REPOST: Court ruling offers hope for juvenile lifers

A court ruling provided a light of hope for juveniles who were sentenced a lifetime in prison.  Read more about this decision in this article from USA Today.

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DETROIT — She sometimes dreams of idly sitting on the porch of a house, any house.

Or lying on green grass, watching the clouds float by.

“A simple life,” she said.

But life has never been simple for Jennifer Pruitt. Her 37 years have been punctuated by turmoil — a tough upbringing, a life sentence for murder, repeated rapes in prison and glimmers of hope that quickly got dashed.

She is one of more than 350 Michigan prisoners sentenced as juveniles to life in prison.

Last year, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that sentencing juveniles to a lifetime behind bars is cruel and unusual punishment, but the Michigan Court of Appeals said the decision was not retroactive and applies only to new cases.

On Wednesday, a federal judge ruled the high court’s decision is indeed retroactive, renewing hope for Pruitt and her fellow juvenile lifers. Judge John Corbett O’Meara said those imprisoned as children for life are eligible for parole, and to not allow it would create “an intolerable miscarriage of justice.”

The ruling gives ammunition to hundreds of defense attorneys statewide who are challenging the appeals court decision and are preparing to take their cases to circuit courts.

Pruitt’s attorney and longtime advocate — Robyn Frankel — plans to petition the Oakland County Circuit Court, where Pruitt was convicted, to resentence her. A judge there will look at her crime, her record in prison, and decide whether to impose a new sentence — possibly to time served.

Trying to survive

As she waits in the Huron Valley Women’s Correctional Facility in Pittsfield Township, Pruitt does the math in her head, every day. Twenty-one years behind bars.

She has few connections with family and has been forgotten by almost everyone since her arrest at age 16. Everyone except Frankel, who has been fighting for her freedom for almost two decades.

Frankel first encountered Pruitt in 1994 while working for the State Appellate Defender Office, which reviews and sometimes appeals convictions for indigent residents. As she read the file, Frankel — the daughter of a surgeon who was raised in an upper-middle-class family — was touched by the story of an impoverished and troubled teen whose life was so different from her own.

“Her life just felt like a tragic and sad example of a system that didn’t work,” Frankel said. “She was abused as a child, and she spent a lot of time on the streets trying to fend for herself. She was just a kid who had been trying her best to survive.”

Pruitt also has some other unlikely allies in her bid for freedom: a prison warden, a civil appellate attorney, the judge who sentenced her and some family members of the victim.

Court records, police reports, sworn testimony and interviews show the odds were stacked against Pruitt from the beginning.

Born into a dysfunctional family in Pontiac, her father drank and abused her, according to court records.

Pruitt, the middle child of three, started running away when she was 10. By the summer of 1992, she was mostly living on the streets of Pontiac — a tall, skinny and awkward kid who drank beer when she could find it and stayed with neighbors or slept outside.

Donnell Miracle, 24, was renting a room in a nearby house where wayward kids hung out. Herself a drug addict, Miracle gave them marijuana and alcohol. And she offered Pruitt shelter.

On Aug. 29, 1992, Miracle was desperate for money. Pruitt told her about Elmer Heichel, 75, a man she had known since she was 6. Heichel kept money in his house, which was nearby, Pruitt told Miracle.

The pair knocked on Heichel’s door after midnight, and he let them in. Pruitt went to his bedroom to look for his wallet and then went to the bathroom. When she came out, Miracle was stabbing Heichel with a kitchen knife.

“I walked back in the bathroom and locked the door,” she later told police.

The pair left with Heichel’s watch and wallet but then returned with a 13-year-old girl who also was staying at the house because Miracle insisted they try to clean up fingerprints.

Later, when Miracle fell asleep, Pruitt ran to a nearby neighbor for help and called police.

She was hysterical and said she had witnessed a murder, the arriving officer reported. Miracle was quickly arrested.

