-------------------------------------------------------------------
New pill can help pare off pounds (The Oregonian celebrates the arrival of
orlistat, marketed under the brand name Xenical by Hoffmann-LaRoche Inc.
Expect to see the ads soon. The weight-loss pill approved last month by
the Food and Drug Administration is said to reduce the fat absorbed by the
body by about one-third. Except after one year, only 57 percent of Xenical
patients had lost a meager 5 percent of their body weight, compared to 31
percent of patients given a placebo. Designed for people who are very
overweight, the drug is available only by prescription, and is meant to be
used along with a physician-guided weight-management program that includes
sensible diet and exercise. Several glaring omissions include the attrition
rate - how many people were able to take the drug for as long as a year - how
long the medicine was tested on human subjects, and whether any longitudinal
follow-up monitoring of patients is being carried out to safeguard consumers
by assessing or uncovering long-term side effects statistically.)
Newshawk: Portland NORML (http://www.pdxnorml.org/)
Pubdate: Wed, May 19, 1999
Source: Oregonian, The (OR)
Copyright: 1999 The Oregonian
Contact: letters@news.oregonian.com
Address: 1320 SW Broadway, Portland, OR 97201
Fax: 503-294-4193
Website: http://www.oregonlive.com/
Forum: http://forums.oregonlive.com/
Author: Oz Hopkins Koglin, the Oregonian
New pill can help pare off pounds
* The new remedy works by reducing the fat absorbed by the gut by about
one-third
The long-awaited, fat-blocking, weight-loss pill is finally at a pharmacy
near you. Now for the small print: The drug, orlistat, marketed under the
brand name Xenical (pronounced ZEN-i-cal) is probably not an easy answer to
your dieting prayers.
First of all, you don't just pop a pill and shed pounds. Xenical, available
only by prescription, is meant to be used along with a physician-guided
weight-management program that includes a sensible diet and exercise.
Second, it's a fat blocker, but that doesn't mean you get to eat all the fat
you'd like. Xenical works by blocking absorption of one-third of the fat you
eat each day. That means a patient taking the drug who eats 60 grams of fat
a day may absorb only 40 grams of fat, and the other 20 grams will be
excreted through the digestive tract.
And third: Some doctors may end up prescribing Xenical for the moderately
overweight, but the pill was actually designed for obese patients with a
body mass index, or BMI, (see inside chart) of more than 30. That would be,
for example, someone 5-feet-5-inches tall, weighing 180 pounds. It is also
designed for people with a BMI of more than 27 who have obesity-related
medical problems such as high blood pressure, high cholesterol and diabetes.
Last month, the Food and Drug Administration gave Hoffmann-LaRoche Inc.,
makers of Xenical, the goahead to market it in the United States, and it is
just now arriving at pharmacies, though it has been available through other
countries via the Internet for some time. It has been used by more than a
million people in 17 countries including Argentina, Brazil, Denmark France,
Germany and Mexico, according to the company.
The drug represents a new approach to fighting fat.
"There has never been anything like this," said Dr. Roger Illingworth, an
Oregon Health Sciences University professor of medicine who was on the
advisory panel to the FDA that recommended approval of Xenical. He is in
OHSU's division of endocrinology, diabetes and nutrition.
Xenical is not at all like the infamous and wildly popular weight-loss drug
fen-phen, the combination of fenfluramine and phentermine. That drug worked
in the brain to suppress appetite, but fenfluramine was voluntarily
withdrawn from the market after studies found it might cause a serious heart
valve condition.
Instead, Xenical acts in the intestines to block fat absorption. The drug
prevents enzymes in the gastrointestinal track from breaking down the fat
you eat into smaller molecules that can be absorbed by the body.
The recommended dose of Xenical is one capsule with each main meal that
includes fat. And since the drug reduces the absorption of some fat-soluble
vitamins and beta carotene, patients should take a multivitamin containing
A, D, E, and K vitamins and beta carotene to offset the loss, Illingworth said.
He cautioned that the more fat patients eat, the harder Xenical will be on
their gastrointestinal tract.
