In Ethics and Infinity, philosopher and Nazi prison survivor Emmanuel Levinas is asked about responsibility for “the Other” and says, “You know that sentence of Dostoyevsky: ‘We are all guilty of all and for all men before all, and I more than the others’. This is not owing to such or such a guilt which is really mine, or to offenses that I would have committed; but because I am responsible for a total responsibility, which answers for all the others and for all in the others, even for their responsibility. The I always has one responsibility more than all the others.”
I was a third-year law student in a seminar on Law and Theology when I read that passage and wrestled with it. The philosophical writings of the Jewish Holocaust survivors and of German Christian writers, such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who suffered under the Nazi regime examined the obligation of the individual in relation to others and the state. Levinas was asserting an extraordinarily expansive (and I thought at the time unrealistic) ethical obligation of the person in relation to the other: to be wholly responsible for seeing and uplifting the human dignity of others, even if there is no reciprocity. Is it possible to secure safety and to render justice to the idea of human dignity at the same time?
At that stage in my education, I had already worked with prisoners as a law student in a clinic, so I had some sense how dehumanizing a jail or prison is to the people locked inside. I had also worked in a prosecutor’s office directing people into the prison or jail system and could understand why some people had to be removed from the community. Both experiences shaped my professional views.
In my immediate previous post, I highlighted some of the motivating inspirations for creating a particular platform in 2007: the Milwaukee County Community Justice Council. The desire was to examine our criminal justice system and to invite external partnerships to help us identify efforts from different systems that might help inform our desire to improve the Milwaukee “product” of justice.
Hidden in the request for help was a perhaps naive presumption that some system somewhere was “doing justice the right way”—such that our need was to discover it, adopt or adapt it, and make it our own. The reality in 2007 (and today) is that there are approximately 2,330 state-level criminal justice systems representing diverse populations and operating in myriad legal and cultural systems sometimes very different from Milwaukee. All are presumably trying in good faith to justly serve their particular communities. And while many of the dynamics of “the criminal justice system” are similar everywhere in the United States, you will find important nuances just by traveling outside your home county.
In all events, given the complexity and deeply structural challenges of the American legal system, how do you objectively identify a problem in your ecosystem, assess what might fix the problem, implement a reform, measure the impact of the effort, and then demonstrate a narrative of progress? Such a process comes with abundant loaded assumptions, each one challenging enough to derail any effort at reform (which helps explain why so few jurisdictions even try).
But perhaps the biggest issue confronting reform-minded practitioners can be distilled to this essence: the challenge of adequately and accurately capturing meaningful data.
Unifying all criminal justice systems in the past and no less in the present are grossly inadequate information management systems combined with sparse analytical capacity. One of the guiding principles adopted early in the Milwaukee reform process is captured by the phrase “You can’t effectively change what you don’t effectively measure,” and while the information collection process has been revolutionized in a short time, effective analysis remains a challenge to most systems.
The Milwaukee County justice ecosystem circa 2006 was predominately an analog, paper-based system. If you practiced criminal law in the 1960s and returned for a day as late as 2010, you would still recognize all the processes and procedures required to represent a client or prosecute a case. Data and information processing systems (including software at the later date) were a hodgepodge of commercial and proprietary products, with the police departments, sheriff’s office, prosecutors, courts, and corrections system all using different means to capture and store the information needed in their respective sphere, but rarely with any interoperability with other agencies. In a pre-Cloud, pre-AI world, a researcher needed to physically enter the space where the work unfolded to even attempt to capture data, and nonetheless he or she would be disappointed in the quality of the information.
Despite the obstacles, in 2005 the Milwaukee County District Attorney’s Office opened itself to outside, independent researchers. This occurred when the Vera Institute of Justice reached out and asked to be allowed to enter the complicated and risk-averse space of the elected prosecutor. It did so on a topic that was and is considered a third rail of police and prosecution controversy: race.
Now that I have introduced myself in my first blog post, let me make good on some of my promises to look back on—and forward to—the criminal justice system in this region and beyond. This is an appropriate place to do so: Marquette University and the Milwaukee County District Attorney’s Office played a significant yet mostly unknown role in improving how witnesses in criminal cases have been treated in our country during the last 50 years.
The heart of the adversarial justice system in the United States is the direct involvement of citizens in a structured process that peacefully resolves conflict by balancing the rights of individuals with the collective needs and responsibilities of the community. People reluctantly encounter the criminal justice system in four general categories: as defendants, victims, witnesses, and jurors. Each category shares one thing in common: almost no one volunteers or wishes to be so identified. And while the resources directed toward victims and witnesses and defendants have improved over time, a strong need persists to reexamine and refresh how we treat our community members in the contemporary court system. A new generation of lawyers should embrace that challenge, because how we treat people in our justice system is among the clearest mirrors of who we are as a community.
In 2008 Professor Dan Blinka moderated a panel at the Law School that discussed criminal plea bargaining in Wisconsin and asked about the role of victims in that process. One of the panelists, recently retired Milwaukee County District Attorney E. Michael McCann, answered a question about the victim’s role in plea negotiations and how much things had changed in his 38 years as District Attorney, by saying, “I recommend that you read an article out of the Notre Dame Law Review from about the early 1970s.”
Mr. McCann was referring to an article authored by then Milwaukee County First Assistant District Attorney Michael Ash in 1972, when Ash was only five years out of law school. On Witnesses: A Radical Critique of Criminal Court Procedures, 48 Notre Dame L. Rev. 386 (1972), was a scathing assessment by Ash that, despite longstanding calls for reform of how witnesses were treated in criminal court systems, “the witness, especially the witness in criminal courts, is more abused, more aggrieved, more neglected, and more unfairly treated than ever before.” Id. at 388 (footnote omitted).
