Criminal Justice

Look. Listen. Learn. And then lead . . .

I spent some time in jail this afternoon. Well, just visiting, anyway. Today's session of Leadership Charlottesville was about criminal justice so it was fitting that the class spent the day at the Charlottesville Albemarle Nelson Regional Jail.

The experience was very powerful, and I think made a lasting impact on everyone in the class.

We had the opportunity to hear from the Charlottesville Chief of Police, who left us with the quote above, appropriate for the day, and the class. It describes his process when he came to the position and how he continues to operate, as he introduced community policing and the importance of relationship development in fighting crime in our city.

We toured the jail. Yes, it was uncomfortable at times, particularly when we entered a "pod" separated from inmates by plexiglass alone, escorted at all times by officers. We could see the inmates and they could see us. We couldn't hear one another but it was apparent by their attitudes that we were as on exhibit as they were; the afternoon's entertainment in lives that see little but cinderblock walls and one another.

I freaked out (a little) this morning when a classmate e-mailed a few of the females in our group with caution -- to dress as "homely and mousy" as possible, as the inmates like to "undress you with their eyes." I got the feeling, being there, that it didn't really matter what any of us looked or dressed like today. We were of interest, certainly. We tried not to make eye contact. We tried to offer these people the respect we would want, by not staring, or giving them any encouragement to act out, or try to communicate with us in any way.

Because it's a jail (a local correctional facility), and not a prison (funded and operated by the State department of Corrections), people are not executed here. They do not spend life sentences. More often, they are awaiting trial. Often, they get out. Often, they come back. We learned about some of the programs in place to rehabilitate convicts, opportunities they have to earn a GED, to get help with substance abuse problems, to learn another way to live so that hopefully, they can get out and make a fresh start.

We saw the infirmary in the jail. It was emotional, seeing the fishbowl of inmates who clearly weren't feeling well, or who were broken or damaged in some way. It was impossible not to identify with these fellow humans. Where they went wrong, what they did, we don't know, but it was clear their choice would not have included what this particular day held for them.

After the jail tour, we learned about transitional housing for inmates who are released. Funded for just 90 days, the program assists recently released convicts with getting a job, setting up a bank account, getting a GED if they need it, and moving on. Since there is such limited funding for this program, only 40 men can participate at a time. The rest get an outfit of civilian clothes, a check for $25 and a bus ticket to anywhere they want to go in Virginia. It's a grim outlook.

We were also able to tour the Blue Ridge Juvenile Detention Center, next door to the jail. Having children of my own, particularly a teenager the age of most of the kids held in this facility, the tour made an impression on me, in particular. We learned that 80 percent of the kids there have a mental condition, often combined with alcohol or substance abuse. It was just sad . . . seeing the cells with the cinderblock walls, hard slabs for beds and metal doors, and thinking about a child -- any child, from the age of 10 to 17, living, learning, eating and sleeping inside.

Don't misunderstand my impressions -- these facilities are new, clean and, if not welcoming, at least they appear safe, well-lit and full of purpose. It's not the "Prison Break" experience. It's not Shawshank Redemption. It was, however, prepared for our visit, no doubt. Locked down, cleared out and cleaned up, we did not encounter what a Saturday night, a Foxfield evening or a post-UVa game might bring in to the processing area.

Because it was a full afternoon, we also learned about gangs and yes, Virginia, there are gang members in Charlottesville. We know they're here, we know what they're doing and we know what impact their presence has, and can have in our community. It was an eye opener for most of us. In context of our lives here, however, it is possible to ignore, entirely possible to live outside that microcosm of the criminal element, as it were. But if we're here to make a difference, it's impossible and unwise to do so.

Another moving, and unexpected moment from the day: an LC graduate from last year helped put today's program together. He, in his introduction of the police chief, shared how just two weeks after last year's Criminal Justice session, he learned to never take the police for granted again. A burglar entered his home while his wife and two children were present. As he talked he paused, consumed with the emotion that memory held. The police chief rescued him by telling us how this man, our alumni member, wrestled the burglar until police arrived, an act of bravery that caused the burglar, a guy who had broken into more than 40 local homes (including that of one of our other classmates, ironically) to be arrested, charged and incarcerated.

We're fortunate to live in a relatively safe community, however, as the police chief said, crime is relative -- whatever threatens the peace and safety where you live is important -- whether it's the drug dealer down the street or the guy who drives too fast in your neighborhood -- and they're there to help provide that safe environment.

We're listening. We're looking. We're learning. And we're all thinking of ways we can make a difference.