 22.5 Comparison of Racial/Ethnic Demographics for School District Population and Referrals to

Detention: Clark County, Nevada

School District Population Ages 8–17 by Race/Ethnicity

Black 13%

Hispanic 29%

Other 7%

White 51%

Annual Referrals to Detention by Race/Ethnicity

Black 33%

Hispanic 35%

Other 4%

White 28%

Source: From Developing DMC Strategies: Using Data and Geo-Mapping. Presented by M. Walker at the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention

Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

470 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

& Statistics from DJJS, Clark County

School District, Department of Fam-

ily Services, and U.S. Census Bureau; & Juvenile arrests; & Attendance and dropout rates; & Abuse and neglect referrals; and & Socioeconomic indicators.

The team used these data to develop a

summary risk assessment chart to identify the

most at-risk youth in Las Vegas for the DJJS to

target for prevention and intervention pro-

grams. The findings from the geocoding con-

firmed the site’s anecdotal beliefs and

stereotypes about some of the neighborhoods

where the youth live. Staff members in the

department were able to work with commu-

nity organizations from those neighborhoods

without creating distance and distrust. By

showing the organizations that the department

staff were considering social and economic

risk factors, such as felony referrals, high

school dropout rates, child protective services

referrals, and socioeconomics indicators, they

removed the subjectivity and were able to

quantify and identify at-risk youth in a way

that was less judgmental.

Once the DMC committee understood

more about the youth with bench warrants,

including where they lived and what other

factors were involved in their cases, the next

step was to determine why a disproportionate

number of bench warrants were issued for

Hispanic youth in Clark County. The com-

mittee held meetings with key stakeholders

from juvenile probation, juvenile intake,

juvenile booking, the interpreter’s office,

and the public defender’s office, and the

Figure 22.6 Bench Warrants by Zip Code: Clark County, Nevada

Source: From Developing DMC Strategies: Using Data and Geo-Mapping. Presented by M. Walker at the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention

Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 471

committee also interviewed Hispanic youth in

detention. The committee’s findings fell into

two categories:

1. There is a culturally based distrust or

fear of the justice system among

Hispanics.

2. Clark County does not use adequate

communication strategies to address

its Spanish-speaking population.

The DMC committee began working in

collaboration with the school district, the

Nevada Association of Latin Americans

(NALA), and the Latin Chamber of Com-

merce to implement community-based pro-

grams in schools that were identified through

the summary risk assessment chart. DJJS and

the district attorney’s office began working

with NALA and the interpreter’s office to

recreate all outgoing communications in an

English/Spanish format, and with the public

defender’s office to develop a bilingual court

information system.

DJJS is now monitoring the implementa-

tion of the new policies to address inadequate

written communication by DJJS to Hispanic

youth and their parents, as well as their

culturally based distrust and fear of the justice

system. The site believes that once the pro-

grams are in place and the court communica-

tions have been reproduced in a bilingual

format, there will be a steady, measurable

reduction in the number of Hispanic youth

receiving bench warrants, thereby reducing

the current disparity.

Indianapolis, Indiana (Marion County) India- napolis began implementing JDAI in 2006.

The site developed a unique and effective

partnership with two external consultants—a

professor at Indiana–Purdue University School

of Social Work, and an assistant professor of

public and environmental affairs at Indiana–

Purdue University, Indianapolis campus—to

provide needed analytical support using the

court’s computerized infrastructure. One was

involved as a volunteer and the other was under

contract by Marion County. At the beginning

of the site’s experience with JDAI, the site

coordinator, a former juvenile court public

defender with a solid background in juvenile

justice issues, was unfamiliar with JDAI data

indicators, analyses, and reporting require-

ments, but support from the University filled

a criticalgap inhelping thissitetobecomemore

data driven. 3

Previously, the site had purchased a private

proprietary computer system called QUEST,

which is a court case management database

that makes standard reports available to the

courts and detention and probation staff.

QUESTwas used by both the detention facil-

ity and the probation department. Although

the system was effective in that it contained the

basic court and detention admissions data,

there were a number of challenges associated

with data completeness and accuracy, as well as

with reporting issues. In consultation with the

University contractor, a graduate student, and

the appropriation of funds for the enhance-

ment and ongoing maintenance of QUEST,

the site later overcame these challenges.

A review of this JDAI site’s data showed a

high number of overrides—youth placed into

secure detention, despite low RAI scores,

for nonoffense reasons (e.g., parent/guardian

refused custody, safety of youth, inability to

contact parent/guardian)—which reflected an

inadequate supply of nonsecure beds in the

community. The admissions subcommittee

examined the reasons for these overrides as

well as the screening scores of youth to

3 Dr. William H. Barton, PhD, presented the case study at

the JDAI National Inter-site Conference in 2008.

472 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

determine whether the detention decisions

were attributable to gender, race/ethnicity, or

age. The admissions subcommittee reviewed

the site’s quarterly data on screening decisions

by race/ethnicity, gender, and age, and moni-

tored and tracked the reasons for overrides. The

subcommittee (Barton, Ball, & Riley, 2008)

concluded that the overrides may reflect a

screener’s discomfort with using the RAI, in-

adequacies with the instrument itself, or a lack

of appropriate alternatives to secure detention.

The subcommittee also looked for patterns that

might suggest a need to modify the RAI and/or

a need for more or different alternatives to

detention. Tables 22.4 and 22.5 present the

data reviewed by the subcommittee.

The admissions team conducted a prelim-

inary cost analysis regarding ALOS of youth

who were securely detained because the site

did not have sufficient alternatives in place in

the community (e.g., for violations of proba-

tion, warrants, failure to appear). The data

were used to document the cost of detaining

these youth and to demonstrate to county

legislators that it cost $1 million to securely

detain youth with RAI scores between 7.2 and

8.4 (youth with risk scores between 6 and 11

points are generally released with conditions

rather than securely held). Upon review of the

data, the court’s director of finance asked the

team to identify the projected number of

securely detained youth who could be appro-

priately placed in ATD programs.

The probation and ATD teams worked

together to identify youth who could be

diverted into ATD programs. The group

examined data on youth who were securely

detained on the basis of violations, warrants,

and failure to appear, because they believed

that the number of such youth continued to be

too high. When the JDAI team leaders con-

ducted a site assessment in April 2007, VOPs

were the main reason for the arrest and place-

ment of youth into detention. The probation

department, which reports to the juvenile

court, is responsible for entering data into

QUEST. The Indiana University team, site

coordinator, and probation staff conducted a

Table 22.4. Summary of Intake Decisions: Indianapolis, Indiana (July 2007 to June 2008)

RAI Decisions Number Percent

Release 3,953 55.3%

Release with conditions 1,577 22.1%

Detain 1,621 22.7%

Total 7,151 100.0%

Source: From Using Data to Develop Programs and Policies in Marion County, Indiana. Presented by W. H. Barton, C. Ball, and

K. Riley at the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis,

2008.

Table 22.5. Frequency of Overrides and Underrides: Indianapolis, Indiana

(July 2007 to June 2008)

Override Decisions Number Percent

No override/underride 6,103 85.3%

Overrides 707 9.9%

Underrides 341 4.8%

Total 7,151 100.0%

Source: From Using Data to Develop Programs and Policies in Marion County, Indiana. Presented by W. H. Barton, C. Ball, and K. Riley

at the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 473

manual review of the case-level data to confirm

the accuracy and completeness of what was

being reported,andtheydiscoveredthatfailures

to appear were being erroneously counted as

VOPs. In August 2007, the probation gradu-

ated sanctions grid was adapted from one used

in Multnomah County, Oregon, and imple-

mented to guide probation officers in address-

ing probation violations, and VOPs filed with

the court decreased by 40%.

To estimate the number of override cases

that could be placed in a nonsecure setting in

the community, the consultant team extracted

case-level data from QUESTand met with site

personnel to examine the intake decisions and

override reasons over a 1-year period (July 1,

2007, to June 30, 2008). Table 22.6 presents

the data reviewed by the subcommittee.

Based on the analysis, the group estimated

the number of youth that could be diverted

into ATD programs, as well as the estimated

cost savings. The proposed ATD programs

included a reception center with a per diem

cost per youth of $2.70, a day reporting center

with a per diem cost of $80, an evening

reporting center with a per diem cost of

$20, and community supervision with a per

diem cost of $2. These costs are all substantially

lower than the per diem cost of $178 for secure

detention in Indianapolis. At a meeting of the

Public Policy and Criminal Justice Committee

of the City–County Council, the Executive

Committee of the Marion Superior Court

presented a request, using data generated by

JDAI, to amend the court’s budget to include

$1.5 million for ATD programs. Several coun-

cil members expressed support for alternatives,

and an initially skeptical judge has now be-

come a supporter.

Commonalities Across the Case Study Sites

Each of the three case study sites followed

JDAI’s approach to addressing challenges by

using data to assess the number of unnecessary

and inappropriate youth detained, ask probing

questions, conduct additional analyses when

needed, identifying practice/program strengths

and weaknesses, and defining and implement-

ing programmatic solutions. Indeed, all of the

sites have invested resources to use the latest

technology, and to employanalytical personnel,

either internal or external, to support their

juvenile justice reform efforts. More important,

the sites know that they must continue to invest

in their computer system infrastructure, quality

controls, and analytical resources.

Table 22.6. Estimates of Override Cases That Could Be Placed in a Nonsecure Setting:

Indianapolis, Indiana (July 2007 to June 2008)

Youth That Could Be

Diverted

Override Reason Number of Youth Number Percent

Parent/guardian refused custody 77 77 100%

High risk of runaway 222 22.2 10%

Safety of the youth 15 7.5 50%

Victim is in the home 12 12 100%

Parent unable to pick up youth 19 19 100%

Unable to contact parent/guardian 36 36 100%

Other 161 80.5 50%

Total 542 254.2 47%

Source: From Using Data to Develop Programs and Policies in Marion County, Indiana. Presented by W. H. Barton, C. Ball, and K. Riley

at the Annie E. Casey Foundation, Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site Conference, Indianapolis, 2008.

474 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

As shown by these case studies, the use of

data has resulted in benefits for the youth and for

the communities that these participating JDAI

sites serve. A similar commitment to data-driven

decision making can be adopted by other social

services organizations experiencing similar

technological and resources challenges.

FUTURE DIRECTIONS FOR DATA SYSTEMS DEVELOPMENT

AND IMPLEMENTATION

Based on our work with JDAI sites, Metis

Associates offers the following lessons regard-

ing the challenges of developing and imple-

menting data systems.

Agencies should strive to implement immediate,

workaround solutions, rather than waiting for the

large, “perfect” information system to be put in place.

Agencies can adopt many effective short-term

solutions, such as simple Excel spreadsheets and

database tools. The technical assistance pro-

vided to JDAI sites is intentionally focused on

helping the sites to develop short-term system

solutions in cases where there are fragmented

information systems resulting from statewide

system conversions.

There is an ongoing need for data analysis

capacity that conforms to the requirements of the

questions being addressed. Data-driven decision

making requires a process of carefully guided

steps within relevant committees to define

which specific pieces of data to examine. These

committees are typically led by high-level man-

agers, site coordinators, or external (e.g., uni-

versity) personnel. Data should be presented to

stakeholders in an easy-to-read format (e.g.,

charts and graphs), and the stakeholders should

be given direction and coaching on how to use

the data to make informed decisions. This also

involves, when necessary, advocating for agen-

cies to develop partnershipswith other agencies

or outside entities (e.g., in the case of JDAI,

local universities with criminal justice depart-

ments or experienced nonprofit organizations)

to help them with ongoing data analysis and

reporting needs.

Sociopolitical challenges loom as large as, or

larger than, the technical challenges that emerge.

Stakeholders must realize that effective re-

form cannot be achieved without commit-

ting to using the data that have been prepared

for that purpose. For example, it may be

difficult for juvenile justice staff to remain

dedicated to reform efforts if the next data

tabulation shows that low-risk youth are still

taking up detention beds. Agencies and their

stakeholders must value data; invest in com-

puter systems, analytical personnel resources,

and quality controls to improve data validity;

and develop interagency data sharing agree-

ments with related agencies, such as law

enforcement agencies, schools, and child

welfare agencies.

There is value in integrating the data that

staff need to do their work with data that are used

for program planning and assessment. Compiling

data for planning, assessment, and daily op-

erational use by frontline staff should not be

an extra burden. For example, frontline staff

such as probation officers need case manage-

ment data and updates on the progress of

individual youth whom they supervise, and

these same data are needed at a higher level

for managers to examine outcomes on spe-

cific indicators (e.g., the number of probation

violations filed by a probation officer, the

reason for violation, and the location/neigh-

borhood of the probation officer’s supervi-

sion of cases).

Data systems primed for decision making

can improve the operations of public agencies

and thereby promote general public welfare.

It is past time for juvenile justice and human

services agencies to adopt this approach.

Getting on Board With Juvenile Justice Information Technologies 475

REFERENCES

Annie E. Casey Foundation. (2008). Kids count data book:

State profiles of child well-being. Retrieved from

http://datacenter.kidscount.org/db_08pdf/2008_

databook.pdf

Barton, W. H., Ball, C., & Riley, K. (2008, September).

Using data to develop programs and policies in Marion

County, Indiana. Paper presented at the Juvenile

Detention Alternatives Initiative National Inter-site

Conference, Annie E. Casey Foundation,

Indianapolis.

Busch, D. (1999). By the numbers: The role of data and

information in detention reform. Baltimore, MD: Annie

E. Casey Foundation.

Ebbers, M., O’Brien, W., & Ogden, B. (2006). Introduc-

tion to the new mainframe: Z/OS basics. IBM

International Technical Support Organization.

Retrieved from http://publibz.boulder.ibm.com/

zoslib/pdf/zosbasic.pdf

Etten, T. J., & Petrone, R. F. (1994). Sharing data and

information in juvenile justice: Legal, ethical, and

practical considerations. Juvenile and Family Court

Journal, 45, 65–92.

Howell, J. C., Kelly, M. R., Palmer, J., & Magnum, R. L.

(2004). Integrating child welfare, juvenile justice,

and other agencies in a continuum of services. Child

Welfare, 83(2), 143–156.

Marks, J. (2003). NCSL state legislative brief: Improving

justice technology infrastructure. National Council of

State Legislatures. Retrieved from http://ecom

.ncsl.org/bookstore/productdetail.htm?prodid¼01 73022812&catsel¼xcrj%3BCriminal%20Justice

Mendel, R. (2009). Two decades of JDAI. A progress report:

From demonstration project to national standard.

Baltimore, MD: Annie E. Casey Foundation.

Mitchell, R. L. (2008). Criminal negligence: The state of

law enforcement data sharing. Computerworld. Re-

trieved from www.computerworld.com/s/article

/317970/Criminal_Negligence_The_state_of_law

_enforcement_data_sharing

Morton, H. (2001). Integrated criminal justice information

systems. National Council of State Legislatures.

Retrieved from www.ncsl.org/programs/lis/intjust

/report01.htm

Roberts, D. J. (2004). Integration in the context of justice

information system: A common understanding. Sacra-

mento, CA: SEARCH Institute.

U.S. Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Preven-

tion. (2009). State statutes on juvenile interagency

information and record sharing web site. Retrieved

from http://dept.fvtc.edu/ojjdp/states.htm

476 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

23 CHAPTER

Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice

PETER W. GREENWOOD AND SUSAN TURNER

T here are many reasons to prevent juve-

niles from becoming delinquents or from

continuing to engage in delinquent behavior,

the most obvious of which is that delinquency

puts a youth at risk for drug use and depen-

dency, dropping out of school, incarceration,

injury, early pregnancy, and adult criminality.

Saving youth from delinquency saves them

from wasted lives (Farrington & Welsh,

2007). But there are other reasons as well.

Most of those who become adult crim-

inals begin their so-called “criminal careers”

as juveniles. One’s delinquency record is

one of the strongest predictors of adult crim-

inality. Preventing delinquency prevents the

onset of adult criminal careers and thus re-

duces the burden of crime on its victims and

on society. Delinquents and adult offenders

take a heavy toll, both financially and emo-

tionally, on victims and on taxpayers, who

must share the cost of arresting, prosecuting,

incarcerating, and treating offenders. Correc-

tions has been the fastest growing part of most

state budgets over the past decade and now

runs into the billions of dollars a year. Yet

recent analyses have shown that investments

in appropriate delinquency prevention pro-

grams can save taxpayers $7–$10 for every

dollar invested, primarily in the form of

reduced spending on prisons (Drake, Aos, &

Miller, 2009).

The prospect of reaping such savings by

preventing delinquency is not a new one;

the achievement of these savings was one

of the original missions of the Juvenile Court.

Only recently have officials begun to mea-

sure how well this mission is being fulfilled

(Greenwood, 2006, 2008).

Only during the past 15 years have

researchers begun clearly identifying both

the risk factors that promote delinquency

and those interventions that consistently re-

duce the likelihood that it will occur. Some of

the identified risk factors for delinquency are

genetic or biological and cannot easily be

changed. Others are dynamic, involving the

quality of parenting, school involvement, peer

group associations, or skill deficits, and are

more readily altered (see Braverman & Morris,

Chapter 3, this volume). Ongoing analyses

that carefully monitor the social development

of cohorts of at-risk youth beginning in in-

fancy and early childhood continue to refine

how these risk factors develop and interact

over time (Lipsey & Derzon, 1998).

Fairly strong evidence now demonstrates

the effectiveness of a dozen or so “brand

name” delinquency prevention program mod-

els and another dozen generalized strategies

(Elliott, 1996). Brand name programs such as

Functional Family Therapy are usually devel-

oped by a single research team. Effective

477

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

generic strategies, such as group counseling

or cognitive-behavioral therapy, are identified

through meta-analyses reviewing many dif-

ferent programs following the same general

approach.

Somewhat weaker evidence supports the

effectiveness of another 20 to 30 “promising”

programs that are still being tested. A number of

public and private providers have been imple-

menting proven programs for more than five

years so that their experiences, some of which

have been closely monitored by independent

evaluators, can benefit others (Mihalic, Fagan,

Irwin, Ballard, & Elliott, 2002).

In this chapter, we review where the

concept of evidence-based practice in juvenile

justice now stands, its benefits, and the chal-

lenges it may pose for those who adopt it. We

begin by reviewing the methods now being

used to identify the best programs, and the

standards they must meet, and follow that with

a comprehensive overview of programs that

work, with some information about programs

that are proven failures. We conclude by de-

scribing how jurisdictions are implementing

the best of these programs and overcoming the

challenges they meet.

DETERMINING WHAT WORKS: EVOLVING STANDARDS

Measuring the effects of delinquency preven-

tion programs is challenging because the be-

havior the programs attempt to change is often

covert and the full benefits extend over long

periods of time. For more than a century,

efforts to prevent delinquency have been

guided more by the prevailing theories about

the causes of delinquent behavior than by

whether the efforts achieved the desired

effects. At various times the primary causes

of delinquency were thought to be the

juvenile’s: home, neighborhood, lack of so-

cializing experiences, lack of job opportuni-

ties, or the labeling effects of the juvenile

justice system (Rosenheim et al., 2002). The

preventive strategies promoted by these the-

ories included: removal of urban children to

more rural settings, residential training

schools, industrial schools, summer camps,

job programs, and diversion from the juvenile

justice system. Yet none turned out to be

consistently helpful. In 1994 a systematic re-

view of rigorous evaluations of these strategies,

by a special panel of the National Research

Council, concluded that none could be de-

scribed as effective (Reiss & Roth, 1993).

These conclusions reaffirmed similar con-

clusions reached by Robert Martinson and

his colleagues two decades earlier (Lipton,

Martinson, & Wilks, 1975).

Estimating the effects of interventions to

prevent delinquency—as with any develop-

mental problem—can be problematic be-

cause it can take years for effects to become

apparent, making it difficult to observe or

measure them. The passage of time cuts both

ways. On the one hand, interventions in

childhood may have effects on delinquency

that are not evident until adolescence. Like-

wise, interventions during adolescence may

reap benefits in labor force participation only

in young adulthood. On the other hand, an

intervention may initially lessen problem

behavior in children only to have those effects

diminish over time.

The “gold standard” for evaluations in the

social sciences—experiments that compare the

effects on youth who have been assigned ran-

domly to alternative interventions—is seldom

used in criminal justice settings (Shadish,

Cook, & Campbell, 2002). Although such rig-

orous designs, along with long-term follow-up,

are required to accurately assess the lasting effect

of an intervention, theyare far too expensive for

478 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

most local agencies, or even state governments,

to conduct. Such evaluations are thus fairly rare

and not always applied to the most promising

programs. Instead, researchers typically evaluate

delinquencypreventionprograms usinga quasi-

experimental design that compares outcomes

for the experimental treatment group with

outcomes for some nonrandom comparison

group, which is claimed to be similar in char-

acteristics to the experimental group, but sel-

dom is. The reliability of the results from quasi-

experimental studies is highly dependent on the

technical skills and objectivity of the analysts

involved, which are often hard for an outsider

to evaluate.

The second problem in identifying suc-

cessful programs is a lack of consistency in

how analysts review the research base, which

makes it hard to compare programs. Some

reviews simply summarize the information

contained in selected studies, grouping eval-

uations together to arrive at conclusions about

particular strategies or approaches that they

have defined. Such reviews are highly subjec-

tive, with no standard rules for choosing

which evaluations to include or how their

results are to be interpreted. More rigorous

reviews use meta-analysis, a statistical method

of combining results across studies, to develop

specific estimates of effects for alternative

intervention strategies. Finally, some “rating

or certification systems” use expert panels or

some other screening process to assess the

integrity of individual evaluations, as well as

specific criteria to identify proven, promising,

or exemplary programs. These reviews also

differ from each other in the particular out-

comes they emphasize (e.g., delinquency,

drug use, mental health, or school-related

behaviors), their criteria for selection, and

the rigor with which the evidence is screened

and reviewed. Cost-effectiveness and cost-

benefit studies make it possible to compare

the efficiency of programs that produce simi-

lar results, allowing policy makers to achieve

the largest possible crime prevention effect for

a given level of funding.

WHAT WORKS AND WHAT DOESN’T

For anyone in a position to decide which

programs should be continued or enhanced,

which should be scrapped, and which new

programs should be adopted, the ultimate

question is “what works” and “how well”

does it work? The most recent reviews,

meta-analyses, certified lists, and cost-benefit

analyses provide a variety of perspectives and

wealth of information regarding what does

and does not work in reducing youth crime,

violence, and delinquency. The problem for

practitioners and policy makers is that these

various sources sometimes do not agree, be-

cause of differences in focus, rating criteria, or

the timing of their reviews. The most useful

review sites and authority for those concerned

with juvenile justice are described below.

The Coalition for Evidence-Based Policy

(www.evidencebasedpolicy.org) was created

to assess social interventions for scientifically

demonstrated effectiveness in the areas of

early childhood, education, youth develop-

ment, crime and violence prevention, sub-

stance abuse, mental health, employment

and welfare, and international development.

In association with the Coalition, a Top Tier

program designation is being developed under

the guidance of a distinguished advisory

group, focusing only on findings produced

by the strongest research designs. As of the

date of this publication, this Top Tier list

consists of six programs, not all of which are

relevant to juvenile justice, and another 20 or

so considered highly promising.

Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice 479

Blueprints for Violence Prevention (www

.colorado.edu/cspv/blueprints/) provides a

list of proven and promising program models

developed by a research team headed by Del-

bert Elliott (1996) at the Center for the Study

and Prevention of Violence at the University

of Colorado. For Blueprints to certify a brand

name program as proven (“model”), the pro-

gram must demonstrate its effects on problem

behaviors with a rigorous experimental de-

sign, show that its effects persist after youth

leave the program, and be successfully repli-

cated at least once. In order for a brand name

program to be certified as promising, the

program must demonstrate effects using a

rigorous experimental design. The current

Blueprints Web site lists 11 “model” programs

and 19 “promising” programs.

Peabody Research Institute (http://peabody

.vanderbilt.edu/Peabody_Research_Institute

.xml) Director, Mark Lipsey and his colleagues

conducted a series of meta-analyses that focused

specifically on juvenile justice (Landenberger &

Lipsey, 2005; Lipsey, 1992, 2006, 2009; Wilson

& Lipsey, 2007). In the most basic terms, a meta-

analysis combines the results of independent

studies with a shared research focus in order

to analyze an overall effect, specifically called

an effect size. Accordingly, Lipsey’s analysis did

not identify specific programs but did begin to

identify specific strategies and methods that were

more likely to be effective than others. Lipsey

continued to expand and refine this work to

include additional studies and many additional

characteristics of each study (Lipsey, 2006,

2009).

Lipsey (2009) found that effective pro-

grams and strategies were those implemented

well and directed to high-risk offenders. He

also found strategies with a therapeutic com-

ponent, such as counseling and skill building,

are more effective than those with a control

component, such as surveillance or harsh

discipline. Finally, Lipsey found no effects

on outcomes by age, race or gender, after

controlling for other relevant factors.

TheWashingtonStateInstituteforPublicPolicy

(WSIPP) (www.wsipp.wa.gov) uses meta-

analysis methodology to conduct evaluations

of evidence-based practices but also considers

the cost of such programs and strategies to tax-

payers and crime victims and weighs these costs

againstpossiblebenefits.Programsandstrategies

are not ranked, but their effect on recidivism is

measured and their number of evaluations is

reported. Recidivism, cost to taxpayers and

crime victims, and benefits are estimated using

dataspecifictoWashingtonState.Inthischapter,

all cost and benefit information refers to the

analysis conducted by WSIPP for the State of

Washington (Drake, Aos, & Miller, 2009). Ac-

cordingly,theinformationshouldbeconsidered

only an estimate of the potential cost and dollar

benefits for other states.

In reviewing these four sources of infor-

mation regarding program effectiveness, or

most any other sources, the following seven

categories will be identified:

1. Program models, such as Functional

Family Therapy (FFT) or Multisyste-

mic Therapy (MST), that have been

rigorously tested, proven to work, and

usually replicated in hundreds of sites;

2. Generic strategies, such as juvenile drug

courts or group counseling, that have

been subject to independent study

and testing by a number of parties

and generally found to be effective;

3. Promising programs that have been eval-

uated and found effective in one good

test but have no replication;

4. Principles of effectiveness that appear to

apply to all programs, such as focus-

ing more attention on the higher

risk cases;

480 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

5. Programs for which there is insufficient

evidence to judge their effectiveness;

6. Programs proven to be ineffective in one

or more tests; and

7. Programs proven to increase delinquency.

Programs, strategies, and principles over-

lap. Most of the Blueprints model programs

represent an outstanding performer within

a generic category. For example, the four

experimental trials of FFT, shown by brackets

inFigure 23.1,represent about 10% of all family

therapy program evaluations. Figure 23.1

contains a histogram, plotted by Lipsey, show-

ing the number of family therapy evaluations

demonstrating various effect sizes (Lipsey,

Landenberger, & Wilson, 2007). Although a

number of evaluations found negative effects,

the average for all is well above zero. None of

the four FFTevaluations found negative effects,

and three are well toward the upper end of the

distribution. Figure 23.1 indicates that family

therapy works as a generalized approach and

that FFT works even better, when done cor-

rectly. Similarly, the other Blueprints models,

on average, produce larger effect sizes than the

average for the generic category of which they

are a part.

All of the proven models utilize the prin-

ciples of effectiveness, and applying the prin-

ciples to any strategy is likely to improve

outcomes.

WHAT WORKS

We begin this review of programs that have

scientific evidence of effectiveness by focusing

on secondary prevention efforts targeting at-

risk youth before they become delinquent,

then discuss community-based programs that

can divert first-time offenders from further

encounters with the justice system or facilitate

reentry for youth after an institutional place-

ment. We conclude with programs for youth

in custodial settings within the community.

Figure 23.1 Family Therapy Effect Sizes With Functional Family Therapy Highlighted (N = 43)

Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice 481

Prevention Programs

In this context, the first opportunity for pre-

vention is with pregnant teenagers or at-risk

children in early childhood. The preeminent

program in this category is David Olds’s Nurse

Home Visitation Program (Olds, 2006),

which trains and supervises registered nurses

as the home visitors. This program is found on

just about every list of promising strategies

(e.g., U.S. Department of Health and Human

Services, 2001), based on the strength of

evidence regarding its significant long-

term effects and portability (Coalition for

Evidence-Based Policy, 2010). It attempts to

identify first-time mothers, most of whom are

low-income, unmarried, and teenagers, early

in their pregnancy. The sequence of approxi-

mately 20 home visits begins during the pre-

natal period and continues over the first two

years of the child’s life, with declining fre-

quency. In addition to providing transporta-

tion and linkage to other services, the nurse

home visitors follow a detailed protocol that

provides child care training and social skills

development for the mother.

A 19-year follow-up of the Prenatal/Early

Infancy Project in Elmira, New York, showed

that the nurse home visits significantly reduced

arrest rates for the children and mothers

(Eckenrode et al., 2010). The women who

received the program also spent much less

time on welfare; those who were poor and

unmarried had significantly fewer subsequent

births.

Many less costly and less structured home

visiting models have been tested, using social

workers or other professionals, rather than

nurses, but none has achieved the same success

or consistency as the Olds program with nurses

(Olds et al., 2004). The Olds model, now

called the Nurse Family Partnership, has

been successfully evaluated in several sites

and is now replicated in more than 200 coun-

ties and many foreign countries.

For slightly older children, preschool

education for at-risk 3- and 4-year-olds is an

effective prevention strategy, particularly when

the program includes home visits or work with

parents in some other way. The Perry Preschool

in Ypsilanti, Michigan (Schweinhart, Montie,

Xiang, Barnett, Belfield, & Nores, 2005), is the

most well-evaluated model, but other well-run

programs are effective as well.

Numerous school- or classroom-based

programs have proven effective in preventing

drug use, delinquency, anti-social behavior,

and early school dropout, all behaviors that

can lead to criminal behavior (Gottfredson,

Wilson, & Najaka, 2002). The programs vary

widely in their goals, although they share some

common themes: collaborative planning and

problem solving involving teachers, parents,

students, community members, and adminis-

trators; grouping of students into small self-

contained clusters; career education; inte-

grated curriculum; student involvement in

rule setting and enforcement, and various

strategies to reduce drop out rates.

The Incredible Years program (Webster-

Stratton & Reid, 2010) helps teachers, parents,

and peers work with kindergartners and first

graders who are experiencing behavioral

problems in school. The program provides

skills, coaching, and specific activities for

changing disruptive behavior.

The Bullying Prevention Program

(Olweus, 2005) was developed with elemen-

tary and junior high school students in Bergen,

Norway. The program involves teachers and

parents in setting and enforcing clear rules

against bullying. Two years after the interven-

tion, bullying problems had declined 50%

in treated schools. Furthermore, other forms

of delinquency declined as well, and school

climate improved (Olweus, Limber, &

482 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

Mihalic, 1999). The Bullying Prevention

Program is one of the 11 Blueprints model

programs and is listed as promising by the

Surgeon General (U.S. Department of Health

and Human Services, 2001).

Multiple evaluations of Life Skills Train-

ing (LST), a classroom-based approach to

substance abuse prevention, have shown it

to reduce the use of alcohol, cigarettes, and

marijuana among participants. The reduc-

tions in alcohol and cigarette use are sustained

through the end of high school (Botvin &

Griffin, 2007; Botvin, Griffin, & Nichols,

2006; Griffin, Botvin, & Nichols, 2006). LST

is listed as a model program by Blueprints

(Botvin, Mihalic, & Grotpeter, 1998), the

Surgeon General (U.S. Department of Health

and Human Services, 2001), and most

other compilations of proven programs.

The program has been widely disseminated

throughout the United States over the past

decade with funding from government

agencies and private foundations.

Community-Based Interventions

Delinquency prevention programs in commu-

nity settings can be created for various pur-

poses, such as diverting youth from the

juvenile justice system, serving youth placed

on informal or formal probation, or serving

youth on parole who are returning to the

community after a residential placement. Set-

tings can range from individual homes, to

schools, to teen centers, to parks, to the special

facilities of private providers. Their services

can range from a 1-hour monthly meeting to

intensive family therapy and services.

The most successful programs are those

that emphasize family interactions, probably

because related adults are in the best position

to supervise and train the child (Greenwood,

2004). More traditional interventions that

punish or attempt to frighten the youth

are the least successful. For example, for

youth on probation, two effective programs

are FFT (Alexander et al., 1998; Alexander

& Sexton, 2002) and MST (Henggeler,

Cunningham, Pickrel, Schoenwald, & Bron-

dino, 1996), family-based interventions des-

ignated as proven by Blueprints and the

surgeon general.

FFT targets youth aged 11–18 facing

problems with delinquency, substance abuse,

or violence. The program focuses on altering

interactions between family members and

seeks to improve the functioning of the

family unit by increasing family problem-

solving skills, enhancing emotional connec-

tions, and strengthening parents’ ability to

provide appropriate structure, guidance,

and limits for their children (Alexander &

Sexton, 2002). It is a relatively short-term

program that is delivered by individual ther-

apists, usually in the home setting. Each team

of four to eight therapists works under the

direct supervision and monitoring of several

more experienced therapist/trainers. The

program is well documented and readily

transportable.

MST is designed to help parents deal

effectively with their youth’s behavior prob-

lems, including engaging with deviant peers

and poor school performance (Henggeler et al.,

1996; Henggeler, Clingempeel, Brondino, &

Pickrel, 2002). To accomplish family empow-

erment, MST also addresses barriers to effec-

tive parenting and helps family members build

an indigenous social support network

(Henggeler, Schoenwald, Borduin, Rowland,

& Cunningham, 1998). To increase family

collaboration and generalize treatment, MST

is typically provided in the home, school, and

other community locations. Master level coun-

selors provide 50 hours of face-to-face contact

over 4 months.

Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice 483

MST works with an individual family for

as long a period as FFT does, but it is more

intensive and more expensive. In addition to

working with parents, MST locates and

attempts to involve other family members,

teachers, school administrators, and other

adults in supervising the youth. The model

has been adapted to work with sex offenders

(Letourneau et al., 2009), drug courts

(Henggeler, Halliday-Boykins, Cunningham,

Randall, Shapiro, & Chapman, 2006), and

many other specialized settings.

Most of the generic strategies that have

been proven effective are community based.

In the therapeutic area, cognitive-behavioral

therapy (Bray, 2000; Landenberger & Lipsey,

2005), group counseling (Ferrara, 1991;

Joanning, Quinn, Thomas, & Mullen,

1992), individual counseling (Lundman,

2001), family counseling (Alexander et al.,

1998, 2000; Coatsworth, Santisteban,

McBride, & Szapocznik, 2001), case man-

agement (Aledort, 2001; Healey, 1999), and

peer counseling have been found effective

(Lipsey, 2009; Lipsey, Wilson, & Cothern,

2000). In the skills and education area,

mentoring, high school graduation pro-

grams, social skills training, skill building

programs, challenge programs, academic

training, and vocational preparation have

been found effective (Lipsey, 2009). Strate-

gies that aim to improve justice and reduce

recidivism include teen court, mediation,

restitution, and restorative justice (Butts,

Buck, & Coggeshall, 2002).

Community-based programs that focus on

surveillance and punishment as a deterrence,

rather than on skill building or therapy, are

less successful. Ineffective probation programs

and strategies include intensive supervision,

early release, vocational training, and deter-

rence approaches such as Scared Straight

(Lipsey, 2009).

Residential Programs

Juvenile courts, like criminal courts, function as

a screening agent for the purpose of sanctions

and services. Juvenile offenders’ needs for treat-

ment must be balanced against the demands of

accountability (punishment) and community

safety. Only a fraction of the cases reaching

any one stage of the system are passed on to

the next stage. The proportion of cases handled

informally rose from 46% in 1985 to 58% in the

late 1990s and then fell slightly to 56% in 2005

(Sickmund, 2009). The vast majority of cases

are not detained (79% in 2005) during their

court processing; just over 20% are ordered to

residential placement as the most severe out-

come (Sickmund, 2009). Out of all delin-

quency cases in 2005, approximately 18%

were dismissed at intake, 26% were handled

informally, and 56% were petitioned for formal

handling; less than 0.5% of cases were sent

to criminal court by juvenile court judges

(Sickmund, 2009). Of those adjudicated delin-

quent in 2002, 62% were ordered to probation

and 23% were placed out of their homes

(Snyder & Sickmund, 2006; see also Holsinger,

Chapter 2, this volume). This pattern of case

dispositions reflects the juvenile court’s prefer-

ence for informal rather than formal disposi-

tions and the understanding that most programs

work better in community, rather than institu-

tional, settings.

Nevertheless, juvenile courts will place

youth in more secure custodial placements

if the home setting is inappropriate and a

more suitable community placement is un-

available, or if the youth poses a public safety

risk. In these two instances, placement in a

group setting is more likely.

Youth who are placed out of their homes

are referred to a wide variety of group homes,

camps, and other residential or correctional

institutions. Three generalized program

484 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

strategies improve institutional program effec-

tiveness. One is focusing on dynamic or

changeable risk factors—low skills, substance

abuse, defiant behavior, relationships with de-

linquent peers. The second is tailoring programs

to clients’ needs using evidence-based methods

(Andrews & Dowden, 2006). The third is

focusing interventions on higher risk youth,

where the opportunity for improvement and

consequences of failure are both the largest.

