Peer Punishment

SIMI VALLEY —  The teen sat at the defense table, his shoulders hunched up toward his ears, as the hardened prosecutor strode toward the jury.

“On the morning of 9/23/98,” the prosecutor began, pointing his finger at the defendant, “he had a choice: whether he wanted to bring marijuana to school or not.”

He paused dramatically.

“He made the wrong decision.”

It could be a scene from the Ventura County Courthouse or the latest episode of “Law and Order,” but it’s not. This is teen court at Simi Valley High School.

Here in this study hall converted into a courtroom, students rearrange their desks and conduct trials on the second and fourth Thursdays of each month.

The defendants are high school students who are in trouble for minor infractions, such as fighting, smoking or possessing small amounts of marijuana.

The juries, prosecutors, defense attorneys, bailiffs and court clerks are also teens. The only adult is the judge, a Ventura County attorney who has been granted authority by the courts to preside over the teen proceedings.

Unlike adult court, students can’t appear in teen court unless they have admitted guilt. The proceeding is like the penalty phase of a trial, during which a jury determines the appropriate sentence for the crime. And the sentences the teen juries hand down are real.

Punishments vary according to school, but juries can generally order defendants to pay a fine of as much as $150, enroll in counseling, undertake up to 35 hours of community service, or write essays or apologies. They can also order the defendant to sit on future teen court juries. Usually, they order a combination of the above.

If defendants do not fulfill their sentences, cases get handed over to Ventura County probation, and sentences are automatically doubled.

Teen court was started three years ago at Oxnard High School, and today most high school--and some middle school--students in the county can opt to go before the court in their districts. If they don’t, their cases will be routed through the probation department.

The only students who cannot choose teen court are in the Ventura Unified and Santa Paula school districts, which have none, said Tina Rasnow who works for the County Courts Administration, coordinates teen court and conducts training for new schools.

During the 1997-98 school year, teen courts around the county heard a total of 55 cases. Only 12 of those students failed to complete their sentences, and only 11 again committed a crime, according to county court officials.

The program is viewed by many teachers and court officials as a real-life civics lesson that can motivate students, when they are of age, to vote, sit on juries and take part in American democratic institutions.

“It’s awesome, to use a word they use all the time,” said Jim Steele, who teaches classes on law and law enforcement at Camarillo High School and has incorporated teen court into his class curriculum. “It’s a real-world type of situation, getting kids who are committing offenses involved.” The sight of a teenager interrogating another child’s parent on the witness stand, asking them about their parenting skills: “That’s really something,” he said.

Ventura Superior Court Judge Steven Perren, who helped set up the first teen court, says the program helps students learn the responsible nature of citizenship.

“You invest in kids as participants, rather than them being told, or lectured to or condescended to,” he said. “You say this is your game and your business. And isn’t that what life is all about?”

In the Simi Valley teen court on this particular Thursday both cases involve drugs. The first student has pleaded guilty to smoking marijuana on the Santa Susana High School campus.

The second--a Simi High student--has admitted to being out after curfew and possessing marijuana.

The teen attorneys call witnesses, just like in real court. In the case of the Santa Susana student, the teen prosecutors call a drug specialist, and then they call the student. The young man sits before the teen attorneys and the jury and sheepishly describes what happened.

“I came to school with my friend,” he said. “Behind the handball courts we smoked pot.”

Questioning by the defense attorney reveals that the student has never been caught smoking pot before and that he is on special medication to prevent belligerent behavior. In addition, his parents have grounded him, and he has gone without stereo or television since the incident occurred nearly two months earlier.

He admits he has smoked cigarettes before and drunk a little alcohol.

“Would you say this arrest has caused you to reform in this area?” the defense attorney asks.

“Yes,” he says.

His father is then called to the stand.

His son, who has been grounded for a month and a half, has been sufficiently punished, he says. His son’s behavior is being closely monitored, and the family is making sure he takes his medication.

After brief closing arguments--the entire case has taken only 20 minutes--the bailiff takes the jury to a classroom next door.

Perched on chairs and desks, they debate the proper sentence.

“OK, what do you think?” one student asks.

“I think he’s been punished enough,” says another, adding that the defendant deserves some sympathy for his medical problems.

“Yeah, but if he’s not taking his medication, isn’t he responsible for himself?” another asks.

One student argues that he needs to be punished more. “It’s like when you are grounded and you know you’re going to get grounded,” she says. “Who cares?”

“I think he needs counseling more than anything,” another student says.

Eventually they decide on a sentence: 25 hours of community service and five sessions of drug counseling. Both must be completed within 90 days.

Afterward, students involved give mixed reviews to the teen court.

“Most of the people take it as a joke,” said Katie Morse, 17, who has sat on the jury before. “But it gives them a sentence, and maybe they won’t take it as lightly now.”

Other students think they can mete out better punishments than adults.

“We’re his peers. We know what’s going on in life right now,” says Jarrod Garnan, 17. “We can tell what’s right or wrong. We know what’s good punishment for everyday crimes.”

Indeed, youths know best how to punish their peers so it really hurts.

In the case of the Simi Valley student, the teen jurors made him do the very thing his mother said he hates most: write. And write and write--a letter of apology to his younger brother, a letter of apology to his mother, a letter of apology to the school principal and a six-page essay on the detrimental effects of smoking pot. That was in addition to counseling and community service.

Adults, too, admit that teens are often harder on their peers than a judge would be.

Teacher Jim Steele says his students rarely order peers to pay fines because they know parents will just write a check. They would rather assign community service, which requires actual labor from the student.

According to teachers, parents generally praise the program. Social studies teacher Rob Collins, who runs the teen court at Simi Valley High, says he often gets letters of thanks from parents.

And while not all students find the process fair, some enjoy the theatrics. A teen defense attorney at the Simi Valley trial had mastered the mannerisms of courtroom drama.

“I don’t know whether I have an innate ability to defend,” said Ryan Reynolds, 17, but he really likes to represent teen offenders. “ ‘Ally McBeal’ is my favorite show.”