Days later, on Sept. 9, 1992, while under the care of a psychiatrist, Pruitt was arrested and charged as an adult with first-degree felony murder.

Under Michigan law, a person who commits a felony — such as robbery — that ends in death is guilty of murder, even if that person did not carry out the killing.

1993 trial

Pruitt and Miracle went on trial together on July 12, 1993, although they had separate juries.

Prosecutors stressed the brutality of the crime. They pointed out that although Pruitt didn’t wield the knife — Miracle had confessed to that — she led Miracle to Heichel’s door.

Both were convicted of first-degree murder at the conclusion of the eight-day trial. Miracle, then 25, automatically faced life in prison without parole.

Judge Fred Mester had to decide whether to sentence Pruitt as a juvenile — meaning she would be free at 21 — or as an adult to a life sentence without parole.

He sentenced her as an adult.

“There must be reasonable concern for those consequences of our acts,” Mester said in court at the time.

Assaults by guards

Pruitt arrived at the Scott Correctional Facility in November 1993.

Within days, shortly before her 18th birthday, a guard pulled her from her cell and forced her to perform oral sex on him, according to court records.

Another guard began taking her from her cell at night and raping her in a utility closet. Other women were being routinely assaulted all around her, according to court records.

Pruitt said she was depressed and suicidal for years.

“I thought I deserved it,” she said. “I didn’t think I was worth anything, and that this was how it was going to be. I just felt empty.”

In 1996, Ann Arbor civil rights attorney Deborah Labelle and a team of attorneys filed a class action against the Michigan Department of Corrections on behalf of 500 female inmates who said they were being systematically sexually assaulted by prison guards.

Pruitt testified when 10 of the cases, including hers, went to trial. Jurors awarded the women $15.5 million.

In total, juries awarded almost $50 million to 18 women, and the MDOC eventually settled the other cases for $100 million.

“Of all the testimony, those jurors were most moved by Jennifer,” Labelle said. “She showed remarkable strength and courage.”

Pruitt said her decision to testify — and the fact that jurors believed her — was a turning point in her life.

“For the first time, I felt like somebody listened to me, that I was heard,” she said.

In the ensuing years, she became a model prisoner, getting her GED, studying bookkeeping and business management, working as a mentor in prison programs for troubled inmates, sitting with inmates on suicide watch and giving inspirational speeches.

Second chance

Her supporters say it’s time to give Pruitt another chance.

The most vocal is Frankel, who now represents Pruitt for free as a private attorney.

“She was a kid, tossed out in the streets, and she hooked up with somebody she thought would keep her safe. That was her mistake,” Frankel said. “Jennifer Pruitt does not belong in prison.”

The judge who sentenced her agrees.

“We are a redemptive society,” said Mester, who is retired. “Considering her progress, the way she has conducted herself, she deserves to be heard, to give her a chance to participate in our society.”

Scott Correctional Warden Heidi Washington heard Pruitt give a speech in 2009 about her life’s struggles. She was so moved she sought a commutation on Pruitt’s behalf, but the commutation board turned the request down.

Even the some members of the victim’s family support setting her free. Although one family member has filed a lawsuit seeking monetary restitution from Pruitt, Heichel’s grandson supports her.

Carl Heichel, 52, wrote to Frankel in October, saying family members had discussed the case often and believe she deserves a second chance.

“Jennifer’s age, abuse and lack of love and guidance played a major role in this horrific murder,” wrote Heichel, who himself is serving a life sentence for second-degree murder. “We have and do believe if Jennifer has made strides while in prison.….that reflect a changed life, that she should be given a new start and that she would take full advantage of a life of love and compassion.”

Pruitt said she hopes to someday to start a nonprofit for troubled kids.

“I know what it’s like,” she said. “And I can help. I can help in here or out there, but I can help.”