"This is only going to block fat absorption by 30 percent, so if you are on
a high fat diet this is going to give you more rapid bowel movements or
perhaps diarrhea," Illingworth said.
Because the drug is acting to reduce fat absorption, patients shouldn't
expect to lose 10 pounds in a month with the drug alone. "So my philosophy
will be to encourage people to use it as an adjunct to lifestyle changes and
gradual weight loss at a reasonable rate -- a couple of pounds a month," he
said.
In the national studies leading to FDA approval, 2,800 patients had Xenical
and 1,400 patients were on a placebo, or dummy pill. All patients were asked
to eat a well-balanced, reduced-calorie diet containing up to 30 percent of
calories from fat, which is consistent with the healthy eating plan
recommended by the American Heart Association.
All patients decreased their daily caloric intake by 20 percent, or by 600
calories per day. Of the patients who completed one year of treatment, 57
percent of the Xenical patients and 31 percent of the placebo-treated
patients lost at least 5 percent of their body weight.
Specific data from trials involving 7,000 patients worldwide shows:
* Almost three times as many patients taking Xenical in addition to a
reduced-calorie diet vs. reduced-calorie diet alone lost more than 10
percent of their body weight.
* Twice as many on Xenical lost at least 5 percent body weight.
* Patients taking Xenical lost 50 percent more weight than those on
reduced-calorie diet alone.
Dr. James Tarro, of Tualatin, who had 36 patients in the U.S. trials, says
Xenical works best when accompanied by a big dose of tender, loving care.
Weight creeps back
In the first year of his two-year trial, patients who took Xenical, kept to
a reduced-calorie diet and checked in with him once a month, lost 5 percent
to 10 percent of their body weight. But in the second year when patients on
the drug were placed on a slightly increased calorie maintenance diet and
asked to check in every two months their weight began to creep up.
"People need a lot of help, a lot of back patting," Tarro said. "We don't
know a whole lot about weight loss other than the fact that minimum calories
produce weight loss, however we can accomplish that."
Now that Xenical is on the market, Tarro intends to incorporate it into his
internal medicine practice, although he says he will not prescribe it for
moderately overweight people who want to drop 10 pounds before their class
reunion. Weight problems require more than a new drug, and obesity should be
treated as a chronic disease, he said.
For that reason, it's important to have a therapy obese patients can take
for a long period of time, Tarro said. "And I think that Xenical is probably
better than anything we have going right now, probably one of the safest for
long-term treatments," he said.
You can reach Oz Hopkins Koglin at 503-221-8376 or by e-mail at
ozkoglin@news.Oregonian.com
***
[sidebar:]
How it works, what it costs
Q: What is Xenical?
A: Xenical is the trade name for orlistat, a drug recently approved by the
Food and Drug Administration for use by prescription that blocks the
absorption of dietary fat.
Q: Who is Xenica/ intended for?
A: It is meant for obese patients, not those who are only mildly overweight.
Q: How does it work?
A: Unlike other anti-obesity agents that work in the brain to suppress
appetite, it works in the gastrointestinal tract to block one-third of the
fat a person eats in a day.
Q: What does it cost?
A: About $4 or $5 a day. Most health insurance companies are unlikely to pay
for it.
Q: How much weight can I expect to lose with the drug?
A: Weight loss is gradual and varies from person to person, but in studies
Xenical patients experienced an average weight loss ranging from 5 to 10
percent of their body weight over one year.
Q: What are the side effects of Xenical?
A: Gastrointestinal symptoms, including oily spotting, flatulence with
discharge, fecal urgency, fatty or oily stool, oily evacuation, increased
defecation and fecal incontinence are usually mild and transient. Eating a
diet with only 30 percent of calories from fat may minimize these symptoms.
Xenical has also been shown to reduce the absorption of fat-soluble vitamins
A, D, E and K as well as beta-carotene.
