By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
A sign on the blue metal door read, "You are entering a correctional facility. Display shield/ID at all times while in the facility," and another warned, "No weapons beyond this point." At about half past two on the afternoon of April 7, the blue door swung open, and out came Christopher D. He had been in jail for two days for possession of marijuana. He was fined $10 and released. Lunch break was over in Judge Arthur Birnbaum's arraignment room in the Bronx Criminal Court.
Next up was Marcus L. After he'd spent two days in the slammer, his charge of "failure to comply with a sign" was ACD'd ("Adjourned in Contemplation of Dismissal"), meaning the charge vanishes if he stays out of trouble for a period of time. Henry G., for loitering on school grounds, did four days in a cell, and also received an ACD. Darren S., disorderly conduct, two days behind bars, ACD. Donny Z., fare evasion? ACD. Another guy waited three days to get a conditional discharge on "failure to comply with a lawful order." Osvaldo A. was in for four days on an outstanding warrant for muffler cutouts; he was told to bring in a receipt for the repair work.
The courtroom is called AR2. About the size of an elementary school classroom, it sits in the basement of the courthouse on 161st Street, across the Grand Concourse from Yankee Stadium. There are three rows of benches in the windowless room; defense lawyers use the first row. Young, crisp-looking prosecutors sit off to one side. A police officer stands behind the defendants, wearing a uniform but no gun, because he regularly enters the holding cell.
Later in the afternoon, Judge Joseph J. Dawson took the bench. At one point an unlicensed hack came in cuffed. "He's been here three days on this," his lawyer, Corey Sokoler, said. Dawson frowned, dismissed the case, and said, "Sorry it took you so long to see a judge, sir."
On February 24, 1998, Mayor Rudolph Giuliani gave a speech titled "The Next Phase of Quality of Life: Creating a More Civil City." The city had seen historic reductions in crime, the mayor said, "because we focused not only on murdernot only on rapes and shootingsbut on so-called petty offenses.' " The widely reported decreases in crime were proof positive, Giuliani said, of the "broken windows" theory that minor offenses foster more serious breaches of the law, so punishing little stuff stops the big stuff as well. Opponents of the approach, the mayor said, were merely "romanticizing the disorder of the past."
The "quality of life" crusade was a hallmark of Giuliani's mayoralty and, coupled with the reported drops in serious crimes like murder and assault, gave him a national reputation as a hard-nosed urban reformer. Official reports of serious crimes have continued to fall under Mayor Bloomberg, to great fanfare. But much more quietly, the Bloomberg administration's quality of life crackdown has far outstripped Giuliani's. Total quality of life summonses are up 52 percent in the last four fiscal years, and they are trending up again this yearon pace for nearly 700,000 in 2006. When it comes to trespassers, graffiti artists, and public drinkers or urinators, Bloomberg is out-Rudying Rudy.
Not every case in AR2 on April 7 was petty: There were alleged assaults, thefts, and people who drove without a current license. Nor were the defendants always inspiring characters. A parolee named Jermaine R. who told a cop his name was Darrell Smith at first denied his guilt of false impersonation. "It's my father's last name and my middle name," he says. He was sent back to detention. But Edwin A. spent a night in jail for jumping the turnstiles.
Laura Saft, a public defender in Brooklyn for a quarter century, says she's seen a definite spike in arrests for low-level offenses in the past five years. "I don't know why. I could pose a lot of reasons. Maybe the cop didn't like them," she says. Or maybe the arrestee didn't have ID on him. The arrests for trespassing in housing projects are particularly troubling. "It's just awful," she says. "If you're in a building looking for a friend and he isn't there, they arrest you."
The NYPD insists that cops face no quotas for quality of life summonses. Back in January, however, an arbitrator in a dispute between the cops' union and the city found that in one precinct, a commander had enforced a quota for traffic summonses. According to the arbitrator's decision, the NYPD admitted to having "performance guidelines which included the number of summonses the supervisors expected the officers to write." A commander might feel pressure to increase the number of summonses for the same reason commanders feel squeezed to push crime even lower: the weekly CompStat sessions in which precinct bosses are held accountable for all the numbers in their commands. If crime goes up, it's a problem. If summonses go down, that's not good either.
So the "broken windows" theory isn't the only thing in play. The CompStat system developed as a way to target policies to get a better outcome (i.e., safer streets)part of what's sometimes called the "metrics revolution" in government. From crime stats to school test scores, today's public sector buzzwords are all about measurement, because what can be measured can be improved. And if civil services can improve, goes the theory, then government can close the "productivity gap" between public employees and their private counterparts.