These three principles provide the basis for

the Correctional Program Assessment Inven-

tory (CPAI), a program assessment instrument

developed by Gendreau and Andrews (1996)

and now being used by Latessa and several

colleagues at the University of Cincinnati to

rate the quality of programming in individual

correctional facilities (Latessa, Listwan, &

Hubbard, 2005).

Finally, certain program characteristics

that are independent of the specific interven-

tions used have been shown to improve

outcomes. Mark Lipsey recently analyzed

over 540 study samples to identify general

factors associated with program effects, as

well as to examine the effectiveness of seven

different treatment modalities (e.g., counsel-

ing, surveillance, deterrence, discipline, etc.)

(Lipsey 2009). Three factors emerged as major

correlates of program effectiveness: a thera-

peutic intervention philosophy (as opposed

to one focused on control or coercion),

serving high-risk offenders, and quality of

implementation (Lipsey, 2009).

Generally, programs that focus on specific

skills issues such as behavior management,

interpersonal skills training, family counseling,

group counseling, or individual counseling

have all demonstrated positive effects in insti-

tutional settings.

Among the program strategies that work

well with institutionalized youth are cognitive-

behavioral therapy (CBT; Bray, 2000),

aggression replacement training (ART; Gold-

stein, Glick, & Gibbs, 1998), and Family Inte-

grated Transitions (FIT; Aos, 2004).

CBT is a time-limited approach to

psychotherapy that uses skill building—

instruction and homework assignments—to

achieve its goals. It is based on the premise

that it is people’s thoughts about what hap-

pens to them that cause particular feelings,

rather than the events themselves, and its

goal is to change thinking processes. It uses

various techniques to learn what goals

clients have for their lives and to improve

skills that can help them achieve those goals

(Landenberger & Lipsey, 2005).

Aggression Replacement Training also

focuses on risk factors that can be changed

(Glick, 1996, 2003). It is a cognitive-behavioral

intervention with three components. The first

is “anger control,” which teaches participants

what triggers their anger and how to control

their reactions. The second is “behavioral

skills,” which teach a series of prosocial skills

through modeling, role-playing, and perfor-

mance feedback. The third is “moral reason-

ing,” in which participants work through

cognitive conflict in dilemma discussion groups

(Glick, 1996, 2003).

Family Integrated Transitions, developed

for the state of Washington, also focuses on

tackling dynamic risk factors—substance abuse,

mental health issues, and community reentry

from residential placement—by combining ele-

ments from four proven programs. The most

important component is MST, which was

previously described. FIT also uses dialectical

behavioral therapy (another form of cognitive-

behavioral therapy), which provides behavioral

analysis and self monitoring; relapse prevention,

which helps youth and families anticipate high-

risk situations and develop plans for resump-

tion of treatment should a relapse occur; and

motivational enhancement therapy, to increase

Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice 485

the family’s motivation to stay in treatment and

remain drug free. It was designed to help youth

with mental health or chemical dependency

issues who are returning to the community

following a residential placement. The only

evaluation of the program showed positive re-

sults (Aos, 2004).

For youth who have traditionally been

placed in group homes—living arrangements

that are usually licensed to care for six or more

youth who need to be removed from their

home for an extended period, but do not pose

a serious risk to themselves or others—the

preferred alternative is Multidimensional

Treatment Foster Care (MTFC; Leve &

Chamberlain, 2007; Fisher, Chamberlain, &

Leve, 2009). In MTFC, community parents/

families are recruited and trained to take one

youth at a time into their home. MTFC

parents are paid at a much higher rate than

are regular foster parents but have additional

responsibilities. One parent, for example, must

be at home whenever the child is. Parent

training emphasizes behavior management

methods to provide youth with a structure

and therapeutic living environment. After

completing a preservice training, MTFC

parents attend a weekly group meeting run

by a case manager for ongoing supervision.

Supervision and support are also provided

to MTFC parents during daily telephone

calls and family therapy is provided for bio-

logical families.

Random assignment evaluations find that

arrest rates fall more among participants in the

MFTC model than among youth in traditional

group homes (e.g., Chamberlain & Mihalic,

1998; Chamberlain, Fisher, & Moore, 2002;

Chamberlain et al., 2008). Although it costs

approximately $7,000 more per youth to

support MFTC than a group home, the

Washington State Institute for Public Policy

estimates that MFTC produces $33,000 in

criminal justice system savings and $52,000

in benefits to potential crime victims (Aos,

Miller, & Drake, 2006).

Implementing Best Practice

With more than 10 years of solid evidence

now available regarding what does and does

not work in preventing juvenile delinquency

and reducing recidivism, jurisdictions should

be adopting an evidence-based approach to

implementing new programs. Taking this ap-

proach will prevent wasted lives, save taxpayer

dollars, and protect communities from un-

necessary crime victimization.

Cost-benefits studies conducted by the

Washington State Institute for Public Policy

(WSIPP), summarized in the far right-hand

column of Table 23.1, indicate that many

evidence-based programs, such as FFT,

MST, and MTFC can produce savings on

the order of 5 to 10 times their cost (Aos,

Miller, & Drake, 2006; Drake, Aos, & Miller,

2009). When confronted with a projected

requirement to build two additional prisons,

the Washington State legislature asked WSIPP

to estimate how a substantial increase in spend-

ing on evidence-based programs would affect

projected prison bed requirements. The anal-

ysis, published in 2006, showed that doubling

current investments in high-quality programs

could eliminate the need for additional prison

capacity (Aos, Miller & Drake, 2006).

Before a jurisdiction begins identifying

successful programs, it must first determine

whether there are any gaps in the service and

quality of its existing programs. A service gap

indicates a lack of suitable treatment options

for a particular type of youth; a quality gap

indicates a lack of sufficient evidence-based

programming.

After completing this audit, a jurisdiction

can follow one of two basic strategies to identify

486 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

T a b le

2 3 .1 .

L is t o f E v id e n c e -B

a se d C ri m e a n d V io le n c e P r e v e n ti o n a n d In te rv e n ti o n P r a c ti c e s

P R O V E N

P R O G R A M S

P r o g r a m s in

th e P R O V E N

c a te g o r y a r e b r a n d n a m e p r o g r a m s th a t h a v e b e e n sh

o w n to

r e d u c e r e c id iv is m ,

su b st a n c e u se , a n d /o r a n ti so

c ia l b e h a v io r in

a t le a st

tw o tr ia ls , u si n g st r o n g r e se a r c h d e si g n s.

S o u r c e o f R a ti n g

C o st -B

e n e fi t A n a ly si s

(i f a v a il a b le )

B lu e p r in ts

L ip se y

T o p

T ie r

W S IP P

D e sc r ip ti o n

O u tc o m e s

B e n e fi ts

C o st s

B e n e fi t

M in u s

C o st

D E L IN Q U E N C Y an d R E C ID IV IS M

N u rs e -F am

ily P ar tn e rs h ip

X X

X P re ve n ti o n p ro gr am

ad m in is te re d

b y re gi st e re d n u rs e s to

at -r is k

m o th e rs in h o m e

3 8 .2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

fo r

m o th e rs

1 5 .7 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

fo r

ch ild re n

$ 2 7 ,0 9 2 .0 0

$ 6 ,3 3 6

$ 2 0 ,7 5 6 .0 0

Fu n ct io n al Fa m ily

T h e ra p y (F FT

) X

X In te rv e n ti o n ad m in is te re d b y

th e ra p is t in -h o m e fo cu si n g o n

fa m ily

m o ti va ti o n ,e n ga ge m e n t an d

p ro b le m

so lv in g

1 8 .1 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 5 2 ,1 5 6

$ 2 ,3 8 0

$ 4 9 ,7 7 6 .0 0

M u lt id im e n si o n al T re at m e n t Fo st e r C ar e

(M T FC

)

X X

X In te rv e n ti o n ad m in is te re d b y

sp e ci al ly tr ai n e d fo st e r p ar e n ts

ta ki n g te e n in to

th e ir h o m e ;

th e ra p y fo r b io lo gi ca lp ar e n ts

1 7 .9 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 9 5 ,8 7 9

$ 6 ,9 2 6

$ 8 8 ,9 5 3 .0 0

A gg re ss io n R e p la ce m e n t T ra in in g (A R T )

X In te rv e n ti o n ad m in is te re d b y

tr ai n e d st af f to

im p ro ve

m o ra l

re as o n in g, ag gr e ss io n ,a n d an ge r

m an ag e m e n t

8 .3 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 2 3 ,9 3 3

$ 9 1 8

$ 2 3 ,0 1 5 .0 0

M u lt is ys te m ic T h e ra p y (M

S T )

X X

In te rv e n ti o n ad m in is te re d b y

th e ra p is t to

fa m ily

an d p ro vi d e s

as si st an ce

w it h o th e r sy st e m s

7 .7 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 2 2 ,0 5 8

$ 4 ,3 6 4

$ 1 7 ,6 9 4 .0 0

S U B S T A N C E U S E

L ife

S ki lls T ra in in g (L S T )

X X

X P re ve n ti o n o f su b st an ce

ab u se

p ro vi d e d in m id d le sc h o o l

cl as sr o o m s

5 0 % – 7 5 % re d u ct io n in to b ac co ,

al co h o l, an d m ar iju an a u se

P ro je ct T o w ar d N o D ru g A b u se

X P re ve n ti o n o f su b st an ce

ab u se

ai m e d at h ig h sc h o o ly o u th

2 2 % p re va le n ce

re d u ct io n in

3 0 -d ay

m ar iju an a u se

2 6 % p re va le n ce

re d u ct io n in

3 0 -d ay

h ar d d ru g u se

(c o n ti n u e d )

487

P R O V E N

P R O G R A M S

P r o g r a m s in

th e P R O V E N

c a te g o r y a r e b r a n d n a m e p r o g r a m s th a t h a v e b e e n sh

o w n to

r e d u c e r e c id iv is m ,

su b st a n c e u se , a n d /o r a n ti so

c ia l b e h a v io r in

a t le a st

tw o tr ia ls , u si n g st r o n g r e se a r c h d e si g n s.

S o u r c e o f R a ti n g

C o st -B

e n e fi t A n a ly si s

(i f a v a il a b le )

B lu e p r in ts

L ip se y

T o p

T ie r

W S IP P

D e sc r ip ti o n

O u tc o m e s

B e n e fi ts

C o st s

B e n e fi t

M in u s

C o st

A N T IS O C IA L B E H A V IO

R

B ig B ro th e rs /B ig S is te rs m e n to ri n g

X P re ve n ti o n u si n g vo lu n te e rs as

m e n to rs fo r yo u th

fr o m

si n gl e

p ar e n t h o m e s

A b o u t 3 3 % le ss lik e ly th an

co n tr o l

yo u th

to h it so m e o n e

O lw e u s A n ti -B u lly in g P ro gr am

X P re ve n ti o n ad m in is te re d b y sc h o o l

st af f u si n g sc h o o l- w id e ,c la ss ro o m s

in d iv id u al co m p o n e n ts

R e d u ct io n in re p o rt s o f b u lly in g

an d vi ct im iz at io n

R e d u ct io n in ge n e ra la n ti so ci al

b e h av io r su ch

as va n d al is m ,

fi gh ti n g, th e ft ,a n d tr u an cy

P ro m o ti n g A lt e rn at iv e T h in ki n g S tr at e gi e s

(P A T H S )

X P re ve n ti o n p ro m o ti n g e m o ti o n al

an d so ci al co m p e te n ci e s am

o n g

e le m e n ta ry

sc h o o lc h ild re n

D e cr e as e d re p o rt o f co n d u ct

p ro b le m s, in cl u d in g ag gr e ss io n

In cr e as e d ab ili ty to

to le ra te

fr u st ra ti o n

T h e In cr e d ib le Y e ar s

X P re ve n ti o n ad m in is te re d b y

p ar e n ts an d te ac h e rs to

re d u ce

an ti so ci al b e h av io r

R e d u ct io n s in p e e r ag gr e ss io n in

th e cl as sr o o m

R e d u ct io n s in co n d u ct p ro b le m s at

h o m e an d sc h o o l

T a b le

2 3 .1 .

(C o n ti n u e d )

488

P R O V E N

S T R A T E G IE S

S T R A T E G IE S in

th e P R O V E N

c a te g o r y a r e g e n e r ic

p r o g r a m

st r a te g ie s th a t h a v e b e e n fo u n d

to r e d u c e r e c id iv is m , su

b st a n c e u se , a n d /o r a n ti so

c ia l b e h a v io r in

r ig o r o u s m e ta -a n a ly si s.

S o u r c e o f R a ti n g

C o st -B

e n e fi t A n a ly si s

(i f a v a il a b le )

B lu e p r in ts

L ip se y

T o p

T ie r

W S IP P

D e sc r ip ti o n

O u tc o m e s

B e n e fi ts

C o st s

B e n e fi t

M in u s

C o st

D E L IN Q U E N C Y an d R E C ID IV IS M

C o gn it iv e -B e h av io ra l T h e ra p y (C

B T )

X X

P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n u si n g

st ru ct u re d go al se tt in g, p la n n in g,

an d p ra ct ic e

2 6 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m (L ip se y)

1 1 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

(W S IP P )

B e h av io ra lp ro gr am

s X

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n th at

aw ar d s se le ct e d b e h av io rs

2 2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

G ro u p co u n se lin g

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n u si n g

gr o u p co u n se lin g le d b y a th e ra p is t

2 2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

H ig h sc h o o lg ra d u at io n

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :

gr ad u at io n fr o m

h ig h sc h o o l

2 1 .1 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

M e n to ri n g

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n u si n g

m e n to ri n g b y vo lu n te e r o r

p ar ap ro fe ss io n al

2 1 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

C as e m an ag e m e n t

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n u si n g

ca se

m an ag e r o r ca se

te am

to

d e ve lo p se rv ic e p la n an d ar ra n ge s

se rv ic e s fo r ju ve n ile

2 0 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

C o u n se lin g/ p sy ch o th e ra p y

X X

P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :

in d iv id u al co u n se lin g

1 6 .6 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

(W S IP P )

5 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

(L ip se y)

P re -K

e d u ca ti o n fo r lo w -i n co m e fa m ili e s

X P re ve n ti o n p ro vi d in g h ig h -q u al it y

e ar ly ch ild h o o d e d u ca ti o n

1 6 .6 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 1 5 ,4 6 1

$ 6 1 2

$ 1 4 ,8 4 9 .0 0

M ix e d co u n se lin g

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :

co m b in at io n o f in d iv id u al ,g ro u p ,

an d /o r fa m ily

1 6 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

T e e n co u rt

X In te rv e n ti o n fo r ju ve n ile

o ff e n d e rs

in w h ic h th e y ar e se n te n ce d b y

th e ir p e e rs

1 4 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 1 6 ,9 0 8

$ 9 3 7

$ 1 5 ,9 7 1 .0 0

Fa m ily

co u n se lin g

X X

P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :f am

ily

co u n se lin g

1 3 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

S o ci al sk ill s tr ai n in g

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :

te ac h in g so ci al sk ill s

1 3 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

(c o n ti n u e d )

489

P R O V E N

S T R A T E G IE S

S T R A T E G IE S in

th e P R O V E N

c a te g o r y a r e g e n e r ic

p r o g r a m

st r a te g ie s th a t h a v e b e e n fo u n d

to r e d u c e r e c id iv is m , su

b st a n c e u se , a n d /o r a n ti so

c ia l b e h a v io r in

r ig o r o u s m e ta -a n a ly si s.

S o u r c e o f R a ti n g

C o st -B

e n e fi t A n a ly si s

(i f a v a il a b le )

B lu e p r in ts

L ip se y

T o p

T ie r

W S IP P

D e sc r ip ti o n

O u tc o m e s

B e n e fi ts

C o st s

B e n e fi t

M in u s

C o st

C h al le n ge

p ro gr am

s X

P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :

p ro vi d e o p p o rt u n it ie s fo r

e x p e ri m e n ta ll e ar n in g b y m as te ri n g

ta sk s

1 2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

Fa m ily

cr is is co u n se lin g

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :s h o rt -

te rm

fa m ily

cr is is co u n se lin g

1 2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

M e d ia ti o n

X In te rv e n ti o n w h e re

o ff e n d e r

ap o lo gi ze s to

vi ct im

an d m e e ts

u n d e r su p e rv is io n

1 2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

M u lt ip le co o rd in at e d se rv ic e s

X In te rv e n ti o n p ro vi d in g a p ac ka ge

o f

m u lt ip le se rv ic e s to

ju ve n ile s

1 2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

R e st o ra ti ve

ju st ic e fo r lo w -r is k o ff e n d e rs

X X

In te rv e n ti o n u si n g vi ct im – o ff e n d e r

co n fe re n ce s an d re st it u ti o n

1 0 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m (L ip se y)

8 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m (W

S IP P )

$ 9 ,6 0 9

$ 9 0 7

$ 8 ,7 0 2 .0 0

A ca d e m ic tr ai n in g

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :

tu to ri n g, G E D p ro gr am

s, e tc .

1 0 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

S e rv ic e b ro ke r

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g re fe rr al s fo r

ju ve n ile

se rv ic e s w it h m in im al ro le

af te rw

ar d

1 0 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

S e x o ff e n d e r tr e at m e n t

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g a co gn it iv e -

b e h av io ra la p p ro ac h sp e ci fi ca lly

fo r

ju ve n ile

se x o ff e n d e rs

9 .7 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 5 7 ,5 0 4

$ 3 3 ,8 4 2

$ 2 3 ,6 6 2 .0 0

R e st it u ti o n

X In te rv e n ti o n :o ff e n d e r p ro vi d e s

fi n an ci al co m p e n sa ti o n to

vi ct im

an d /o r co m m u n it y se rv ic e

9 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

M ix e d co u n se lin g w it h re fe rr al

X In te rv e n ti o n :s u p p le m e n ta ry

re fe rr al s fo r o th e r se rv ic e s

8 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

Jo b -r e la te d in te rv e n ti o n s

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :

vo ca ti o n al co u n se lin g, jo b

p la ce m e n t, tr ai n in g

6 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

P e e r co u n se lin g

X P re ve n ti o n o r in te rv e n ti o n :p e e r

gr o u p p la ys

th e ra p e u ti c ro le

4 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

D iv e rs io n w it h se rv ic e s

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g ci ti ze n

ac co u n ta b ili ty b o ar d s an d

co u n se lin g co m p ar e d to

co u rt

su p e rv is io n

3 .1 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

T a b le

2 3 .1 .

(C o n ti n u e d )

490

P R O M IS IN

G P R O G R A M S

P r o g r a m s in

th e P R O M IS IN

G P R O G R A M S c a te g o r y a r e b r a n d n a m e p r o g r a m s th a t h a v e b e e n sh

o w n to

r e d u c e d e li n q u e n c y a n d

r e c id iv is m , su

b st a n c e u se , a n d /o r a n ti so

c ia l b e h a v io r b y u si n g a st r o n g r e se a r c h d e si g n , b u t o u tc o m e s h a v e n o t y e t b e e n

r e p li c a te d .

S o u r c e o f R a ti n g

C o st -B

e n e fi t A n a ly si s

(i f a v a il a b le )

B lu e p r in ts

L ip se y

T o p

T ie r

W S IP P

D e sc r ip ti o n

O u tc o m e s

B e n e fi ts

C o st s

B e n e fi t

m in u s

C o st

D E L IN Q U E N C Y an d R E C ID IV IS M

S e at tl e S o ci al D e ve lo p m e n t P ro je ct

X X

In te rv e n ti o n ad m in is te re d b y

p ar e n ts an d te ac h e rs u si n g so ci al

co n tr o la n d so ci al le ar n in g

1 5 .7 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

Fa m ily

In te gr at e d T ra n si ti o n s (F IT )

X In te rv e n ti o n fo r th e re e n tr y o f

ju ve n ile s w it h m e n ta li lln e ss an d

su b st an ce

ab u se

1 0 .2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 5 4 ,0 4 5

$ 9 ,9 7 0

$ 4 4 ,7 5 3 .0 0

T e am

C h ild

X In te rv e n ti o n :A

tt o rn e ys

ad vo ca te

o n b e h al f o f ju ve n ile

fo r e d u ca ti o n ,

tr e at m e n t, h o u si n g

9 .7 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

G u id in g G o o d C h o ic e s

X X

P re ve n ti o n :f am

ily -f o cu se d

im p ro ve m e n t o f p ar e n ti n g sk ill s

7 .2 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

P ar e n t– C h ild

In te ra ct io n T h e ra p y

X P re ve n ti o n p ro gr am

fo cu si n g o n

re st ru ct u ri n g th e p ar e n t- ch ild

b o n d

5 .1 % re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

B e h av io ra lM

o n it o ri n g an d R e in fo rc e m e n t

P ro gr am

X P re ve n ti o n im p le m e n te d in

sc h o o ls re d ir e ct in g at -r is k ju ve n ile s

fr o m

d e lin q u e n cy

L e ss se lf- re p o rt e d d e lin q u e n cy ,

sc h o o l- b as e d p ro b le m s, an d

u n e m p lo ym

e n t

Fe w e r co u n ty co u rt re co rd s th an

p e e rs

S U B S T A N C E U S E

C A S A S T A R T

X P re ve n ti o n co m b in in g ca se

m an ag e m e n t se rv ic e s, af te rs ch o o l

an d su m m e r ac ti vi ti e s

L e ss lik e ly to

re p o rt u se

o f an y

d ru gs ,g at e w ay

d ru gs ,o r st ro n ge r

d ru gs

L o w e r le ve ls o f vi o le n t cr im e L e ss

lik e ly to

b e in vo lv e d in d ru g sa le s

P ro je ct N o rt h la n d

X In te rv e n ti o n im p le m e n te d

th ro u gh o u t th e co m m u n it y to

re d u ce

su b st an ce

ab u se

D e cr e as e d te n d e n ci e s to u se al co h o l

L e ss al co h o l, ci ga re tt e ,a n d m ar iju an a

u se

S tr e n gt h e n in g Fa m ili e s

X P re ve n ti o n u si n g a fa m ily -b as e d

ap p ro ac h to

im p ro ve

co m m u n ic at io n an d re la ti o n sh ip s

L o w e r ra te s o f al co h o li n it ia ti o n

3 0 – 6 0 % re la ti ve

re d u ct io n s in

al co h o lu se

an d b e in g d ru n k

S tr o n g A fr ic an

A m e ri ca n Fa m ili e s P ro gr am

X P re ve n ti o n o f su b st an ce

ab u se

u si n g a fa m ily -b as e d ap p ro ac h in

A fr ic an

A m e ri ca n fa m ili e s

R e d u ce d in it ia ti o n o fa lc o h o lu se an d

sl o w e d in cr e as e in u se o ve r ti m e

D e ve lo p e d st ro n ge r yo u th

p ro te ct iv e fa ct o rs

(c on ti n u e d )

491

P R O M IS IN

G P R O G R A M S

P r o g r a m s in

th e P R O M IS IN

G P R O G R A M S c a te g o r y a r e b r a n d n a m e p r o g r a m s th a t h a v e b e e n sh

o w n to

r e d u c e d e li n q u e n c y a n d

r e c id iv is m , su

b st a n c e u se , a n d /o r a n ti so

c ia l b e h a v io r b y u si n g a st r o n g r e se a r c h d e si g n , b u t o u tc o m e s h a v e n o t y e t b e e n

r e p li c a te d .

S o u r c e o f R a ti n g

C o st -B

e n e fi t A n a ly si s

(i f a v a il a b le )

B lu e p r in ts

L ip se y

T o p

T ie r

W S IP P

D e sc r ip ti o n

O u tc o m e s

B e n e fi ts

C o st s

B e n e fi t

m in u s

C o st

P ro je ct A L E R T

X P re ve n ti o n o f su b st an ce

ab u se

im p le m e n te d in th e cl as sr o o m

3 0 % re d u ct io n in in it ia ti o n o f

m ar iju an a u se

6 0 % re d u ct io n in cu rr e n t m ar iju an a

u se

A N T IS O C IA L B E H A V IO

R

G o o d B e h av io r G am

e X

P re ve n ti o n u si n g b e h av io r

m o d ifi ca ti o n ai m e d at re d u ci n g

d is ru p ti ve

b e h av io r in th e

cl as sr o o m

L e ss ag gr e ss iv e an d sh y b e h av io rs

B e tt e r p e e r n o m in at io n s o f

ag gr e ss iv e b e h av io r

R e d u ct io n in le ve ls o f ag gr e ss io n

fo r m al e s

B ri e f S tr at e gi c Fa m ily

T h e ra p y (B S FT

) X

In te rv e n ti o n ad m in is te re d b y a

th e ra p is t im p ro vi n g fa m ily

in te ra ct io n s

S ig n ifi ca n t re d u ct io n s in co n d u ct

d is o rd e r an d so ci al iz e d ag gr e ss io n

FA S T T ra ck

X P re ve n ti o n to

im p ro ve

fa m ily

an d

p e e r re la ti o n sh ip s in th e cl as sr o o m

an d at h o m e

B e tt e r o ve ra ll ra ti n gs

b y o b se rv e rs

o n ch ild re n ’s ag gr e ss iv e ,d is ru p ti ve ,

an d o p p o si ti o n al b e h av io r in th e

cl as sr o o m .

1 C A N

P R O B L E M

S O L V E

X P re ve n ti o n sc h o o l- b as e d p ro gr am

te ac h in g so ci al p ro b le m

so lv in g

L e ss im p u ls iv e an d in h ib it e d

cl as sr o o m

b e h av io r

B e tt e r p ro b le m -s o lv in g sk ill s

L in ki n g th e In te re st s o f Fa m ili e s an d

T e ac h e rs (L IF T )

X P re ve n ti o n sc h o o l- b as e d p ro gr am

in cr e as in g p ro so ci al b e h av io r

D e cr e as e in p h ys ic al ag gr e ss io n o n

th e p la yg ro u n d

S ig n ifi ca n t in cr e as e in p o si ti ve

so ci al sk ill s an d cl as sr o o m

b e h av io r

T a b le

2 3 .1 .

(C o n ti n u e d )

492

IN E F F E C T IV

E P r o g r a m s a n d st r a te g ie s in

th e IN

E F F E C T IV

E c a te g o r y a r e th o se

th a t d o n o t r e d u c e r e c id iv is m

o r

r is k fa c to r s o r h a v e a n a d v e r se

o u tc o m e .

S o u r c e o f R a ti n g

C o st -B

e n e fi t A n a ly si s

(i f a v a il a b le )

B lu e p r in ts

L ip se y

T o p

T ie r

W S IP P

D e sc r ip ti o n

O u tc o m e s

B e n e fi ts

C o st s

B e n e fi t

m in u s

C o st

P R O G R A M S

D ru g A b u se

R e si st an ce

T ra in in g (D

A R E )

X P re ve n ti o n sc h o o l- b as e d

su b st an ce

ab u se

p ro gr am

u si n g

u n ifo rm

e d p o lic e o ffi ce rs

N o si gn ifi ca n t im p ac t o n u se

o f

al co h o l, to b ac co ,o r ill ic it d ru gs

G u id e d gr o u p in te ra ct io n

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g a p e e r gr o u p to

p ro m o te

p ro so ci al an d re st ru ct u re

p e e r in te ra ct io n

N o re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

S T R A T E G IE S

B o o t ca m p s

X In te rv e n ti o n e m p h as iz in g d ri ll,

te am

w o rk ,e tc .

N o re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

C o u rt su p e rv is io n

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g co u rt

su p e rv is io n co m p ar e d to

re le as in g

ju ve n ile

w it h o u t se rv ic e s

N o re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

In te n si ve

p ro b at io n

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g m o re

th an

u su al

co n ta ct co m p ar e d to

in ca rc e ra ti o n

N o re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

In te n si ve

p ro b at io n su p e rv is io n

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g m o re

th an

th e

u su al co n ta ct s

N o re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 0

$ 1 ,6 5 0 �$

1 ,6 5 0 .0 0

In te n si ve

p ar o le su p e rv is io n

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g m o re

th an

th e

u su al co n ta ct s

N o re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 0

$ 6 ,6 7 0 �$

6 ,6 7 0 .0 0

R e gu la r su rv e ill e n ce -o ri e n te d p ar o le

X In te rv e n ti o n in vo lv in g p o st -r e le as e

m o n it o ri n g

N o re d u ct io n in re ci d iv is m

$ 0

$ 1 ,2 3 7 �$

1 ,2 3 7 .0 0

D e te rr e n ce

X In te rv e n ti o n d ra m at iz in g th e

n e ga ti ve

co n se q u e n ce s o f b e h av io r

2 % in cr e as e in re ci d iv is m

S ca re d S tr ai gh t

X In te rv e n ti o n u si n g p ri so n in m at e s

to co n fr o n t fi rs t- ti m e o ff e n d e rs

ab o u t th e d o w n si d e o f cr im in al lif e

6 .1 % in cr e as e in re ci d iv is m

�$ 1 7 ,4 1 0

$ 6 0

�$ 1 7 ,4 7 0 .0 0

D is ci p lin e

X In te rv e n ti o n te ac h in g d is ci p lin e to

su cc e e d an d av o id re o ff e n d in g

8 % in cr e as e in re ci d iv is m

(c o n ti n u e d )

493

P R IN

C IP L E S O F E F F E C T IV

E

IM P L E M E N T A T IO

N E a c h o f th e se

P R IN

C IP L E S im

p r o v e s o u tc o m e s r e g a r d le ss

o f p r o g r a m

o r st r a te g y c o n te n t.

S o u r c e o f R a ti n g

C o st -B

e n e fi t A n a ly si s

(i f a v a il a b le )

B lu e p r in ts

L ip se y

T o p

T ie r

W S IP P

D e sc r ip ti o n

O u tc o m e s

B e n e fi ts

C o st s

B e n e fi t

m in u s

C o st

FI D E L IT Y :I n te gr it y o f tr e at m e n t

im p le m e n ta ti o n

X X

X X

H av in g p ro ce d u re

to e n su re

st af f

st ic k to

p ro to co li m p ro ve s

o u tc o m e s

Fo cu s o n h ig h -r is k yo u th

X M o re

n e e d s, m o re

ro o m

fo r

im p ro ve m e n t, h ig h e r co st s o f

fa ilu re

L o n ge r d u ra ti o n o f tr e at m e n t

X D o sa ge

m at te rs :T o o fe w se ss io n s

ca n b e in e ff e ct iv e

C o m m u n it ie s T h at C ar e (C

T C )

X P re ve n ti o n fo rm

in g co al it io n ,

d e te rm

in in g n e e d s, se le ct in g

p ro gr am

s

T ra ck in g o u tc o m e s

X X

X X

T ra ck

o u tc o m e s p ar ti cu la rl y w h e n

im p le m e n ti n g st ra te gi e s

T a b le

2 3 .1 .

(C o n ti n u e d )

494

successful programs. It canfollow theBlueprints

recommendations and replace existing pro-

gramswiththeBlueprintsprovenbrandmodels.

Or it can use meta-analysis findings as a guide to

improve existing programs. The steps involved

andfinancing requiredfor these two approaches

arequitedifferent,withtheBlueprintsapproach

being the costlier and more intense of the two

because of the training, technical assistance, and

licensing costs involved.

If a jurisdiction opts to implement the

Blueprints approach to fill a service gap, for

example, in family counseling, it should begin

by selecting the program model that best fits

both the clients to be served and the capabili-

ties of the agency and staff that will provide the

service. In addition to carefully reviewing the

Blueprints publication describing the model,

the jurisdiction will need to speak with rep-

resentatives of the model developer, as well as

other agencies that have also adopted it. Those

considering FFTor MSTwill find that FFT is

less expensive on an individual case-by-case

basis, less demanding in terms of therapist

qualifications, and a little more flexible in

how it is implemented.

The second step is to arrange for training.

Most developers of the Blueprints model pro-

grams have established organizations to provide

training, technical assistance, oversight, and

certification to sites adopting their model.

Most require applicants to meet a number of

qualifying conditions before being considered

for implementation. Initial training fees for FFT

and MST can range from $20,000 to more than

$50,000, and annual licensing fees can cost

more than $100,000 a year. Some developers

offer training on a regular schedule in one or

two locations. Others will send their trainers to

the applicant’s site if a sufficient number of staff

needs to be trained. The waiting period for

training may be as long as six to nine months.

Once training has been scheduled, the

third step is to designate or hire appropriate

staff. Many agencies make the mistake of

selecting and training staff who are not com-

fortable with the requirements of the program

and do not last long in the job. Some programs

require only one type of staff, such as a family

therapist, while others require several different

types, such as case manager, skills trainer, and

family therapist.

The fourth step is to “sell” the program to

potential customers and agency personnel.

Without a strong champion within the host

agency, a demanding new program has little

chance of ever getting off the ground. The

fifth step is to heed the recommendation of

most model developers and arrange for on-

going monitoring and feedback, usually by

having weekly phone conferences to discuss

cases or by reviewing videotapes of project

staff in action. The final step, implementing a

quality assurance mechanism, usually involves

questionnaires or observational rating sheets

to assess the fidelity of the program to the

original model.

If a jurisdiction opts for the meta-analytic

approach (see Lipsey, 1992, 2006, 2009; Land-

enberger & Lipsey, 2005; Wilson & Lipsey,

2007, for examples) to improve the effective-

ness of its programs, the first step is to identify

the programs to be assessed. The second is to

identify key elements of each program (inter-

vention methods, duration, staff qualifications,

setting, etc.) and compare them with the “best

practice” standards identified by meta-analysis.

The third step is to determine the average

effect size the combination of elements for

each program has produced in previous eval-

uations. Howell and Lipsey (2004) have used

this approach with the states of North Carolina

and Arizona to rate all of the programs these

states fund.

Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice 495

If the expected effects of a program are

small because it lacks evidence-based ele-

ments, an agency can consider adding strate-

gies or principles from Table 23.1, which

would raise the anticipated effectiveness. For

instance, a residential program containing no

evidence-based elements can be made more

effective by adding cognitive-behavioral ther-

apy or aggression replacement training. Like-

wise, a community supervision program with

no evidence-based elements can be made

more effective by adding a family therapy or

a parent training component.

After selecting an evidence-based pro-

gram, an agency should adopt and implement

a validated risk assessment instrument that can

provide a basis for assigning youth to specific

programs, for comparing the effectiveness

of alternative programs in treating similar

youth, and for measuring the progress of

individual youth. These instruments are read-

ily available from a number of vendors, some

of whom offer training in using the instrument

as well as in online data entry and analysis

(Mulvey & Iselin, 2008; Quinsey, Harris,

Rice, & Cormier, 2006).

The next step in developing an evidence-

based practice is to develop a way to assign

youth to the most appropriate program, tak-

ing into account all the relative costs and

differences in effectiveness of each program.

Whenever uncertainty exists about which

program particular types of youth should

be assigned to, an evaluation should be con-

ducted to determine which of the competing

alternatives is best.

Finally, once programs have been imple-

mented, they must be monitored to ensure

that they follow the program model as in-

tended. Vendors of many proven programs

have developed their own fidelity mea-

surement instruments. Locally developed

programs will require local development of

such instruments.

A CALIFORNIA ILLUSTRATION: DEVELOPING A LIST OF WHAT

WORKS

The first step for any funding agency that

decides to adopt an evidence-based approach

to its mission is to settle on a list of evidence-

based programs and strategies that it is pre-

pared to support, with both funding and

technical assistance. This is the approach

adopted by the states of Washington, Florida,

Pennsylvania, and many counties. The devel-

opment of such a list draws a clear line be-

tween programs that will be considered

evidence based, and those that will not.

For example, the California Governor’s

Office of Gang and Youth Violence Policy

estimated that the state currently spends more

than $1.5 billion annually combating gang and

youth violence, without anyevidence that these

funds are having an impact (Seave, 2010). The

Office decided to develop a list of programs and

strategies that were known to work and could

serveasa guidetocountiesinhow to spendtheir

violence prevention money.

To develop the ranked list of evidence-

based practices and to better understand the

challenges of implementation, two groups

were formed: The Expert Review Panel

and Stakeholders Working Group. The Expert

Review Panel, consisting of Steve Aos, deputy

director of WSIPP; Mark Lipsey, director of

the Peabody Research Institute at Vanderbuilt

University and cochair of the Campbell Col-

laboration; and Richard Catalano, director of

the Social Development Research Group at

the University of Washington, was established

to provide the best possible advice and

496 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

experience in ranking programs. These indi-

viduals have been involved in the identifica-

tion of proven and promising evidence-based

practices for more than 10 years, and are

considered the leaders in the field.

The Stakeholders Working Group, con-

sisting of several chief probation officers, aca-

demics, and representatives from other state

funding agencies, was convened by the Gov-

ernor’s Office of Gang and Youth Violence

Policy in order to understand current

evidence-based practices and to discuss the

particular needs of probation departments in

implementation.