Known for her outstanding performance in delivering legal assistance, Sheila Cartwright consistently ranks as one of the top paralegals in Arizona.  Her expertise are mostly used in family law and juvenile court cases.  Follow this Twitter page for more updates about her practice.

REPOST: N.Y., N.C. consider changes to juvenile justice laws

A national movement is sweeping New York and North Carolina that aims to initiate changes in juvenile justice laws. The two states are considered the last in the country to provide adult punishment to offenders age 16 and 17. Jim St. German wants to end this destructive trend as he tells his story to USA Today.

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BROOKLYN, N.Y. — Jim St. Germain does not remember the day he decided to sell drugs.

At the time, it was an unremarkable turn for the 11-year-old whose Brooklyn neighborhood was filled with young men dealing temporary highs.

“It was like a family business,” St. Germain, 24, said. “It wasn’t like I woke up and said I’m going to sell. It was a natural thing to me. You just think I can’t wait to get to the next level.”

But, St. Germain’s criminal ascension was cut short. In 2004, he was arrested at 14 and charged with a felony drug charge as a juvenile and sent to a group home that he says saved his life. Now, St. Germain and others are lobbying that 16- and 17-year-olds who make similar mistakes will have the same opportunities — in juvenile court.

Their efforts are part of a national movement to make New York and North Carolina treat 16- and 17-year-olds as juveniles rather than adults in the criminal justice system. The two states are the last in the country that automatically treat those in their late teens, regardless of their crimes, as adults.

In a years-long trend, states have been changing their laws to keep young offenders away from adult prisons. Teens treated as adults live in violent settings without rehabilitation where more experienced criminals can take advantage of them, advocates say. Some, however, are cautious about the changes because they say doing so will be expensive and may strain the juvenile justice system.

A deep frown envelops St. Germain’s face as he thinks about the dozens of friends who have recounted their experiences in adult jails and prisons. They talk about grown men raping and intimidating isolated and suicidal young boys, he said.

The young man is convinced he is the incredibly lucky one among a band of friends who made bad decisions together. Had he been 16, St. Germain would likely have been sent to an adult prison for several years, he said.

“I’m really good at adapting so if I had been sent to an adult prison I would have become a better criminal,” St. Germain said. “I have a lot of friends who are still locked up.”

Across the state of New York, there are 53,898 people in adult prisons — 130 of them are minors. Of the 37,148 people in North Carolina’s adult prisons, 64 are minors. Advocates add that thousands of young people are arrested, charged and convicted as adults. Some may avoid prison time but still carry the stigma and consequences of being treated as adults.

In New York and North Carolina, coalitions have been working for several years to get the age of adult criminal responsibility raised. This year, the New York groups got welcome news from New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo in his State of the State Address in January.

“Our juvenile justice laws are outdated,” Cuomo said. ” Under New York state law, 16- and 17-year-olds can be tried and charged as adults. Only one other state in the nation does that; it’s the state of North Carolina. It’s not right, it’s not fair — we must raise the age. Let’s form a commission on youth public safety and justice and let’s get it done this year.”

Cuomo has yet to announce the members of the commission but has budgeted $250,000 for the new group to come up with a way to implement the change. Likely, law enforcement officials, service providers and legislators will be part of those tasked with hammering out the details including how much such a change would cost and how it would affect the infrastructure of the juvenile justice system.

When older teens are sent to the adult system, they receive mainly punishment and are denied access to many alternative programs that work on changing behavior early, said New York City Department of Probation Commissioner Vincent Schiraldi.

“Kids drop off a cliff when they go into the adult system,” Schiraldi said. “Research consistently shows when you keep similarly situated young people together, they do better, they get arrested less frequently and for less serious crimes,” he said.

Part of the debate around raising the age deals with whether young murderers and other violent offenders should be treated as adults. Melanie Hartzog, executive director of Children’s Defense Fund-N.Y., said based on studies, all minors, despite their crimes, should be treated as juveniles.