Ash called for action and focused on seven possible areas of reform, many of which are now standard practice in court systems and district attorney offices throughout the country—and arguably others that should be. They included:
First, Ash advocated for what he called “witness’ appearance-control projects,” which emphasized reducing unnecessary court appearances by collecting demographic information that would allow witnesses to be placed on call and to come to court only when needed. He also recognized the need to provide witnesses with information in appropriate languages.
Second, he proposed the creation “witness liaison and support squads,” with dedicated specialists to act as information bridges between victims and the court process. This suggestion is now directly embodied in dedicated victim/witness advocates who work in every district attorney’s office in the country.
Third, he promoted the concept of “early screening and diversionary devices,” predicated on the idea that many of the cases presented to prosecutors for charging could be better handled by deflection to rehabilitative processes rather than the criminal court system—what is now called the “early intervention” process in the Milwaukee County District Attorney’s Office.
Fourth, this young lawyer argued for mandatory pretrial conferences between prosecutors and defense attorneys within a short time after the first appearances in court. The idea was that prosecutors would offer one-time best deals for quick acceptance of responsibility. The hope was to dramatically reduce the number of appearances by witnesses and victims in overcrowded trial dockets.
Finally (in this list), Ash argued for justly compensatory witness fees and creating facilities for the comfort and convenience of the witnesses and victims—what we would now refer to as witness waiting rooms.
Michael Ash’s analysis, critique, and call for action came at a unique and opportune time. The Federal Law Enforcement Assistance Administration (LEAA) focused on the conditions of witnesses in the criminal courts around the country in the early to mid-1970s. Influenced by Ash’s article, LEAA funded the first victim/witness pilot programs in the district attorney’s offices in Brooklyn and Milwaukee. Titled “Project Turnaround,” the express purpose of the funding was to create model assistance programs for victims, encourage victim cooperation, and improve prosecution.
Like most great ideas that catch fire, Mike’s focus was a confluence of factors, and it still needed someone with passion and drive to make the abstract a reality. Here, Mike Ash’s great idea was blessed not just by the confluence with LEAA but by a friendship formed at Marquette University.
In 1975, Jo Kolanda, a Marquette University graduate and a social worker in the Milwaukee County welfare department, heard about Project Turnaround from Ash, who encouraged her to apply but recused himself from the hiring process because of their friendship. In her 2002 oral history interview, Kolanda recounted her experience forming the first victim-coordinator program in the country. She related the challenges that she initially experienced in piercing the courthouse culture that centered around the judges and the attorneys—but not the people brought into that environment.
Kolanda’s perseverance paid off because when the three-year demonstration project ended, she had objectively demonstrated the value of the program, which Milwaukee County adopted at the urging of District Attorney McCann. Her contribution was not finished there. In 1980, she and others convinced the Wisconsin Legislature to pass the country’s first statutory crime victim bill of rights—what is now Chapter 950 of the Wisconsin Statutes.
The success of the Milwaukee and Brooklyn projects led to widespread adoption of the concept of dedicated victim/witness assets within district attorney’s offices in the country. The focus on the citizen has led to a gradual evolution in improving conditions and services for witnesses that continues to this day.
Recent examples of continued innovation from the Milwaukee District Attorney’s Office include the creation of the first restorative justice component in a DA’s office in the 1990s; the development of an in-house dedicated witness-protection program in 2008 to address intimidation and dissuasion of crime witnesses and victims; and helping envision and advocate for the creation of the Sojourner Family Peace Center, with comprehensive services for victims in a dedicated facility devoted to therapeutic intervention. And arguably the state’s adoption of Marsy’s Law into a constitutional protection is an extension of the work pioneered by Ash and Kolanda in the ’70s.
I started by saying that Marquette played an outsized role in changing how victims are treated in the country. A core value of a Jesuit education is aspiring to uplift human dignity and being a courageous voice for the powerless, the oppressed, and the dispossessed. Michael Ash was a polio survivor. He lost the use of his legs when he was a sophomore at Marquette University High School but fought his way back to graduate as his class president and then to graduate from Marquette University and, thereafter, from Harvard Law School. Jo Kolanda was a single mother who graduated from Marquette University and was working as a social worker in Milwaukee County’s welfare department when she got the call from Mike.
Treating people with dignity and compassion was not an abstraction for either; it was a core part of their identity and values they advanced with humility and courage. The network of relationships that Marquette undergraduates and Marquette law students make is not just a transactional advantage. It is a recognition that your friend, your colleague, your alum shares your calling to devote a part of his or her life to making communities better.
If Ash and Kolanda were here today and spent a day in the Milwaukee County Circuit Court, they would see some of the same challenges they saw in the late 1960s and early 1970s. But they would also acknowledge (modestly, because they were profoundly humble, generous people) that their vision for change had an impact, even if their contribution is mostly hidden, forgotten, or taken for granted today. They should be remembered and uplifted as models of young professionals, one a new lawyer and one a new social worker—who overcame challenges in their personal lives, and perhaps because of those challenges, helped make the quality of justice better for millions.
In Ethics and Infinity, philosopher and Nazi prison survivor Emmanuel Levinas is asked about responsibility for “the Other” and says, “You know that sentence of Dostoyevsky: ‘We are all guilty of all and for all men before all, and I more than the others’. This is not owing to such or such a guilt which is really mine, or to offenses that I would have committed; but because I am responsible for a total responsibility, which answers for all the others and for all in the others, even for their responsibility. The I always has one responsibility more than all the others.”