The programs and strategies reviewed for

the purposes of creating a ranked list of

evidence-based practices for the Governor’s

Office of Gang and Youth Violence Policy are

those generated by the sources discussed in this

chapter, drawing on different sets of evalua-

tions reviewers that appear to be the most

rigorous and reliable covering this field:

(a) The Coalition for Evidence-Based Policy;

(b) Blueprints for Violence Prevention;

(c) work published by Mark Lipsey, PhD;

and (d) the Washington State Institute for

Public Policy. These sources and individuals

were chosen because they employ a rigorous

scientific standard of evaluation, and focus

primarily on delinquency, violence and sub-

stance abuse. Although popular, the list pub-

lished by the U.S. Office of Juvenile Justice and

Delinquency Prevention (OJJDP; Mihalic

et al., 2002) was specifically not used because

its lack of rigor has led to the listing of

programs that are not supported by evidence

meeting the most minimal standards.

Rating Evidence-Based Practices

Evidence-based programs and strategies are

ranked here (see Table 23.1) by evidence of

effectiveness and degree to which the program

or strategy has been replicated or could be

replicated using the findings and conclusions

in the above-referenced sources. The rankings

used are:

& Proven Programs are brand name pro-

grams that have been shown to reduce

delinquency and recidivism, sub-

stance use, and/or antisocial behavior

in at least two trials by using a strong

research design. & Proven Strategies are generic strategies

thathavebeenshownthroughrigorous

meta-analysis to reduce recidivism. & Promising Programs are brand name

programs that have been shown to

reduce delinquency and recidivism,

substance use, and/or antisocial be-

havior by using a strong research de-

sign, but outcomes have not yet been

replicated. & Proven Principles of Effectiveness are

generalized principles that appear to

increase effectiveness across the spec-

trum of programs and strategies. & Proven Ineffective are those programs

and strategies that have been shown to

not reduce recidivism or substance

use, or have an adverse outcome.

The ranked list of evidence-based crime

and violence prevention practices that resulted

from the work in California (Table 23.1) is

organized into the five categories described

above. Each category contains either brand

name programs and/or strategies derived

from lists published by the Coalition for

Evidence-Based Policy (Top Tier), Blueprints,

WSIPP, and Lipsey’s meta-analysis (2009).

Programs or strategies that can be found on

one of these lists, but not found in Table 23.1,

were omitted either because the evaluations

were outdated or because a program or

Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice 497

strategy was not evaluated for crime or risk

factor effects and outcomes. For the purposes

of this project, risk factors for future criminal

conduct or delinquency refer to substance

abuse and antisocial behavior, such as aggres-

sion and disruptive or oppositional behavior.

For example, of the six Top Tier programs

identified to date, Nurse–Family Partnership,

Life Skills Training, and MTFC are the only

programs with an established effect on crime

and recidivism, and therefore, are the only Top

Tier programs considered in this project.

Within each category, programs and/or

strategies are divided into three sections when

applicable: delinquency and recidivism, sub-

stance use, and antisocial behavior. The cate-

gories of Promising Strategies and Proven

Ineffective are not divided because they share

the same outcome measure, namely, effect on

recidivism (excluding DARE). For purposes

of organization, the Proven Ineffective cate-

gory is divided into program and strategies.

When effect on recidivism data is the only

outcome listed, programs and strategies were

organized from highest reduction in recidi-

vism to lowest within the respective category.

Additionally, for each program or strategy the

following is provided:

& Source of rating. This column indicates

from which of the four list(s) the

program or strategy derives. The pro-

gram or strategy may be noted on

multiple lists. In those cases a brief

summary of effects and outcomes

from each source is listed. & Description. A brief description of the

program or strategy is provided for

quick reference. Each description

identifies the program or strategy as

prevention or intervention and iden-

tifies who implements the program or

strategy and where it is implemented.

The list will be produced in a Web-

based version, which will allow the

reader to drop-down a more expan-

sive description, however, it is sug-

gested that the reader refer directly to

the source of rating for a full descrip-

tion of the program or strategy. & Outcomes. Each program and strategy

has at least one outcome listed in

this column. Generally, the outcome

of interest is the effect (if any) on

the rate of recidivism. This number

is reported as an average percentage

reduction in recidivism after a pro-

gram or strategy is implemented.

When recidivism outcomes are not

available, other outcomes, such as

effects on substance abuse and anti-

social behavior, will be listed. Due to

limited space, in some cases only a few

outcomes are listed. Information

about additional outcomes can be

obtained by consulting the original

source of the ratings. & Cost-benefit analysis. When calculated

and evaluated by WSIPP (the one

source of the four that analyzed

cost-benefit), cost-benefit analysis is

provided for each program or strategy.

Benefits are calculated based on costs

paid by taxpayers (for law enforce-

ment, courts, juvenile detention

services, etc.) and those suffered by

crime victims (monetary and quality

of life losses). Costs were estimated

based on offender participation in

a program or strategy versus not par-

ticipating. (See www.wsipp.wa.gov

for more on the WSIPP’s cost-benefit

analysis.)

The next step in this process for California

will be funding statewide technical assistance

498 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

for some of the more popular programs and

strategies. This has already begun with ART.

A subsequent step will be the development of

language to be inserted in upcoming requests

for proposals that will provide incentives for

counties to propose adopting the more highly

rated programs on the list.

CHALLENGES AND OBSTACLES TO IMPLEMENTING

EVIDENCE-BASED PRACTICE

Despite more than 10 years of research on the

nature and benefits of evidence-based pro-

grams, such programming is the exception

rather than the rule. Only about 5% of youth

who should be eligible for evidence-based

programs participate in one (Hennigan et al.,

2007). One reason for this slow progress is the

general lack of accountability for performance

within the juvenile justice system, or even any

ability to measure outcomes. Only rarely does a

jurisdiction take delinquency prevention and

intervention seriously enough to measure the

outcome of its efforts. Rather, it tends to

evaluate agencies on how well they meet

standards for protecting the health and safety

of their charges and preventing runaways or

incidents requiring restraints. Without the

availability of data on rearrests or high school

graduation rates, which could be easily col-

lected by public officials, there is little pressure

on agency officials to improve their perform-

ance (see Butts & Roman, Chapter 24, this

volume; Schiraldi, Schindler, & Goliday, Chap-

ter 20, this volume).

A second challenge is a lack of funding.

Implementing evidence-based programs,

especially the Blueprints models, is expensive.

Training a single team of therapists and their

supervisor can cost more than $25,000. The

agency may have to hire new staff who meet

higher credentialing standards, before start-up

without any revenue to cover their costs. State

and local agencies have a difficult time finding

that kind of funding even in good economic

times, no less in times such as the present. Even

after referrals to the program begin, it may still

take time for the flow of cases to fully occupy

all the staff charged to the program.

To fund start-up activities, some states

have set up grant mechanisms, for which local

communities compete. Some jurisdictions

seek grants from state or federal agencies.

Even after an evidence-based program is

implemented, it may be hard to find funds

to continue its operation. Most of the savings

from effective programs accrue to the state in

the form of lower corrections costs. If some of

these anticipated savings are not passed down

to the local entities that must fund the pro-

grams, they may have trouble competing for

scarce local funding against better-established

programs. Some sites have solved this problem

by working with state licensing officials to

ensure adequate funding and reimbursement

rates from Medicaid, Mental Health, or other

federally subsidized funding streams (Hanlon,

May, & Kaye, 2008).

Another major problem is resistance from

staff. It is one matter to sell the director of an

agency on the value of evidence-based pro-

grams. It is quite another to convince the staff

who must adopt the new behaviors, because

they have spent their whole career developing

their own intuitive approaches. When they

begin the training, they are reluctant to admit

that someone at some distant university has

come up with a better approach than theirs. As

in all cognitive-behavioral therapy, there is a

certain amount of cognitive dissonance when

they start applying new methods. It just does

not feel right. And, indeed, some staff never

overcome this initial resistance and must be

shifted to other programs.

Establishing Effective Community-Based Care in Juvenile Justice 499

A different question is whether an agency

has the competence or capacity to take on a

Blueprints program. Some of these programs

are very demanding in terms of staff qualifica-

tions, supervision, information systems, and

quality assurance. Often, program developers

find that an applicant agency needs a year or

two to develop the capacity even to begin the

first steps of implementing their model.

CONCLUSIONS

Over the past decade, researchers from a vari-

ety of disciplines have identified or developed

an array of intervention strategies and specific

program models demonstrated to be effective

in reducing delinquency and promoting more

prosocial development. They have developed

a variety of training methods and other tech-

nical assistance to help others replicate these

successful methods. They have accumulated

evidence that many of these programs are cost

effective, returning more than 5 times their

cost in future taxpayer savings. Evidence also

confirms that the general public overwhelm-

ingly prefers treatment and rehabilitation over

confinement and punishment for juvenile of-

fenders. Still, only about 5% of the youth who

could benefit from these improved programs

now have the opportunity to do so. Juvenile

justice options in many communities remain

mired in the same old tired options of custodial

care and community supervision.

In the long run, the authority of science

may well win out, and the necessary changes

will occur. But the authority of science is

undermined on a daily basis by those who

refuse to distinguish between fact and opinion.

Every year of delay in implementing evidence-

based reforms consigns another cohort of

juvenile offenders to a 50% higher than nec-

essary recidivism rate.

Practitioners working with juvenile of-

fenders and at-risk youth will have to be

trained and monitored to ensure that they

are delivering services in the most appropriate

and prescribed manner. Achieving the con-

sistency and fidelity that effective programs

appear to require will necessitate new ways

of supervising and managing those who have

direct contact with youth and their families.

Shifting from a management focus on prevent-

ing abuse or infractions to one that empowers

employees to provide effective services to their

clients is going to be a major struggle.

Those who wish to develop or promote

new methods of intervention will have to

learn how to play by the new set of rules

and protocols that have made possible the

programming advances of the past decade.

Programs can no longer be promoted for

wide-scale dissemination until they have

been proven effective by a rigorous evaluation.

None of these challenges is impossible.

Efforts to expand the use of Blueprints pro-

grams in Florida, Pennsylvania, and Washing-

ton have been under way for several years now,

with considerable success. Both North Caro-

lina and Arizona have undertaken efforts in

collaboration with Lipsey to evaluate all their

programs (e.g., Howell & Lipsey, 2004).

Hundreds of communities have adopted and

implemented proven program models and are

reaping the benefits of reduced delinquency

and lower system costs. The challenge now is

to move beyond these still relatively few early

adopters and push these reforms into the

mainstream of juvenile justice.

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504 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

24 CHAPTER

Better Research for Better Policies

JEFFREY A. BUTTS AND JOHN K. ROMAN

T o do their jobs effectively, policy makers,

professionals, and community partners

must be able to access high-quality informa-

tion about the impact of policies and programs

for youth. Recent years have seen an increas-

ing, and appropriate, focus on evidence-based

policy. In setting priorities for funding and

support, intervention programs demonstrated

to be effective and efficient are preferred over

programs that are well intentioned but un-

tested by rigorous evaluation. An evidence-

based approach is undeniably better than an

approach based on faith or anecdotes, but the

findings of existing evaluations are not suffi-

cient by themselves as a basis for effective

policy making. Translating research into prac-

tice requires more than a review of existing

studies. It requires knowledge of the research

process and its limitations. How do researchers

generate evidence? What choices are involved

in designing evaluation studies? Who sponsors

research and how do they select one study over

another? How do researchers and their funding

bodies shape and interpret the results of re-

search? Who disseminates research findings and

how does the manner of presentation color the

impact of information? A clear-eyed investiga-

tion of the entire evidence-generating process is

an invaluable part of evidence-based policy.

There is no such thing as a perfect study.

Criticizing social science research takes very

little effort. Human behavior is enormously

complex and the study of human behavior is

fraught with challenges. Assessing the effect

of these challenges is even more difficult due

to the natural tendency of researchers to prefer

positive findings to negative findings. Re-

searchers typically work harder on fact-

checking negative results—especially those

contrary to their beliefs—than they do exam-

ining positive results that may support those

same beliefs. Negative findings are scoured for

errors while positive findings are accepted

more readily. This apparent imbalance might

lead one to conclude that the deck should be

stacked against making changes to policy and

practice simply to avoid risk. Until researchers

produce solid evidence of impact, according to

this argument, policy makers should stick to

convention. We think such an approach is a

mistake. Almost no one with detailed knowl-

edge of the juvenile justice system would argue

that its current policies and programs offer the

best possible strategy for community safety and

youth well-being. The take-no-risks approach

would create a bias toward the status quo,

which we know does not do an adequate

job of protecting youth, families, and commu-

nities. Policy makers must continue to invest in

new solutions and they must do so using the

best available evidence, but the absence of

perfect evidence should never be an excuse

for inaction.

This chapter describes the strengths and

weaknesses of the evidence-generating process

as applied to juvenile justice. We begin by

505

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

describing how research fits into the decision-

making process. We then describe different

types of research evidence and how to evaluate

the validity of conclusions developed using

various strategies and techniques, followed by

a description of some of the common obstacles

facing efforts to translate evidence into practice.

We take up the complex challenges of evaluat-

ing changes in policy as opposed to programs

and offer ideas for improving evidence-based

decision making. Finally, we suggest some

practical strategies for reporting research results

more clearly and we consider how to support

the role of evaluation in designing future poli-

cies and programs.

THE RESEARCH MARKETPLACE

There is little doubt that research plays a role in

the design of social policies and programs,

including the selection of one juvenile

crime prevention approach over another.

There could be a debate, however, about

the role that research should play in social

policy. Most opinions on the matter fall be-

tween two extremes. At one end of the spec-

trum, it is possible to argue that the design of

all policies and programs to address youth

crime should be governed by research and

that only “evidence-based” solutions merit

the support of policy makers (Greenwood,

2006; see also Greenwood & Turner, Chapter

23, this volume). A lesser standard, after all,

risks the possibility of failed policies and

wasted resources. At the opposite end of the

spectrum, one might argue that research is

imperfect and it should never be allowed to

exert complete control over which policies

and programs are selected for implementation

(Schorr, 2009). Research funding and research

designs are vulnerable to contamination by

bias and institutional self-interest. An extreme

adherent of such a perspective might assert that

the most appropriate sources of inspiration for

social policy are the values and preferences of

the people and their elected representatives.

The role of research is to test whatever policies

are pursued by experts and by public officials,

not to control the selection of those policies.

Both extremes in such a debate, of course,

would be impractical. Certainly, research and

evaluation will always play some role in youth

justice policy; just as certainly, that role will

never be absolute or controlling. The design

and implementation of policies and programs

involves inevitable tension between values,

beliefs, material incentives, and evidence.

Managing this tension is a never-ending strug-

gle that depends on the particular policy arena

in which the debate occurs and on the moti-

vations, abilities, and power of those engaged

in the struggle. Public officials are always in

favor of making decisions based on evidence.

Like most human beings, however, they are

usually interested in testing other people’s

ideas. They are less interested in scrutinizing

their own ideas, believing them to be in need

of confirmation rather than investigation.

Some policy ideas are never really tested.

Ironically, it often seems that the largest ques-

tions of policy receive the least empirical

examination. During the early years of the

second Bush administration in the United

States, for example, federal agencies were re-

quired to comply with a program of account-

ability using a procedure called PART

(Program Assessment Rating Tool). Adminis-

tered by the President’s Office of Management

and Budget (OMB), the PART program di-

rected federal departments to conduct research

on their programs and initiatives with the

understanding that funding would be cut or

reduced for programs that did not meet certain

effectiveness thresholds (Frisco & Stalebrink,

2008). The PART program was an ambitious

506 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

effort to bring research-based accountability

to the implementation and funding of federal

programs. The standards were not always well

conceived, however, and not all federal efforts

were subjected to the standards in the same

way. Social programs were far more likely to

be targeted by PART than were military

expenditures and foreign policy. The biggest

policies are rarely subjected to the same level of

evidentiary scrutiny imposed on social

programs.

Some decisions, in fact, must be made

without evidence. No matter how creative

and how fair a program of accountability

research may be, there will never be sufficient

resources for researchers to test all possible

beliefs and all possible theories behind a par-

ticular policy. Given that evaluation research

will never be sweeping and comprehensive,

policy makers are forced (and sometimes may

prefer) to make some choices without solid

evidence. The very fact that research cannot

address all policy questions suggests that the

funding of research itself is an important part

of the policy process. Policy makers engage in

the creation of evidence when they decide

where, when, and how to deploy the tools of

research and evaluation. Which programs and

policies should be tested through rigorous

research, and which can be assessed using

less rigorous methods? Who should be

charged with conducting such research?

What standards of evidence should be consid-

ered minimally acceptable, and who should

judge whether specific types of evidence are

good enough or persuasive enough to inform

policy and practice? Who should be responsi-

ble for communicating the findings of research

and disseminating research products? In

particular, who is responsible for translating

the findings of research to audiences outside

the self-referential confines of the research

community? If scrutinizing the effectiveness

of social programs is to be more than an

insider’s game, the findings of research have

to be accessible to nontechnical audiences.

These issues are resolved through the

competition of ideas and influence. It would

be na€ıve, however, to assume that the pro- grams and policies at the top of the evidentiary

hierarchy got there solely on their own merits

and due to the strength of their outcomes.

Policy makers and funding authorities select

how and where to invest their limited re-

sources for research. Ideally, their investments

would be focused entirely on improving the

quality of evidence for the formulation of

policy and practice. At times, however, they

are subject to broader social dynamics related

to politics and economics. A rigorous research

program on the impact of juvenile incarcera-

tion, for example, would likely reveal basic

conflicts over the purposes of juvenile justice.

The official policy is that we incarcerate juve-

niles to facilitate rehabilitation and to ensure

public safety; the reality, of course, is more

complex. Other factors, such as ideology, fear,

anger, and fiscal incentives influence the use of

incarceration. Confronting these influences

would be disquieting to many policy makers.

Thus, we invest more in research to compare

the relative effects of various drug treatment

approaches than we do measuring the impact

of the massive and costly social program called

incarceration.

As policy makers decide how to invest in

research, the cost of evaluation is a prominent

concern but feasibility and salience are

weighed heavily as well. A low-cost, highly

feasible evaluation of a prominent policy issue

is much more likely to attract funding and the

support of decision makers than a high-cost,

risky study of an issue that is less prominent or

less understood by the public and by elected

officials. Some research projects are more

likely to be funded because they conform

Better Research for Better Policies 507

more easily to conventional ways of thinking

about social problems. If simply asking a re-

search question threatens powerful interests or

institutions, the authorities charged with

funding research projects are less likely to

risk asking the question. Research helps to

shape juvenile justice policy and delinquency

prevention programs, but it does so through

a complex marketplace of resources, ideas,

values, and power.

TYPES OF RESEARCH

All forms of research on social policy, includ-

ing youth justice policies and programs, could

be divided along two dimensions: accessibility

and precision (see Figure 24.1).

Investigative journalists, for example, con-

duct research and use data to tell a story. This

form of research is not very precise, but it can

be highly accessible with immediate impact. A

small group of lawyers and journalists associ-

ated with the Innocence Project at the Benja-

min N. Cardozo School of Law in the United

States has been working for nearly 20 years to

investigate the inner workings of the criminal

justice system in death penalty cases with the

goal of freeing prisoners wrongly convicted.

Their investigations require extensive data

collection and analysis, but their methods

and results are not technical. Almost anyone

can read the work and appreciate its impor-

tance. This “research” has resulted in a num-

ber of high-profile exonerations and the

related stories have documented the origins

and impact of wrongful convictions in the U.S.

justice system. The stories have prevented

several executions and may have helped to

alter public opinion about capital punishment.

At the opposite end of the continuum,

basic science research is often highly precise

and targeted on clearly stated, empirical ques-

tions. These studies, however, often involve

methodologies that require advanced training

simply to understand, and they may address

research questions that are not salient outside

of a small, expert audience. Furthermore,

many researchers in the social policy field

write poorly. Even high-quality studies are

sometimes presented using ponderous, dense

language and complex scientific notation that

is incompatible with popular consumption.

The impact of their findings is often slow to

develop at best. They must be translated into

simpler language before they can be widely

disseminated, and even then they may answer

questions that few people care about.

Basic science, however, is a critical part of

the process that leads to effective policies and

Figure 24.1 Various Types of Research Involve a Trade-off Between Precision and Accessibility

508 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

programs. Within the broader field of social

research, it is often true that the people with

the most advanced technical skills are found in

academic institutions, where researchers are

rewarded for pursuing the highly technical

studies valued by the social sciences. Their

work may be impenetrable to anyone outside

their small peer group, and they may be in-

capable of describing their work to people

who do not also share their vocabulary and

reading list. Yet, when they are assisted by

others who interpret their findings and trans-

late them for a broader audience, basic science

investigations can make profound contribu-

tions to the development of social policies and

programs (see Table 24.1).

One recent example is the rapidly grow-

ing knowledge of brain functioning that

has been facilitated by basic science involv-

ing scanning technology (Casey, Tottenham,

Liston, & Durston, 2005). The ability to create

detailed images of the working brain once

seemed rather esoteric, but by the end of

the 20th century, applied researchers were

using the technique to understand how the

brains of adolescents are different from those of

adults. Science revealed that the brain of a 16-

year-old adolescent, while more advanced

than the brain of a 10-year-old child, is not

as developed as the brain of a 25-year-old

adult. Using scanning technology in applied

research made it possible for the first time to

show non-technical audiences that cognitive

development is a continuous process that does

not end suddenly at age 14. The science had a

powerful impact on behavioral researchers and

on legal thinking in the field of adolescent

development, even affecting the reasoning of

the U.S. Supreme Court when it banned the

use of capital punishment for offenders who

commit their crimes before age 18 (Scott &

Steinberg, 2008).

A second example of the effective appli-

cation of basic science for policy and program

development is related to the sociologi-

cal concept of “collective efficacy” (e.g.,

Sampson, Morenoff, & Earls, 1999). The no-

tion that neighborhood social organization

and the structure of interlocking relationships

can have an independent effect on social prob-

lems that are normally measured at the indi-

vidual level arose from basic social science on

Table 24.1. Researchers, Audiences, and Methods

Professional

Group

Primary

Audience

Self-Perceived

Mission

Preferred

Methods

Dissemination

Outlets

Basic science

researchers

Other

researchers

Basic science, hypothesis

testing, theory

development

Primary data collection,

complex analysis, technical

writing

Peer-reviewed journals,

academic conferences

Statistical

policy analysts

Public officials Evaluation, policy

simulation, program

demonstration,

implementation science

Primary data collection,

secondary data analysis,

complex analysis, technical

writing

Peer-reviewed journals,

government publications,

professional conferences

Program

evaluators

Public officials

and practitioners

Evaluation, program

demonstration,

effectiveness testing,

problem solving

Primary data collection,

secondary analysis of agency

data, basic analysis, accessible

writing

Government publications,

client reports, professional

conferences

Policy

advocates

Public officials,

practitioners,

general public

Reform, policy change,

program development

Minimal data analysis, story

telling, highly accessible writing

Trade publications, news

media

Journalists General public Public education, reform Minimal data analysis, story

telling, highly accessible writing

News media

Better Research for Better Policies 509

the formation of social capital and community

capacity (Coleman, 1990; see also, Hawkins,

Vashchenko, & Davis, Chapter 12, this vol-

ume). These findings helped to spark an

entirely new direction in crime prevention

policy (Browning, Feinberg, & Dietz, 2004;

Mazerolle, Wickes, & McBroom 2010; Ro-

man & Chalfin, 2008). Even nonscientists

began to understand that criminal and delin-

quent behavior originates in social and com-

munity forces as well as in the individual

characteristics of offenders.

In between the obvious accessibility of

journalism and the admirable precision of basic

science, there are several forms of research that

play important roles in the formulation of

social policies and the design of social pro-

grams (see Table 24.1). Policy analysts focus

their efforts on specific social interventions,

and their work can be just as sophisticated and

technically complex as the work of researchers

pursuing basic science. The mission of policy

analysts is to assess the implementation of

policies and to conduct quantitative simula-

tions of their likely impact. They may publish

their work in academic journals, but they

value dissemination in government publica-

tions and professional conferences just as

much. Like basic science researchers, policy

analysts can be very mathematical and their

work can be technically complex. Their pre-

sentation style is not always accessible to main-

stream audiences, but when the findings of

policy analysts are translated for broad con-

sumption they can have significant impact.

One prominent instance of effective pol-

icy analysis involved an examination of the

time of day when juvenile crime happens (see

Figure 24.2). Beginning in the 1990s, a new

type of law enforcement data made it possible

Figure 24.2 Unlike Crime by Adults, Juvenile Violent Crime Peaks in the Afternoon Hours

Source: Snyder and Sickmund, 2006.

510 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

for the U.S. Department of Justice to sponsor

studies of juvenile crime according to the time

of day when offenses tend to occur. Research-

ers found that, unlike adults, violent crime by

juveniles peaked in the afternoon rather than

in the evening hours. After a graphic portrayal

of this finding appeared in national newspa-

pers, including the New York Times, it began to

change the awareness of the public and to draw

the support of policy makers for afterschool

programming for youth.

The work of another group of researchers,

evaluators, is similar to that of policy analysts.

Both types of research focus on the effects of

policies and programs, but while policy analysis

typically forecast future effects, evaluators often

measure effects retrospectively (Brewer &

deLeon, 1983). Evaluation research can be ac-

cessible to nontechnical audiences, although it

requiresadvancedtraining.Evaluationresearch-

ers designtheir work to affect theunderstanding

and actions of public officials and practitioners.

Their work may involve primary data collec-

tion, but it often relies on the secondary analysis

of agency data. Evaluations appear in govern-

ment publications and client reports, but they

may appear in the popular media as well, espe-

cially when the findings contradict conven-

tional wisdom or when they address the

impact of controversial or topical policies.

One recent example of the power of evalu-

ation on policy formation concerned the anti-

drugs program, DARE that was started by law

enforcement and spread throughout the school

systems of America. The first evaluation studies

showed that DARE not only failed to reduce

the use of drugs among students, it actually

seemed to increase their interest in drugs and

perhaps lessen their fear of using them (Ennett,

Tobler, Ringwalt, & Flewelling, 1994). The

ensuing controversy received plenty of media

attention, and after an initial period of conflict,

the founders of DARE changed their program

model in an attempt to avoid future negative

outcomes (Boyle, 2001).

Another example of effective evaluation

can be found in studies of the Nurse Home

Visitation program (now the Nurse–Family

Partnership). Established in the 1970s, the pro-

gram works with first-time single mothers,

mainly teenagers, to improve outcomes for

those mothers and their children. Beginning

during pregnancy and continuing into the

baby’s second year, nurses regularly visit and

provide guidance on nutrition and other health

issues, as well as advice on parenting. By the

1980s, researchers were able to show that the

program generated large, positive effects for

both mothers and children (Olds, Henderson,

Tatelbaum, & Chamberlin, 1988). In the ensu-

ing years, the evidence had become so convinc-

ing that President Obama’s first federal budget

included nearly $10 billion for states to imple-

ment or expand similar programs (Eckenrode

et al., 2010; Olds et al., 2004; Olds et al., 2007).

Evaluation research will always be an

essential component in the development of

social programs. While there is an academic

field that focuses on the techniques of evalua-

tion, and while evaluation researchers some-

times publish their work in peer-reviewed

journals, evaluators are not always academics.

Many professional evaluators work for gov-

ernment agencies, private research organiza-

tions, and consulting firms. They consider

their audience to be the clients of their

work (i.e., the agencies and programs they

evaluate) as well as the general public.

JUDGING EVIDENCE

At this point, it may be helpful to identity

exactly what we mean by research and evi-

dence. In our view, research refers to any

systematic investigation that uses a predefined

Better Research for Better Policies 511

standard of quality to determine its methods

and to govern the interpretation of evidence.

The use of a predefined standard of quality is

essential for distinguishing research from ar-

gument and speculation (or even fabrication).

Ideally, a researcher will apply the highest

possible standard in collecting and analyzing

evidence to reach a conclusion. The appro-

priate standard of quality, however, may vary

according to the type of research being con-

ducted and the ways in which the findings are

to be applied. Within the wide range of

investigations that legitimately could be called

research, quality standards might vary from

sufficient, to persuasive, to exacting.

Journalists conduct research, as do liter-

ary scholars and lawyers. In these investiga-

tions, an appropriate standard of proof may

be mere sufficiency, or “a preponderance of

the evidence,” or even “most experts agree.”

A lawyer may research the content and his-

tory of prior court rulings, for instance, to

identify an underlying legal logic that was

never articulated in the original body of

opinions. Legal investigations should not be

excluded from the phenomenon we call re-

search simply because they rely on text rather

than numerical data, or because they use

logic rather than statistics to reach their con-

clusions. An investigation of legal precedent,

however, can also be similar to literary criti-

cism. Some legal investigations may merit the

label research, and some may not.

Research evidence can take different

forms. Some evidence originates from quali-

tative methods where the data are maintained

in the form of stories or narratives and often

begin with direct observation. Researchers

may conduct interviews with elected officials

and program staff and weave together a narra-

tive about a program that identifies its critical

components and draws inferences about its

success. Qualitative studies have a clear role

to play in the formation and assessment of

delinquency prevention programs, but they

rarely achieve the same policy impact as do

quantitative, statistical studies.

The most influential type of research in

delinquency prevention involves quantitative

data and statistical procedures. Here also, how-

ever, standards of evidence vary. Some quanti-

tative research focuses on the discovery of basic

empirical facts and the testing of hypotheses.

Does family poverty accelerate school failure,

for example, or is the prevalence of vacant

buildings in a community associated with its

violent crime rate? Other research is designed

to inform immediate policy decisions. For

instance, should governments fund juvenile

drug treatment courts? Do family violence

interventions work? Are the effects of preven-

tive health education worth the money it takes

to deliver the training?

Studies of basic, empirical questions usu-

ally rely on statistical significance as their

principal metric. Stated in terms of probability,

or p values, a researcher might report that,

indeed, family poverty is associated with

school failure, and that the connection be-

tween the two concepts is so strong that there

is less than a 1% probability (p < 0.01) that the statistical association could have occurred by

chance alone. In other words, policy makers

can be confident that such a finding points to

something real and genuine. For example, say

a particular study finds that the average annual

income of youth who dropped out of school is

20% lower than the income of youth who

stayed in school through graduation. If the

statistical significance of this difference was

described using a probability (or, p value) of

less than one percent (i.e., p < .01), it would mean that the finding was very unlikely to be a

fluke or coincidence. Statistical significance

levels are traditionally stated in terms of the

probability that a finding could be due to

512 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

chance alone. Researchers choose an appro-

priate level of probability depending on rele-

vant theory and the findings of previous

studies that suggest the extent of statistical

variation likely to be found. Traditionally,

studies use probability values of 1%, 5%, or

10% to determine the significance of their

results, but the particular threshold is set in

advance. Research findings are characterized

as either significant or not significant; they are

not compared, with one finding being termed

more or less significant than another.

Statistical significance is not the only met-

ric used by researchers, especially in evaluation

studies. Significance is often not even the best

way to assess the importance of a finding.

Significance levels can be misconstrued. The

level of significance associated with a particular

finding is a function of several factors, but it is

mainly derived from the absolute size of a

difference in combination with the number

of cases or observations (the N) used to estab-

lish that difference. Even a seemingly large

difference (e.g., 80% of the youth in Group A

were rearrested, but only 50% in Group B

were) may fail to reach the level of statistical

significance because the finding was generated

with a very small sample. For example, the

study may have collected data on just ten youth

in each group.

In contrast, even a small difference (e.g.,

50% versus 53% recidivism) could be statisti-

cally significant if the data set being analyzed

was sufficiently large. Few public officials,

however, would want to risk their resources

or their reputations on a difference of 3 per-

centage points, unless they could describe the

difference in some other way, perhaps eco-

nomically or in terms of individual public

safety (e.g., number of crimes averted).

Researchers who focus on statistical signifi-

cance alone can fail to appreciate the substan-

tive importance of a finding. It is not

uncommon to hear investigators at academic

conferences draw profound conclusions or

policy implications from relatively minor dif-

ferences that are “significant” mainly because

they were found using very large data sets.

Outside of academic discussions, however,

such minor differences are seen as relatively

unimportant.

In the policy arena, “effect size” increas-

ingly serves as an alternative to statistical sig-

nificance. Effect size is often defined as the

change in an outcome divided by its standard

deviation, a traditional measure of statistical

variation. Measures of effect size can be con-

structed in other ways as well, but all of the

measures have a common function, which is to

estimate the magnitude of a treatment effect

given a specified level of intervention. A study

might estimate the change in the prevalence of

recent drug use among a sample of individuals

following their participation in a new type

of treatment, or researchers might measure

change in the frequency of antisocial behavior

in an entire community following the imple-

mentation of new juvenile curfew laws. Effect

size, rather than statistical significance, is the

primary language used to describe the benefits

of social interventions.

The “effect” of a delinquency program

could be the change observed in an important

indicator of client behavior (e.g., recidivism).

One common way to gauge whether an effect

is large or small is to compare the scale of

change in recidivism to the mean or average

recidivism rate among a population of interest.

A program that reduces recidivism by 50% will

generally have a larger effect size than a pro-

gram that lowers recidivism by just 10%.

However, percent change is very sensitive to

the mean level of the outcome. When mean

levels are small, such as when only 10% of a

sample is expected to be rearrested in the first

place, a change of just 3 percentage points

Better Research for Better Policies 513

(from 10% to 7%) would produce a relative

change of 30%. Another way to gauge the size

of an effect is to compare the scale of change

with the natural variation of the key variable.

For example, if recidivism for a particular

group of youth was known to fluctuate be-

tween 5 and 90%, a change of 3 percentage

points would seem trivial. On the other hand,

if recidivism rarely varied outside a 5 percent-

age point range, for example from 45 to 50%, a

program able to produce a consistent decline

of 3 percentage points would likely have a very

strong effect size.

In practice, effect sizes for delinquency

prevention programs usually fall between

�.30 (i.e., decreases the likelihood of delin- quency) andþ.30 (i.e., increases the likelihood of delinquency). The most successful interven-

tions usually have effect sizes between –0.10

and –0.30. In their summary of program eval-

uations, Aos, Phipps, Barnoski, and Lieb (2001)

reported that Multidimensional Treatment Fos-

ter Care (MTFC) reduced crime on average by

22%, which translated to an effect size of –0.37

given the other figures involved. Another well-

known program, Multisystemic Therapy

(MST), had an effect size of –0.31. Other

programs with strong results have included

nurse home visitation programs (–0.29), Func-

tional Family Therapy (FFT) (–0.25), and the

Seattle Social Development approach (–0.13)

(Greenwood, 2006, p. 150; see also Greenwood

& Turner, Chapter 23, this volume; Schiraldi,

Schindler, & Goliday, Chapter 20, this volume).

Judging the evidence of delinquency in-

terventions according to effect size alone,

however, could also be inappropriate in

some cases. Programs with lesser effect sizes

may still be valuable. Some programs merit the

label “evidence-based” because they generate

a positive return on investment. A program

that costs very little can be a worthwhile

investment even if it has a relatively small

effect size. For example, the Perry Preschool

Project is considered highly successful by

researchers despite its smaller effect size of

�0.10 (Greenwood, 2006). Programs such as the Perry Preschool Project, of course,

are the exception. For the most part, effect

sizes for delinquency interventions need to fall

in the range of –0.15 to –0.30 in order to have

a real and lasting impact on policy and practice.

Cost is another, increasingly important

component of research and evaluation on de-

linquency prevention programs. Government

agencies and even private funders are beginning

to require researchers to compare the costs and

benefits of interventions. While studies of cost

and benefits can take many forms, the usual

approach is to first count all of the costs of

program or policy inputs and then to develop a

measure of program effectiveness. The final step

is to translate effectiveness into a standardized

measure of effect, usually by converting out-

comes to dollars. The advantage of the ap-

proach is that comparisons can be made

across different types of interventions. Critics

argue that human behavior—particularly out-

comes for youth—cannot be expressed in dol-

lars and that a strictly economic approach

ignores more basic values of justice and equity.

Furthermore, estimating net benefits (benefits

minus costs) or the ratio of costs to benefits

creates an illusion of precision that belies the

imprecise nature of evaluating human behavior.

Nevertheless, evaluations that enumerate costs

and benefits are increasingly common in crime

prevention research.

EVALUATING POLICIES VERSUS PROGRAMS

Most evaluations are concerned with pro-

grams rather than policies, although the dis-

tinction can be elusive. By policy, we mean

514 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

any change in law, regulation or procedure

that affects members of a group, community,

or society. Lowering the upper age of juvenile

court jurisdiction from 17 to 16, for example,

would affect all 17- and 16-year-olds in a

geographic area. A change in such a law would

be considered a policy. Wholesale organiza-

tional reforms and system change efforts also

generally fall within the domain of policy

research. By contrast, programs target smaller

or more defined populations. A decision to

implement a juvenile drug court or to modify

drug court procedures would affect just those

youth admitted to drug court. It is often easier

to evaluate programs than policies. Since the

consequences of policy change are potentially

more important than programmatic change,

however, it is worth discussing the issues that

surround policy evaluation.

Policy effects can be more difficult to

evaluate for a variety of reasons. Policy ques-

tions are more likely to be politicized and value

based and less amenable to facts and evidence.

