It was a simple tragedy, but one mired in endless legal complications. Connecticut is one of three states in the country where 16- and 17-year-olds are referred automatically to adult court. This change was made in the 1990s as part of a tougher stance on youth crime. But running away from home isn't a crime under state law, merely a "status offense," and adult court doesn't deal with those. So that wasn't an option in Makayla's case.
Just what leverage police did have was extremely murky under Connecticut's poorly drafted "Youth in Crisis" law, which had taken effect the previous year and which one child advocate calls "funny little legislation that nobody understands." The "Youth in Crisis" law, as it stood in early 2002, clearly allowed any runaway to be referred to juvenile court, but since that court's jurisdiction extended only through age 15, anything a judge did there would be only a suggestion, not a ruling.
The wording of the law was so vague that debates took place--and still do--over whether police had the authority to bring Makayla back home against her will. The officers on the scene did not think they were authorized to do that. Others think they were. Connecticut state Representative Gail Hamm, who has sponsored legislation to rewrite the Youth in Crisis law, says that when the law took effect in 2001, officers in her East Hampton district were "told to ignore it." One East Hampton police sergeant recalls that when officers were briefed on the legislation, they were told it was so flawed that it was "not even usable."
Even if police had been fully empowered to return Makayla, however, it's not clear they would have. Police are extremely reluctant to take such actions, both because they can be sued and because of the likelihood that she would only leave again. This is the so-called "revolving door problem" that authorities all over the country are familiar with.
MORE AUTHORITY
Makayla Korpinen's is an unusually graphic and depressing case, but it frames issues that quite a few states are confronting as they struggle to create a sensible approach to runaways and other teen-age offenders who primarily are a threat to themselves, rather than society. No state has found an ideal answer, and there may not be one. But tragedies such as Makayla's nearly always stimulate some action.In Connecticut, where the details of the Korpinen case appeared on newspaper front pages for months, every recent legislative session has brought a new attempt to bring coherence to the law. "Makayla's death refocused a number of legislators who were frustrated that the gray area was getting worse and worse," says Gail Hamm. "The kids who hadn't broken laws had no authority [over them] anywhere. We needed to decide when we're going to treat kids as adults in Connecticut."
To resolve police uncertainty, the legislature passed a new law in 2002 granting immunity to officers who force teenage runaways to return to their parents, even if the teenager is past the juvenile age limit. This year, the law was changed again, spelling out a range of explicitly legal police tactics and in several sections replacing the word "may" with the word "shall."
State Senator Mary Ann Handley, one of the sponsors of the latest revision, acknowledges that there are civil liberties questions about it. But while some may be worried about infringing on teens' rights, Handley says, the main concern right now is to increase institutional authority.
The latest Youth in Crisis rewrite, passed during the 2003 session, also gives juvenile courts significant jurisdiction over 16- and 17- year-olds that it did not previously have. Juvenile court judges will now be able to direct the Department of Motor Vehicles to revoke the licenses of runaways and other teenage-status offenders, or order them to perform community service or get mental counseling.
The law does not go as far as many of its advocates would like: It does not allow the court to declare a youth who disobeys its orders to be declared delinquent, or even to be incarcerated. Nevertheless, some in Connecticut law enforcement see the system moving to a point where all offenders under 18 will be viewed as juveniles, reversing the course taken over the 1990s. The new law calls for a task force to look into the potential impact of extending full juvenile court jurisdiction to age 18. Grassroots parent groups and social service bureaus are supporting this idea. "In my estimation," says Sergeant Garritt Kelly of the East Hampton police department, "a lot of the stuff 16- to 18-year-olds get involved with are juvenile matters and should be treated as such."
But bringing more teens under the authority of juvenile court is no easy solution, either. Dissent against the idea is already coming from state prosecutors, who argue that adding so many new cases, without adding resources, would overburden the court. "Our juvenile prosecutors' offices wouldn't be able to handle it," says Ilana Cathcart, an assistant state's attorney. "They'd get buried." There is even doubt as to whether the physical court facilities could handle the extra load.
Hamm and other supporters of the juvenile court strategy acknowledge what she calls the "enormous fiscal cost" of expansion, and suggest that the process could be staggered--initially adding 16-year-olds and bringing in 17-year-olds later on, after the system has adjusted. "It's costing us so much money right now by not doing it right," argues Jeannie Milstein, who holds the appointed state position of Child Advocate. "I really believe we can actually save money in the long run" by classifying 16- and 17-year-olds as juveniles.
Most prosecutors would prefer a more modest reform, leaving 16- and 17-year-olds under the umbrella of adult court, but clarifying the rules so that status-offenders and violent criminals would not have to be treated identically. "The court basically holds your hand" at the juvenile level, says Cathcart. "A lot of the kids know that they could basically hide behind their age."
FIXING PINS
The debate in Connecticut echoes one that took place three years ago in New York, which also sends 16- and 17-year-olds to adult court. New York's version of Youth in Crisis is a law that identifies "Persons in Need of Supervision," or PINS. For decades the law had provided for parents to petition a family court judge if they were having trouble keeping their teens under control. Parents could get help and counseling for boys under 16 and girls under 18. Three years ago, the legislature opted to expand the role of juvenile court by moving the maximum PINS age up to 18 for both sexes. As in Connecticut, there were arguments that opening the door for 16- and 17-year-olds under PINS would overwork the court, but the change was made anyway. "Parents feel empowered that they can go into family court and kind of scare their kids straight," says Maria Toro, of the Citizens Committee for Children of New York.Child advocates in other states, however, continue to question whether an expanded juvenile court is likely to help much, even if adequate resources can be found. "If you need a lawyer to get your kids to come to breakfast, you're in trouble," says Al Singer, director of the Child Advocacy Commission in North Carolina. Singer argues that teen runaways are essentially a police matter, not a judicial matter. "Whether you change the laws or not, police still have a problem with 16- and 17-year-old runaways," he says.
Yet some states have had success in giving law enforcement officers the powers they now feel they lack. That's what Louisiana did. One of the 10 states where adult court jurisdiction begins at 17, Louisiana has a long history of parental complaints that police would not respond to calls about runaways specifically. Even though the law allowed officers to pick up anyone 18 or under, police forces were reluctant to intervene out of fear of being sued by the families.
So in 2001, Louisiana changed the law to grant immunity from liability to police who assist or take into custody any runaway child at a parent's request. The law was sponsored by Representative Tony Perkins, who says he received at least five phone calls in 1999 and 2000 from parents complaining that when they reported their 17-year- olds had run away, the police refused to respond. Since the new law's inception, says an aide to Perkins, the office has "not had a single phone call. Obviously the parents that were having those problems are not having those problems anymore." The Louisiana approach is similar to what Connecticut has tried to do in its most recent rewrites of the Youth in Crisis law.
Meanwhile, as Connecticut struggles to find the right strategy, Makayla Korpinen's mother is suing the girl's boyfriend and his family. The boyfriend has been charged with first-degree manslaughter and narcotics offenses, and the Connecticut Child Fatality Review Panel is looking into the case to determine whether local and state agencies did enough to help at the time of crisis.
