Pubdate: Wed, 06 Feb 2002 Source: Seattle Post-Intelligencer (WA) Copyright: 2002 Seattle Post-Intelligencer Contact: http://www.seattle-pi.com/ Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/408 Author: Angela Galloway DRUG COURT: IT'S TURNING DAMAGED LIVES AROUND A bit of booze from a caretaker to calm her 3-year-old nerves foreshadowed life for Vickie Macababbad. By 13, she was hooked on the drugs she got from a family member. One night that year, she blacked out and awoke with crudely carved tattoos on her forehead and right hand. The next day, four friends scraped most of the indigo ink off with salt, a washrag and "plenty of beer." By 40, she was the mother of three kids who lived with other people, selling her body to maintain her addiction and fighting off the men who beat her. Then, a little over a year ago, she took on a lifetime of addiction in drug court. "I'm not doing it just because they want," said the petite 42-year-old, clenching a hardback of her new means of escape -- a fantasy love story. "I'm doing it because I want my life." King County Drug Diversion Court is among a dozen such court-ordered treatment and supervision programs in Washington. Politicians, prosecutors and police groups want to see a lot more people in drug courts instead of jail, expanding the alternative to relatively small-scale dealers. They say the state would save lives and money if tax dollars now spent locking up such dealers were used instead to help them kick their addictions. Drug court clients must take random drug tests, attend support meetings and appear in court regularly, or else face sanctions such as jail. Drug courts like King County's are the focus of legislative negotiations to dramatically change state drug-sentencing policy. State lawmakers are considering a proposal, similar to one that failed last year, to reduce sentences for some dealers and funnel savings into treatment. But this year, it has won the backing of a broad range of lobbyists and politicians, from law-and-order Republicans to Seattle liberals. Thurston County Superior Court Judge Richard Strophy says that for the same amount of money it costs to lock addicts up for 45 days in prison or 65 days in county jail, government can pay for up to 18 months of community-based treatment. Fifteen percent of Washington's prison inmates were convicted of non-violent drug crimes, according to the state Department of Corrections. Each prisoner costs the state $24,700 a year. And when addicts restore their lives, it saves countless tax dollars for foster care, emergency room care, welfare and Medicaid, said Sarajane Siegfriedt, director of the Association of Alcoholism and Addiction Programs. "They probably could have saved a lot of money on me if they had paid for treatment 20 years ago," said David Hanson, a 40-year-old auto mechanic from West Seattle who graduated from King County's drug court in May 2000. He's been clean since, he said, and now has his own apartment, a couple of cars and a 2000 Suzuki Intruder 1500cc motorcycle. By the time he was busted for heroin possession in the spring of 1999, Hanson had spent 11 1/2 years behind bars and racked up 13 felonies -- each time stealing money for drugs, he said. He'd started experimenting with drugs by age 11 and graduated to intravenous drugs by 16. "That kind of stuff intrigued me, I guess. I was one of the cool guys with long hair and platform shoes," he said. "I was a 'What do you got?' kind of guy." In years past, Hanson said he reached out for treatment with little success. He made too much money as a mechanic to be eligible for treatment programs subsidized for the poor, he said. "But, then, I was still a junkie so I never could put enough money away." He even called 911 and claimed to be suicidal, hoping the hospital would put him in a lockdown long enough to kick his habit. Things changed for Hanson the day he was accepted into drug court. He was told to sit in the empty jury box and watch other addicts report to the judge. "I sat there listening to these people time after time tell these lies," he said of excuses from "my sister stole my car" to a lost bus pass. "The longer I sat there ... the more I realized it was the same kind of stories that I had been telling my whole life." Now, politicians want to expand that drug court alternative to addicts who sell to fuel their habit. House Bill 2338 would cut prison sentences for some drug offenses and send the savings to local governments for programs such as drug courts. For example, manufacturing heroin or cocaine, delivering it or possessing it with intent to deliver typically brings first-time offenders a penalty of 21 to 27 months. Under the bill, the sentence would drop to 15 to 20 months. The dealers targeted by the proposal aren't violent or for-profit sellers, said King County Superior Court Judge Michael Trickey. They aren't driving BMWs and living in fancy condos, Trickey said. Most are homeless, unemployed and "every dime they have goes back to feed their own habit," he