For example, the debate over determining the

proper age for juvenile court jurisdiction has

many factual elements, including cost and the

relative effectiveness of the adult versus juvenile

sanctions in reducing delinquency and promot-

ing prosocial behavior. During an intense pol-

icy debate, however, beliefs can be more

influential than facts. Those who believe that

it is immoral and inhumane to treat juveniles as

if they were adults are unlikely to be convinced

by statistical evidence. Those who believe that

youth offenders are no less culpable than their

adult counterparts are similarly difficult to

move. It is difficult to imagine an equally vola-

tile debate over some aspect of juvenile proba-

tion practice.

Even when policy debates are more wel-

coming to research, the use of evaluation

evidence can be difficult to conceptualize

and implement. A thought experiment shows

the difficulty. Suppose that a jurisdiction wants

to implement a program that assigns youth to

community-based treatment based on their

risk factors and need for intervention. At

the broadest level, all juveniles entering the

system could be triaged with a screening tool

that identifies substance disorders, mental

health disorders, and other problems associ-

ated with delinquency. Youth with evidence of

problems could be referred for more complete

diagnostic evaluations and then referred to

community-based interventions as appropri-

ate. Deep-end services, such as residential

treatment and other out-of-home placements

would be reserved for youth who did not

succeed in the less-restrictive environment

of the community-based program.

Now, imagine that 1 year after the launch

of the new process, local policy makers wanted

to test the hypothesis that the juvenile justice

system had become more efficient at assigning

youth to appropriate intervention programs.

How would researchers conduct such a test?

Where would they find the needed data? One

natural place to look would be in the rearrest

data for all system-involved youth. The prob-

lem is that a greater rate of arrests overall could

be either evidence of success (because a more

efficient system would catch a higher percent-

age of youth violating the terms of their

supervision) or evidence of failure (because

the new process failed to produce better out-

comes). The same problem would exist if an

evaluation measured changes in the volume of

treatment referrals, since they would be

expected to increase initially but then decline

as those youth expected to use the most

services would be treated more effectively.

Researchers could examine changing crime

rates overall, but even a very strong program

effect for some youth would probably not

produce a perceptible change on the com-

munity’s crime rate.

Better Research for Better Policies 515

In addition to difficulties in conceptualiz-

ing appropriate outcomes, there is the problem

of separating causation and correlation. What if

an evaluation of a policy or systems change

initiative found that crime declined? Was the

decline due to the initiative or simply part of a

broader trend? Such problems can be solved

with a thoughtful, prospective evaluation that

articulates the goals and objectives of the change

effort, identifies the data necessary to measure

the hypothesized change, and observes those

data before and after implementation using an

experimental design or a credible alternative.

Too often, however, evaluations are started only

after policy changes have been implemented,

when some evidence of success has already

appeared or evidence is needed urgently to

support continued funding. In such a circum-

stance, it is nearly impossible to carry out a

research effort that will produce credible results

or generate real evidence of impact.

Some nontraditional evaluation appro-

aches have appeared in recent years that avoid

the pitfalls of retrospective analysis. One ap-

proach that has received a great deal of at-

tention is the use of instrumental variables.

Technically, these models solve the problem

of endogeneity, where the outcome is at least a

partial cause of the intervention. A classic

example is the problem of measuring whether

deploying more police lowers the crime rate.

Neighborhoods with more crime are going to

require more police protection, and thus it is

difficult to determine the effect of more offi-

cers. The level of criminal offending may

predict how many police officers are on patrol,

not the other way around. Similar problems

emerge on a host of important policy issues

where the question is whether a policy change,

such as lowering the age of juvenile jurisdic-

tion or increasing the number and length of

juvenile commitments, causes or reflects a

change in juvenile offending.

Recently, economists have conducted

several studies that try to solve these problems

using instrumental variables. Researchers

identify a policy that is highly correlated

with a particular outcome, but that only affects

that outcome through its relationship with

another factor. Levitt published a series of

articles using this approach to test the effects

of prison size on crime rates (1996) and polic-

ing (1997; but see McCrary, 2002) on crime,

and found strong effects for both. In the prison

case, Levitt used prison overcrowding orders

(i.e., court injunctions in response to excess

populations) to approximate prison popula-

tion size on the assumption that prison over-

crowding orders affect prison populations, and

thus crimes rates, but are not directly affected

by the crime rate. While the approach is

lauded for its creativity, other researchers cau-

tioned against accepting the study’s conclusion

that each year of prison time served prevents

15 serious crimes. Useem, Piehl, and Liedka

(2001) noted that the study’s conclusion,

“depends on a hypothesized symmetry in

causal processes between an unusual set of

circumstances and a usual set of circum-

stances” (p. 6). We discuss these issues not

to criticize a particular study, but rather to

point out the seriousness of the challenges

researchers face in disaggregating the effects

of policies on outcomes in the very common

situation where the same outcomes are at least

partly responsible for changes in policy.

A second common problem in estimating

the effects of crime policies is estimating

whether increased enforcement leads to less

crime if greater enforcement increases the

probability of arrest for crimes that were pre-

viously not often reported to police. Deter-

mining the effects of added police is

confounded by the reality that police not

only respond to calls for service; they initiate

investigations. For certain kinds of crime, such

516 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

as prostitution and drug offending, more po-

lice personnel should lead to more crimes

being reported. In the context of juvenile

justice, a researcher measuring the effects of

added enforcement of juvenile curfew laws

would face a similar problem. More arrests

would not necessarily indicate an increase in

violations, but could indicate an increase in

enforcement. In fact, since the true number of

juvenile offenders can never be known (be-

cause the age of offenders who are not caught

cannot be determined) it is generally im-

possible to determine whether an increase in

the number of juvenile arrests is an indicator of

an increase in juvenile crime, or merely a by-

product of a change in enforcement practice.

As Blumstein, Cohen, Roth, and Visher

(1986) noted, “arrest records can be used to

infer the volume of unobserved crimes

committed” (p. 99), but a wealth of additional

information is needed to make that inference.

Rates of arrest are potentially important indi-

cators of change in juvenile offending, but the

relationship is only a correlation and often of

unknown strength. Increases in juvenile arrests

rates in the early 1990s caused many commu-

nities to implement draconian policies that

increased the likelihood that juvenile arrestees

would be prosecuted in the adult criminal

justice system (Snyder & Sickmund, 1999).

However, it is far from clear that the deleteri-

ous effects of those changes were outweighed

by decreases in crime. In fact, the policies may

have helped to spur additional crimes among

those youth affected (McGowan et al., 2007).

A rather infamous example of the serious

consequences that may arise from confusing

the causes and correlates of crime is the pre-

diction in the 1990s that a new population of

youthful “superpredators” was about to savage

American communities (Dilulio, 1995). The

prediction was based on two trends that were

emerging in the early 1990s and that together

predicted an explosion in crime. John Dilulio

warned Americans that they were sitting atop

a “demographic crime bomb” with far more

boys in the population under ten years of age

than in previous decades. He argued that

youth in general were becoming more violent,

referring to evidence of increasing juvenile

arrests for violent crime. Today, as the youth

from that cohort of potential “superpredators”

enter their mid-20s, youth crime rates are not

only lower than they were in 1995, but lower

than they have been at any time since the

1970s (Puzzanchera, 2009).

One final challenge exists in thinking

about evaluating systems changes. The goal

of youth serving agencies is to improve the life

conditions and well-being of youth and com-

munities. These agencies pay the costs of

intervention, but the benefits of their efforts

are more diffuse. The main beneficiaries are

youth and families in the larger community.

Problems emerge when agencies have imple-

mented successful, systems-level changes and

then seek funding to sustain those changes.

While agencies can point to cost savings from

efficiencies gained in delivering services, many

of the benefits from large-scale change accrue

outside the system and may be of little or no

interest to those who determine the size of

agency budgets. The increasing use of business

models for budgeting social programs means

that governments are increasingly interested in

funding programs based on their “return on

investment.” The conceptualization of invest-

ment returns, however, does not extend very

far beyond the agency’s administrative costs.

It is reasonable at this point to inquire

about the causes of what appears to be the sad

state of research on juvenile justice policies and

programs (see also Jacobs, Miranda-Julian, &

Kaplan, Chapter 10, this volume). The simple

explanation is that data collection and analysis

are low priorities in most justice systems.

Better Research for Better Policies 517

Data are rarely available to be examined at the

individual or case level, and thus researchers are

forced to work with data that simply are not up

to the task, which leads to incorrect inferences

(such as the “superpredator” forecast). More

insidiously, the lack of data collection also

suggests that these systems are not expending

much energy investigating whether what they

are doing is actually working, or even if they are

doing the things they claim to be doing. A

broad effort to collect better data would im-

prove our capacity to test whether policy

changes had the intended effect by providing

a ready comparison that describes systems be-

fore they change. The best data systems would

integrate information from a variety of ancillary

service providers (mentor agencies, job place-

ment assistance, health-care providers, etc.),

other actors in the adult or justice system

(Family Court) as well as the school system

(see Schneider & Simpson, Chapter 22, this

volume). Typically, the youth-serving agencies

in any one community are concerned with the

issue they are responsible for, but no one in

the system is responsible for the whole child

or the whole family. Data systems are similarly

stove-piped and a complete picture of a juve-

nile’s interaction with the larger service system

is difficult, if not impossible to obtain. Thus,

neither system insiders nor any outside re-

searchers will be able to determine precisely

which interventions are most effective.

We would recommend, at minimum, that

agencies seeking to implement large-scale

systems change think about the types of activ-

ities in which they expect to engage—before

implementation—and then create a data sys-

tem that can allow the agency to determine if

the program is delivering the services it prom-

ises. Jurisdictions seeking to implement such a

model need to measure not only whether

juveniles are screened, assessed, and directed

to the appropriate level of care, but also that

accurate information about case processing is

shared among all relevant decision makers.

Each treatment agency in the larger system

should measure not only how many youth

assessments they conduct, for instance, but

also how many assessments lead to referrals,

how many referrals lead to successful treat-

ment, how much treatment is actually deliv-

ered, and which individuals and agencies are

involved in each point of service. More com-

plete data would allow agencies to convince

themselves and their stakeholders that they are

achieving their stated objectives.

MAKING RESEARCH ACCESSIBLE

Communication is essential for good research.

Research has little effect unless it reaches an

audience that is motivated and prepared to

receive it, and unless the members of that

audience are in a position to use the lessons

of research to improve the well-being of youth.

There are always multiple mechanisms for

sharing the findings of research, depending

on the type of research involved and the specific

audience (see Table 24.2). Unfortunately, some

researchers view their primary audience as

other researchers. Some of the best research

on social policies and programs, in fact, is

designed merely to advance the understanding

of researchers rather than to change social

institutions, policy, or practice. Especially

among academic researchers, study findings

are often disseminated using the insider’s lan-

guage of theoretical reasoning and incremental

advances in understanding. Researchers can be

very poor communicators, not always for lack

of interest but because their training and pro-

fessional culture encourages them to restrict the

manner in which they communicate.

Science, including social science, requires

objective scholarship. Throughout their

518 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

professional training, researchers are encour-

aged to view their work as the disinterested

pursuit of knowledge. They are trained to

gather evidence, analyze it, and report it as

if they have no stake in its application. The

production of knowledge is supposed to be

their only goal. The application of knowledge

is either secondary or entirely beyond their

concern. One of the worst charges one re-

searcher can make against another is to call that

person an “advocate.” Any evidence that a

researcher is promoting a particular policy or

program suggests that her/his research may not

be credible, that he/she may be attempting to

tip the scale toward one conclusion versus

another. Researchers very much want their

efforts to have an impact on social policy, but

their occupational culture prohibits them from

pursuing such an impact directly. This is espe-

cially true when research must be described

to general audiences using nontechnical,

straightforward language. Researchers worry

that efforts to simplify their findings will gloss

over important details and their carefully

nuanced conclusions. Researchers seeking to

avoid efforts to clarify their communication

style often defend their own intransigence by

saying that they refuse to “dumb down” their

materials or their writing.

Certainly, most investigators do crave the

recognition and sense of relevance that comes

from wide dissemination and application of

their study findings. At academic conferences

and meetings, researchers often discuss the

intersection of their work with the worlds

of policy and politics. They may complain

their work is misunderstood or disregarded

by decision makers and elected officials.

They may even lament the sloppy formulation

of government policies that fail to apply sound

knowledge in solving social problems. But,

ultimately, their fear of losing reputational

Table 24.2. Writing for Impact

Regardless of who it is that translates the technical language of researchers into accessible, nontechnical forms, someone must do it. It

is simply unacceptable when the information and materials used to shape public policy remain inaccessible to nontechnical audiences,

including the general public. We offer a few guiding principles for pursuing this task:

& There is no excuse for bad writing. By the time they have finished their professional training, researchers have consumed so much bad writing that they are actually

impressed by bad writing, mistaking complexity for importance. Technical information does not have to be presented badly. It may be

too late for many researchers to learn how to write plainly, but they should hire others to do it for them.

& Writing is teaching. The act of writing about research findings is akin to teaching, or at least it should be. Especially when findings are derived from

complex research designs, and when they require elaborate statistical analysis, the results need to be presented in a way that actually

communicates the findings to the audience. Every former student can probably remember a math or statistics teacher who stood in

front of the room, facing away from the class, writing proofs on the board, as if that were teaching. It is not, and that style of teaching

cannot be used to create research reports and articles. Again, if a researcher is incapable of making results accessible, someone who

can do that must be added to the research team.

& Graphics deliver the message. People often learn more efficiently from visual information. Data graphics are essential and should be designed very carefully. They

should be created with both accuracy and ease of interpretation in mind. Ideally, the complete message of a research report should be

discernible by perusing the data graphics alone. Data tables are also crucial, but they should communicate effectively to the audience.

Tables are not there simply to impress the nontechnical reader with small font sizes and Greek letters.

& If a picture is worth a thousand words, you don’t need a thousand pictures. Data graphics are an essential part of communicating research findings, but more is not always better. Graphics should be reserved for

conveying the central points of the research and for analytical messages that are complex and multidimensional. They should not be

wasted on simple, descriptive tasks.

Better Research for Better Policies 519

capital among other researchers prevents them

from investing their time and talents in trans-

lating the findings of their studies for a general

audience.

Making a personal effort to bridge science

and policy would be distasteful for many

researchers. Within the communityof research-

ers, a person who uses research evidence in an

explicit attempt to influence public thinking

and public policy is not a researcher, but a

politician or an activist, even if the person

was trained in research methods. Achieving

influence and impact cannot be a researcher’s

first priority. Of course, every researcher

(if only secretly) dreams of seeing his or her

work have real impact on public debate and

public policy. It is a question of method and

intent. Within the culture of academia, it is

acceptable and even laudable to be invited to

inform a policy debate by describing the find-

ings of research to key officials and other elite

audiences. It is not culturally acceptable, how-

ever, to set a course on influencing debate and

to seek out opportunities to exercise such

influence, whether invited or not. All research-

ers enjoy being asked for their opinions on

important matters of policy, but to design

one’s research explicitly to affect policy is an

affront to academic culture. For this reason,

there must be intermediaries between the

spheres of research, policy formulation, and

program implementation.

PROTECTING RESEARCH FROM SPONSORS AND CONSUMERS

Social programs and social policies would be

improved by making research accessible out-

side of the technically oriented audience of

researchers. Translating the findings of re-

search for consumption by policy makers

and practitioners would likely help them to

incorporate the best knowledge about pro-

gram effectiveness into the conceptualization

and design of social interventions. What about

the reverse? Are there reasons to be concerned

about the possible impact of a stronger user

orientation on research itself? Unfortunately,

the answer is “yes.”

Some researchers, especially those from the

social sciences, are naturally resistant to viewing

the goal of their efforts as the application and

use of research findings. In some disciplines,

good research practice requires a clear separa-

tion between the development and application

of knowledge. Being too “user minded,” some

might worry, could lead researchers to change

the questions they ask and the methods they use

to find answers to questions. Especially in a

competitive funding environment, it is instinc-

tive to shape one’s research to meet the needs

and expectations of funding agencies. Modify-

ing the methods and tactics of research for

competitive reasons could easily undermine

the quality of the effort and mislead policy

makers and practitioners into following evi-

dence that is less than sound.

A recent example can be found in the

evaluation field. Researchers in the United

States have been working for more than

10 years to assess the efficacy of juvenile

drug courts, or juvenile drug treatment courts

(e.g., Barnes, Miller, Miller, & Gibson, 2008;

Belenko & Dembo, 2003; Butts & Roman,

2004; Hiller et al., 2010). Juvenile drug courts

use a potentially persuasive combination of

judicial authority and interorganizational co-

ordination to motivate drug-involved offend-

ers to stay in treatment and change their

behavior. The courts use case management

to coordinate services, drug tests to monitor

offender compliance, and frequent court hear-

ings to review case progress and establish

effective social bonds between offenders,

judges, and other court staff. Adult drug courts

520 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

started 20 years ago and are becoming a per-

manent part of the American justice system. In

part, this is the work of advocacy organizations

that promote drug courts, train drug court

officials, publish reports extolling the virtues

of drug courts, and work with news media to

increase public awareness of drug courts. In

their enthusiasm, drug court advocates have

not always been sufficiently cautious in inter-

preting research evidence about drug courts,

but this is as it should be. New programs need

the support of advocates whose passions are

impervious to empirical scrutiny.

To design effective programs, however,

practitioners must put aside their passions and

rely on evidence, especially evidence about the

effectiveness of specific components of drug

courts. Yet, many juvenile drug court evalua-

tions in recent years have not been designed to

discover effective program components. They

have been designed to confirm the beliefs of

practitioners and policy makers, especially those

of the judges who operate drug courts and the

federal agencies that support drug court pro-

grams. In the late 1990s, several practitioner

groups made assertions about what they be-

lieved to be the “key components” of drug

courts (see Table 24.3). These components

were published in a list, even though the

information was not based on any evaluation

evidence or even on an articulated theory of

program impact (Drug Courts Program Office,

1997). The list was simply the compiled judg-

ment of drug court practitioners.

Scores of formative evaluation studies were

funded during the next 10 years to hold drug

court programs up against the standards set by

the list of key components. Researchers were

directed to examine the operations of drug

courts and to determine whether they did or

did not exhibit fidelity to the 10 key compo-

nents. Because the list of components was not

derived from or consistent with any research

literature, however, there was no way to judge

the importance of these findings. Significant

amounts of state and federal resources were

expended on what amounted to an extensive

series of program audits that did not advance

program development or even an empirical

understanding of program effects.

Finally, another recent development dem-

onstrates a different risk of mandating the

connection between research, policy, and

practice. In nearly all facets of social policy,

Table 24.3. 10 Key Components of Drug Courts as Identified by the U.S. Department of Justice

1. The drug court integrates alcohol and other drug treatment services with justice system case processing.

2. Using a nonadversarial approach, prosecution and defense counsel promote public safety while protecting participants’ due

process rights.

3. Eligible participants are identified early and promptly placed in the drug court program.

4. The drug court provides access to a continuum of alcohol, drug, and other related treatment and rehabilitative services.

5. Abstinence is monitored by frequent alcohol and other drug testing.

6. A coordinated strategy governs drug court responses to participants’ compliance.

7. Ongoing judicial interaction with each drug court participant is essential.

8. Monitoring and evaluation measure the achievement of program goals and gauge effectiveness.

9. Continuing interdisciplinary education promotes effective drug court planning, implementation, and operations.

10. Forging partnerships among drug courts, public agencies, and community-based organizations generates local support and

enhances drug court program effectiveness.

Source: Drug Courts Program Office, 1997.

Better Research for Better Policies 521

policy makers and practitioners are becoming

more enthusiastic about evidence-based policy

and practice (e.g., see the work of the Coali-

tion for Evidence-Based Policy in the United

States and the Centre for Evidence Based

Policy in the United Kingdom). The concepts

of evidence-based policy and practice (EBPP)

suggest that research findings should be used to

weigh the desirability of social interventions

and that research evidence should inform

decisions to support one intervention model

over another. In the best of all possible worlds,

where research investment would follow in-

novation naturally and without bias or preju-

dice, following a strict EBPP regimen would

be a sensible idea. Using research evidence to

shape the design and implementation of social

programs would make social policies more

effective and result in improved social condi-

tions. In our less-than-perfect world, however,

research funding is intensely competitive and

policy decisions are subject to political wran-

gling and the self-interests of policy makers. In

our environment, a restrictive EBPP approach

could stifle innovation and maintain unwanted

sectarian control over policies and programs

(Schorr, 2009).

For example, state and federal agencies in

the United States are beginning to require that

services for adolescent offenders be evidence

based. In the field of crime prevention, how-

ever, very few interventions can make such a

claim. While there are several early childhood

programs that might survive the evidence test,

including nurse home visitation programs and

educational support programs such as Head

Start, few programs for older youth have come

close to reaching the status of “proven.” Two

such programs are Functional Family Therapy

(FFT) and Multisystemic Therapy (MST). Is

this because MSTand FFTare the best possible

interventions to prevent and reduce delin-

quency? For a small minority of offenders,

this could indeed be true. For the vast majority

of youth, however, it is certainly not true.

Other interventions, even less expensive in-

terventions, could be effective for many

youth, but in a strict EBPP environment,

untested programs are less likely to attract

the significant investments required to gener-

ate high-quality evidence. The resources nec-

essary to identify and disseminate high-quality

evidence are limited, and untested programs

are not likely to attract the funding necessary

to prove their effectiveness if government

agencies and private providers are locked

into an evidence regime based on pre-existing

research. In this way, the simple-minded ad-

herence to evidence-based policy could actu-

ally be detrimental to the quality of programs

and policies.

RESEARCH VERSUS QUALITY IMPROVEMENT

After decades of research on hundreds of

programs and policy initiatives for justice-

involved youth, it seems that we have relatively

few proven approaches. One reason for this

rather slow, haphazard rate of progress is that

we spend much of the total pool of research

resources on small, more limited studies.

Smaller studies can be helpful in measuring

the delivery of services or the implementation

of new procedures, but they do not often

involve random assignment and they cannot

produce the experimental results necessary to

earn that coveted spot on some future list of

evidence-based interventions.

Rather than continuing to expend our

resources on a multitude of small, inadequate,

and potentially redundant evaluations, a new

research paradigm may be required. Policy

makers could derive greater benefit from a

few high-quality impact evaluations that could

522 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

be used to establish operational principles for

program implementation and a program of

research that monitored quality and client

outcomes in a more coordinated fashion.

The research funds currently used for nu-

merous small studies could be combined and

concentrated on a few high-profile evaluations

targeted on very specific research questions.

There is a limit to the number of quality

studies that can be funded and completed. The

number of competent researchers available to

do the work is finite, and given shortages in

time, expertise, and funding, even the best

studies can answer only a few key questions at a

time. It is not enough simply to generate an

ever-larger number of studies. This strategy

has resulted in a glut of poorly conceived and

underfunded evaluations, none of them capa-

ble of resolving key disputes about program

design and policy reform. Rather than con-

tinuing to divide the pool of evaluation re-

sources across an uncoordinated array of small

studies, policy makers may want to concen-

trate research funds on a few, well-designed,

theoretically oriented investigations of pro-

gram impact and cost effectiveness.

The juvenile justice field could look be-

yond individual evaluations and start to build a

system of research-based program accredita-

tion. An effective accreditation process could

relieve individual programs of the burdens

imposed by constant evaluation. Standards

could be set at the state or national level,

and individual programs could demonstrate

whether they meet the standards. Programs

meeting their standards would then receive a

credential. If the standards were carefully de-

veloped, accredited youth justice programs

could use their credentials to demonstrate their

competence and effectiveness to local stake-

holders. Such a system would free resources

for client services and program management

that are currently diverted to inadequate and

redundant evaluation studies. Policy and prac-

tice could be informed by a smaller number of

carefully designed studies as long as those

studies were used to inform a process of

accreditation.

An accreditation process for youth justice

would have to be sophisticated. It could not be

simply an extension of “best practices,” in

which program design principles are extrapo-

lated from the opinions and beliefs of practi-

tioners. A rigorous system of accreditation

would have to be empirically oriented and

based on a foundation of solid evaluation

findings. It would likely be years before the

justice system was capable of implementing an

effective accreditation regime, but the design

and development work could begin immedi-

ately. Once established, this system of accredi-

tation could profoundly affect juvenile justice

programs and the policy environment in

which they operate. The strength of the eval-

uation literature underlying accreditation

would put pressure on programs to forego

anecdotal evidence and personal preference

in designing their procedures. If evaluators

found, for example, that consistency in school

attendance was associated with decreased pro-

bation failures, the accreditation process would

encourage juvenile justice officials to work

more closely with the schools. Accreditation

would help to insulate individual programs

against political attack. Currently, a state or

local official who wishes to redirect funds away

from a particular program merely has to chal-

lenge that program to produce evidence of its

effectiveness. Unless the program is fortunate

enough to have findings from a recent and

high-quality study, its funding is vulnerable. A

respected accreditation process would allow

programs to demonstrate their value using

outcome data from other jurisdictions without

constantly funding their own small and insuf-

ficient evaluations.

Better Research for Better Policies 523

An accreditation-focused evaluation agenda

would also free researchers to investigate critical

questions about program effectiveness. Cur-

rently, a significant amount of research is under-

taken not to illuminate the elements of program

effectiveness, but to fulfill funding requirements

and provide support for future funding requests.

Studies conducted under these circumstances are

rarely carried out with a true spirit of discovery.

Investigators cannot afford the luxuryof building

an evidence base with precise measurements of a

few key program components at a time. They

must develop broad indicators of effectiveness,

and they must do it as quickly as possible. An

accreditation process would allow evaluation

researchers to focus on measuring the funda-

mental components of program effectiveness.

An accreditation system could standardize the

scheduling and delivery of services and allow

practitioners to focus on quality. They could

work to develop expanded prevention and in-

tervention programs for juvenile offenders. The

accreditation agency could help in answering

questions about the effectiveness of program

components. It would no longer be necessary

for every program manager and every researcher

to reinvent the wheel each time a question of

effectiveness arose. The accreditation entity

would identify, synthesize, and disseminate au-

thoritative research that would be trusted for

policy and program development. Practitioners

could focus on building programs knowing their

models and frameworks were sound.

CONCLUSION

Most textbooks for training social science

researchers describe a similar set of ingredients

needed to cook up effective policy research.

According to most recipes, good research starts

with complete data on all individuals in all

justice agencies and any relevant nonjustice

agencies, often including social services, drug

treatment, housing and employment. An ef-

fective research design maximizes the size of

the population to which the study results can

be generalized but also minimizes the chances

of an erroneous conclusion. Randomized,

controlled trials are preferred; matched con-

trols are acceptable. Natural experiments are

generally frowned upon. Prospective designs

are preferred over retrospective designs. Long

follow-up periods with multiple observations

are optimal. Finally, to be effective in shaping

new policy, study results should be dissemi-

nated in a way that conveys rigor to the expert

but provides clarity to policy makers and to

members of the public.

Unfortunately, few studies in the youth

justice field achieve many of those goals in

practice. If all research studies were required to

meet each of these standards before being

approved for funding, many—if not most—

important research questions would go un-

answered. The data available to researchers are

usually incomplete. Youth justice agencies

rarely collect just the right kind of information

needed for a particular study. Most researchers

have to work with agency officials to generate

new data. Next, they have to choose between

selecting a research sample that will allow their

study to observe a true answer, versus a sample

where the study results can be generalized to a

broader population. Randomized controlled

trials produce rigorous and generalizable re-

sults, but they are not feasible in most circum-

stances. Even when they are feasible, by

definition they answer very narrow questions.

Natural experiments are the best way to look

at broad policy changes, but they fail to control

for competing explanations of change or im-

pact. Prospective studies take too long for all

but the most patient stakeholders, and thus

retrospective studies are usually a more practi-

cal alternative. Finally, few writers trained in

524 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

the social sciences are capable of preparing a

research report that is accessible enough for

the average citizen yet precise enough for an

expert audience.

Our recommendations for designing and

implementing real-world policy research and

program evaluation are quite different from

those that would be favored in controlled, labo-

ratory settings. In policy research, it may be more

important to answer a useful question with less

precision than it is to test a narrow hypothesis

with great accuracy. Researchers often have to

take whatever data they can get, including in-

formation from other locations and from other

time frames, and even less than rigorous sources,

such as interviews, focus groups, and direct

observation. Researchers should focus on the

comparability of treatment and control groups,

which means caring equally about the quality of

a study design and how well the study withstands

real world inconveniences of lost data points and

skewed information. Studies should be designed

to create equivalent samples, but also to produce

generalizable results knowing that compromises

will still have to be made on both objectives. For

broader policy questions, natural experiments

with pre-post designs are often more informative

than well-designed studies that address a more

limited range of policy concerns. Study results

must be communicated clearly and concisely,

respecting clarity as much as precision, and

favoring transparency above all else. And finally,

all researchers should avoid the missteps that

inevitably follow from the presumption that

whatever situation they are studying is com-

pletely different from anything that others have

studied. Every research project is special, but few

are truly unique. Social science research will

never reach the levels of precision associated

with laboratory studies, but such precision is

not always necessary to improve youth-serving

systems. Thoughtful research that acknowledges

but does not succumb to real world obstacles can

lead to substantial improvements in policy and

practice.

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526 W O R K I N G F O R C H A N G E

Afterword CONGRESSMAN ROBERT (BOBBY) SCOTT

Representative, D-VA, Third District

I welcome the opportunity to add a few words

at the conclusion of this hopeful volume on

juvenile justice.

For over 25 years now, the United States

has adopted a ‘‘get tough’’ approach to crime

and delinquency, passing increasingly more

punitive sentencing policies—a practice that

has earned us the distinction of being the most

punitive nation in the world. Our incarceration

rates far exceed the average in many other

countries, and for minorities, the situation is

much worse—at least twice that of Whites in

general, with Blacks at more than 5 times that

of Whites.

Although there are numerous reasons for

this disproportionality, our education system is

deeply and inexorably implicated. In an era

when education is more critical to successful

living than ever, the national high school drop-

out rate is unacceptably high—almost 30%.

And for minorities, it is even higher—a

deplorable 50% across major U.S. cities. These

figures confirm what those of us in Congress

working for better outcomes for all our children

and youth already know: that our schools are

failing a broad swath of our young people.

Among those most poorly served are youth

in the foster care and juvenile justice systems—

precisely the population that this volume has

squarely in its view.

As chairman of the House Judiciary Sub-

committee on Crime, and as a member of the

House Education and the Workforce Com-

mittee, the solutions are evident to me: We

must provide our youth a continuum of real

opportunities and comprehensive services that

will keep them in school and out of the

juvenile justice system to begin with. Re-

search demonstrates that such a ‘‘pipeline’’

of supports and interventions can greatly re-

duce delinquency and other problems among

at-risk children, while saving much more than

the programs’ cost, in avoided social welfare

and criminal justice system expenditures.

And what services are these? They start

with teen pregnancy prevention to reduce the

number of children born to parents too young

to care for them adequately; prenatal care for

pregnant mothers to reduce the incidence of

developmental disabilities in children; well-

baby care; and parental training to increase

parental competence and therefore reduce child

maltreatment. They continue with Head Start

or other quality early care and education to

ensure that children start school ready to learn;

afterschool care; summer recreation and sum-

mer jobs; guaranteed college scholarships for

junior high students; school dropout preven-

tion programs; and vocational and on-the-job

training for youth who do not go to college.

We have lots of experience with these kinds of

programs, lots of talented and committed adults

who want to work with children, and lots of

young people who want to contribute positive

energy to the communities in which they live.

So what is stopping us?

As an elected official, a politician, I know

the truth, and it boils down to plain old

527

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

politics: All too often, our policy makers at the

federal, state, and sometimes even the local

level, look for quick-fix, politically expedient

‘‘solutions.’’ And these ‘‘solutions’’ are often

poorly conceived, after-the-fact, inadequate

responses to problems that have been allowed

to fester and infect not only individuals, but

communities as well.

The chapters in this volume provide an

important overview of the research on the

strengths and needs of youth in the juvenile

justice system and the role that families, com-

munities, and society must play to develop the

continuum of supports youth need to move

toward positive futures. Although the volume

demonstrates that one size does not fit all when

it comes to juvenile justice reform, and that

much of reform must be local, it seems clear to

me that the federal government has an impor-

tant role to play in leading states and localities

toward research-based policies that support

youth, families, and communities.

Indeed, there are now several important

pieces of federal legislation and new policy ini-

tiatives that can help lead the way to the sort of

developmentally sound youth policy that will

support a hopeful future for our teens. A brief

summary of the most noteworthy follows here.

JUVENILE JUSTICE AND DELINQUENCY PREVENTION ACT REAUTHORIZATION

Since 1974, the Juvenile Justice and Delin-

quency Prevention Act (JJDPA) has been the

singular and most critical vehicle for federal

oversight and guidance to the states on juve-

nile justice matters. The JJDPA is currently

pending reauthorization, which I hope will

fully reflect current research in juvenile justice.

For example, the Bill which passed the Senate

Judiciary Committee in 2009 (S.678)

eliminates the Valid Court Order (VCO)

exception to the Deinstitutionalization of Sta-

tus Offenders (DSO) mandate, so that states will

be required to address the social service needs of

status offenders, rather than criminalizing them

for noncriminal behavior, which almost always

reflects poverty, trauma, family dysfunction, or

mental health needs, and is likely to result in

more, not less, future delinquency.

Since 1998, the JJDPA has required that

states examine and address disproportionate

minority confinement (now contact, DMC)

in their juvenile justice systems. Reauthorization

of the JJDPA is an opportunity to strengthen that

mandate as well as the data gathering and analysis

capacity that states must have to understand how

their juvenile justice systems operate and what

does and does not work.

When it was first passed in 1974, the

JJDPA provided groundbreaking protection

for juveniles charged with crimes by mandat-

ing that they be separated from adults in jails

and lockups. Now, thousands of children

charged as adults are locked up in adult jails

where they are not protected from adult

inmates, leading to high rates of youth suicide

and victimization. Expanding the JJDPA’s core

mandate and separating juveniles from adults,

in the adult criminal justice system as well as

the juvenile system, will provide critical pro-

tection for these youth.

YOUTH PROMISE ACT

The Youth Prison Reduction through Op-

portunities, Mentoring, Intervention, Support

and Education or ‘‘Youth PROMISE’’ Act,

which I introduced in the 111 th Congress and

plan to introduce in the 112 th Congress, im-

plements the best practice and policy recom-

mendations from policy makers, researchers,

practitioners, analysts, and law enforcement

528 A F T E R W O R D

officials from across the political spectrum

concerning evidence- and research-based

strategies to reduce youth violence and crime,

particularly gang crime. Under the Youth

PROMISE Act, communities across the na-

tion facing the greatest youth violence and

crime challenges will be able to develop a

comprehensive, coordinated, local response

to these problems that includes the active

involvement of representatives from law

enforcement, court services, schools, social

services, health and mental health providers,

foster care providers, Boys and Girls Clubs,

business-sponsored organizations, and other

community-based service organizations, in-

cluding faith-based organizations. These key

players, who are already working with at-risk

and delinquent youth, will form a council to

conduct scientifically based analysis of the

problems the community is experiencing, in-

cluding what resources are already available

and what resources are needed to address

the problems with proven strategies. This

analysis is then used as the basis for develop-

ing a comprehensive plan for implementing

evidence-based prevention and intervention

strategies to reduce the problem. These strat-

egies will be targeted at young people who are

involved in, or at risk of becoming involved in,

violence, gangs, or other paths to lost futures,

to redirect them toward productive and law-

abiding alternatives. The Youth PROMISE

Act embodies the kind of proven approaches

that all children need and deserve to ensure

that they develop as healthy, capable, and

resilient people.

Promise Neighborhoods

Promise Neighborhoods (Fed. Register doc.

2010-10492), similar to the Youth PROMISE

Act, is a policy initiative from the Department

of Education to improve the quality of educa-

tion for children in the most distressed

neighborhoods, which, as this book illustrates,

now feed the juvenile justice system. This

initiative will build a complete continuum

of cradle-through-college-to-career solutions

using academic programs and family and

community supports. It is a data driven initia-

tive and one that requires agencies to work

together, across the usual ‘‘silos’’ to build a

comprehensive failsafe system ensuring edu-

cation and social supports for our most at-

risk youth.

PRISON RAPE ELIMINATION ACT STANDARDS AND JUVENILES

The passage of the federal Prison Rape Elim-

ination Act (PREA) 2003 officially recognized

that children in correctional and detention

settings are at high risk of sexual abuse. Accord-

ing to Bureau of Justice Statistics data analysis

mandated by PREA, an estimated 12% of

adjudicated youth in juvenile facilities experi-

enced sexual abuse in 2008 and 2009. To

protect youth from sexual abuse in juvenile

and adult facilities, National Prison Rape Elim-

ination Commission Standards to prevent, de-

tect, and respond to prison rape should be

adopted with provisions strengthening protec-

tion for juveniles in youth and adult facilities.

� � � In the past decade, we have learned a great deal

about what works for youth at greatest risk. Our

knowledge of child development, neurology,

education, law, and program and policy evalua-

tion has advanced significantly, allowing us to

implement juvenile justice policy that can suc-

ceed both in crime prevention and in building a

next generation of educated young people able

to compete in the global economy. We only

need the political will to make it all happen. I

thank the editors and authors of this volume for

moving us a bit more in the right direction.

