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Blame rise in violent crime, not judges, for Tarrant juvenile detention center problems

The Tarrant County Juvenile Detention Center in Fort Worth.
The Tarrant County Juvenile Detention Center in Fort Worth.

A lot has been said and written lately about Tarrant County’s juvenile detention facility and the juvenile court. Monday-morning quarterbacks cite a $350,000 “snapshot” report that County Judge Glen Whitley commissioned about the juvenile detention facility to attack 323rd Family District Court Judge Alex Kim and his associate judges — even though the judges do not run the detention facility.

The report insinuates that high detention numbers, lengthy detention stays, and a lack of court hearings have caused a crisis in Tarrant County. Judicial ethics rules constrain the judges from responding publicly to such assertions. Let me set the record straight.

At its peak this year, Tarrant County’s juvenile detention facility held 138 kids. This is problematic because our decades-old facility is rated for 128. County leadership has added only eight juvenile detention beds since the 1990s, when our 47% population growth in the last two decades calls for at least 60 new beds.

Our juvenile detention facility has fewer beds per capita than any other urban county in Texas. Why? Because Whitley ignored an obvious need. His failure to plan for future growth has nothing to do with Kim or the associate judges.

The report similarly grumbled about the length of time kids were being held at the facility. However, not one judge or observer, nor the author of the “snapshot” study, has identified a single detainee who should have been released and was not.

We’ve seen an unfortunate spike in juveniles charged with homicide. Tarrant County accounts for 41 of the 90 docketed juvenile murder cases in all of Texas. Is Whitley’s soft-on-crime solution to release murderers into the community?

At the time of the “snapshot” report, Tarrant County’s juvenile detention facility had 25 kids who had been held for more than 100 days. Each was being held in conjunction with a violent crime, such as capital murder or aggravated robbery. Most were awaiting transfer to the state or another judge for trial. Would anyone suggest we release someone being held for capital murder to address capacity? Of course not.

The report also points out that the juvenile court held very few hearings in February and March of this year. That’s true, but the period coincides with a surge in COVID-19 infections in Tarrant County. In late January, witnesses, attorneys, probation staff, police, children and their families were becoming infected due to contact occurring at the courthouse.

In response, Kim canceled almost every hearing for six weeks to curtail the danger to courthouse employees. He resumed normal operations in April once the COVID peak had passed, and the court’s docket was caught up by the end of May.

Much has also been made of the report’s categorization of one of the associate judge courts as a “ghost court.” The implication is that the “ghost” judge never works. That claim is false. In reality, one associate judge spends only half her time on juvenile matters; her remaining docket is dedicated to Child Protective Services matters, a fact the report ignored.

The other associate judge typically works 50 hours a week — something well-known by the juvenile bar. Both associate judges also work alternating weekends. One would assume Whitley has access to those facts, but he left them out of his political narrative.

The truth reveals a different picture of Tarrant County’s juvenile court. It has the lowest backlog of any district court in Tarrant County. Only 16% of its cases last more than 180 days. In terms of expediency, the next closest large county juvenile court is Bexar County, where 34% of juvenile cases take more than 180 days. Dallas and Harris counties need more than 180 days to resolve 43% and 45% of their juvenile cases.

As a lame duck, Whitley now worries about his political legacy. Casting ill-informed aspersions toward Kim and his associate judges — and misleading the public in the process — is not the type of legacy any credible leader should wish to leave.

A more prudent, transparent leader would assign blame dispassionately, acknowledge the county’s population-based needs and work collaboratively and proactively toward a long-overdue solution.

Aaron Harris is a political consultant who lives in North Richland Hills. He has worked for Judge Alex Kim and Associate Judges Andy Porter and Cynthia Terry.
Political consultant Aaron Harris
Political consultant Aaron Harris
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