“We are not saying young people should not be incarcerated,” Hartzog said, explaining that instead her group believes young people should be housed with people their age and with similar offenses.

Whatever the commission decides, it’s clear the change will require putting new cash into the juvenile justice system, said Abby Anderson, executive director of the Connecticut Juvenile Justice Alliance.

Between 2010 and 2012, Connecticut began sending 16- and 17-year-olds to its juvenile system. Still, Anderson points out that it took years to make that happen.

“It’s about money,” she said, explaining that in tough fiscal years some won’t want to invest in young people who get in trouble.

But, Anderson and others say the key to getting the change passed is explaining the crippling and long-term effects on teens and society.

Reginald Dwayne Betts, who spent eight years in a Virginia adult prison after carjacking someone at 16, knows about those effects.

The 33-year-old is a first-year law student at Yale University but has been denied countless jobs and has been turned away from apartments because of his record. He also had a full undergraduate scholarship to Howard University but couldn’t receive it because he had a felony conviction.

Before that, he had come of age amid chaos. In prison, he became paranoid and callous after seeing people get stabbed and beat to death.

“I was 5-foot-6 and 125 pounds, and I was in prison with men,” Betts said. “My perception of the world was sort of governed by violence and desperation for a long time.”

Betts’ experiences and others like it are why Brandy Bynum has been lobbying for North Carolina to raise the age of adult criminal responsibility for seven years.

“This is a policy whose time has come,” said Bynum, director of policy and outreach for N.C. Child: The Voice for North Carolina’s Children, a child advocacy group. “We are creating tax burdens not taxpayers.”

Some, however, are cautious about the changes.

Officials with the North Carolina Sheriffs’ Association and the North Carolina Conference of District Attorneys have expressed concern about the cost and consequences of raising the age in their state. Both organizations and the office of North Carolina Gov. Pat McCrory did not return multiple requests by USA TODAY for comments about the issue.

Dean Skelos, a Republican and majority co-leader of the New York state Senate, hasn’t decided whether to support raising the age in New York.

“In the coming weeks, we will consult with and seek feedback from the state’s district attorneys on this proposal,” said Scott Reif, a Skelos spokesman.

The biggest pushback will likely be from Upstate New York politicians who will be leery of doing anything that seems soft on crime, said Jeffrey Fagan, a Columbia University law professor. He also doubts whether Cuomo, who will face re-election in November, will stick by the plan if too many view it as being easy on young criminals.

“The bread and butter for politicians is to be tough on crime,” Fagan said. “I think fears of crime will trump any rational argument based on science.”

Studies show that at 16 and 17, people’s minds are still developing and behaviors are much more malleable, said Mishi Faruqee, a juvenile justice policy strategist for the American Civil Liberties Union. Recognizing this, several states over the past few years have adjusted their laws to deal with the differences between teens and adults.

Faruqee added that such changes can drastically impact young people of color who are overrepresented in the adult system. In both New York and North Carolina in 2011, the ratio of young people of color to white youths in adult prisons was 4 to 1, according to the American Civil Liberties Union.

“This is in a way a racial justice issue,” Faruqee said. “Almost all the young people on Rikers Island are people of color.”

One of them could have been St. Germain, who was born in Haiti and moved to New York when he was 9. His mother abandoned the family when he was 3. His father, who moved the family to the United States, was addicted to drugs and rarely around.

St. Germain and his siblings were being raised by their grandmother in Brooklyn when he was arrested. After his conviction, he spent three years living in a group home with a couple and five other boys. There, he fought then flourished.

Now, St. Germain, a college graduate, spends much of his time speaking and lobbying for juvenile justice rights. He hopes to possibly go to law school and one day run for public office.

“It’s a blessing that I got caught at an early stage,” he said. “I wouldn’t have stopped unless my whole neighborhood changed overnight.”

Sheila Cartwright is an Arizona-based paralegal recognized for her work in juvenile court cases and family law matters. See her impressive career profile here.