Afterword 529

About the Editors

Francine T. Sherman, JD, is a clinical professor

at Boston College Law School where she has

been teaching juvenile justice for the past

20 years. She founded and directs the Juvenile

Rights Advocacy Project, a law clinic in which

upper level law students provide supervised

representation and related policy work for

youth in the justice system. She speaks and

writes widely about juvenile law and the

juvenile justice system and, in particular, about

girls in the justice system. She has testified

before Congress and serves on a U.S. Depart-

ment of Justice National Advisory Committee

on Violence Against Women focusing on

children and teens victimized by domestic

violence and sexual assault. She is the author

of Detention Reform and Girls (2005), a volume

of the Pathways to Detention Reform series,

and the forthcoming Detention Reform Practice

Guide for Girls, both published by the Annie E.

Casey Foundation. She is an ongoing consul-

tant to the Annie E. Casey Foundation’s Juve-

nile Detention Alternatives Initiative on

strategies to reduce the detention of girls

nationally and regularly consults with national

and local foundations and state systems on

issues of girls and juvenile justice. She has

been the principal investigator on a range of

projects designed to reduce the use of con-

finement for juveniles and increase their voice

and connection to their communities.

Francine H. Jacobs, EdD, is an associate

professor with a joint appointment in the

Eliot-Pearson Department of Child Devel-

opment, and the Department of Urban and

Environmental Policy and Planning, at Tufts

University. Dr. Jacobs has published dozens

of scholarly and practically oriented articles,

and has coedited several books and mono-

graphs—two on family program evaluation,

one on U.S. child and family policy, a four-

volume Handbook of Applied Developmental

Science, and a recent textbook on applied

developmental science; she has also consulted

on program evaluation to numerous child

and family programs, in the United States

and abroad. Her research and teaching inter-

ests include child welfare, public welfare,

juvenile justice, and child care policy; family

development and family support program-

ming; and program evaluation and public

policy analysis.