For more information about Xenical ask your doctor or call the drug company
at 800-746-5456.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
DEA Lies (The Anderson Valley Advertiser follows up on last week's
disturbing news about an evidentiary hearing in San Francisco intended to
explore the actions of Drug Enforcement Administration Special Agent Mark
Nelson, whose Ahab-like pursuit of supposed marijuana trafficker John Dalton
of Redwood Valley allegedly led him to seduce Victoria Horstman, Dalton's
wife, and swear her in as a Special Agent of the DEA. Monday's hearing
confirmed Nelson's errant behavior, as well as his falsification of documents
and perjury, but now he has his own attorney and will probably take the 5th
at the next hearing, scheduled today. Dalton has been confined in a federal
prison in Dublin, in the east Bay Area, for nearly two years awaiting trial.)
Date: Tue, 25 May 1999 20:20:07 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: US CA: DEA Lies
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: combe east@aol.com
Pubdate: May 19 1999
Source: Anderson Valley Advertiser (CA)
Copyright: Anderson Valley Advertiser
Contact: ava@pacific.net
Telephone: 707-895-3016
Fax: 707-8953355
Author: Mark Heimann
DEA LIES
Drug Enforcement Administration Special Agent Mark Nelson falsified records
and lied about it, according to the government's attorney prosecuting John
Dalton, the Redwood Valley, CA man Nelson pursued with a lawless zeal which
has rebounded on him and the DEA. Assistant US Attorney Davis conceded the
truth of the perjury accusations against agent Nelson before Federal Judge
Susan Illston Monday morning at a hearing for "Outrageous Government
Conduct" in the John Dalton marijuana cultivation case. (in San Francisco)
Dalton, pursued by a cadre of local federal agents who believed that Dalton
was getting rich from marijuana plantations on property he owns in the
hills above Branscomb, has been confined to the federal prison at Dublin
for nearly two years awaiting trial on the charges.
Dalton's lawyers, Tony Serra and Shari Greenburger, are seeking dismissal
of all charges against the federal government has brought against John
Dalton because, in the words of Tony Serra, "Nelson's actions where so
outrageous as to shock the conscience."
Nelson's and the DEA's actions also are a jolt to common sense and, if
tolerated by the courts, are a menace to political democracy.
But Monday's confirmation of agent Nelson's errant behavior in his
Ahab-like pursuit of Dalton, was welcomed by the Dalton defense team, who
only learned of it over the weekend; perjury charges will now be added to
the long list of crimes committed by agent Nelson and the DEA in their zeal
to bust the Mendocino County mechanic.
Judge Illston has granted the defense a full evidentiary hearing (virtually
unheard of in a federal drug case) to explore the actions of agent Nelson,
who is alleged to have seduced Dalton's wife, Victoria Horstman, and sworn
her in as a Special Agent of the DEA. Connie Kellerman, a witness in the
case, will testify that Horstman divorced Dalton at the insistence of agent
Nelson "so she could testify against him.," and that agent Nelson,
apparently not content with destroying Dalton's marriage, had also vowed,
"I will do anything, and I mean anything, to get him (Dalton) and send him
to prison for the rest of his life."
Ms. Kellerman has said that on numerous occasions she heard agent Nelson
say "his case against John Dalton was personal and it didn't matter if it
was legal or not," and that Nelson wanted the then-Mrs. Dalton to assist
him to "set him up." Kellerman said Nelson was unusually intent upon this
particular suspect --- the hapless Dalton --- because the Nelson-Horstman
"affair was in fact very sexual."
But before Monday's hearing on Nelson's conduct could begin, Assistant US
Attorney Davis told Judge Illston that agent Nelson had falsified the
September 14, 1994 date on Horstman's fingerprint card, changing the date
to September 17, 1994. Defense attorney Serra explained the significance
of the forgery to the judge, telling her that not only did Nelson
"intentionally insert the wrong date," he later lied about it in a sworn
affidavit that was part of an Internal Affairs investigation into his and
Horstman's torrid affair. Davis admitted he'd changed the date on the
document and had subsequently lied about it to his superiors.
The mildly disbelieving Judge Illston commented, "You're telling me your
witness committed perjury. I'm very concerned about this; he's a
government agent."
Federal attorney Davis did not challenge the judge's remarks at the time,
but later complained it was unfair of the judge to characterize Nelson as a
perjurer before he has been convicted of the charge.