said. The state would still lock up true menaces, said King County Prosecutor Norm Maleng. But that approach doesn't work for most addicts. "Almost all of the people that are going through the system (on dealing charges) are drug-addicted," Maleng recently told lawmakers. "We're recycling these people through and not a thing is happening." The fate of the legislation rides on two issues: money and fear of election-year rhetoric. Some politicians, including Democratic Gov. Gary Locke, want to siphon off any prison cost savings to pay for other parts of state government and help fill a budget hole of more than $1 billion. But many of the folks who support the proposal say they'd fight a plan to simply let dealers off more easily. "That is the worst thing that we could do," Maleng said in one of several legislative hearings he's attended.Also, opponents say this is no time to get softer on drug dealers. For example, Republican Rep. Clyde Ballard of East Wenatchee said "no tolerance" is the only responsible policy for dealers. And some of the proposal's backers fear that lawmakers will hesitate to vote for it -- for fear of being labeled soft on crime during an election year. "It's not going to be easy," said Mercer Island Republican Rep. Ida Ballasiotes. Still, "this is something that I think is going to be done. "I know treatment works. Drug courts have shown that." After more than a year under the supervision of the King County drug court, Macababbad is four clean drug tests away from "graduation." In early 2001, Macababbad was caught with a "nickel piece" of crack cocaine, not much by hard-core users' standards. She had two options: the intensive and tightly scripted drug court or up to 90 days in jail. She opted for more than a year in treatment. Drug court was no instant cure for Macababbad, who lives in transitional housing downtown. In fact, this is the sixth time she's been in such a treatment program. But this time it seems to be working. If her tests are clean, she'll likely graduate in March. "I just got tired of being in jail, being homeless, being hungry, always stressed over the next hit." Over the years, her forehead scar from the scraped-off tattoo has faded and the one on her hand looks more like a swirl of veins. A new peace of mind brightens the circles under her eyes that mark decades of the abuse and self-abuse that sometimes made her give up on herself. "But God didn't. He never gave up on me. He always protected me," said Macababbad, neatly dressed for one of her regular court appearances in purple and pink, her sandy blond shoulder-length hair pulled back in a pastel scarf. "There were lots of times when I should have been dead." Macababbad attends five counseling sessions a week and plans to study for a career making bridal gowns after graduation. She said drug court has helped her overcome decades of addiction because of its one-hour-at-a-time, one-day-at-a time simplicity. "Learning how to deal with a less amount of time -- instead of forever and always. Those are some pretty big words for a crack addict like myself." Drug court clients sacrifice substantial rights, including the right to a speedy trial. Often, their charges are reduced to a lesser offense. If they graduate, the charge is dismissed. If they don't, they are usually sentenced at the long end of the range. Most offenders offered the drug court alternative decline and go to jail instead. Most who opt into drug court fail. In King County, 1,763 defendants have entered treatment and 386 -- or nearly 22 percent -- have graduated. Another 423 are still in the program. The rest have been terminated. But studies have shown that only 9 percent of graduates had new felony charges a year after graduation -- a fraction of the rate for offenders who decline the alternative. Drug court is all about increments and routine. Just showing up for drug tests is important, even if the client is using. It's about getting in the habit of being monitored. That's what they told drug court newcomer Randolph Moore last week. The homeless 31-year-old methamphetamine user said he'd give the program a shot, "because it gets me out of prison." "They said it would be tough. It's basically a part-time job," said the squatter in a black quilted jacket and lots of rings. But, "being homeless is a full-time job." Moore, who has friends who joke about being "drug court flunkies," quit using once for 35 days while in jail. The day he got out, he said, drugs were "the first thing I grabbed -- before a cigarette." Asked if he expected to succeed this time, Moore laughed and rolled his eyes. "I'm going to have faith and say I will. It's going to be difficult when you don't have a place to live." He does want to be clean and live in his own apartment away from friends who use, he said leaving the courthouse one day last week. "I want a nice, secure building where nobody knows where I live," said Moore, who planned to buy some meth to share with his fellow squatters later that day. - --- MAP posted-by: Jay Bergstrom