531

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Author Index

Abascal, A., 234

Abram, K. M., 9, 39, 47, 50, 52, 53,

61, 134, 288, 362, 369, 434

Abrams, C., 250, 252, 257

Abrams, D. E., 85, 305, 415

Abrams, L. S., 178, 203, 205, 212

Ackard, D. M., 370

Acoca, L., 131, 132, 133, 134, 137,

138, 178, 179, 190, 192, 369

Adams, A., 348

Adams, B., 26, 27, 35, 38, 81

Adams, T., 250

Addams, J., 94

Addie, S., 26, 27, 35, 38

Adelson, E., 391

Adolphson, S. L., 441

Ageton, S. S., 31

Agnew, R., 225, 229

Agranoff, R., 359

Aguilar, J. P., 178

Ainsworth, J., 76

Ainsworth, M. D. S., 391

Akerman, A., 7

Akers, R. L., 31

Akiyama, H., 250

Albert, D., 10, 53

Aledort, N., 484

Alemagno, S. A., 134, 138

Alemán, E., 314

Alexander, J., 208, 413, 483, 484

Alexander, J. F., 483

Alexander, M., 123

Allard, P., 27

Allbright, A., 73

Allen, J., 178

Allen, J. P., 199

Allison, G., 356

Altschuler, D. M., 448

Altshuler S. J., 253

Ames, M. A., 232

Anderson, C., 73, 208

Anderson, J. E., 161

Anderson, L., 186, 371

Anderson, P. M., 214, 276

Anderson, R., 160

Andranovich, G., 438

Andrews, D. A., 442, 448, 485

Annitto, M., 333, 345

Anoshiravani, A., 44, 369

Anthony, E. J., 92, 97

Anton, B. S., 441

Antonucci, T. C., 250

Aos, S., 208, 477, 480, 485,

486, 514

Aratani, Y., 394

Archwamety, T., 303

Armstrong, C., 372

Armstrong, M., 57

Armstrong, T. L., 448

Arnett, J. J., 185

Arnette, J. L., 303, 304

Arseneault, L., 11

Arthur, M., 33

Arthur, M. W., 208

Artiles, A. J., 302

Arya, N., 33, 38, 82, 112, 120, 122,

123, 181, 189, 358

Asgeirsdottir, B. B., 178

Ashby, W. R., 396

Atkins, D. L., 52, 369, 371

Attillasoy, A., 160

Attkisson, C. C., 50

Augarten, I., 38, 82, 122, 358

Austin, J., 415

Austin, J. F., 201

Axelsson, R., 448

Axelsson, S. B., 448

Ayers, R., 310

Ayers, W., 76, 200, 201, 213, 214,

310, 311, 324

Babcock, J. C., 238

Baca, P., 360

Bachman, J. G., 32

Bagley, C., 336

Bakan, D., 393

Baker, C. J., 47

Baker, L. L., xxii, 11, 46, 57, 160,

177, 178, 212, 223, 224, 225,

226, 229, 230, 231, 237, 239,

270

Balfanz, R., 412

Ball, C., 473

Ballard, D., 478

Baltodano, H. M., 298, 302, 304,

371

Bandura, A., 227

Banister, E., 395

Bankston, C. L., 251

Banyard, V. L., 232

Baral, I., 339

Barber, B., 434

Barber, B. R., 300

Bardack, S., 287, 288

Barker, R. L., 393

Barnes, J. C., 520

Barnett, W. S., 482

Barnfather, A., 256, 257

Barnoski, R., 514

Baron, S., 248, 254

Barratt, T., 234

Barstow, A., 118

Barth, R. P., 58

Bartholet, E., 85

Bartholomew, K., 227

Bartlett, J. D., 103, 255, 391

Barton, S., 394, 397

Barton, W. H., 279, 472, 473, 474

Bates, J. E., 227

Bateson, G., 199, 395

Bauer, G., 202, 218

533

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Bauman, K. E., 227

Bazemore, G., 104, 214, 255, 256,

410, 434

Bazerman, M. H., 439

Beaudoin, C. E., 249

Beaver, K. M., 364

Beck, A., 25, 29

Beck, A. J., 87, 166, 335

Beckett, K., 412

Bedard, C., 272, 274

Bedolla, L. G., 249, 256

Beeman, S. K., 229

Belenko, S., 520

Belfield, C. R., 482

Belknap, J., 231

Bell, D., 316, 324

Bell, J., xxi, 26, 37, 38, 56, 82, 95,

111, 113, 115, 117, 124, 125,

175, 179, 180, 201, 233, 288,

297, 299, 310, 320, 336, 355,

357, 358, 429

Bell, K. C., 303

Bell, N., 250

Bell, R. Q., 393

Belle, D., 250, 255

Bellows, J., 444

Benda, B. B., 168, 411

Bender, M. B., 208

Benefield, T. S., 227

Benekos, P., 83

Benjamin, L. M., 436, 437

Benjamin-Coleman, R., 357

Benner, G. J., 205

Bennett, L., 229

Benson, M. J., 199

Benson, P. L., 97, 99, 100, 102, 199,

275, 276, 279, 280, 282

Berberet, H., 161

Berkheiser, M., 80

Berkman, L. F., 55, 238

Bernard, H. R., 135

Bernburg, J. G., 29

Bernstein, N., 85

Beyer, M., xx, 3, 8, 9, 33, 39, 49, 86,

153, 156, 161, 177, 201, 223,

225, 227, 233, 246, 269, 272,

347, 363

Beythe-Marom, R., 6

Bickman, L., 234

Bilchick, S., 288

Bird, Y., 347

Birkhead, T. R., 79

Bishop, D., 5, 357

Bishop, D. M., 25, 27, 95, 114, 115,

119

Blair, G., 8

Blanchett, W., 311

Blau, A., 73

Blazei, R. W., 270

Bliesener, T., 271

Blitzman, J., xxi, 25, 27, 68, 72, 78,

79, 83, 117, 118, 122, 123, 200,

203, 206, 210, 214, 269, 274,

344, 353, 354, 371

Blomberg, J., 444

Blomberg, T. G., 287, 298, 301,

303, 444

Bloom, B., 131, 132, 133, 134, 137,

138, 139

Blumenson, E., 72, 73, 286

Blumstein, A., 31, 517

Blyth, D. A., 199, 279, 280

Bobek, D., 102

Boden, J. M., 223

Boesky, L. M., 49, 50, 52

Bogdan, R., 373

Bogenschneider, K., 208, 210

Bolen, M. G., 205

Bolin, K., 46

Bond, C. E. W., 115

Bonell, C. P., 178

Bonhoeffer, D., xi

Bonta, J., 442

Borduin, C. M., 191, 442, 483

Born, M., 434

Boscolo, L., 401

Bottrell, D., 252, 253, 254

Botvin, G. J., 483

Boundy, K. B., xxii–xxiii, 26, 39,

72, 73, 115, 121, 122, 124, 203,

286, 310, 311, 314, 357, 444

Bourdieu, P., 248, 249, 250, 252,

254

Bowen, G. L., 254

Bowers, E., 104

Bowlby, J., 391

Boyce, W. T., 59, 199, 364

Boyle, P., 511

Bradshaw, C. P., 227

Bradshaw, W., 302

Brandtst€adter, J., 98, 101 Brank, E., 208–209

Brank, E. M., 203

Braverman, P., xxi, 11, 32, 39, 44,

124, 125, 133, 134, 245, 272,

282, 288, 359, 370, 393, 411,

434, 477

Bray, C., 484, 485

Brendgen, M., 228

Brennan, R. T., 58

Brentano, C., 214, 276

Brenzel, B. A., 333, 345

Breuner, C. C., 48

Brewer, G. D., 511

Brewer, R. M., 313

Brezina, T., 230

Bridges, G. S., 56, 115

Brill, S., 157

Brindis, C., 178

Brissette, I., 238

Brisson, D., 252, 253, 255

Brock, L., 297, 303, 304

Brody, G. H., 59, 185

Broeking, J., 203, 205, 206, 207, 212

Brondino, M. J., 483

Bronfenbrenner, U., 98, 103, 175,

199, 246, 267, 268, 371, 372,

391, 393, 394, 395, 397, 400

Brooks-Gunn, J., 55–56, 97, 100,

104, 178, 246, 282, 391, 395

Brosky, B. A., 9

Brown, B. B., 395

Brown, G. R., 158

Brown, J., 282

Brown, L., 8

Brown, L. M., 138

Browne, A., 55

Browne, J. A., 299, 310

Browning, C. R., 510

Bruce, C., 44, 48

Brudney, J. L., 435, 436, 438, 439

Brumbaugh, S., 132, 133

Bruyere, E., xxii, 177, 267, 272, 394

Bruyere, E. B., 269

Buck, J., 484

Buckley, H., 232

Buehler, J., 273

Buehler, J. W., 47

Buka, S. L., 55, 58, 279

Bullis, M., 175, 258, 303, 304

534 A U T H O R I N D E X

Burgess-Proctor, A., 122

Burke, N., 125

Burney, P., 394

Burrell, S., 74, 181, 189, 302, 444

Burris, A., 347

Busch, D., 204, 459, 463

Bushway, S. D., 413

Buss, E., 68, 69

Bussiere, A., 74

Butterfield, K. D., 436, 438

Butts, J., 214, 275, 279, 410, 414

Butts, J. A., xxiv, 25, 104, 204, 208,

210, 233, 364, 436, 459, 484,

499, 505, 520

Byrnes, J. B., 7

Cairns, B., 97

Cairns, R. B., 97

Campbell, D., 278

Campbell, D. T., 478

Canady, B. E., 238

Cantor, E., 238

Carlson, E. A., 276

Carlson, K., 346, 347

Carpenter, J. R., 51

Carrion, V. G., 53

Carroll, M., 73

Carspecken, P., 313

Carter, J., 283

Carter, V., 347

Caruso, H. M., 439, 448

Carver, K., 252

Casella, R., 310

Casey, B. J., 509

Casey, R. E., 303

Caspi, A., 59, 270, 271

Cassidy, E., 23

Castellino, D. R., 385

Castillo, J. T., 250

Castor, M. L., 57

Cattell, V., 252

Cauce, A., 336

Cauce, A. M., 160

Cauffman, E., 53, 78, 131, 133, 134,

179, 434

Cecchin, G., 401

Cecile, M., 434

Ceja, M., 319

Cerda, M., 55, 279

Cesaroni, C., 233

Chalfin, A. J., 510

Chamberlain, L. J., 371

Chamberlain, P., 8, 178, 191, 192,

208, 228, 414, 486

Chamberlin, R., 511

Champion, D. J., 82

Chandra, A., 57, 372

Chapman, J. E., 484

Chapman, J. F., 10, 53

Chapman, M., 393

Charles, M., 436

Chaskin, R. J., 246, 248

Chau, M., 394

Chavez-Garcia, M., 116

Chen, C., 336

Chen, R., 206

Chen, S., 311

Chen, X., 160

Cheng, T. L., 227

Chesney-Lind, M., 27, 35, 132, 133,

134, 333, 345

Chiancone, J., 133

Chiodo, D., 10

Chitwood, D., 339

Chodorow, N., 138

Choe, J. Y., 61

Choe, L., 317

Christopher, F. S., 156

Chung, H., 245

Churchill, R., 370

Churchill, W., 409

Cicchetti, D., 7, 10, 230, 246, 247

Clandinin, D. J., 315

Clark, R. D., 58

Clark, S., 57, 58

Clarke, E. E., 119

Clarke, J., 57

Clatts, M. C., 160

Clawson, H. J., 331, 336, 337, 346,

348

Cleak, H., 250

Clear, T. R., 419

Cleary, H. M. D., 206

Cleland, C. M., 178

Clewell, B. C., 302

Clingempeel, W. G., 483

Clinton, H. R., 395

Coates, R., 313

Coates, R. B., 29, 415

Coatsworth, J. D., 394, 484

Cochran, B. N., 160, 161

Cocozza, J. J., 49, 50, 51, 52, 288,

435, 444, 445

Coggeshall, M. B., 484

Cohen, B., 392

Cohen, J., 9, 31, 517

Cohen, J. A., 231

Cohen, M. I., 44

Cohen, P., 282

Cohen, T. H., 335

Colbert, P., 10

Colclough, G., 251

Cole, C. M., 158

Cole, R. F., 433

Coleman, J., 510

Coleman, J. S., 248, 249, 253, 254

Collier, V. P., 302

Collins, C., 256

Collins, K. S., 370

Collins, W. A., 276

Confessore, N., 354, 425

Conger, D., 57, 132, 139, 207, 357,

359, 361, 362

Conger, R., 371

Connelly, M., 315

Connolly, J., 227

Connor, T., 371

Cook, T. D., 478

Cook, W., 83

Cooke, D. J., 225, 227

Cooper, K., 369

Corbett, A., 348

Corcoran, M., 250

Cormier, C. A., 496

Corneau, M., 134

Cothern, L., 362, 484

Cottrell, B., 230

Coull, B., 55

Covington, S., 131, 133, 134, 137,

138, 139

Cowen, E. L., 247

Coyle, J., 404

Craddock, K. T., 48, 174, 176, 177,

186, 187, 192, 203, 229, 323

Crenshaw, K., 316

Crenshaw, K. W., 316

Crick, N. R., 225

Croghan, T. W., 57

Crosby, S., 300

Cross, C., 232

Author Index 535

Cross, T. P., 238

Cross, W. E., Jr., 8

Crouter, A., 268, 276

Crowell, N. A., 298

Csikzentmihalhyi, M., 98, 101

Cuellar, A., 55, 74

Culler, C., 57

Culpe, J. C., 316

Cummings, E., 100, 103

Cunningham, A. J., xxii, 11, 46, 57,

160, 177, 178, 212, 223, 224,

225, 226, 229, 230, 231, 237,

239, 270

Cunningham, L., 69, 76, 81

Cunningham, M., 185

Cunningham, P., 191

Cunningham, P. B., 483, 484

Curran, S. R., 251, 253, 254

Currie, D., 357

Currie, J., 57

Curry, L. P., 116

Cusick, G. R., 303

Cutting, C. A., 300

Dahl, R. E., 199

Dakof, G. A., 48, 132, 178

Dale, M. J., 86

Daley, C. K., 331

Dallaire, D., 182

D’Ambrosio, R., 258

Damon, W., 97, 100, 199, 395

Darling, N., 10

Daro, D., 238

D’Augelli, A. R., 160

Davidson, C., 200

Davidson, H. A., 203, 205, 206

Davies, H. J., 203, 205, 206

Davis, A., 311

Davis, C., xxii, 56, 208, 209, 245,

271, 272, 274, 276, 372, 510

Davis, D. L., 237

Davis, J. E., 311

Davis, L. M., 57

Davis, W. R., 160

Dawes, D., 208

Day, J. C., 32, 208, 435

Dean, C. W., 93

DeBellis, M. D., 231

Deblinger, E., 9

De Carvalho, J., 281

Decker, T., 211, 216, 217, 416

DeCrescenzo, T., 157

DeCuir, J., 316

Dedel, K., 134, 137

DeFilippis, J., 250

DeGarmo, D., 208

DeGarmo, D. S., 178

Deignan, M., 311

Deitch, M., 118

deLeon, P., 511

Delgado, M., 395–396, 397, 399,

400

Delgado, M. R., 6

Delgado, R., 316, 317, 324, 325

Delgado Bernal, D., 313

Dembo, R., 520

DeMuro, A., 414

DeMuro, P., 414

Denner, J., 139

Dennison, S., 57

Denzin, N. K., 313

de Renzio, P., 248

DeRidder, L. M., 299

Derzon, J. H., 477

Desai, R. A., 49, 54, 435

Deschenes, E. P., 132, 137

Dewey, J., 218–219

Deyhle, D., 316

Diaz, E. M., 159

Diaz, R. M., 9, 157, 160

Dietrich, A. J., 370

Dietrich, T., 57

Dietz, R. D., 510

Dill, P. L., 52

Dilulio, J., xvii

Dilulio, J. J., 95, 517

Dingerson, L., 314

Dishion, T. J., 411, 434

Dixon, A., 52

Dixson, A., 316

Dobrin, A., 48, 54, 435

Dodge, K. A., 7, 12, 225, 227, 434

Dohrn, B., 71, 78, 310

Doll, H., 49

Domalanta, D. D., 52

Dominguez, S., 252, 255, 400

Dong, M., 55, 225

Dooley, M., 256

Doreleijers, T. H., 52

Dornbusch, S. M., 10

Dorrell, O., 311

Douds, A. S., 48

Dowden, C., 485

Dowling, E. M., 214, 276

Downe, P., 337

Drake, E., 208, 486

Drake, E. K., 477, 480, 486

Drakeford, W., 302

Drew, L. M., 393

Drilea, S., 370

Drinkard, A. M., 371

Drizin, S., 5, 81

DuBois, D., 236

Dubrow, N., 270, 271

Dukes, R. L., 281

Dulcan, M. K., 39, 47, 50, 52, 134,

288, 362, 369, 434

Dunbar, C., 310

Duncan, G., 282, 313, 316

Duncan, K. M., 344

Dunn, M., 231

Dupree, D., 185

Durlak, J. A., 441

Durston, S., 509

Dutch, N., 331

Dworkin, A., 336, 339

Dym, B., xxiii–xxiv, 103, 255, 269,

391, 396, 397, 401, 402

Dyson, O. L., 183

D’Zurilla, T. J., 237

Earls, F., 58, 509

Earls, M., 158

East, J., 252

Ebbers, M., 457

Eber, L., 442

Eccles, J. S., 7, 12, 100, 410

Eckenrode, J., 482, 511

Eckes, T., 157

Edelman, M. W., xi

Edleson, J. L., 225, 229, 238

Egeland, B., 276

Egolf, B. P., 227

Ehrensaft, M. K., 178

Ehret, B., 434

Eisenberg, N., 9

Ekstrom, R. B., 299

Elder, G. H., 371

Elder, G. H., Jr., 94

Elena Kuo, E., 180

536 A U T H O R I N D E X

Elkind, D., 199

Elkington, K. S., 47, 52

Elliott, A., 434

Elliott, D., 477, 478, 480

Elliott, D. S., 31, 411

Elliott, S., 257

Elms, W., 415

Elshtain, J. B., 101

Elster, A., 57

Eme, R., 11

Emerson, D., 55

Emery, C. R., 229

Emlet, C. A., 250

Emory, L. E., 158

Engel, S., 311

England, M. J., 433

English, A., 74

Ennet, S. T., 511

Ennett, S. T., 227

Enos, S., 177, 180, 181, 182, 183,

185, 186, 187, 190, 192

Ensminger, M. E., 44, 411

Epstein, M. H., 205

Erbe, C., 255, 256

Erevelles, N., 311

Ericksen, A. J., 370

Erikson, E. H., 7, 96, 156, 199, 393

Ersing, R. L., 251

Escudero, V., 234

Estes, R., 331, 334, 336, 338

Estrada, R., 160, 165, 166

Etten, T. J., 457, 459, 460, 462, 463

Evans, A., 335

Evans, D. L., 441

Evans, W., 53

Eyferth, K., 156

Faessel, R. T., 303

Fagan, A., 478

Fagan, A. A., 208, 223, 227

Fagan, J., 8, 82

Fain, T., 203, 208–209

Falletta, L., 371

Fantuzzo, J. W., 224, 225

Farber, H., 80

Farber, N. B., 251, 255

Fareri, D. S., 6

Farley, M., 336, 338, 339

Farr, J., 253, 254

Farrell, A. F., xi, xxiv, 75, 82, 139,

151, 214, 233, 303, 348, 355,

356, 360, 433, 434, 435, 448,

451, 460

Farrell, C., 249, 250, 255

Farrell-Erickson, M., 274

Farrington, D. P., 31, 58, 178, 273,

477

Farrow, J. A., 48

Fass, S. M., 434

Faust, K., 250

Fazel, S., 49

Feeny, N. C., 236

Feinberg, S. L., 510

Feinstein, R. A., 45, 46, 48, 55, 370,

373

Feiring, C., 178

Feld, B., 81, 82, 94, 116, 118

Feld, B. C., 25, 201

Feldman, R. S., 178

Feldman, S. S., 53

Felitti, V. J., 223

Fenning, P., 310

Ferber, T., 100

Ferguson, A. A., 311, 319

Ferguson, K., 252

Fergusson, D. M., 223, 230

Fermin, L. L., 48, 174, 203, 229,

323

Ferrara, M. L., 484

Ferrer-Wreder, L., 185

Fetterman, D. M., 436

Fhagen-Smith, P., 8

Field, J., 248, 254

Fields, S., 234

Figlio, R. M., 95

Findler, L. S., 250

Fine, M., 314, 315, 363

Finkelhor, D., 223, 225, 230, 232,

238, 332, 333, 334, 335, 337

Finkelstein, M., 357

Finley, L. L., 201

Finley, M., 117

Fischer, D. G., 58

Fisher, B. A., 29

Fisher, P., 51, 486

Fisher, P. A., 486

Fishman, M., 333

Fitzgerald, H. E., 394

Fitzpatrick, K. M., 253, 254, 255

Fix, M. E., 302

Flannery, D. J., 371

Flatau, C. N., 370

Flekkoy, M., 274

Flekkoy, M. G., 275

Fleming, M., 57

Flewelling, R. L., 511

Flores, G., 56, 57

Florsheim, P., 234

Flowers, R. B., 334, 336, 337, 338

Floyd, D. T., 100

Foa, E. B., 236

Foley, R. M., 298

Ford, D. H., 393

Ford, J. D., 8, 10, 53

Forman, Y. E., 104

Forney, M., 339

Forrest, C. B., 44, 411

Forrest, M. S., 272

Forst, M. L., 29

Foshee, V. A., 227–228, 232, 238

Fosler, R. S., 437

Foster, E. M., 371

Foster, H., 178

Foster, M. K., 438

Foster, W., 395

Foucault, M., 315, 372, 373

Fox, K., 357

Fox, S. J., 93

Foy, D., 8, 11

Foy, D. W., 364

Fraiberg, S., 391

Fram, M. S., 253

Frankowski, B. L., 157

Fraser, M. W., 275

Frazier, C. E., 25, 27, 95

Frederick, M. E., 336, 337

Freeman, R. B., 412

Freese, T. E., 161

Freud, A., 92, 96, 97

Freundlich, M., 362

Frey, C., 116

Friedlander, M. L., 234

Friedman, M. J., 231

Friedman, S., 334, 335, 337, 339

Frisco, V., 506

Frykberg, E., 238

Fukuyama, F., 251

Fulbright-Anderson, K., 124, 352,

358

Author Index 537

Funk, S. G., 46

Furby, M., 6

Furman, W., 227

Furstenberg, F. F., Jr., 249, 253, 254

Futterman, D., 158, 160

Gabbidon, S. L., 358

Gaetz, S., 161

Gagnon, J. C., 39, 300, 301, 302,

434

Gagnon, J. H., 156

Gajda, R., 437, 438, 447

Gallagher, C. A., 48, 54, 435

Gallagher, J., 434

Galliher, R. V., 8

Garbarino, J., xxii, 177, 267, 268,

269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 276,

282, 394, 395

Garcia, I. G., 53

Garcia, R. I., 57

Garcia Coll, C., 7

Garcia-Reid, P., 249, 252, 253, 254

Gardiner, K., 333

Gardner, M., 60, 246

Garfinkel, L. F., 210

Garland, A., 53

Garnets, L. D., 158

Garnette, L., xxi, 9, 156, 166

Garrett, A., 336

Garrido, E., 224

Garry, E. M., 362

Gatti, U., 434

Gau, J. M., 245

Gaudio, C. M., 119

Gavazzi, S. M., 288

Gavin, D., 337

Gaylord, N. K., 229

Gazley, B., 435, 436, 438, 439

Gemignani, R. J., 444

Gendreau, P., 485

Gerena, J., 103, 255, 391, 398, 404

Gerrard, M. D., 160

Giaconia, R. M., 11

Gibbs, J., 485

Gibson, C., 520

Gibson, C. L., 364

Giddens, A., 257

Giedd, J. N., 59

Gilbert, J., 202, 203, 212, 214, 286

Gilbert, R., 223, 224

Giles, W. H., 56

Gilkerson, L., 393

Gilligan, C., 8, 138

Ginzler, J. A., 160

Giobbe, E., 337, 339

Gitell, R. V., 252

Glass, T., 238

Glaze, L., 421

Gleeson, C. R., 370

Glick, B., 485

Glosser, A., 333

Goerge, R. M., 248, 303

Goertz, M. E., 299

Goguen, C., 8

Goguen, C. A., 364

Gold, M., 31

Goldblatt Grace, L., xxiii, 133, 218,

331, 337, 338, 339

Golden, R., 177, 180, 181, 182,

183, 184, 185, 186, 188, 189,

192

Goldfarb, S., 335

Goldman, L., 158

Goldson, B., 203

Goldstein, A., 485

Goldweber, A., 134

Goliday, S. J., xxiv, 25, 82, 86, 104,

124, 125, 153, 191, 201, 204,

205, 214, 216, 354, 355, 394,

409, 442, 443, 458, 499, 514

Gollub, E. L., 47

Golub, A., 411

Golzari, M., 44, 369, 371, 384, 386

Goodkind, S., 133, 134, 137, 138,

139

Gootman, J., 12, 410

Gootman, J. A., 100

Gore, A., 100, 103

Gorkoff, K., 337

Gorman-Smith, D., 175, 176

Gotanda, N., 316

Gottfredson, D. C., 482

Gottfredson, M., 94, 95

Gottlieb, G., 97, 393

Gould, S. J., 397

Graham, M., 339

Graham, S., 8

Graham, T., 370

Granovetter, M., 248, 250, 252, 254

Gray, B., 437, 438, 447, 448

Green, B. A., 71, 78

Greenberg, G., 97

Greene, H. T., 358

Greene, J., 119, 120, 121

Greene, J. C., 436, 437

Greenstone, J., 209, 210, 370

Greenstone, J. H., xxi, 8, 35, 58,

131, 177, 190, 231, 232, 233,

348, 356

Greenwood, P., 204, 208

Greenwood, P. W., xxiv, 80, 86, 104,

191, 192, 204, 208, 233, 272,

297, 364, 413, 419, 442, 445,

477, 483, 506, 514

Greytak, E. A., 159

Griffin, A., 139

Griffin, K. W., 483

Griffin, P., 287

Grimm, R., 202, 286

Grisso, T., 5, 81, 124, 134, 212, 411

Grogan-Kaylor, A., 57

Grossberg, M., 116

Grossman, D., 270

Grotpeter, J. K., 483

Groves, W. B., 175, 179

Grubb, W. N., 201

Grych, J. H., 228

Gubrium, J. F., 373

Gudeman, R., 359

Gudjonsson, G. H., 178

Guerino, P., 25, 87, 166

Guerra, N., 413

Guest-Warnick, G., 234

Guiltinan, S., 248

Guinier, L., 316, 325

Gupta, R. A., 55, 74

Guthrie, B. J., 134

Guzder, D., 161

Hagan, J., 178

Hagemeister, A. K., 229

Hagy, D. W., 331

Hains, A. A., 177

Hairston, J. C. F., 181

Hall, G. S., 92, 96

Hall, J. S., 247

Haller, D. M., 370

Halliday-Boykins, C. A., 484

Halpern, F., 370

Halpin, D., 314

538 A U T H O R I N D E X

Hamby, S. L., 223

Hamilton, H., 52

Hamilton, S. F., 97, 275

Hammarberg, T., 274, 275

Hammel, R., 134

Hammer, H., 334

Hampel, P., 6

Handelsman, J. B., 234

Haney L�opez, I. F., 316 Hanlon, C., 139, 445, 451, 499

Hannsson, K., 414

Hanson, K., 208

Hardiman, C. M., 404

Hardt, M., 404

Hare, R. D., 273

Harlan, S., 336

Harlow, C. W., 298

Harpalani, V., 23, 185

Harrell, W., 421

Harris, A., 316

Harris, C., 316, 317, 318

Harris, G. T., 496

Harris, K. E., xxii, 11, 46, 57, 160,

177, 178, 212, 223, 270

Harris, L. J., 71

Harris, P. B., 199

Harris, P. J., 298, 302

Harris, W. W., 391

Harrison, P., 25

Harrison, P. M., 87, 166

Harrison, S., 409

Harriss, J., 248

Hart, A. F., 399

Hart, S., 274, 276

Hartman, R. G., 76

Hartney, C., 180

Harvell, S., 203, 210

Harvell, S. A. S., 206

Harway, M., 337

Harwell, T. S., 47

Haskins, R., 5

Hatcher, S. S., 201, 369, 433

Havel, E., 175, 303

Hawke, J., 10, 53

Hawken, L. S., 441

Hawkins, D., 373

Hawkins, J. D., 33, 178,

208, 274

Hawkins, R. L., xxii, 12, 56, 208,

209, 245, 248, 249, 250, 251,

252, 255, 256, 257, 271, 272,

274, 276, 372, 510

Hawkins, S. R., 133, 134, 208

Hayes, L. M., 53, 54, 87, 412

Haynie, D. L., 231

Healey, K. M., 484

Heilbrunn, J. Z., 299

Hein, K., 45

Heinecke, W., 314

Heineman, J., 160

Heitzeg, N. A., 313

Henderson, A. J., 227

Henderson, C. R., Jr., 511

Hendey, L., 203

Henggeler, S., 191

Henggeler, S. W., 191, 208, 483, 484

Hennessey, M., 8

Hennigan, K., 499

Henning, K., 69, 71, 72, 78, 80,

202, 203, 214

Henshaw, M. M., 57

Hentoff, N., 362

Herbst, M., 299

Herek, G. M., 158

Herman, D., 84

Hermes, M., 317

Hernandez, G., 126

Hero, R. E., 249, 255

Herrenkohl, E. C., 227

Herrenkohl, R. C., 227, 228

Herrenkohl, T. I., 223, 228

Hershberger, S. L., 160

Heugens, P. P. M., 438

Heycock, E., 370

Heyman, R. E., 224

Hill, D. B., 159

Hill, M., 372

Hiller, M. L., 520

Hiller-Sturmhofel, S., 231

Hirsch, J., 99

Hirschi, T., 94, 95

Hirshberg, D., 348

Ho, J., 228

Hodder, I., 135

Hoey, E., 134

Hoge, R. D., 435

Hoggson, N., 178

Holland, P., 25, 68, 86

Hollis, H. M., 48

Holm, S. M., 60

Holman, B., 81, 82, 168, 215, 411

Holmer, H., 256

Holsinger, K., xx–xxi, 24, 111, 112,

134, 161, 174, 175, 201, 231

Holstein, J. A., 373

Holt, A. R., 229

Holt, S., 232

Holton, J. K., 58

Holtrop, K., 122

Homish, D. L., 224

Hope, L. T., 179

Horn, M., 421, 423

Horner, R., 441

Horner, R. H., 435

Horowitz, J. A., 11

Horton, C., 364

Horwath, J., 436

Horwood, L. J., 223, 230

Hosie, A. C. S., 178

Hotaling, N., 346, 347, 348

Houchins, D. E., 300, 302, 303, 435

Hough, R., 53

Howard, O., 335, 337

Howard-Hamilton, M. F., 176, 192

Howe, B. R., 275

Howe, J. L., 250

Howell, J. C., 460, 495, 500

Howell, K. W., 300, 303

Howie, P., 52

Howley, D., 348

Hoyt, D., 160, 336

Hoytt, E., 126

Hsia, H. M., 37, 56, 357

Hsieh, D. K., 124

Hua, L., 48

Hubbard, D. J., 138, 485

Hubsch, A.W., 72

Huebner, D., 9, 160

Huesmann, L. R., 175

Hufft, A. G., 48

Hughes, H. K., 8

Hughes, J., 250

Hughes, M. E., 249, 253, 254

Huguley, S., 229

Huizinga, D., 31, 362, 364, 434

Hungler, K., 256, 257

Hunt, P., 202

Hunt, S. J., 44, 369, 371

Hunter, S., 338

Husain, J., 52

Author Index 539

Hussey, D. L., 371

Hutchins, K., 47

Hutson, H., 396, 397, 401, 402

Hwang, W., 234

Hyde, J., 160

Hyland, K., 341

Iacono, W. G., 270

Impett, E. A., 156

Inciardi, J., 339

Inderbitzin, M., 179, 184, 186, 187,

192, 205, 209, 245

Ingoldsby, E. M., 55, 179

Irazola, S., 336

Irby, M., 100

Ireland, J. L., 234

Ireland, T. O., 227

Irish, K., 189

Irvine, A., xxi, 9, 156, 161, 162,

163, 164, 165, 167

Irwin, K., 478

Iselin, A. R., 496

Israel, G. E., 157

Jack, G., 249

Jacobs, F., xv, xvii, xxii, 12, 57, 71,

80, 115, 124, 156, 199, 209,

210, 212, 268, 282, 369, 370,

373, 386, 393, 394, 483, 517,

527

Jacobs, L., 57, 209, 268, 369

Jacobs, L. A., 371

Jaffe, P., 223, 231

Jaffee, S. R., 271

James, C. B., 8, 11

Jamieson, J., 203

Janssen, R. S., 47

Jarosik, J., 57

Jarvis, D., 394

Jarvis, P. F., 314

Jashinsky, O., 84

Jelicic, H., 102

Jennings, J., 249, 250

Jenny, C., 158

Jenuwine, M., 53

Jespers, I., 49

Joanning, H., 484

Johansson, P., 228

Johnson, B., 347

Johnson, J., 357

Johnson, J. G., 282

Johnson, K., 160

Johnston, L. D., 32

Jolivette, K., 300, 302, 434, 435,

441, 447

Jones, D., 46

Jones, M. A., 38

Jonson-Reid, M., 58

Jordan, B., 249

Jouriles, E. N., 224, 225, 228

Juszczak, L., 369

Kadushin, C., 248, 254

Kahne, J., 252

Kaminsky, T., 84

Kang, W., 32

Kaplan, R., xxii, 12, 71, 80, 115,

124, 156, 199, 268, 282, 393,

394, 483, 517

Kapphahn, C., 370

Karger, J., xxii–xxiii, 26, 39, 72, 73,

115, 121, 122, 124, 203, 286,

310, 311, 314, 357, 444

Karver, M. S., 234

Kashani, J. H., 411

Katsiyannis, A., 299, 303

Katz, L. M., 50, 51

Katz, M. H., 47

Katz, S., 8

Kaufman, J., 391

Kaufman, M. J., 455

Kawachi, I., 238, 248, 250, 252

Kaye, N., 139, 445, 499

Kazdin, A., 11

Keegan, N., 297, 303, 304

Kelleher, K. J., 55, 74, 434

Kellogg, T., 47

Kelly, M. R., 460

Kelly, P. J., 134

Kelly, V., 336, 338, 339

Kempf-Leonard, K., 228

Kendall-Tackett, K. A., 223, 232

Kendig, R., 210

Kennair, N., 229

Kennedy, A. C., 229

Kennedy, B., 248, 250

Kenny, E. D., 229

Kerig, P. K., 9

Khan, R., 225, 227

Khashu, A., 357

Khatiwada, I., 159

Khurana, A., 288

Kilburn, R. M., 57

Kilmer, R. P., 247

Kim, A. A., 47

Kim, D. H., 252, 253, 254, 255

Kimbrough-Melton, R. J., 278

Kindlon, D., 10

King, K., 80

King, M., 287, 353, 434

King, P. E., 100

King, R. S., 27, 38

Kintner, E., 134

Kiremire, M., 339

Kirk, D. S., 58

Kirk, S. A., 124

Kisna, M. A., 208

Kitzmann, K. M., 229

Klein, J. D., 370

Klein, N. K., 393

Klein, R., 157

Kleitz, S. J., 191

Klerman, L. V., 48, 370

Knesting, K., 311

Knoff, H. M., 299

Knoll, C., 25, 37, 38

Knupfer, A. M., 333, 345

Ko, S., 8

Ko, S. J., 50, 51

Koegl, C. J., 233

Koh Peters, J., 85

Koliba, C., 447

Kolko, D. J., 391

Konarski, R., 227

Koopman, C., 231

Koposov, R., 51

Kosciw, J. G., 159

Kostelny, K., 270, 271

Koverola, C., 339

Kozol, J., 394, 397

Kramer, T. L., 50

Kreipe, R. E., 371

Kreuter, M. W., 251

Krezmien, M., 300

Krezmien, M. P., 26, 298

Krieger, N., 55

Krisberg, B., 25, 32, 116, 201, 415

Kristof, N., 332, 334, 338, 340

Kroger, J., 7

Krohn, M. D., 29, 362

540 A U T H O R I N D E X

Kubisch, A., 124, 352

Kubrin, C., 115

Kulynych, J., 249, 250

Kwasman, A., 370

Kwong, M. J., 227

Kyckelhahn, T., 335

Lacey, C., 117

Lacks, R., 357

Lacour, C. B., 318

Ladson-Billings, G., 316, 317

Lally, S. J., 9

Lambert, R., 435

Lamborn, S. D., 10

Lampkin, A., 370

Lampron, S., 287

Lanctot, N., 134

Landenberger, N. A., 480, 481, 484,

485, 495

Landsverk, J., 10

Lane, J., 95, 203, 208–209, 436, 439,

448

Langabeer, K., 231

Langley, K., 59

Langstrom, N., 49

Lansford, J. E., 223, 224, 227, 229,

250, 434

Lansing, A. E., 53

Lanza-Kaduce, L., 25, 95

Larrea, M. A., 48, 132, 178

Larson, R. W., 6

Latessa, E. J., 485

Lattimore, P. K., 208

Laub, J. H., 58

Lavoie, F., 228

Lawler, S., 135

Lawrence, C., 320

Lawrence, C. R., III, 316

Lawrence, K., 124, 352

Layne, C., 11

Lazerson, M., 201

Lazlo, E., 401

Leadbeater, B. J. R., 395

LeBlanc, L. A., 412

LeCompte, M. D., 315

Lederman, C. S., 48, 52, 132, 133,

134, 178

Lee, S., 322

Leffert, N., 199, 279, 280, 281

Legters, N., 412

Leiber, M., 114, 358

Leiber, M. J., 112, 113, 357

Lemak, D. J., 436

Leo, R., 5

Leone, P., 444, 448

Leone, P. E., 26, 39, 73, 288, 298,

300, 302, 303, 434

Lerner, J. V., 102, 104

Lerner, R., 156

Lerner, R. M., xxi, 4, 7, 12, 33, 92,

93, 94, 95, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101,

102, 103, 104, 153, 156, 199,

214, 246, 248, 268, 275, 276,

280, 347, 364, 372, 385, 391,

393, 394, 395, 410, 414

Lerner, S., 414

Lesch, K. P., 59

Letourneau, E. J., 484

Letourneau, N., 256, 257

Leve, L., 8, 208, 486

Leve, L. D., 178, 414, 486

Leventhal, T., 55–56, 391

Levick, M. L., 138

Levin, B., 314

Levine, M., 434

Levine, W. C., 47

Levitt, S. D., 516

Lewin-Bizan, S., 103

Lewis, A., 313

Lewis, M., 393

Lexcen, F. J., 134

Lezin, N. A., 251

Li, H., 132, 178

Li, S. D., 298

Liao, Y., 56

Lichter, E. L., 232

Lickliter, R., 97

Lieb, R., 514

Lieberman, A., 9

Lieberman, A. F., 391

Liedka, R. V., 516

Limber, S., 482

Limber, S. P., 275

Limbos, M. A., 238

Lin, N., 248, 250, 251, 252, 254,

255, 257

Lincoln, Y. S., 313

Lindegren, M. L., 47

Lindsey, D., 201, 215, 217

Lindsey, M. A., 250

Lipman, P., 314

Lipsey, M. W., 208, 442, 448, 477,

480, 481, 484, 485, 489, 490,

495, 497, 500

Lipsky, M., 356

Lipton, D., 478

Liss, M., 337

Liston, C., 509

Listwan, S. J., 485

Litt, I. R., 44

Little, M., 245

Livingston, M., 57

Livsey, S., 29

Lizotte, A. J., 362

Lloyd, R., 331, 332, 335, 336, 337,

338, 339, 340, 348

Lochner, K., 248, 250, 254

Locke, J., 393

Loeber, R., 224, 362, 364

Loeffler, D. N., 251

Lopez-Williams, A., 180

Lorish, C. D., 370

Losel, F., 271

Losen, D., 310

Losen, D. F., 122

Losen, D. J., 26, 297

Loughran, E. J., 411

Lovell, R., 37, 357

Lowry, B., 8

Lucas, C. P., 51

Luckenbill, W., 204, 205, 216

Luczynska, C., 394

Lukens, L., 118

Lundman, R. J., 484

Luthar, S. S., 8, 246, 247

Lyerla, R., 47

Lynch, D., 133, 335, 341, 343, 345

Lynn, M., 316

Lynskey, M. T., 230

Lyons, J. S., 53

Maas, C., 223, 227, 228

Maccini, P., 300

MacDonald, R., 253

Macinko, J., 56

MacInnes, R., 346, 348

Mackenzie, D. L., 448

Mackenzie, R., 339

MacKinnon, C., 336

MacLeod, K. S., 441

Author Index 541

Magnum, R. L., 460

Magnusson, D., 98, 393, 394, 397

Mahler, K. A., 231

Mahoney, K., 8

Maimon, D., 231

Maisiak, R., 370

Majd, K., 8, 79, 161, 166, 167, 168,

169

Majone, G., 217

Mallet, S., 160

Mallon, G. P., 157, 161

Malmgren, K. W., 57

Maniglia, R., 137, 138

Manke, B., 225

Mankey, J., 360

Mann, C. R., 318

Mannarino, A., 9

Marcell, A., 370

March, J., 236

Margolin, G., 223, 230, 231, 236

Margolis, H. S., 47

Mariscal, R., xxi, 26, 37, 38, 56, 82,

95, 111, 175, 179, 180, 201,

233, 288, 297, 299, 310, 320,

336, 355, 357, 358, 429

Markey, C. N., 370

Markman, J., 78, 347

Marks, J., 457

Marksamer, J., 8, 9, 157, 161, 165,

166

Marsh, J., 253

Marshall, L. E., 234

Marshall, P. C., 394

Marshall, W. L., 234

Martin, A., 49

Martin, C. L., 159

Martin, L. N., 6

Martin, M., 117

Martin, S. R., 160

Martinez, C., 392, 396, 401

Martinez, E., 134

Martinson, R., 478

Marton, K. I., 370

Marzullo, M. A., 160

Maschi, T., 201, 215, 369, 371,

384, 433

Maslow, A. H., 238

Mason, J., 135

Mason, L., 300

Mason, W. A., 53

Masten, A. S., 33, 199, 246, 247,

393, 394

Mathur, S. R., 304, 371, 434, 444

Matsuda, M., 316, 325

Matthew, R., 232

Matthews, B., 138

Matthews, Z., 53

Maturana, H., 401

Mauer, M., 181, 358

Maurer, K., 248, 249, 251, 256, 257

Maxfield, M. G., 227

May, C. K., 254

May, J., 139, 445, 499

Mayall, B., 372

Mayer, S., 275, 410

Mays, L. G., 82

Mazerolle, L., 510

Mbilinyi, L. F., 229

McBride, C., 484

McBride, D., 339

McBroom, J., 510

McCabe, K. M., 53

McClard, T., 213

McClelland, G. M., 39, 47, 50, 52,

134, 288, 362, 369, 434

McCloskey, L. A., 232

McConaghy, N., 158

McCord, J., 298, 411

McCrary, J., 516

McCurley, C., 224

McDaniel, B., 9

McDonald, R., 224, 225, 228

McEwen, B. S., 59, 199, 364

McFarland, W., 47

McGaha, J. E., 335

McGlynn, M., 302

McGowan, A., 5, 517

McGue, M., 270

McGuire, M., 359

McHale, R., 56

McHugh, D., 360

McIntyre, T., 301

McKenna, L., 100

McKenzie, M., 239

McLaughlin, J., 159

McNulty, M., 370

McPherson, K., 11, 205, 207, 211,

212, 214

McPherson, K. S., 44, 45, 49, 51,

53, 54, 55, 73, 87, 298, 299

McReynolds, L. S., 50, 51

McWey, L. M., 205

McWhirter, E. H., 245

Mead, M., 132, 137, 138, 139

Mears, D. P., 25, 29, 208, 256, 297,

303, 304

Meiners, E. R., 311, 313, 319

Meinhard, A. G., 438

Meisel, S. M., 57, 300, 302

Melbye, K., 347

Mellor, D., 229

Melton, G., 191, 274, 275, 276, 278

Melton, G. B., 68

Menard, S., 31

Mendel, R., 82, 111, 125, 204, 355,

456, 458

Mendel, R. A., 191, 412, 416, 429

Mennel, R. M., 24, 116

Mercer, K., 318

Mericle, A. A., 39, 47, 50, 134, 288,

362, 369

Merlo, A., 83

Meroe, A. S., 214, 410

Meroe, S. A., 104

Merschdorf, U., 59

Mertz, K. J., 47

Messinger, L., 159

Meyer, D. D., 68, 69

Meyer, J. R., 5

Meyer, W. J., 158

Michael, R. S., 310

Mihalic, S., 478, 497

Mihalic, S. F., 208, 435, 483, 486

Milburn, N., 160

Milburn, N. G., 160

Miller, A. D., 415

Miller, H. V., 520

Miller, J., xxiii, 58, 72, 75, 124, 134,

139, 151, 201, 214, 303, 352,

362, 435, 460

Miller, J. G., 410

Miller, J. M., 520

Miller, M., 208, 486

Miller, M. G., 477, 480, 486

Miller, T. K., 436

Miller-Cribbs, J. E., 251, 255

Miller-Johnson, S., 178

Miller-Kahn, L., 314

Minkovitz, C. S., 372

Minow, M., 69

542 A U T H O R I N D E X

Minton, T., 421

Minuchin, S., 199, 393, 397

Minze, L. C., 225

Miranda, D., 357

Miranda-Julian, C., xxii, 12, 71, 80,

115, 124, 156, 199, 209, 212,

268, 282, 393, 394, 483, 517

Mitchel, C. C., 208

Mitchell, R. L., 463

Mitzen, J., 257

Mlyniec, W. J., 25, 68, 86

Modecki, K. L., 60, 232

Moeddel, M. A., 9

Moff, J., 160

Moffitt, T., 49

Moffitt, T. E., 50, 51, 270, 271

Mohr, H., 29

Mohr, W. K., 224, 225

Molnar, B. E., 55, 58, 279

Moneta, G., 6

Monk, P., 230

Montie, J., 482

Mooney, M. R., 205

Mooradian, J. K., 357

Moore, K., 8

Moore, K. J., 486

Moore, M. R., 395

Morais, B., 423, 425

Morenoff, J. D., 509

Morgan, M., 137, 138, 139

Morgan, S. L., 255, 256, 257

Moriearty, P. L., 81, 113, 114

Morris, A. S., 9

Morris, L., 362

Morris, P. A., 98, 103, 199

Morris, R., xxi, 11, 32, 39, 44, 124,

125, 133, 134, 245, 272, 282,

288, 359, 370, 393, 411, 434,

477

Morris, R. E., 44, 45, 46, 47, 51, 53,

55, 371

Morris, S. Z., 364

Morrison, T., 318

Morrow, D., 159

Morton, H., 457, 458, 461, 463

Moser, C., 248

Mounts, N. S., 10

Mowbray, M., 250

Mueller, G., 175

Mueller, J., 313

Mueller, M. K., 92

Muhkerjee, D., 251, 252

Mukasey, M. B., 331, 333, 334, 340,

341, 342, 344

Mulcahy, C. A., 298, 300

Mulford, C. F., 208

Mullen, R., 484

Muller, E., 39

Mulvey, E., 434

Mulvey, E. P., 496

Mumola, C. J., 181

Muñoz-Miller, M., 185

Murnane, R. J., 298

Murray, J., 178

Murray, K. E., 247

Murray, L., 395

Musick, J. S., 229

Mutcherson, K., 76

Myers, D. M., xi, xxiv, 75, 82, 139,

151, 214, 233, 303, 348, 355,

356, 360, 433, 434, 435, 448,

451, 460

Nadon, S., 339

Najaka, S. S., 482

Najam, A., 435

Nakhaie, M. R., 419

Napolitano, C. M., 92

Nardo, A. C., 310

Neal, R. D., 370

Negri, A., 404

Neild, R., 412

Nellis, A., 27, 38, 111, 114, 117,

125, 181

Nelson, B. J., 218

Nelson, C. M., 302, 434, 435, 441,

442, 447, 448

Nelson, D., 201, 217

Nelson, D. W., 111, 112, 119

Nelson, R., 210

Nesmith, J. D., 48

Neumark-Sztainer, D., 370

Newman, B., 10

Ney, P., 10

Nezu, A. M., 237

Ng, I., 133

Nichols, T. R., 483

Nicholson, H. J., 256

Nilsen, E., 72, 73

Nilsen, E. S., 286

Nissen, L., 256

Nixon, K., 337, 338, 339

Noddings, N., 315

Noguera, P., 319

Noone, M. J., 224

Nores, M., 482

Norton-Hawk, M., 336, 337, 338

Norwood, W. D., 228

Novikoff, A. B., 97

Nurse, A. M., 177, 180, 181, 183,

185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 191

Nyberg, S., 392

Nye, F. I., 31

Oakes, J., 298

Oakley, A., 372

O’Boyle, M., 158

Obradovi�c, J., 246, 247 O’Brien, M. D., 234

O’Brien, W., 457

O’Connell, K., 337

O’Connor, C., 313

O’Connor, M. J., 394

Odgers, C. L., 56

Ofshe, R., 5

Ogden, B., 457

Oh, K., 48

Oh, M. K., 47, 370

Ohlin, L. E., 415

Okamoto, S. K., 132, 133, 134

O’Keefe, G., 392

Olds, D. L., 482, 511

O’Leary, C., 335, 337

Oliveri, R., xxiii, 57, 137, 209, 210,

268, 369, 370

Olson, H. C., 394

Olson, V., 31

Olweus, D., 11, 482

O’Malley, P. M., 32

Ong, A., 322

Onorato, I. M., 47

Oppong-Odiseng, A., 370

Orfield, G., 310

Ormrod, R., 223, 332, 333, 335,

337

Ortega, R. M., 57

Ortiz, R. V., 370

Osgood, D. W., 32

Osher, D. M., 39, 73, 288, 302, 310,

444

Author Index 543

Osher, T., 202

Oshinsky, D. M., 116

Osofsky, J. D., 4, 364

Overton, C., 465, 466, 467, 468

Overton, W. F., 92, 94, 95,

97, 98

Owen, A. E., 238

Owen, B., 132, 133, 137

Owen, G., 160

Owen, S. V., 134

Owen-Kostelnik, J., 5

Paasch, K., 252

Padnani, A., 122

Padron, E., 391

Pagani, L. S., 230

Pajer, K., 55

Palma, S., 159

Palmer, J., 460

Paradis, A. D., 11

Pardo, C., 271

Parent, D. G., 412

Parker, B., 435

Parker, L., 316

Parnham, J., 202, 286

Parra-Cardona, R. J., 177, 187

Parriott, R., 339

Passamonti, L., 59

Patino, V., 175

Patterson, G. R., 228

Patton, P., 137, 138, 139

Peller, G., 316

Pelton, L. H., 206

Penn, E. B., 358

Pennbridge, J., 339

Pennbridge, J. N., 161

Pennisi, A. J., 47

Pepper, R., 157

Peralez-Dieckmann, E., 134

Perel, J. M., 231

Perez, J. F., 301

Perez, L. M., 55

Perkins, J., 74

Perry, J. L., 436

Pesta, G., 287, 301, 303, 444

Petermann, F., 6

Peters, R. D., 246

Peterson, N. L., 436, 437

Peterson, R., 299

Peterson, R. L., 121, 310

Peterson-Badali, M., 203, 205, 206,

207, 212, 233

Peterson-Hickey, M., 117

Petro, J., 364

Petrone, R. F., 457, 459, 460, 462,

463

Petrosino, A., 273

Pettingell, S., 160

Pettit, G. S., 227

Petts, R. J., 231

Phelps, E., 102, 104

Phelps, E. D., 102

Philliber, S., 178

Phillips, D., 199, 393, 394

Phipps, P., 514

Pi, C., 434

Piacentini, J. C., 230

Pickett, K. E., 55

Pickrel, S. G., 483

Piehl, A. M., 516

Pinderhughes, E. E., xxii, 48, 174,

203, 229, 323

Pinderhughes, H., 238

Pines, A., 331, 336, 337, 339

Piquero, A., 201

Piquero, A. R., 114, 179, 180, 231,

288

Pittman, K., 100, 101, 103

Planty, M., 122

Platt, A. M., 94

Platt, J. S., 303

Plotkin, A. J., 238

Poe-Yamagata, E., 38

Poirier, J. M., 39, 73, 288, 310

Pollack, J. M., 299

Pollard, J. A., 33

Pollio, D. E., 161

Polo-Tomas, M., 271

Poncz, E., 78

Pope, C., 112, 113

Pope, C. E., 37, 357, 358

Porter, A., 348

Porter, P. K., 362

Portes, A., 248, 251

Pottick, K. J., 124

Pottieger, A., 339

Poulin, F., 411

Poupart, J., 117

Povenmire-Kirk, T., 205, 209

Powell, J. L., 33, 393

Power, S., 314

Powers, D. A., 253

Poyer, K. L., 158

Pranis, K., 119, 120, 121

Prata, G., 401

Pressman, J., 359

Price, J. M., 10

Priebe, A., 346

Prigogine, I., 397

Pritchard, A., 92

Prothrow-Stith, D., 250, 371

Puckett-Patterson, D., 300

Pullmann, M., 371

Pumariega, A. J., 369, 386

Puritz, P., 79

Putnam, F. W., 231

Putnam, R. D., 249

Putnick, D. L., 7

Puzzanchera, C., xvii, 25, 26, 28,

29, 81, 131, 133, 335, 517

Pynoos, R., 8, 11

Pynoos, R. S., 230

Qaseem, A., 371

Quillian, L., 249

Quinn, A., 435

Quinn, M. M., 39, 73, 288, 302,

310, 444

Quinn, W., 484

Quinsey, V. L., 496

Quint, J. C., 229

Rabinovitch, J., 347

Raffaele Mendez, L. M., 299

Ramsey, S. H., 85

Randall, J., 484

Raphael, J., 336, 337, 338, 339, 345,

347, 348

Rathunde, K., 98, 101

Ravoira, L., 132, 134, 137, 175

Rawal, P., 53

Rawana, J., 10

Ray, N., 160, 161

Ream, R. K., 253, 254

Rebeck, A., 357

Rebellon, C. J., 223, 227

Redd, R., 249

Redding, R. E., 95, 208

Redhorse, J., 117

Reed, K., 338

Reed, R., 436

544 A U T H O R I N D E X

Rehkopf, D. H., 55

Reichbach, A., 73

Reid, J., 191

Reid, M. J., 482

Reiman, J., 245, 253

Reinecke, M. A., 236

Reinherz, H. Z., 11

Reiss, A. J., 478

Reppucci, N. D., 5, 93, 177

Retz, W., 59

Retz-Junginger, P., 59

Reutter, L., 256, 257

Reyes, A., 73

Reyes, C., xxi, 8, 9, 156, 161

Reyna, R., 118

Rhoghel, K. L., 59

Ribases, M., 59

Rice, E., 160

Rice, M., 496

Rich, J., 124, 125

Richards, C., 39

Richards, M. H., 6

Richardson, B., 111, 114, 117, 125

Rider, J. A., 419

Ridolfi, L., 113, 115, 117

Ridolfi, L. J., 201

Riley, A. W., 44, 411

Riley, K., 473

Ringwalt, C. L., 511

Risser, J. M., 52

Risser, W. L., 52

Ro, M. J., 55

Roberts, A. L., 279

Roberts, D. J., 463

Roberts, R. E., 50, 52

Roberts, S., 355

Robertson, A. A., 52

Robinson, M. B., 370

Robinson, T., 176, 186, 187, 192

Robinson, T. L., 176, 192

Robson, R., 160

Rock, D. A., 299

Rockwell, S. B., 302

Rodas, B., 203

Rodgers, L., 336

Rodriguez, G. M., 314

Rodriguez, M., 160

Roe-Sepowitz, D. E., 228

Roesler, T. A., 158

Rogers, C. S., 199

Rogers, T., 439

Rogoff, B., 199

Roll, S., 252

Rolle, R. E., 314

Roman, C., 510

Roman, J. K., xxiv, 204, 208, 210,

233, 364, 436, 459, 499, 505,

520

Romansky, J., 53

Romero, E. G., 61

Rondenell, S., 360

Roosevelt, E., 275

Rosario, M., 178

Rosato, N. S., 201, 369, 433

Roschelle, A. R., 250

Rose, D. R., 419

Rose, J., 310

Roseborough, D., 302

Rosenbaum, J., 132, 137

Rosenbaum, J. L., 177

Rosenblatt, A., 50

Rosenblum, L. A., 393

Rosenheck, R., 438, 448

Rosenheim, M. K., 478

Rosenthal, D., 160

Rosler, M., 59

Ross, C., 69, 72, 80, 207

Ross, T., xxiii, 57, 58, 72, 75, 124,

132, 134, 139, 151, 201, 207,

214, 215, 303, 352, 353, 357,

359, 361, 362, 435, 460

Rossman, B. B. R., 228

Rostosky, S. S., 8

Roth, J., 395, 399

Roth, J. A., 478, 517

Roth, J. L., 97, 100, 104

Rotheram-Borus, M. J., 160, 231

Rothman, D. J., 93, 411

Rousseau, C., 316

Rowland, M., 191

Rowland, M. D., 483

Roy, K. M., 183

Rozalski, M., 311

Ruchkin, V., 51

Rudinger, G., 156

Rudy, B., 47

Ruffolo, M. C., 57

Ruiz-de-Velasco, J., 302

Rumberger, R. W., 253, 254

Russell, C. M., 288

Ruth, G., 275, 410

Rutherford, R., 371

Rutherford, R. B., 39, 73, 288, 298,

302, 304, 310

Rutter, M., 270, 393, 394

Ryals, J. S., 302

Ryan, C., 9, 157, 158, 160, 165

Ryan, G. W., 135

Ryan, J. B., 303

Ryan, N., 236

Ryan, S. A., 371

Sacco, V. F., 419

Saddler, C., 311

Saewyc, E. M., 160

Safyer, A. W., 161

Salamon, L. A., 435

Saleebey, D., 33, 393

Salzinger, S., 178, 282

Sampson, R. J., 56, 58, 175, 179,

255, 509

Sanchez, A., 404

Sanchez, J., 9, 160

Sanchez, M., 166

Sanci, L. A., 370

Sandler, I. N., 441

Sandy, J. M., 6

Santisteban, D., 484

Santos, L., 51

Sarri, R. C., 133

Savin-Williams, R. C., 158

Sawyer, R. G., 339

Scales, P., 279, 280

Scales, P. C., 97, 199, 275, 280, 281

Schachter, E., 185

Schaeffer, C. M., 191, 442

Scharmer, O., 400

Schensul, J. J., 315

Scheurich, J. J., 373

Schindler, M., xxiv, 25, 82, 86, 104,

119, 124, 125, 153, 191, 192,

201, 204, 205, 214, 216, 354,

355, 394, 409, 442, 443, 458,

499, 514

Schiraldi, G. R., 339

Schiraldi, V., xxiv, 25, 33, 82, 86,

104, 124, 125, 126, 153, 191,

192, 201, 204, 205, 214, 216,

354, 355, 394, 409, 442, 443,

458, 499, 514

Author Index 545

Schirmer, S., 181

Schlee, B. M., 205

Schlesinger, A., Jr., xvii

Schludermann, E., 339

Schmid, K. L., 92

Schneider, B., 252, 253, 254, 255

Schneider, S., xxiv, 39, 40, 82, 152,

161, 204, 355, 358, 429, 443,

456, 518

Schneirla, T. C., 97

Schoenfeld, N., 444

Schoenwald, S., 191, 208

Schoenwald, S. K., 483

Scholle, S. H., 434

Schoon, I., 246, 247

Schoonover, B., 121

Schorr, L., 248

Schorr, L. B., 506, 522

Schuller, T., 248, 254

Schultz, R., 258

Schumann, J., 441

Schumann, K., 434

Schwab-Stone, M., 51

Schwalbe, C. S., 201, 369, 433

Schwartz, R., 201, 213, 214, 414

Schwartz, R. G., 92, 93, 94

Schweinhart, L. J., 482

Scott, E., 25, 92, 93, 105

Scott, E. S., 5, 6, 92, 93, 94, 95, 104,

105, 199, 201, 509

Scott, K. K., 238

Scott, R., xxv, 529

Scott, T. M., 302

Seave, P., 496

Secker, J., 372

Sedlak, A., 11, 205, 207, 211, 212,

214, 334

Sedlak, A. J., 44, 45, 48, 49, 51, 53,

54, 55, 73, 87, 298, 299

Seeman, T. E., 238

Sehgal, A., 203, 208–209

Seibold-Simpson, S. M., 371

Seidel, D., 287

Seidman, E., 55

Seiffe-Krenke, I., 6

Seitz, K., 348

Seligman, M. E. P., 441

Sellers, C. S., 31

Sellin, T., 95

Selsky, J. W., 435

Selvini Palazzoli, M., 401

Semsa, A., Jr., 97

Serran, G. A., 234

Sesma, A., 275

Sexton, T., 208

Sexton, T. L., 483

Sezgin, U., 339

Shadish, W. R., 478

Shaffer-King, E., 134

Shanahan, R., 205

Shapiro, D., 337

Shapiro, F., 272

Shapiro, S. B., 484

Shapiro, V., 391

Sharp, A. E., 177

Sharp, C., 177, 178

Shaw, D. S., 55

Sheedy, C. F., 237

Sheidow, A. J., 191, 208

Shek, D. T. L., 237

Shelden, R., 27, 333, 345

Shelton, D., 46, 52, 369, 371

Shelton, H., 122, 358

Sheppard, V. B., 357

Shera, W., 435

Sherif, C. W., 439

Sherif, M., 439

Sherman, F., 84, 371, 384

Sherman, F. T., xv, xvii, xxi,

xxiii, 8, 25, 27, 35, 58, 68,

117, 118, 122, 123, 131, 132,

133, 134, 137, 138, 139, 177,

190, 200, 203, 206, 210, 214,

218, 231, 232, 233, 269, 274,

331, 344, 348, 353, 354, 356,

371, 527

Sherman, G., 118

Shi, J., 56

Shi, L., 371

Shields, G., 58

Shildrick, T., 253

Shippen, M. E., 300, 435

Shirk, M., 360

Shoenberg, D., 86, 119, 181, 189

Shonkoff, J., 199

Shonkoff, J. P., 59, 60, 199, 364,

393, 394

Short, J. F., 31

Shortorbani, S., 234

Shrimpton, B., 239

Shufelt, J. L., 49, 50, 51,

52, 53

Shulman, E. P., 134

Shultz, D., 57

Sickmund, M., 25, 26, 27, 28, 29,

32, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 56,

58, 59, 81, 245, 246, 287, 421,

422, 484, 510, 517

Siddle, P., 270

Siegel, J. A., 231, 232

Siegfried, C., 8

Sigfusdottir, I. D., 178

Sigurdsson, J. F., 178

Silbereisen, R., 156

Silbert, M., 331, 336, 337, 339

Silva, F., 180

Simkins, S., 8

Simon, J., 177, 178

Simon, W., 156

Simpson, D., 253

Simpson, L., xxiv, 39, 40, 56, 82,

152, 161, 204, 355, 358, 429,

443, 456, 518

Sitaraman, B., 251

Siu, A. M. H., 237

Skay, C., 160

Skiba, R., 122, 299, 435

Skiba, R. J., 26, 299, 310,

311, 357

Skopp, N. A., 225

Skowyra, K., 435, 444, 445

Skowyra, K. R., 288

Skyles, A., 248

Sladky, A., 29, 32

Slattery, B., 336

Smetana, J. G., 9

Smink, J., 299

Smith, B., 126

Smith, C., 223

Smith, C. A., 227, 362

Smith, C. D., 298

Smith, D., 8, 372

Smith, D. E., 313

Smith, G. S., 94

Smith, L., 191

Smith, L. A., 331, 333, 334, 335,

336, 337, 338, 341, 342, 343,

344, 345

Smith, L. T., 313

Smith, M., 348

546 A U T H O R I N D E X

Smith, M. L., 314

Smith, P. K., 393

Smith, R., 394

Smith, S. S., 249, 250

Smith Slep, A. M., 224

Smith Stern, C. A., 58

Smith Stern, S. B., 58

Snow, D. A., 186

Snow, M. A., 331

Snyder, H., 510, 517

Snyder, H. N., 26, 27, 28, 33, 35,

38, 39, 56, 58, 59, 224, 245,

246, 287, 484

Soler, M., 86, 87, 119, 181, 189,

190, 192, 369, 370, 384, 448

Soler, M. I., 86

Solomon, A., 331

Solomon, B. S., 227

Solorio, M., 160

Sol�orzano, D., 313, 316, 319 Sommer, S., 160

Sorenson, A., 255, 256, 257

Sotheran, J. L., 160

Sousa, C., 223

Souweine, J., 357

Sowa, J. E., 437, 447, 448

Sowell, E. R., 60

Spain, A., 304

Spangenberg, M., 335, 337, 338

Spann, A., 303

Spear, L. P., 6

Spencer, M. B., 7, 8, 99, 176, 177,

179, 181, 182, 185, 186, 191,

192

Spencer, N., 371

Spina, S. U., 249, 253, 254

Spinrad, T. L., 9

Spiridakis, K., 412

Spivak, H., 371

Sprague, J., 313

Spring, M. E., 117

Spry, S. A., 302

Sroufe, L. A., 276, 282

Stake, R. E., 135

Stalebrink, O. J., 506

Stanfield, R., 165

Stanton-Salazar, R. D., 249, 253,

254

Starfield, B., 44, 411

Starling, J., 52

Stashwick, C. K., 11

Stattin, H., 98, 394, 397

Steele, P., 415

Steen, S., 115

Stefancic, J., 316, 317, 324

Stehno, S., 179

Stein, J. A., 281

Stein, S. J., 314

Steinberg, A., 8

Steinberg, A. M., 230

Steinberg, L., 4, 5, 6, 10, 25, 60, 92,

93, 94, 95, 97, 98, 104, 105,

156, 199, 201, 245, 246, 393,

509

Steiner, H., 53

Steinhart, D., 165

Stengers, I., 397

Stephens, R. D., 303, 304

Sterling, R. W., 79

Stevens, G., 371

Stevens, J., 55

Steward, M., 416

Stewart, A., 57

Stewart, A. J., 160

Stewart, G. D., 180

Stewart, M. J., 256, 257

Stoep, V. A., 180

Stone, W., 250

Stouthamer-Loeber, M., 177, 179,

224

Strauss, M. A., 230

Sturgis, C., 362

Suchindran, C., 228

Sugai, G., 435, 441

Suhr, C., 346

Sullivan, C., 160, 161

Sullivan, M. L., 209, 245

Sum, A., 159

Sunyer, J., 394

Supprian, T., 59

Susi, G., 124, 352

Sutton, S., 124, 352

Swank, P. R., 228

Swanson, C. B., 310

Sweeney, P., 47

Swofford, A., 339

Syme, S. L., 238

Szapocznik, J., 484

Szreter, S., 252

Szymanski, L., 287

Tambor, E., 44, 411

Tanenhaus, D. S., 117

Tangvik, K., 103, 255, 391, 399, 400

Tart, C. D., 225

Tarver, D. E., II, 157

Tate, W., 316

Tatelbaum, R., 511

Taylor, A., 271

Taylor, C., 33

Taylor, P. M., 238

Taylor, S. J., 373

Teachman, J. D., 252, 253

Tekin, E., 57

Tepas, J. J., 238

Teplin, L. A., 39, 47, 49, 50, 51, 52,

53, 61, 134, 288, 362, 369, 370,

371, 384, 386, 434

Theokas, C., 103

Thomas, F., 484

Thomas, K., 316

Thomas, W. P., 302

Thome, J., 59

Thompson, A., 181

Thompson, M., 10

Thompson, P. M., 60

Thompson, S. J., 161

Thomson, A. M., 436, 438, 439,

446

Thomson, S., 348

Thornberry, T. P., 223, 227, 362,

364

Thurau, L., 299

Tian, X., 124

Tichavsky, L., 208, 435

Timmons-Mitchell, J., 132, 134,

208

Tinsley, B. J., 370

Tobach, E., 97

Tobler, N. S., 511

Todis, B., 258

Toga, A. W., 60

Tolan, P., 270, 413

Tolan, P. H., 175

Tollet, C. L., 168, 411

Tolman, D. L., 156

Tomany-Korman, S. C., 56, 57

Tompkins, M., 189

Tong, V. M., 301

Torbet, P., 25, 82

Torres, G., 316

Author Index 547

Toth, S. L., 10, 230

Tottenham, N., 509

Towery, I. D., 57, 137, 268, 369

Tracy, E. M., 250

Tracy, P. E., 114

Traunter, H. M., 157

Travis, J., 29, 201, 208, 211, 216,

217, 218, 256, 297, 303, 304

Treadwell, H. M., 55

Treadwell, K. R. H., 236

Tremblay, R. E., 228, 434

Trifskin, S., 160

Trinke, S. J., 227

Trino, R., 47

Tucker, P., 56

Tuell, J. A., 365, 435, 445

Tulkin, S. R., 280

Turiel, E., 9

Turner, C. W., 208

Turner, H., 223

Turner, S., xxiv, 80, 86, 104, 191, 192,

203, 204, 208–209, 233, 272,

297, 364, 413, 419, 436, 439,

442, 445, 448, 477, 506, 514

Turpin-Petrosino, C., 273

Tutty, L., 337

Twine, F. W., 313

Twomey, K., 287

Tylee, A., 370

Tyler, K., 160, 336

Udry, J. R., 179

Ulman, A., 230

Ulzen, T. P., 52

Umbreit, M., 434

Undesser, C., 52

Ungar, M., 247

Unruh, D., 175, 205, 209

Unruh, D. K., 245, 248

Urban, J., 103

Ursel, J., 337

Useem, B., 516

Valdes, F., 316

Valentine, C., 287, 301

Valentine, M., 47

Valentine, S. E., 160, 165, 166

Valera, R. J., 339

Valila, N., 348

Van Den Bosch, F. A. J., 438

van den Brink, W., 52

van der Kolk, B. A., 230

Vanderzee, K. L., 9

VanGeest, J., 57

Van Gundy, K., 223, 227

Van Horn, P., 9, 391

Van Leuwen, J., 160, 161

Van Loan, C., 300

Van Riel, C. B. M., 438

Vardaman, S. H., 331

Varela, F., 401

Varela, N., 234

Varma, K. N., 205, 206, 210, 212

Vashchenko, M., xxii, 12, 56, 208,

209, 245, 271, 272, 274, 276,

372, 510

Vaught, S., 313, 314, 316

Vaught, S. E., xxiii, 26, 37, 115, 121,

122, 124, 177, 233, 245, 297,

299, 303, 310, 358, 362, 412

Vermeiren, R., 49, 50, 51, 52

Vickerman, K. A., 223, 230, 231,

236

Vidal, A., 252

Villanueva, C., 38

Villarruel, F., 38, 114, 120, 122

Villarruel, F. A., 38

Villenas, S., 316

Vinnerljung, B., 414

Visher, C. A., 208, 517

Vitaro, F., 228, 434

Voigt, R. A., 47

von Bertalanffy, L., 97, 199, 396,

400

von Eye, A., 33

Vostanis, P., 371

Vreugdenhil, C., 52

Vygotsky, L. S., 393

Wahlsten, D., 97

Waintrup, M., 258

Waintrup, M. G., 245

Wakefield, S., 257

Wald, J., 26, 122, 297, 299, 310

Waldo, G. P., 444

Waldron, H., 501

Walford, G., 313

Walker, H., 440

Walker, M., 469, 470, 471

Walker, N., 114, 120

Walker, N. E., 38

Wallace, L. E., 371

Wampler, S. R., 177

Wamsley, M., 357

Wang, X., 298

Warboys, L., 302, 444

Ward, G. K., 118

Ward, J., 176, 187, 192

Ward, J. V., 176, 186, 187, 192

Ward, R., 81

Ward, R. M., 9

Warden, R., 5

Warren, J. W., 313

Washburn, J. J., 61

Wasserman, G. A., 50, 51, 52, 53,

364

Wasserman, S., 250

Waterman, J., 53

Watkins, C., 252, 255

Watt, T. T., 179

Watts, I. E., 311

Webb, M., 360

Webster, C., 253

Webster-Stratton, C., 482

Wei, E., 224

Wei, E. H., 177, 179

Weinbaum, C., 47

Weineck, R. M., 370

Weiner, N., 331, 334, 336, 338

Weis, J., 373

Weis, L., 315

Weiss, C. H., 210

Weisz, J. R., 441, 442

Weithorn, L., 76

Weitzman, E. A., 135

Wekerle, C., 238

Wells, C., 26

Welsh, B. C., 273, 477

Werner, E., 394

Werner, E. E., 271

Weseen, S., 315

Wessendorf, S., 302

West, H., 421

Westermark, P., 414

Western, B., 412

Wheeler, K. A., 137, 139

Whelan, S., 232

Whitbeck, L., 336

Whitty, G., 314

Whitworth, A., 133

548 A U T H O R I N D E X

Wiatrowski, M. D., 92

Wickes, R., 510

Wickrama, K. A. S., 371

Widner, K., 133, 335, 341, 343, 345

Widom, C. S., 11, 227, 231, 232, 298

Widom, C. Z., 336

Wiener, N., 396

Wigfield, A., 7

Wight, V. R., 394

Wiig, J. K., 365

Wilber, S., xxi, 9, 156, 157, 169

Wildavsky, A., 359

Wilder, I. E., 179

Wilkinson, R. G., 55

Wilks, J., 478

Williams, D., 394

Williams, J. R., 31

Williams, L. M., 231, 232, 336, 337

Williams, P., 311, 322

Williams, R., 248

Williams, R. A., 48

Williams, R. M. C., 301

Williamson, E., 336

Willoughby, B. L. B., 159

Wills, T. A., 6

Wilson, D. B., 482, 484

Wilson, J. Q., 356

Wilson, K. M., 370

Wilson, P. R., 301

Wilson, S., 6

Wilson, S. J., 480, 481, 495

Wish, E., 339

Witbeck, L., 160

Witherell, C., 315

Witte, J., 314

Wolf, A., 175

Wolfe, D., 10

Wolfe, D. A., 238

Wolfgang, M. E., 95

Wolford, B. I., 300, 303

Womack, G., 218

Wong, L., 315

Wood, D. J., 437, 438, 447, 448

Wood, J., 8, 11

Woodhouse, B., 68

Woolard, J., 82

Woolard, J. L., 92, 93, 105, 206

Woolcock, M., 252

Woolcock, M. M., 252

Woolf, A., 46

Woolley, M. E., 249, 253,

254, 255

Woronoff, R., 160

Wouters, L. F., 52

Wright, D. R., 253, 254, 255

Wright, J., 227

WuDunn, S., 332, 334, 338, 340

Wyman, P. A., 247

Xiang, Z., 482

Yaeger, A. M., 6

Yamamoto, S., 205, 209

Yates, G., 339

Yin, R. K., 135

Yorkman, S., 47

Yoshikawa, H., 177

Yosso, T., 313,

316, 319

Young, J., 10

Young, L., 336

Young, M., 27

Yovanoff, P., 175, 303

Zablocki, M. S., 26

Zachry, E., 178

Zahn, M., 8

Zahn, M. A., 35, 132, 133, 134,

208, 435

Zarrett, N., 103

Zatura, A. J., 247

Zavlek, S., 191

Zeldin, S., 199, 208

Zelli, A., 175

Zhang, D., 299, 303

Zhou, M., 251

Ziedenberg, J., 81, 82, 119, 120,

126, 168, 215, 411

Zigler, E., 391

Zimmerman, L., 53

Zimmerman, S., 102

Zimring, F., xvii, 82

Zock, J. P., 394

Zuvekas, S. H., 370

Author Index 549

Subject Index

Abuse. See Bullying; Child abuse;

