Dreams, Destroyed: The Lasting Impact of Punitive Measures for St. Louis Youth
When I was 16 years old, I was arrested for selling $40 worth of crack to an undercover police officer in Robertson. I’d been arrested in the past, multiple times, for things such as gun possession, assault, breaking into cars, and taking part in a fight with cops. None of those charges really stuck. But this charge was different.
On the day before my seventeenth birthday, I stood before St. Louis County juvenile judge Alphonso Voorhees, who certified me to stand trial as an adult. At that time, Missouri was one of just five states in which 17 was the legal age of adulthood in criminal courts. (In 2018, Missouri passed “Raise the Age” legislation, upping the legal age to eighteen.)
I’d spent time in the St. Louis County Juvenile Detention Center, and it was sort of like a penal summer camp. We played cards all day, mostly spades, stole cigarettes from staff and smoked them, played and watched sports, and argued about who represented the toughest neighborhood. At night, when I was in the room by myself, I devoured books; among other things, I read Thoreau’s Essays on Civil Disobedience and the novels of Louis L’Amour.
Of course, it wasn’t all good. Kids were being certified to stand trial as adults and looking at serious time. Others would cry at night, missing their families. There was also a lot of fighting between rival neighborhoods: Kinloch, Berkeley, Wellston, Pine Lawn, Pagedale, Meacham Park.
At age 17, for $40 worth of crack, I was driven over to the St. Louis County jail in Clayton. I’ll spare you the events of those next few days. I’ll just say they made a lasting impression. What I will tell you is that for the next several years I was in the system, ineligible for student loans and grants, and unable to get jobs due to my conviction. That $40 sale cost me a college education and sabotaged my future. I moved to New York City and for years had to drive illegal cabs, hustle on the street, and find whatever odd job I could find because that conviction cost me the ability to get a New York TLC yellow-cab license and earn a decent living.
Of course, I wasn’t alone. In juvenile with me was Corrian “Snap” Hardy from Kinloch. Snap never got out of the system and ended up being killed in a shootout with his brother. Larry Cole from Berkeley was there, too. He was killed while riding his bike as a teenager. Cam from Meacham Park was there as well, and he’d go on to die a violent death. Many others would go on to graduate straight from juvenile to the adult system. They remain there today.
The “tough on crime” rhetoric and legislation of the so-called “crack era” had a lasting and devastating effect on many of the youth of that time period. Once in the system and blocked from jobs and education, how do you get out? Many decided there was no other option but to sell dope, rob people, scam, and hustle until one day the cycle was complete and they were the ones at the dopeman’s door at three in the morning.
In the post-Ferguson era, there’s been a consensus that many of these juvenile justice strategies have been ill-advised. The Ferguson Commission’s report condemns over-incarceration and, among other relevant calls to action, encourages treating nonviolent offenses as civil violations and eliminating incarceration for minor offenses. While St. Louis community activists like Anthony Shahid and James Clark once worked with the youth to little fanfare, there is now a recognition that reaching the youth before it’s too late — and with preventative, not punitive, measures — is crucial.
Dr. Art McCoy, superintendent of the Jennings School District, has implemented a number of measures aimed at reducing youth violence and interaction with the system. In addition to programs within the school, Dr. McCoy is partnering with programs outside of the district, such as the “Save Our Sons” program of the Urban League.
Just last month, Forward Through Ferguson’s “Falling Through the Cracks” report illustrated the gross discrepancy regarding school suspensions when it comes to race. African-American boys (particularly those with disabilities) are being suspended at an astronomically higher rate in St. Louis than their white peers. These high rates of suspension are leading to time out of school, and this time out of school is leading to interaction with the system, thus feeding the “school-to-prison pipeline.”
While other juvenile court systems across the nation were following the “Missouri Model” — moving away from long-term incarceration and towards group-home and smaller-setting confinement — a federal audit in 2016 found racial disparities still existed in the St. Louis County juvenile courts. In 2018, the federal government found that St. Louis County was in compliance with all of their recommendations for reform.
Unfortunately, despite demonstrable racial inequity in the way that young people are treated within the system, Missouri Governor Mike Parson recently struck down funding for juvenile public defenders. The bill, sponsored by Representative Ingrid Burnett, remains a top priority of Missouri juvenile court reformers and will likely find new life in the next legislative session. Studies have shown that juveniles who waive their right to representation have higher rates of incarceration, thereby feeding right back into the destructive cycle. Without decisive action and systemic change, we are condemning future generations to the same punitive measures and the same lasting injustices.
