Juvenile Court

Earlier this week, I sat for a while in the Denton City Juvenile Court, just as an observer.  A court official called out names.  Each name was repeated into a room behind the court. Then the young offenders, dressed in shapeless and ill-fitting jumpsuits, would walk in, their hands touching behind their backs, elbows akimbo, and join family members standing before the judge.  Each had spent at least the weekend in juvenile lockup, some longer than that.

After stern admonitions by the judge, some of the youth were released to parents or guardians. Others were deemed too dangerous to be released, and were detained pending further arrangements.

I sat in complete stillness and prayed for each individual, each family.  I watched faces full of anger and frustration, grief and sorrow.  I saw a few of the mechanics of a complex legal system seeking to cope with youth who had transgressed the boundaries of normal society while seeking also to preserve the boundaries of legal protection for these young people.

How does it happen?  What has gone so wrong? What will these youth become as they move into adulthood?

I don’t know the backgrounds or the family histories here.  I can safely assume, however, they each young person had a place to live that offered a comfortable bed for sleep, adequate if not abundant food and clothing, and multiple entertainment options.

After returning to my office, I saw an article about young girls in the South African country of Swaziland who work at desolate truck stops in that impoverished and ill country (one-third of the population is infected with the H.I.V. virus). The writer interviewed a 16 year-old orphan named Mbali, herself H.I.V. positive.  She said, “I have nowhere to sleep unless I find a man.” She added, “Sometimes I don’t have money and food for two days. A man without a condom will pay more, so obviously I say O.K. because I need money. I am so tired. These men are so rough.”