Substance abuse; Violence

ACT Group Home of Germaine

Lawrence, 347–348

Addams, Jane, 117

Administration for Children and

Families Court Improvement

Program, 360

Adolescents. See Youth

Adoption and Safe Families Act, 85,

182

Adoption Assistance and Child

Welfare Act (2008),

84–85

Adult system transfers:

case processing and, 27

historical trends in, 25, 95

racial disparities in, 38, 118,

122–123

youth legal rights in adult system,

82–83

Advocacy groups, 217, 355–356,

520–521

African Americans. See Blacks

Aftercare, 29, 185, 304–305,

348

Afterschool programs, 103, 511

Age:

adult system transfers regardless of,

82–83, 122–123

state-specific age guidelines, 33,

82–83, 122–123

as system-involved youth

demographic, 33–35

Aggression. See also Violence

aggression replacement training,

485, 487

parental attitudes on, 227

trauma causing, 10

Alcohol abuse. See Substance abuse

Alexander S. v. Boyd (1995),

165–166, 295, 296

Almeida, Ana, 406

Alsager v. District Ct. of Polk City, 85

American Bar Association, 356, 360

American Correctional Association,

166

Americans with Disabilities

Act, 86

Angela’s House, 347

Anger. See Aggression; Violence

Annie E. Casey Foundation:

advocacy by, 356, 360

confinement report by, 412

JDAI by, xiv, 81–82, 125–126,

429, 443, 458

model designation by, 416

Anxiety disorders, 133, 134, 231

Aos, Steve, 496

Arizona:

community-based care in, 500

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

Arkansas: multi-agency jurisdiction

in, 364

Asian/Pacific Islander Americans,

36, 56, 162, 466

Attention deficit disorders, 11–12,

59, 231

Babb v. Knox County School System

(1992), 297

Bail, 81

B.D.S.D., In the matter of (2009),

345

Bellotti v. Baird (1979), 75, 76

Bell v. Wolfish (1979), 166

Biologic factors:

evidence-based research on, 509

youth development role of,

97–98, 231

youth health and delinquency

impacted by, 59–61

Bisexual youth. See LGBT (lesbian,

gay, bisexual, transgender)

youth

Blacks:

adult system transfers of, 38, 118,

122–123

in child welfare system, 85

commercial sexual exploitation

of, 336

counterstorytelling by, 316–317

detention of, 180, 469, 470

drug-free zone laws impacting,

119–120

education of, 59, 121–122, 298,

299, 310–327

family structure of, 58

gang affiliations/classifications of,

120–121

LGBTyouth among, 162

menace to society status of, 322

mental health disorders in,

52–53

offense rates of, xi, 36–38, 56,

111, 115, 174–175, 288,

465–466

racial and ethnic identity of, 8

racial/ethnic disparities for (see

Racial/ethnic disparities)

service tunnels for, 357–358

socioeconomic status of, 55

youth health of, 52–53, 56–57

zero-tolerance laws impacting,

121–122, 299, 310–311

Blueprint for Change, 444–445

Blueprints for Violence Prevention,

191–192, 204, 208, 364,

413–414, 480, 481, 483, 495,

497

551

Juvenile Justice: Advancing Research, Policy, and Practice Edited by Francine T. Sherman and Francine H. Jacobs

Copyright © 2011 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Bootstrapping, 35, 84, 353

Boys. See also Gender; Youth

family violence impacting, 232

(see Family violence for detail)

gay (see LGBT [lesbian, gay,

bisexual, transgender] youth)

mental health issues of, 53

offense rate for, 35

STDs of, 47

Breed v. Jones (1975), 79

Brown v. Board of Education, 70, 325

Bullying, 10–11, 159, 166, 167,

482–483

Bullying Prevention Program,

482–483

W. Haywood Burns Institute for

Juvenile Justice Fairness and

Equity, 126, 356

Burton, People v. (1971), 80

B.W., In re (2010), 333

California:

Collaborative Justice for Juvenile

Offenders in, 443

commercial sexual exploitation

issues in, 337

community-based care in,

496–499

family participation reforms in, 216

GirlZpace program in, 169

juvenile sentences in, 27

reform schools in, 410, 425–429

youth parent policies in, 189

Campaign for Youth Justice, 217

Carrion, Gladys, 423–424, 425

Carter, Jimmy, 283

Case law. See Legal cases

Case studies:

on commercial sexual

exploitation, 331

on community-based care

program rating, 496–499

on data systems, 463–475

on educational racial/ethnic

disparities, 312–323

on gender issues in juvenile justice

system, 131, 134–137, 139–152

on LGBTyouth juvenile justice

experiences, 167

on service tunnels, 357

on youth development, 3–4,

12–19

on youth health perceptions,

372–386

Catalano, Richard, 496

Caucasians. See Whites

Center for Families, Children, and

the Courts (CFCC), 443

Center for Network Development,

360

Center for the Study and Prevention

of Violence (CSPV), 364,

413–414, 480. See also

Blueprints for Violence

Prevention

Centers for Disease Control and

Prevention: Sexually

Transmitted Disease

Surveillance Report, 47

Centre for Evidence Based Policy, 522

Child abuse. See also Family violence

commercial sexual exploitation of

youth as, 133, 331–349

delinquency links to, 178

girls’ victimization and, 9, 29,

132–133

LGBTyouth suffering, 156, 158,

160, 161

PTSD caused by, 9

youth health impacted by, 57–58

youth legal rights related to,

84–86

Child Abuse Prevention and

Treatment Act (2003), 84

Children. See Youth

Children’s Partnership, 360

Child Welfare League of America,

364–365, 445

Child welfare system. See also Foster

care system

diffusion of responsibility in,

360–362

information flow in, 358–360

LGBTyouth in, 161

multiple agencies working with

(see Multi-agency jurisdiction)

racial/ethnic disparities in, 85

unloading cases/shifting burdens

in, 362–363

youth legal rights in, 84–86

youth parent issues in, 182–183

Civic Justice Corps (CJC), 417–418

Civil Rights Act (1964), 73

Civil Rights for Institutionalized

Persons Act (1997), 86

Clonlara, Inc. v. Runkel (1989), 72

Coalition for Evidence-Based Policy,

479, 497, 522

Coalition for Juvenile Justice, 217

Cognitive-behavioral therapy,

236–237, 441, 484, 485, 489

Collaboration. See also Multi-agency

jurisdiction

barriers to, 439–440

benefits of, 438

on commercial sexual exploitation

relapse prevention, 348

components of, 448, 449

definition of, 437

depth and level of, 437–438

effectiveness of, 441–442

examples of, 443–445

in family violence victim

interventions, 233

funding of, 449

in girl-targeted programs,

138–139, 148–152

guidelines and processes for,

446–448

health-related, 440–442, 444–445

information dissemination in,

451

Lead Entity/Service Coalition

model of, 419–420

learning from, 446

national, 443, 444–445

as new imperative, 435–437

overview of, 433–435

policy support for, 449

recommended practices for

effective, 446–451

shared vision of and universal

commitment to, 448–451

stakeholder theory of, 436

strategies for, 448

systems of care for, 450–451

Collaborative Justice for Juvenile

Offenders, 443

Commercial sexual exploitation:

case management for, 346–347

552 S U B J E C T I N D E X

comprehensive response to,

345–348

demographic statistics on,

334–336

entry into, 336–338

impact of, 338–340

incidence and experience of,

334–340

international, 340

laws related to, 332, 340–345

offender vs. victim status in,

332–334

outreach services related to, 346

overview of, 331–332

perpetrator prosecution for, 343

racial/ethnic disparities in, 336

recruitment into, 337–338

relapse prevention and aftercare,

348

services, compensation or

protection to victims of,

342–343, 343–344

supportive housing and

therapeutic recovery services

for victims of, 347–348

victim identification, 346

victimization through, 133,

331–349

Commission on Chronic

Illness, 440

Commonwealth v. Weston (2009), 84

Communication, flow of, 358–360,

449, 451, 457, 460–463,

518–520

Community-based care:

assessments of effectiveness of,

479–481

California case study on, 496–499

challenges and obstacles to,

499–500

community-based interventions

in, 483–484

evolving standards for, 478–479

funding for, 499

implementing best practices in,

486, 495–496

ineffective programs, 484, 493,

497

overview of, 477–478

prevention programs in, 482–483

principles of effective

implementation, 494, 497

promising programs, 491–492,

497

proven programs and strategies,

487–490, 497

rating of, 487–494, 496–499

residential programs and, 484–486

risk assessments in, 496

Community Connections Initiative,

323

Community environment:

community-based care in (see

Community-based care)

community-based youth

development programs in, 248

evidence-based research on,

509–510

family participation in

community reentry, 208–209

Lead Entity/Service Coalition

model focus on, 419–420

planning for reentry into, 238

Promise Neighborhoods, 531

reentry into, 184–185, 192,

208–209, 238, 245, 248,

256–260, 303–305, 312,

323–326, 371, 416

social capital in (see Social capital)

social stigma in, 156, 158–159

social support in, 238, 250, 256,

274–282, 302, 346–348

socioeconomic status in (see

Socioeconomic status)

Strong Communities (SCs)

initiative, 276, 278–279

systemic change of, 394–396

urban war zones in, 270, 271

violence in, 267–283 (see also

Gangs)

virtuous vs. vicious cycles in,

396–398, 402, 403–404

young parents influenced by,

178–179, 183–184

young parents’ reentry into,

184–185, 192

youth community development

model, 399–403

youth development influenced by,

12, 102–103, 267–283, 392–396

youth health impacted by, 55–56,

371–372

youth-led change in, 391–406

Comprehensive Community

Initiatives, 248

Computers, 360, 456–457.

See also Data systems; Internet

Conduct disorders, 50, 51,

270–271

Confidentiality:

of health care, 370, 378

information sharing and, 359,

360, 449, 462

informed consent regarding,

235

of parent–child testimonial,

71–72, 207

Connecticut:

adult system transfers in, 123

commercial sexual exploitation

issues in, 345

educational requirements in, 295

Contraception, 47

Correctional Program Assessment

Inventory, 485

Counsel, right to, 78, 79, 81, 85

Counterstorytelling, 316–317

Court hearings: family participation

in, 206–207

Cradle-to-prison pipeline, xi–xii,

xiii, xiv

Criminal justice system. See Juvenile

justice system

Criminal offenses:

adult system transfers for (see

Adult system transfers)

historical justice system response

to, 24, 76–77, 93

minor, school-related behavior as,

299–300

processing of, 27

status offenses relabeled as, 35, 84,

353

superpredator/predator theory

on, xiii, xvii, 93, 95, 99,

118–119, 317 –321, 517

youth legal rights in, 86

Critical Race Theory (CRT), 316

Cross cutting issues.

See Multi-agency jurisdiction

Subject Index 553

Crouse, Ex parte (1839), 70, 117

Curfew offenses, 84

DARE program, 493, 511

Data systems:

case studies on system-related

challenges, 463–475

challenges for, 459–462

confidentiality issues with, 359,

360, 449, 462

considerations when using, 462–

475

data analysis and interpretation,

461–462, 462–463

data-driven decision making,

459–476

data variable standardization, 461

documentation ability using,

204–205

duplicate data collection, 460–461

fragmentation of, 459–460

funding/resources for, 449

future directions for, 475–476

history of, 456–458

information sharing via, 358–360,

449, 451, 457, 460–463, 518

Juvenile Detention Alternatives

Initiative integration of, 457,

458–475

multi-agency integration issues, 359,

443, 449, 457, 459–463, 518

quality control of, 461

real-time use of data, 463

reluctance/inability to use data, 462

Death penalty, xviii, 83, 508, 509

Deinstitutionalization of Status

Offenders (DSO) mandate,

83–84

Democracy, role of, 354–355

Demographics. See also Poverty;

Socioeconomic status

age as, 33–35

of commercially sexually

exploited youth, 334–336

disabilities and mental health as,

38–39

gender as, 35, 132–134

geography as, 38

of LGBTyouth, 161–164

race/ethnicity as, 36–38, 134

of system-involved youth, 33–39,

132–134, 174–177, 287–288

youth health-related, 55–59, 60,

373

Dental health, 46

Depression:

commercial sexual exploitation

leading to, 339

family violence comorbidity with,

230, 231, 232

girls with, 133

LGBTyouth with, 9

system-involved youth

experiencing, 411–412

trauma causing, 10

Deshaney v. Winnebago County

Department of Social Services

(1989), 84

Detention:

alternatives to, 414–429 (see also

Juvenile Detention Alternatives

Initiative)

impact of, 411–413

of LGBTyouth, 163–164,

165–167, 168

medication disbursement in, 360

racial/ethnic disparities in, 112,

175, 180, 469–472

recidivism impacted by, 168, 215,

411

in reform schools (see Reform

schools)

youth legal rights related to,

81–82, 165–166

Developmental stages. See Youth

development

Diagnostic Interview Schedule for

Children (DISC), 51

Disabilities, youth with:

education of, 39, 73, 288,

293–297, 299, 301–302

learning disabilities in, 5, 11–12,

19, 20, 39, 73

legislation related to, 39, 73, 86,

203, 287, 288, 293–297,

299–300

as system-involved youth

demographic, 38–39

Disposition. See Sentences/

disposition

Disproportionate minority

confinement/contact,

112–113, 114, 126–127,

357–358, 469

Disproportionate Representation

Index (DRI), 113

Dissociative disorders, 53, 339

District of Columbia. See

Washington, D. C.

Domestic violence. See Child abuse;

Family violence

Donnell C. v. Illinois State Board of

Education (1993), 295

Drug abuse. See Substance abuse

Drug-free zones, 119–120

Due process, 78, 79–80

Dusky v. U.S. (1960), 78

Edna McConnell Clark Foundation,

416

Education:

afterschool programs, 103, 511

at-risk preschooler programs, 482,

514

bullying in school, 10–11, 159,

167, 482–483

collaboration in, 444

commercial sexual exploitation

and, 337

curriculum for, 300–301

drug-free zones near schools,

119–120

family violence impacting,

228–229

free and appropriate public

education (FAPE), 73, 294,

295, 297

GED programs, 192, 260, 323

governance and organizational

structure of, 302–303

on healthy relationships, 237–238

individual education plans (IEPs),

296, 301–302

during juvenile justice

involvement, 297, 300–303,

310–327, 362–363

learning disabilities in, 5, 11–12,

19, 20, 39, 73

legislation on, 39, 73, 86, 203, 287,

288–297, 299–300, 301, 444

554 S U B J E C T I N D E X

LGBT school-based harassment,

159, 167

multi-agency issues with,

302–303, 360

post-juvenile justice involvement,

297, 303–305, 412

pre-juvenile justice involvement,

297, 298–300

prevention programs in, 482–483

privatization of, 303, 314

push-out policies in, 26, 121–122,

287, 297, 298–300, 310–311,

362–363

racial/ethnic disparities in, 287,

298, 299, 310–327, 362

right to quality, 286–287,

288–305

school-based violence, 270–271

(see also Bullying)

school referrals to juvenile court,

26

school-to-prison pipeline, 122,

297, 298, 310, 313, 362

social capital impacting, 253, 260

socioeconomic status and, 59, 298

teacher qualifications, 301, 314

truancy from, 12, 26, 159, 177,

299, 357

youth health and delinquency

impacted by, 58–59

youth-led change in, 397, 398,

401, 402, 404

youth legal rights related to,

72–73, 75, 286–305

youth parenting impacting,

177–178, 229

zero-tolerance school policies, 26,

121–122, 287, 298–299,

310–311

Elementary and Secondary

Education Act, 73, 287,

288–293, 301

Emerging Young Men’s Program of

Domestic Abuse Project, 237

Emotions:

emotional literacy, 236–237

emotional regulation, 272

emotional safety, 138, 141–143

Empathic fallacy, 324–325

Empathy, 273, 324–325

Employment:

commercially sexually exploited

youth finding, 348

education and, 58, 159, 292, 293,

321

family stress and, 175, 230

postdetention, 245, 412–413

race/ethnicity and, 120

reform schools impacting, 411,

412, 413

social capital impacting, 251, 252,

253, 260

young parents and, 178, 184

Environment. See Community

environment; Family; Peers

Ethnicity. See race/ethnicity-related

entries

Evans; U.S. v. (2007), 342

Evidence-based practices/research:

accessibility of, 508–511,

518–520

accreditation based on, 523–524

causation vs. correlation in,

516–517

collaborative programs using, 445,

451–452

community-based care using, 478,

479–481, 482, 485, 486–494,

496–500

cost-benefit analysis of, 514, 517

effect size of, 513–514

family/parent interventions using,

204, 208, 209–210

funding of, 499, 507–508, 517,

520, 521, 523

girl-targeted programs using, 139

government programs using, 363,

364

instrumental variables in, 516

judging evidence in, 511–514

overview of, 505–506

policy influenced by, 505–525

program vs. policy evaluation

using, 514–518

protecting, from sponsors and

consumers, 520–522

quality improvement vs.,

522–524

reform school initiatives using, 410,

413–414, 417–418, 423, 430

research marketplace, 506–508

types of research, 508–511

young parent interventions using,

191

False empathy, 324–325

Family. See also Parents

advocacy groups, 217

commercial sexual exploitation

and family issues, 336–337

community-based care including,

483–484

family discord of system-involved

girls, 132

family response to LGBTyouth,

160, 165, 167

hereditary factors from (see

Biologic factors)

identity development influenced

by, 7

juvenile justice system

participation by, 199–219

loss of family relationships, 144

social capital of, 251, 252,

254–255

social support for, 276, 278–279

violence within (see Child abuse;

Family violence)

young parents influenced by,

178–179, 183–184

youth development impacts in,

225–227, 230–231, 392–394,

395–396

youth health and delinquency

impacted by family structure,

57–58

youth health participation/role of,

75–76, 370, 372, 376–377,

377–378

Family Acceptance Project, 165

Family and Friends of Louisiana’s

Incarcerated Children, 217

Family Educational Rights and

Privacy Act (1974), 360

Family integrated transitions (FIT),

208, 485–486, 491

Family juvenile justice participation:

barriers to, 210–213, 217–218

in court hearings and

interrogations, 206–207

Subject Index 555

Family juvenile justice participation

(Continued )

documentation of, 204–206

history of, 201

mandatory vs. optional, 203

overview of, 199–201

parens patriae and, 200, 213–215

parents seen as problems vs.

partners in, 203–204

in probation and community

reentry, 208–209, 212

recommendations on

improvements to, 215–217

research on, 204, 208, 209–210

theory vs. practice in, 202–209

during youth incarceration, 207

in youth treatment, 207–208

Family violence. See also Child abuse

adolescent criminal behavior

influenced by, 224–232

dating violence and, 227–228,

232

emotional literacy of victims of,

236–237

gender differences in, 232

healthy relationship education for

victims of, 237–238

help-seeking/safety planning for

victims of, 238–239

interventions for youth

experiencing, 224, 225, 226,

228, 232–239

mental health impacts of,

230–231, 234–235

overview of, 223–224

reentry planning for victims of, 238

school success compromised by,

228–229

screening/assessment of victims

of, 234–236

self-regulation for victims of, 230,

236

sibling violence as, 224, 227

social problem solving of victims

of, 237

social support for victims of, 238

substance abuse as coping strategy

for, 229, 231

youth abuse of parents as, 224,

229–230

youth development impacted by,

225–227, 230–231

youth leaving home due to, 231

Fare v. Michael C. (1979), 80

Margaret Farrell v. Matthew Cate, 426

Federalism, 352–356

Females. See Gender; Girls

Florida:

collaborative efforts in, 444

community-based care in, 496, 500

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

education in, 304, 444

JDAI founding in, 458

juvenile sentences in, 27

Foster Care Independence Act

(1999), 74

Foster care system:

child abuse leading to, 85

children of incarcerated youth in,

182–183

diffusion of responsibility in, 361

foster care bias, 132, 359

girls in, 132, 136, 141–143, 144,

147

juvenile justice links to, 132

LGBTyouth in, 161

Multidimensional Treatment

Foster Care (MTFC), 191–192,

208, 413–414, 423, 486, 487,

498, 514

status offenders in, 357

unloading cases/shifting burdens

in, 362–363

youth health and delinquency

impacted by, 57–58, 359

4-H Study of Positive Youth

Development, 101–102, 103,

104

Friends. See Peers

Functional Family Therapy (FFT),

208, 364, 413, 423, 477, 481,

483–484, 487, 495, 514, 522

Funding:

of collaboration efforts, 449

of community-based care, 499

of data systems, 449

of evidence-based practices/

research, 499, 507–508, 517,

520, 521, 523

of juvenile justice system,

353–354, 427–428, 449, 474,

499, 523–524

Gaining Independence for

Tomorrow (GIFT) program,

346–347

Gangs:

racial/ethnic disparities in

antigang laws, 120–121

social capital of, 250, 254, 258

youth development and, 3–4

Gault, In re (1967), 24, 70, 71, 76,

77, 79, 94, 118, 354

Gay youth. See LGBT (lesbian, gay,

bisexual, transgender) youth

Gender. See also Boys; Girls

family violence gender

differences, 232

gender-specific/responsive

principles, 137–162

Grace’s case study of issues related

to, 131, 134–137, 139–152

identity, 8–9, 156–158

mental health issues by, 53, 134

as system-involved youth

demographic, 35, 132–134

transgender (see LGBT (lesbian,

gay, bisexual, transgender)

youth)

youth parent gender-based issues,

179, 181–182

General Education Development

(GED) programs, 192, 260, 323

Genetic factors. See Biologic factors

Geography, as demographic, 38

Georgia: commercial sexual

exploitation issues in, 335

Girls. See also Gender; Youth

attention to relationships of, 138,

143–148

collaboration/shared power with,

138–139, 148–152

commercial sexual exploitation

of, 133, 331–349

demographics of system-involved,

35, 132–134

family discord of, 132

family violence impacting, 232

(see Family violence for detail)

556 S U B J E C T I N D E X

gender-specific/responsive

principles for, 137–162

girl-targeted programs, core

considerations in, 137–139

Grace’s case study depicting, 131,

134–137, 139–152

identity development of, 8

lesbian (see LGBT (lesbian, gay,

bisexual, transgender) youth)

mental health issues of, 53, 133,

134

multi-agency jurisdiction over,

136–137, 151–152

offense rate for, 35

race and class of, 134

risky sexual behavior of, 8, 53, 134

safety/safe spaces for, 138,

139–143

STDs of, 47

victimization of, 9, 29, 132–133,

178–179

youth parenting by (see Young

parents)

Girl Scouts Beyond Bars, 189

Girls Educational & Mentoring

Services (GEMS), 347, 348

Girls’ Health Passport Project. See

Massachusetts Health Passport

Project (MHPP)

GirlZpace, 169

Goss v. Lopez (1975), 73

Government:

bureaucracy in, 355–356

democratic, 354–355

evidence-based research

influencing policies of,

505–525

federalist structure of, 352–356

framing of youth problems by,

352–365

funding by (see Funding)

Innovations in American

Government award, 416, 423

judiciary of, 353–354 (see also

Legal cases; Supreme Court)

juvenile justice system of (see

Juvenile justice system)

legislation by (see Legislation)

multiple agencies of

(see Multi-agency jurisdiction)

as parens patriae, 69, 70, 71, 77, 80,

84, 117, 200, 213–215

police power of, 69, 71, 73, 77, 80

state (see State governments)

Graham v. Florida (2010), xviii, 27,

78, 83

Green v. Johnson (1981), 295

Guiding Light in Reform award, 416

Gun Free Schools Act (1994), 121

Hall, Granville Stanley, Adolescence:

Its Psychology and Its Relations

to Physiology, Anthropology,

Sociology, Sex, Crime,

Religion, and Education, 96

Health. See Mental health; Youth

health

Health Care and Education

Reconciliation Act (2010), 74

Health Insurance Portability and

Accountability Act, 76, 360

Help-seeking behaviors,

238–239

Heredity factors. See Biologic factors

Hillary, In re (2008), 84

Hispanic Americans. See Latinos

HIV, 47

Homelessness, 160–161.

See also Runaway cases

Homosexuals. See LGBT (lesbian,

gay, bisexual, transgender) youth

Horn, Martin, 421, 423

Houses of Refuge, 116–117

Hull House, 117

Hyde Square Task Force, 391–392,

396–406

Identity:

gender, sexual orientation and,

8–9, 156–158

Identity-Focused Cultural-

Ecological (ICE) perspective,

176, 186

identity talk, 186–187

immature, 7–9

racial and ethnic, 8

young parent, 185–187

Illinois:

commercial sexual exploitation

issues in, 335, 337, 345

drug-free zone law enforcement

in, 119

Immaturity:

immature identity, 7–9

immature moral reasoning, 9

immature thinking, 6–7, 60

youth development and, 5, 6–9,

19, 20, 60

Incredible Years program, 482, 488

Indiana:

JDAI program in, 472–474

juvenile sentences in, 27

Individual education plans (IEPs),

296, 301–302

Individuals with Disabilities

Education Act, 73, 86, 203,

287, 288, 293–297, 299–300

Individuals with Disabilities

Education Improvement Act

(2004), 39

Information, flow of, 358–360, 449,

451, 457, 460–463, 518–520

Information technology. See

Computers; Data systems;

Internet

Innocence Lost National Initiative

(ILNI), 342

Innocence Project, 508

Innovations in American

Government award, 416, 423

Integrated Treatment Model, 445

Interagency issues. See Multi-agency

jurisdiction

Internet, 239, 338, 342, 403–404

Interrogations, 80–81, 206–207

JDAI. See Juvenile Detention

Alternatives Initiative (JDAI)

J.D.B. v. North Carolina (2009), 81

Jerry M. v. District of Columbia

(1986), 417

J.G. et al. v. Mills et al. (2004), 362,

363

Jobs. See Employment

John D. and Catherine T.

MacArthur Foundation,

126–127, 365

Judiciary, role of, 353–354. See also

Supreme Court

Jury trials, right to, 79

Juvenile Court Act, 117

Subject Index 557

Juvenile Court Statistics, 32, 40

Juvenile Detention Alternatives

Initiative (JDAI):

collaboration in, 443

detention response of, 81–82

establishment of, xiv, 443, 458

integrated information/data

system of, 457, 458–475

racial/ethnic disparities addressed

in, 125–126

reform school initiatives under,

410, 417, 429

young parent policies under, 181,

189

Juvenile Justice Act, 131

Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention Act, xvii, 25, 28,

83, 112–113, 114, 118, 137,

286, 353, 358, 530

Juvenile Justice Initiative, 423

Juvenile justice system:

adult system transfers from, 25,

27, 38, 82–83, 95, 118, 122–123

aftercare in, 29, 185, 304–305, 348

alternatives to, xiii–xiv, xviii

(see also Juvenile Detention

Alternatives Initiative)

bureaucracy influencing, 355–356

case law impacting (see Legal cases)

case processing in, 25–29, 484

collaboration in (see

Collaboration)

commercial sexual exploitation

victims in, 133, 331–349

community-based care in (see

Community-based care)

data systems of (see Data systems)

democracy influencing, 354–355

demographics of youth in,

33–39, 132–134, 174–177,

287–288

detention in (see Detention)

diffusion of responsibility in,

360–362

due process in, 78, 79–80

education in, 286–287, 288–305,

310–327, 362–363

evidence-based research applied

to (see Evidence-based

practices/research)

families and (see Family)

funding for, 353–354, 427–428,

449, 474, 499, 523–524

gender issues in (see Boys;

Gender; Girls)

government impact on (see

Government)

healthy cultures in, 233–234

historical legacy of, xii, 24–25,

93–95, 115–119, 201, 409,

410–411

information flow in (see

Information, flow of)

interrogation in, 80–81, 206–207

legislation impacting (see Legislation)

lesbian/gay youth in

(see LGBT [lesbian, gay,

bisexual, transgender] youth)

multiple agencies working with

(see Multi-agency jurisdiction)

offenses in (see Criminal offenses;

Offense rates/trends; Status

offenses)

probation in, 28–29, 38, 167,

208–209, 212, 465–469

racial/ethnic disparities in

(see Racial/ethnic disparities)

recidivism in (see Recidivism)

reform of, 39–40, 125–127,

187–192, 215–217, 355

(see also Positive youth

development perspective)

reform schools in

(see Reform schools)

residual nature of, 217–218

sentences in

(see Sentences/disposition)

social capital in, 256–260

social welfare vs. social control in,

77–79, 115

state-specific (see State juvenile

justice system)

strip searches in, 77

unloading cases/shifting burdens

in, 362–363

violence in, 29, 86, 166, 233, 409,

410, 424, 425–426, 531

youth development and

(see Youth development)

youth health in (see Youth health)

youth legal rights in

(see Youth legal rights)

youth risks and strengths in (see

Risk factors; Youth strengths)

Juvenile predator theory, xiii, xvii, 93,

95, 99, 118–119, 317–321, 517

Juveniles. See Youth

Kentucky: educational requirements

in, 304

Kent v. U.S. (1966), 24, 79, 82

Kruger, Carl, 425

Lassiter v. Department of Social Services

(1981), 86

Latinos:

adult system transfers of, 122–123

detention of, 180, 469–472

education of, 59, 310

family structure of, 58

gang affiliations/classifications of,

120–121

Hyde Square Task Force

participation of, 391–392,

396–404

LGBTyouth among, 162

mental health disorders in, 52–53

offense rates of, 37–38, 56,

111–112, 174–175, 466

racial/ethnic classification of,

113–114

racial/ethnic disparities for

(see Racial/ethnic disparities)

service tunnels for, 357–358

socioeconomic status of, 55

youth health of, 52–53, 56–57

Lead Entity/Service Coalition

model, 419–420

Leadership by youth. See Youth-led

change

Learning disabilities:

as system-involved youth

demographic, 39

youth development impacted by,

5, 11–12, 19, 20

youth educational rights related

to, 73

Legal cases:

Alexander S. v. Boyd (1995),

165–166, 295, 296

558 S U B J E C T I N D E X

Alsager v. District Ct. of Polk City,

85

B.W., In re (2010), 333

Babb v. Knox County School System

(1992), 297

B.D.S.D., In the matter of (2009),

345

Bellotti v. Baird (1979), 75, 76

Bell v. Wolfish (1979), 166

Breed v. Jones (1975), 79

Brown v. Board of Education, 70,

325

Burton, People v. (1971), 80

Clonlara, Inc. v. Runkel (1989), 72

Commonwealth v. Weston (2009),

84

Crouse, Ex parte (1839), 70, 117

Deshaney v. Winnebago County

Department of Social Services

(1989), 84

Donnell C. v. Illinois State Board of

Education (1993), 295

Dusky v. U.S. (1960), 78

Evans; U.S. v. (2007), 342

Fare v. Michael C. (1979), 80

Margaret Farrell v. Matthew Cate,

426

Gault, In re (1967), 24, 70, 71, 76,

77, 79, 94, 118, 354

Goss v. Lopez (1975), 73

Graham v. Florida (2010), xviii, 27,

78, 83

Green v. Johnson (1981), 295

Hillary, In re (2008), 84

J.D.B. v. North Carolina (2009),

81

J.G. et al. v. Mills et al. (2004),

362, 363

Jerry M. v. District of Columbia

(1986), 417

Kent v. U.S. (1966), 24, 79, 82

Lassiter v. Department of Social

Services (1981), 86

McKeiver v. Pennsylvania (1971),

79, 354

Meyer v. Nebraska (1923), 70

Mills v. District of Columbia Board of

Education (1972), 294

Milonas v. Williams (1982), 166

Morgan v. Chris L. (1997), 300

Nashua School District v. State of

New Hampshire (1995), 295

Newstrom; State v. (1985), 72

New York v. Ferber (1982), 342

N.G. v. Connecticut (2004), 77

Nicolette R., In re (2004), 333, 345

Ossant v. Millard, 72

Parham v. J.R. (1979), 75–76

Paris; U.S. v. (2007), 342

Pennsylvania Association for

Retarded Children v.

Commonwealth of Pennsylvania

(1972), 294

Pierce v. Society of Sisters (1925), 70

Planned Parenthood of Central

Missouri v. Danforth (1976), 76

Prince v. Massachusetts (1944), 70

Ramos v. Town of Vernon (2003),

84

Reno v. Flores (1993), 77

Rettig v. Kent (1981), 297

R.G. v. Koller (2006), 166

Roper v. Simmons (2005), xviii, 78,

83

Rosie D. v. Romney (2006), 74

Ruiz v. Pedota (2004), 363

Safford v. Redding (2009), 77

San Antonio Independent School

District v. Rodriguez (1973), 72

Santana v. Collaza (1983), 86

Santosky v. Kramer (1984), 86

Schall v. Martin (1984), 71, 81

School Districts’ Alliance for

Adequate Funding of Special

Education v. State (2009), 72

S.D. v. Hood (2004), 74

Seattle School District #1 v. B.S.

(1996), 296

Smith v. Wheaton (1998), 295, 297

Smook v. Minnehaha County

(2006), 77

Stanford v. Kentucky (1989), 83

State of Connecticut - Unified School

District #1 v. Connecticut

Department of Education (1996),

295, 296

Thompson v. Oklahoma (1988), 83

Tilton v. Jefferson County Board of

Education (1983), 297

Trammel v. U.S. (1980), 72

Troxel v. Granville (2000), 69

Unified School District No. 1 v.

Connecticut Department of

Education (2001), 295

Williams; U.S. v. (2008), 342

Winship, In re (1970), 24–25, 79

Wisconsin v. Yoder (1972), 70

Youngberg v. Romeo (1982), 86,

166

Legal rights. See Youth legal rights

Legislation:

Adoption and Safe Families Act,

85, 182

Adoption Assistance and Child

Welfare Act (2008), 84–85

Americans with Disabilities Act, 86

Child Abuse Prevention and

Treatment Act (2003), 84

Civil Rights Act (1964), 73

Civil Rights for Institutionalized

Persons Act (1997), 86

Elementary and Secondary

Education Act, 73, 287,

288–293, 301

Family Educational Rights and

Privacy Act (1974), 360

Foster Care Independence Act

(1999), 74

Gun Free Schools Act (1994),

121

Health Care and Education

Reconciliation Act (2010), 74

Health Insurance Portability and

Accountability Act, 76, 360

Individuals with Disabilities

Education Act, 73, 86, 203,

287, 288, 293–297, 299–300

Individuals with Disabilities

Education Improvement Act

(2004), 39

Juvenile Court Act, 117

Juvenile Justice Act, 131

Juvenile Justice and Delinquency

Prevention Act, xvii, 25, 28,

83, 112–113, 114, 118, 137,

286, 353, 358, 530

No Child Left Behind Act, 73,

288–293, 444

No Child Left Behind Act

(NCLB), 287

Subject Index 559

Legislation (Continued)

Patient Protection and

Affordability Care Act (2010),

74

Prison Rape Elimination Act, 87,

531

PROTECT (Prosecutorial

Remedies and Other Tools to

End the Exploitation of

Children Today) Act, 341

Safe Harbor Act, 340, 345

Trafficking Victims Protection

Act (2000), 340, 341–343

White Slave Traffic Act/Mann

Act (1910), 341

Youth Prison Reduction through

Opportunities, Mentoring,

Intervention, Support and

Education (Youth PROMISE)

Act, 530–531

LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual,

transgender) youth:

abuse of, 8–9, 156, 158, 159, 160,

161, 166, 167

in child welfare system, 161

data on/demographics of,

161–164

detention of, 163–164, 165–167,

168

family response to, 160, 165, 167

harmful policies/practices

directed at, 164–168

homelessness of, 160–161

identity development of, 8–9,

156–158

in juvenile justice system, 161–168

mental health of, 9

recommendations related to,

168–170

risk assessments of, 165, 167

risk factors/social stigma for, 156,

158–161

school-based harassment of, 159,

167

sexual orientation of, 8–9,

156–158

social stigma of, 156, 158–159

suicide/suicide attempts of, 9

Lifecourse Interventions to Nurture

Kids Successfully (LINKS), 364

Life Skills Training, 483, 487, 498

Lipsey, Mark, 496

Locke, John, 393

Louisiana:

Family and Friends of Louisiana’s

Incarcerated Children, 217

juvenile sentences in, 27

Lyman School for Boys, 410–411

MacArthur Foundation, 126–127, 365

Maine:

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

educational requirements in, 304

juvenile sentences in, 27

Males. See Boys; Gender

Martinez, Claudio, 391–392, 396,

401, 405

Massachusetts:

commercial sexual exploitation

issues in, 335–336, 337–338,

346–347

drug-free zone law enforcement

in, 119

educational requirements in, 295,

302–303

Gaining Independence for

Tomorrow (GIFT) program,

346–347

Hyde Square Task Force,

391–392, 396–406

reform schools in, 410–411,

414–415

youth health care in, 74 (see also

Massachusetts Health Passport

Project)

youth-led change in, 391–392,

396–406

Massachusetts Health Passport

Project (MHPP), xv, xvi, 373,

374, 375, 376, 377

Mattingly, John, 423

McKeiver v. Pennsylvania (1971), 79,

354

Meaningfulness, creating, 272–273

Medicaid, 74, 445

Medications, 54, 360

Menace to society status, 322

Mental health. See also Suicide/

suicide attempts; specific disorders

biologic factors impacting, 59–61

collaborative efforts related to,

444–445

commercial sexual exploitation

impacting, 339

comorbid disorders, 49, 51–52,

124, 134

as demographic, 38–39

family violence impacting,

230–231, 234–235

gender differences in, 53, 134

girls’ mental health issues, 53,

133, 134

of LGBTyouth, 9

prevalence of disorders, 50–51

psychotropic medications for, 54

racial/ethnic disparities in, 52–53,

124, 180

screening and assessment of,

234–235

of system-involved youth, 38–39,

49–55, 124, 134, 288, 411–412

trauma impacting, 9–11,

230–231, 270

Metis Associates, 459, 465, 475

Meyer v. Nebraska (1923), 70

MHPP. See Massachusetts Health

Passport Project (MHPP)

Michigan:

commercial sexual exploitation

issues in, 345

juvenile sentences in, 27

Miller, Jerome, 414–415

Mills v. District of Columbia Board of

Education (1972), 294

Milonas v. Williams (1982), 166

Minnesota:

data systems in, 457–458

Emerging Young Men’s Program

of Domestic Abuse Project in,

237

Minorities. See Asian/Pacific

Islander Americans; Blacks;

Latinos; Native Americans;

Whites; race/ethnicity-related

entries

Mississippi: reform schools in, 409

Missouri:

educational requirements in,

304–305

560 S U B J E C T I N D E X

Missouri Model, xiii–xiv, xviii,

191, 216, 415–416

reform schools in, 410, 415–416

Missouri Youth Service Institute, 416

Models for Change DMC Action

Network, 126–127

Moral reasoning, 9, 485

Morgan v. Chris L. (1997), 300

Multi-agency jurisdiction:

challenges to service coordination

and coherence, 358–363

collaboration in

(see Collaboration)

data system integration issues in,

359, 443, 449, 457, 459–463,

518

diffusion of responsibility in,

360–362

educational issues with, 302–303,

360

family participation challenges

and, 214–215

in Grace’s case study, 136–137,

151–152

information flow in, 358–360,

449, 451, 457, 460–463, 518

interagency cooperation and, 183

service tunnels of, 356–358

solutions to issues of, 363–365

standard operating procedures in,

356, 365

unloading cases/shifting burdens

in, 362–363

wraparound services in, 302, 371

Multidimensional Treatment Foster

Care (MTFC), 191–192, 208,

413–414, 423, 486, 487, 498,

514

Multisystemic Therapy (MST),

191, 208, 364, 413, 423, 451,

483–484, 485, 487, 495, 514,

522

My Life My Choice Project, 338, 348

Nashua School District v. State of New

Hampshire (1995), 295

National Center for Juvenile Justice

report, 421

National Center for Mental Health

and Juvenile Justice, 444

National Center on Education,

Disability, and Juvenile Justice,

217

National Collaboration Project, 444

National Commission on

Correctional Health Care, 45,

46, 166

National Council of Juvenile and

Family Court Judges, 356

National Council on Crime and

Delinquency, 179, 415, 416

National Crime Victimization

Survey, 31

National District Attorneys

Association, 356

National Information Exchange

Model (NIEM), 360

National Juvenile Justice Network,

217

National Longitudinal Study of

Adolescent Health, 179

National Longitudinal Survey of

Youth, 121

National Survey of Youth in

Custody (NSYC), 166

National Survey on Drug Use and

Health, 45

National Youth Gang Center survey,

121

National Youth Risk Behavior

Survey, 371

National Youth Survey, 31

Native Americans:

LGBTyouth among, 162

offense rates of, 36, 37, 466

racial/ethnic disparities

impacting, 117

youth health of, 57

Neighborhoods. See Community

environment

Nevada:

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

JDAI program in, 469–472

juvenile sentences in, 27

New Beginnings Youth

Development Center, 416

New Hampshire: educational

requirements in, 295

Newstrom; State v. (1985), 72

New York:

commercial sexual exploitation

issues in, 333, 335, 345

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

educational push-out policies in,

362

family participation reforms in,

216

Juvenile Justice Initiative in, 423

juvenile justice reform attempts

in, 355

New York House of Refuge, 116

One City, One Community

initiative in, 361–362

Project Confirm in, 359, 361,

362, 363

Project Esperanza in, 423

Project Zero in, 421, 423, 425

reform schools in, 410, 421,

423–425, 426

runaway youths in, 361–362

New York v. Ferber (1982), 342

N.G. v. Connecticut (2004), 77

Nicolette R., In re (2004), 333, 345

No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB),

73, 287, 288–293, 444

No Child Left Behind Collaboration

Project (NCLB Project), 301

North Carolina: community-based

care in, 500

North Dakota: demographics of

youth offenders in, 38

Nurse Home Visitation Program/

Nurse Family Partnership, 482,

487, 498, 511, 514

Oak Hill Youth Center, 417

Obama, Barack, 267, 511

Offense rates/trends, xi, 29–32,

36–38, 56, 111–112, 115,

174–175, 288, 465–466

Office of Juvenile Justice and

Delinquency Prevention

(OJJDP):

community-based care program

list of, 497

conditions of confinement report

by, 205, 207

establishment of, 286–287, 353

Subject Index 561

Office of Juvenile Justice and

Delinquency Prevention

(OJJDP) (Continued)

grants by, 353

information sharing guidelines by,

360, 462

model programs guide of, 363

National Center for Juvenile

Justice report by, 421

racial/ethnic disparities research/

oversight by, 113, 114, 118

risk factors for adolescents by, 96

Survey of Youth in Residential

Placement by, 44–45, 49, 87

Office of Special Education

Programs, 295

Ohio: family participation reforms

in, 216

Olds, David, 482

One City, One Community

initiative, 361–362

Ossant v. Millard, 72

Parens patriae:

family juvenile justice system

participation and, 200,

213–215

racial/ethnic disparities in, 117

youth legal rights and, 69, 70, 71,

77, 80, 84

Parent Advocacy Coalition for

Education Rights, 217

Parents. See also Family

foster (see Foster care system)

health-care decision making by,

75–76

incarceration of, 178, 180–192

juvenile justice system

participation by (see Family

juvenile justice participation)

parental notification during case

processing, 26

parent-child testimonial privilege,

71–72, 207

social capital of, 251, 252, 254–255

state serving as (parens patriae), 69,

70, 71, 77, 80, 84, 117, 200,

213–215

violence of (see Child abuse;

Family violence)

youth as (see Young parents)

youth health participation/role of,

75–76, 370, 372, 376–377,

377–378

youth legal rights in relation to,

69–72, 75–76, 77, 80, 84–86

Parham v. J.R. (1979), 75–76

Paris; U.S. v. (2007), 342

Parole. See Aftercare

PART (Program Assessment Rating

Tool), 506–507

Patient Protection and Affordability

Care Act (2010), 74

Patterson, David, 424

Peabody Research Institute, 480

Peers:

bullying by, 10–11, 159, 166, 167,

482–483

gang-related, 3–4, 120–121, 250,

254, 258

identity development influenced

by, 7

peer intervention processes,

273–274

social capital of, 253–254

Pennsylvania:

community-based care in, 496,

500

family participation reforms in,

216

juvenile sentences in, 27

Pennsylvania Association for Retarded

Children v. Commonwealth of

Pennsylvania (1972), 294

People v. See name of opposing

party

Perry Preschool Project, 482, 514

Physical health, 45–48, 60–61. See

also Youth health

Pierce v. Society of Sisters

(1925), 70

Planned Parenthood of Central Missouri

v. Danforth (1976), 76

Police power, 69, 71, 73, 77, 80

Policies. See also Legislation

collaboration supported by, 449

evaluating policies vs. programs,

514–518

evidence-based research

influencing, 505–525

harmful, directed at LGBTyouth,

164–168

push-out, in schools, 26,

121–122, 287, 297, 298–300,

310–311, 362–363

young parent, 187–192

zero-tolerance, 26, 121–122, 287,

298–299, 310–311

Political activism, 398–399. See also

Youth-led change

Positive behavior supports, 302

Positive youth development

perspective:

components of, 100–103

deficit view of youth development

vs., 92–93, 96–97, 105, 414

defining features of, 98–100

emergence of, 96–104

Five/Six Cs of, 100–102, 280

juvenile justice system

implications, 103–105, 414

origins of, 97–98

past and current developmental

perspectives, 93–96

reform school initiatives using,

417–418

resiliency lens on, 245–247, 394

social supports for, 275–276, 277,

279–282

youth-context alignment

promoting, 102–103

youth strengths as focus of,

92–105, 245–247, 275–276,

277, 279–282, 394, 414,

417–418

Posttraumatic stress disorder

(PTSD), 9, 53, 124, 339–340

Poverty. See also Socioeconomic

status

juvenile justice system

involvement impacted by, xi–

xii, 115–116

youth development impacted by,

270, 282

youth health and delinquency

influenced by, 55–56, 58, 60

Predator theory, xiii, xvii, 93, 95,

99, 118–119, 317–321, 517.

See also Superpredator/predator

theory

562 S U B J E C T I N D E X

Pregnancy, 48. See also Reproductive

health; Young parents

Prevention programs, 482–483

Prince v. Massachusetts (1944), 70

Prison Rape Elimination Act, 87,

531

Privacy issues, 360, 378, 462. See also

Confidentiality

Privilege, parent-child testimonial,

71–72, 207

Probation:

case processing leading to, 28–29

family participation in, 208–209,

212

JDAI data system analysis of

probation violations, 465–469

LGBTyouth on, 167

racial disparities in, 38

Professional associations, 356

Project Confirm, 359, 361, 362, 363

Project Esperanza, 423

Project Zero, 421, 423, 425

Promise Neighborhoods, 531

Prostitution. See Commercial sexual

exploitation

Protective factors. See also Youth

strengths

developmental assets as, 280–282

resilience impacted by, 246–247,

258, 259

PROTECT (Prosecutorial

Remedies and Other Tools to

End the Exploitation of

Children Today) Act, 341

Psychological health. See Mental

health

Psychotropic medications, 54

PTSD (posttraumatic stress

disorder), 9, 53, 124, 339–340

Quality issues:

quality control of data systems, 461

quality improvement vs. research,

522–524

right to quality education,

286–287, 288–305

Race/ethnicity:

classification by, 113–114

Critical Race Theory (CRT), 316

disparities based on (see Racial/

ethnic disparities)

false empathy based on, 324–325

of LGBTyouth, 162

racial and ethnic identity

development, 8

social capital impacted by, 250,

253, 256

socioeconomic status relation to,

55, 56

as system-involved youth

demographic, 36–38, 134

youth health and delinquency

influenced by, 56–57

youth perceptions influenced by,

175–177

Racial/ethnic disparities:

in adult system transfers, 38, 118,

122–123

in antigang laws, 120–121

in child welfare system, 85

in commercial sexual exploitation,

336

in detention, 112, 175, 180,

469–472

differential offending vs.

differential treatment causing,

114

disproportionate minority

confinement/contact as,

112–113, 114, 126–127,

357–358, 469

in drug-free zone laws,

119–120

in education, 287, 298, 299,

310–327, 362

explanations for, 114–115

in family structure, 58

framework of disparities

assessments, 112–115

historical legacy of, 115–119

indexes measuring, 113

in juvenile justice system, xi,

36–38, 111–127, 174–175,

179–180, 201, 288

juvenile justice system reforms

addressing, 125–127

in mental health, 52–53, 124,

180

myth of race neutrality, 119–124

in offense rates, xi, 36–38, 56,

111–112, 115, 174–175, 288,

465–466

in service tunnel selection,

357–358

in state/local practices, 113, 114,

123–124

in substance abuse, 124–125

in youth development, 394

in youth health, 52–53, 56–57,

369

in zero-tolerance school policies,

121–122, 310–311

Ramos v. Town of Vernon (2003), 84

Recidivism:

adult system transfers and, 27

aftercare and, 29

collaborative efforts reducing,

442

community-based care program

evaluation based on, 487,

489–491, 498

community reentry support and,

185, 192, 248

detention/incarceration leading

to, 168, 215, 411

development assets impacting,

279

educational reentry impacting,

297, 303–304

health care impacting, 386

rates of, 202, 215, 246, 415, 416,

423

reform school initiatives

impacting, 413, 415, 416, 423

social supports impacting, 274, 302

Reform schools:

deinstitutionalization of, 414–421

evidence-based programs/

practices in lieu of, 410,

413–414, 417–418, 423, 430

history of, 409, 410–411

human rights abuses in, 409, 410,

424, 425–426

impact of, 411–413

Juvenile Detention Alternatives

Initiative impacting, 410, 417,

429

state/local initiatives reforming,

414–429

Subject Index 563

Relationships. See also Family;

Parents; Peers; Sexual

relationships

education on healthy, 237–238

gender-specific attention to, 138,

143–148

institutional obstacles to,

144–146

positive, in system, 146–148

social (see Social capital; Social

networks; Social support)

Relative Representation Index

(RRI), 113

Reno v. Flores (1993), 77

Reproductive health, 47–48, 76

Research, evidence-based.

See Evidence-based practices/

research

Resilience. See also Youth strengths

positive adaptation as

manifestation of, 245–247, 394

social capital fostering, 247–261,

509–510

Resistance strategies, 176–177, 187,

190

Rettig v. Kent (1981), 297

R.G. v. Koller (2006), 166

Rights. See Youth legal rights

Risk assessments:

community-based care using, 496

data system instruments for, 464

of LGBTyouth, 165, 167

Structured Decision Making

model of, 418–419

Risk factors:

disabilities as (see Disabilities,

youth with)

gangs as, 3–4, 120–121, 250, 254,

258

for girls, 132–134

for LGBTyouth, 156, 158–161

protective factors combating,

246–247, 258, 259, 280–282

(see also Youth strengths)

risk accumulation of, 269–270

substance abuse as (see Substance

abuse)

trauma as (see Trauma)

of young parents for juvenile

justice entry, 177–180

Risky behavior:

immaturity influencing, 6, 60

positive youth development

inverse relationship to, 101, 102

sexual, 8, 53, 134

substance abuse as (see Substance

abuse)

youth health impacted by, 44,

47–48

Romero, Gloria, 426

Roosevelt, Eleanor, 275

Roper v. Simmons (2005), xviii, 78, 83

Rosie D. v. Romney (2006), 74

Ruiz v. Pedota (2004), 363

Runaway cases, 26, 140, 156,

160–161, 231, 334, 337–338,

361–362

Safe Harbor Act, 340, 345

Safety/safe spaces:

emotional, 138, 141–143

in girl-targeted programs, 138,

139–143

in juvenile justice facilities,

233–234, 235–236

physical, 138, 140–141

planning methods of achieving,

238–239

Safford v. Redding (2009), 77

San Antonio Independent School

District v. Rodriguez (1973),

72

Santana v. Collaza (1983), 86

Santosky v. Kramer (1984), 86

Scarborough, William, 425

Scared Straight program, 273, 484,

493

Schall v. Martin (1984), 71, 81

School Districts’ Alliance for Adequate

Funding of Special Education v.

State (2009), 72

Schools. See Education; Reform

schools

School-to-prison pipeline, 122, 297,

298, 310, 313, 362

Schwarzenegger, Arnold, 427

S.D. v. Hood (2004), 74

Search Institute, 277, 279–280, 281

Seattle School District No. 1 v. B. S.

(1996), 296

Seattle Social Development

approach, 491, 514

Self-regulation, 230, 236, 272

Sentences/disposition:

death penalty, xviii, 83, 508, 509

determinate vs. indeterminate, 29

educational success impacting, 319

for LGBTyouth, 167

life, 27, 38, 83

probationary, 28–29, 38, 167,

208–209, 212, 465–469

Serious and Violent Offenders

Reentry Initiative, 208

Service tunnels, 356–358

Sexually transmitted diseases (STDs),

47, 338

Sexual orientation, 8–9, 156–158.

See also LGBT (lesbian, gay,

bisexual, transgender) youth

Sexual relationships:

as child abuse, 9, 132–133

commercial sexual exploitation,

133, 331–349

juvenile justice system sexual

victimization, 29, 166

reproductive health impacted by,

47–48, 76

risky behavior in, 8, 53, 134

STDs from, 47, 338

violence in, 8, 29, 53, 132–133,

166, 227–228, 232, 331–349

Shared power, in girl-targeted

programs, 138–139,

148–152

Smith v. Wheaton (1998), 295, 297

Smook v. Minnehaha County (2006),

77

Social capital:

community-level, 255–256

complexity/multidimensionality

of, 251–252

core features of, 251–252

definitions of, 248–250

degree of, 251

evidence-based research on,

509–510

family-based, 251, 252, 254–255

gang-based, 250, 254, 258

in juvenile justice context,

256–260

564 S U B J E C T I N D E X

measuring, 251, 252–253

negative vs. positive, 250, 254,

258

peer-based, 253–254

race/ethnicity impacting, 250,

253, 256

resilience supported by,

247–261

Social deprivation, 270

Social networks, 250. See also Social

capital

Social problem solving, 237

Social services. See Child welfare

system; Education; Foster care

system; Multi-agency

jurisdiction

Social stigma, 156, 158–159

Social support. See also Social capital

for commercial sexual

exploitation victims, 346–348

community reentry and,

238, 256

definition of, 250

for developmental assets, 277,

279–282

for families and communities,

276, 278–279

positive behavior supports, 302

for positive youth development,

275–276, 277, 279–282

youth development impacted by,

274–282

Society for the Prevention of

Pauperism, 116

Socioeconomic status:

development assets impacted by,

282

education and, 59, 298

juvenile justice system

involvement impacted by, xi–

xii, 115–116

race/ethnicity and, 55, 56

social capital impacted by, 248,

249, 250, 253, 255, 256

of system-involved girls, 134

youth development impacted by,

270, 282

youth health and delinquency

influenced by, 55–56, 58, 59,

60, 179, 369

youth perceptions influenced by,

175–177

South Dakota: reform schools in,

409

Standard operating procedures, 356,

365

Standing Against Global

Exploitation (SAGE), 348

Stanford v. Kentucky (1989), 83

State Children’s Health Insurance

Program (SCHIP), 74

State governments. See also specific

states by name

commercial sexual exploitation

laws under, 332, 343, 344–345

educational rights under, 286,

287, 289–293, 294–297,

300–305

federalist structure impacting,

352–356

juvenile justice system of (see State

juvenile justice system)

youth legal rights under, 72, 73,

74

State juvenile justice system:

adult system transfers in, 25, 27,

95, 122–123

age guidelines in, 33, 82–83,

122–123

authority and organization of,

353

collaboration in, 443–444

community-based care in (see

Community-based care)

demographics of youth in, 38

drug-free zone laws in, 119–120

due process in, 80

educational rights in, 286, 287,

290–291, 292, 294–297,

300–303

federalist structure impacting,

352–356

historical variations in, 25

parent–child testimonial privilege

in, 72

racial disparities in, 113, 114,

123–124

reform school changes in,

414–429

school referrals to, 26

State of Connecticut - Unified School

District #1 v. Connecticut

Department of Education (1996),

295, 296

State v. See name of opposing party

Status offenses. See also specific

offenses (e.g. truancy)

bootstrapping of, 35, 84, 353

commercial sexual exploitation as,

343

data collection on, 118

diffusion of responsibility in cases

of, 361–362

history of, 25

parental and state rights in, 71

processing of, 27–29

service tunnels for, 357

youth legal rights and, 71, 76,

83–84

Statutory rape laws, 333

STDs (sexually transmitted diseases),

47, 338

Steward, Mark, 416

Stockholm Syndrome, 339

Strategic Alliance Formative

Assessment Rubric, 438

Strengths. See Youth strengths

Stress, 6–7, 60–61

Strip searches, 77

Strong Communities (SCs)

initiative, 276, 278–279

Structured Decision Making model,

418–419

Substance abuse:

commercial sexual exploitation

leading to, 338–339

community-based programs

addressing, 491–492, 493, 511

comorbid disorders, 49, 51–52

drug-free zones, 119–120

family violence triggering, 229,

231

in LGBTyouth, 9

prevalence of, 50–51

prevention programs for, 483

racial/ethnic disparities in,

124–125

trauma leading to, 11

youth health impacted by, 49–55,

124–125

Subject Index 565

Suicide/suicide attempts:

commercial sexual exploitation

leading to, 339

family violence leading to, 230,

234

of LGBTyouth, 9

prevalence of, 51

sexual abuse leading to, 53

of system-involved youth, 53–54,

412

Superpredator/predator theory, xiii,

xvii, 93, 95, 99, 118–119,

317–321, 517

Supreme Court:

on commercial sexual

exploitation, 342

on death penalty, xviii, 83, 509

on detention, 81

on education, 73

on parental rights, 69–70, 75–76,

85–86, 117

on youth legal rights, 24–25, 71,

72, 73, 75–76, 79, 81, 83,

85–86, 94, 118, 354

Survey of Youth in Residential

Placement (SYRP), 44–45, 49,

87

Tangvik, Ken, 399, 404, 405

Technology. See Computers; Data

systems; Internet

Teenagers. See Youth

Texas:

commercial sexual exploitation

issues in, 333, 344

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

juvenile sentences in, 27

reform schools in, 410, 421

Therapeutic housing programs,

347–348

Thompson v. Oklahoma (1988), 83

Thriving, 276

Tilton v. Jefferson County Board of

Education (1983), 297

Trafficking Victims Protection Act

(2000), 340, 341–343

Training schools. See Reform

schools

Trammel v. U.S. (1980), 72

Transgender youth. See LGBT

(lesbian, gay, bisexual,

transgender) youth

Trauma:

emotion regulation issues due to,

272

family violence as, 230–231

PTSD from, 9, 53, 124, 339–340

youth development impacted by,

4–5, 8, 9–11, 19, 20, 270

youth health impacted by, 9–11,

46, 53, 125, 230–231, 270

Travis, Jeremy, 424

Treatment:

aggression replacement training

as, 485, 487

cognitive-behavioral therapy as,

236–237, 441, 484, 485, 489

for commercially sexually exploited

victims, 345–346, 347–348

community-based (see

Community-based care)

differential, 114

emotional literacy development

as, 236–237

family integrated transitions (FIT)

as, 208, 485–486, 491

family participation in, 207–208

family violence victim

interventions as, 224, 225, 226,

228, 232–239

Functional Family Therapy (FFT)

as, 208, 364, 413, 423, 477, 481,

483–484, 487, 495, 514, 522

healthy relationships education as,

237–238

juvenile justice system goal of,

94

medication as, 54, 360

Multidimensional Treatment

Foster Care (MTFC) as,

191–192, 208, 413–414, 423,

486, 487, 498, 514

Multisystemic Therapy (MST) as,

191, 208, 364, 413, 423, 451,

483–484, 485, 487, 495, 514, 522

reentry planning as, 238

self-regulation strengthening as, 236

social problem solving

development as, 237

therapeutic housing programs

providing, 347–348

youth right to, 86–87

Troxel v. Granville (2000), 69

Truancy, 12, 26, 159, 177, 299, 357

Turning Point: Rethinking

Violence, 238

Unified School District No. 1 v.

Connecticut Department of

Education (2001), 295

Uniform Crime Reports (UCR),

29–30, 40

United Nations Convention

on the Rights of the Child, 68,

267, 269, 274–275, 340–341

United States v. See name of

opposing party

Urban war zones, 270, 271. See also

Community environment:

violence in

Vera Institute of Justice, 356

Vermont:

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

juvenile sentences in, 27

Victimization:

by bullies, 10–11, 159, 166, 167,

482–483

commercial sexual exploitation as,

133, 331–349

enhancing empathy for, 273

of family violence victims,

223–240

of LGBTyouth, 8–9, 156, 158,

159, 160, 161, 166, 167

of system-involved girls, 9, 29,

132–133, 178–179

Vignettes. See Case studies

Violence. See also Aggression;

Victimization

commercial sexual exploitation

and, 133, 331–349

community-based, 267–283

(see also Gangs)

in families (see Child abuse;

Family violence)

homophobic, 8–9, 156, 158, 159,

160, 161, 166, 167

566 S U B J E C T I N D E X

intergenerational transmission of,

227

in juvenile justice system, 29, 86,

166, 233, 409, 410, 424,

425–426, 531

school-based, 270–271

(see also Bullying)

sexual, 8, 29, 53, 132–133, 166,

227–228, 232, 331–349

Virginia:

Family & Allies of Virginia’s

Youth, 217

JDAI program in, 465–469

Virtuous vs. vicious cycles, 396–398,

402, 403–404

‘‘Vote for Me’’ campaign, 398–399

W. Haywood Burns Institute for

Juvenile Justice Fairness and

Equity, 126, 356

‘‘War zone’’ mentality, 271

Washington:

collaborative efforts in, 445

commercial sexual exploitation

issues in, 345

community-based care in, 480,

496, 500

Seattle Social Development

approach in, 491, 514

Washington State Institute for

Public Policy in, 480, 486, 497

Washington, D. C.:

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

family participation reforms in,

216

reform schools in, 409, 410,

416–421

West Virginia:

demographics of youth offenders

in, 38

educational requirements in, 304

juvenile sentences in, 27

Whites:

commercial sexual exploitation

of, 336

detention of, 180, 469, 470

education of, 59, 310

false empathy by, 324–325

family structure of, 58

gang affiliations/classifications of,

120–121

LGBTyouth among, 162

mental health disorders in, 52–53

offense rates of, xi, 36–38, 112,

115, 174–175, 465–466

racial/ethnic disparities compared

to (see Racial/ethnic disparities)

youth health of, 52–53, 56–57

White Slave Traffic Act/Mann Act

(1910), 341

Williams; U.S. v. (2008), 342

Winship, In re (1970), 24–25, 79

Wisconsin: adult system transfers in,

123

Wisconsin v. Yoder (1972), 70

Work. See Employment

Wraparound services, 302, 371

Young, Catherine, 425

Youngberg v. Romeo (1982), 86, 166

Young parents:

child contact during

incarceration, 180–181

child welfare-related constraints

on, 182–183

community reentry by, 184–185,

192

education of, 177–178, 229

enhanced policies/services for, in

juvenile justice system, 187–192

family and community

influencing, 178–179, 183–184

gatekeepers impacting, 183–184

gender-based issues for, 179,

181–182

health of, 48

home visitation program for, 482,

487, 498, 511, 514

identity issues facing, 185–187

impact of juvenile justice system

on, 180–185

offense rates of, 175

risks for juvenile justice system

entry, 177–180

Youth. See also Boys; Girls

abuse of (see Bullying; Child

abuse; Victimization; Violence)

adult charges against, 25, 27, 38,

82–83, 95, 118, 122–123

afterschool programs for, 103, 511

case studies on (see Case studies)

changes led by (see Youth-led

change)

child welfare system for (see Child

welfare system)

collaboration on services for (see

Collaboration)

commercial sexual exploitation of

(see Commercial sexual

exploitation)

demographics of (see

Demographics)

developmental stages of (see Youth

development)

disabilities of (see Disabilities,

youth with)

education of (see Education)

employment of (see Employment)

families of (see Family; Parents)

gangs involving, 3–4, 120–121,

250, 254, 258

government impact on (see

Government)

health of (see Youth health)

identity of, 7–9, 156–158, 176,

185–187

immaturity of, 5, 6–9, 19, 20, 60

juvenile justice system for

(see Juvenile justice system)

legal cases on (see Legal cases)

legal rights of (see Youth legal

rights)

legislation impacting (see

Legislation)

mental health of (see Mental

health)

multi-agency jurisdiction over (see

Multi-agency jurisdiction)

parenting by (see Young parents)

perceptions of (see Youth

perceptions)

political activism of, 398–399 (see

also Youth-led change)

race/ethnicity of (see Race/

ethnicity; Racial/ethnic

disparities)

recidivism of (see Recidivism)

relationships of (see Relationships)

resilience of (see Resilience)

Subject Index 567

Youth (Continued )

risk factors for (see Risk factors)

sexual orientation of (see LGBT

(lesbian, gay, bisexual,

transgender) youth; Sexual

orientation)

strengths of (see Youth strengths)

substance abuse in (see Substance

abuse)

suicide/suicide attempts by (see

Suicide/suicide attempts)

Youth development:

biologic factors impacting, 97–98,

231

case studies on, 3–4, 12–19

community environment

impacting, 12, 102–103,

267–283, 392–396

core developmental concepts, 4–5

deficit view of, 92–93, 96–97,

105, 399

developmental assets for,

271–274, 277, 279–282

ecological perspective on,

267–274

enhanced knowledge of,

improving interventions,

363–364

family impacts of, 225–227,

230–231, 392–394, 395–396

family violence impacting,

225–227, 230–231

gangs influencing, 3–4

health care context of, 369–371

identity development in, 7–9,

156–158, 185–187

immaturity in, 5, 6–9, 19, 20, 60

learning disabilities impacting, 5,

11–12, 19, 20

plasticity of developmental

processes, 97–98, 99, 102

positive youth development

perspective on, 92–105,

245–247, 275–276, 277,

279–282, 394, 414, 417–418

racial/ethnic disparities in, 394

risk accumulation impacting,

269–270

social deprivation impacting, 270

social supports impacting, 274–282

socioeconomic status impacting,

270, 282

strengths capitalized during, 12,

20, 102–103, 104, 394

thriving during, 276

trauma impacting, 4–5, 8, 9–11,

19, 20, 270

United Nations Convention on

the Rights of the Child

guidelines on, 68, 267, 269,

274–275

‘‘war zone’’ mentality impacting,

271

youth-led change and, 392–394,

399–403

Youth Family Team Meeting case

planning process, 418, 419,

420

Youth health. See also Disabilities,

youth with

active self-management of,

377–379

collaborative efforts related to,

440–442, 444–445

commercial sexual exploitation

impacting, 338–340

community environment

impacting, 55–56, 371–372

connection to care for, 373–374,

385

data collection on, 373

demographics related to, 55–59,

60, 373

dental issues, 46

detention and medication

disbursement impacting, 360

developmental context of,

369–371

ecological framework for youth

health care, 371–372

extent of health problems, 45–46

factors impacting, 55–61

health-care decision making

rights, 75–76

health care provider impacting,

374–376, 379–383

health-care standards, 54–55

inconsistent care for, 379–383

inefficient/inaccessible health care

for, 383–384

legislation related to, 74, 76, 360

‘‘medical home’’ for, 386

mental, 9–11, 38–39, 49–55,

59–61, 124, 133, 134, 180,

230–231, 234–235, 270, 288,

339, 411–412, 444–445 (see also

Suicide/suicide attempts; specific

disorders)

overview of, 40–41

parental support of/role in,

75–76, 370, 372, 376–377,

377–378

physical, 45–48, 60–61

racial/ethnic disparities in, 52–53,

56–57, 369

reproductive-related, 47–48, 76

socioeconomic status impacting,

55–56, 58, 59, 60, 179, 369

substance abuse impacting, 49–55,

124–125

of system-involved youth,

370–386

trauma impacting, 9–11, 46, 53,

125, 230–231, 270

trust issues related to, 379–383

youth health care-related rights,

73–75, 75–76

youth perspectives on health care,

369–386

Youth-led change:

core principles of, 402–403

education-related, 397, 398, 401,

402, 404

Hyde Square Task Force as,

391–392, 396–406

readiness for, 401–402

system alignment for positive

change and, 396–398

systemic change and, 394–396

virtuous vs. vicious cycles

addressed by, 396–398, 402,

403–404

youth community development

model of, 399–403

youth development and,

392–394, 399–403

Youth legal rights:

in adult criminal justice system,

82–83

autonomy-based, 68, 75–76

568 S U B J E C T I N D E X

child abuse-related, 84–86

confidentiality/privacy as (see

Confidentiality)

to counsel, 78, 79, 81, 85

detention-related, 81–82,

165–166

due process-related, 78, 79–80

education-related, 72–73, 75,

286–305

health care-related, 73–75, 75–76

interrogation-related, 80–81

to jury trial, 79

in juvenile justice system, 24–25,

76–87, 165–166

needs-based, 68, 72–75

overview of, 68–69

parent and state involvement

with, 69–72, 75–76, 77, 80, 84

status offenses and, 71, 76, 83–84

Supreme Court/case law on,

24–25, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74,

75–76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 83,

84, 85–86, 94, 118, 354

to treatment and services, 86–87

Youth perceptions:

family violence influencing, 225

of health care, 369–386

on juvenile justice system,

175–177, 181

race and class influencing, 175–177

resistance strategies and, 176–177,

187, 190

‘‘war zone’’ mentality, 271

Youth Prison Reduction through

Opportunities, Mentoring,

Intervention, Support and

Education (Youth PROMISE)

Act, 530–531

Youth strengths. See also Resilience

developmental assets as, 271–274,

277, 279–282

positive youth development focus

on, 92–105, 245–247,

275–276, 277, 279–282, 394,

414, 417–418

of system-involved youth,

32–33

youth development impacted by,

12, 20, 102–103, 104, 394

youth-led change demonstrating,

391–406

Zero-tolerance laws, 26, 121–122,

287, 298–299, 310–311

Subject Index 569