The judge then rhetorically asked why Nelson would do such a thing?
Serra replied, "He's hiding his rendezvous with Horstman at the 'Safe
House'." The "Safe House," a Ukiah house supposedly devoted to stamping out
marijuana, was also known as the COMMET House, and is believed to be the
site where agent Nelson, himself a married man, first seduced Dalton's
wife, Victoria Horstman. Later, Nelson would have Horstman call him when
Dalton was out of the house so he could search it and place a recording
device under Dalton and Horstman's marital bed.
But Nelson's "alleged" perjury short-circuited the hearing on Outrageous
Government Conduct, which has been rescheduled for today (Wednesday). Agent
Nelson now has his own lawyer who is likely to advise his client to invoke
the protection of the 5th Amendment to deflect questions concerning his
"alleged" affair with Horstman. Judge Illston granted the delay to give
Nelson and his new lawyer time to discuss agent Nelson's looming testimony.
If Nelson does take the 5th, that leaves only Horstman who can testify to
the sexual nature of the affair. Although Horstman has told her friend
Connie Kellerman about her and Nelson's strenuous, and apparently gymnastic
encounters, their encounters are hearsay, legally speaking.
Serra pointed out that Horstman's veracity is questionable at best,
something even the government recognized when they removed her from their
witness list.
"Horstman is way, way in left field," Serra told the judge. "Then she's way
out in right field. Frankly your honor, I don't know how she will testify."
Serra was referring to the many contradictory statements about the case,
both verbally and in writing, Horstman has made. Judge Illston got a
first-hand look at how bold Horstman's lies can be recently when Horstman
called Serra to say she was in the judge's chambers and that Judge Illston
said she didn't have to testify. Horstman went on to inform the startled
attorney that the judge had vacated the court date. Horstman even claimed
she had surreptitiously recorded her conversation with the judge.
Monday's hearing was the first time the judge had ever seen or spoken to
the former Mrs. Dalton. Since neither Nelson nor Horstman can be trusted
to tell the truth, the government has dropped them --- the two primary
witnesses against Dalton --- from their witness list. But if the case goes
to trial, Dalton's defense will call them as hostile witnesses.
If the nullification of their primary witnesses is not ironic enough, the
government now says they plan to have someone very familiar to Tony Serra
and Mendocino County residents testify Wednesday on agent Nelson's behalf.
Former Mendocino County Sheriff's Department deputy Dennis Miller will
testify for the prosecution, most likely about a domestic disturbance call
he responded to originating with Horstman who, at the time, was still
married to, and living with, John Dalton.
If Miller testifies to what is in his report of the incident, the court
will learn that Horstman called the Sheriff's Department to report John
Dalton had beaten her. But when Miller responded to the couple's Redwood
Valley home, he found Horstman with a baseball bat in her hand and Dalton
with a very large knot on his head. Miller was aware that Horstman was
working for the DEA at the time of the domestic dispute, and, contrary to
Sheriff's Department policy on domestic violence, did not arrest Horstman
for assault. Neither did he arrest Dalton. But, given the fluid nature of
Dennis Miller's testimony in the Bear Lincoln trial, where he attempted to
explain away his constantly changing versions of events by saying he had
had a "recovered memory experience," any elaboration beyond what is in his
report will be viewed with extreme skepticism by Serra, who was Lincoln's
attorney in that trial.
The government's strategy now appears to be to paint Dalton as an abusive
husband, though what this has to do with growing pot is unclear. Besides
Miller, the government's witness list for Wednesday now includes a
psychiatrist who has evaluated Horstman. The psychiatrist is said to be
prepared to testify that Horstman, who was sexually abused by her father,
is suffering from "battered woman syndrome." It's unclear how the
psychiatrist will place responsibility for Horstman's present state of
mental disarray on Dalton and not her father. Perhaps the psychiatrist is
unaware of Connie Kellerman's sworn declaration that: "(Nelson) would tell
Victoria in front of me on numerous occasions to call the cops anytime she
could on Dalton to 'set him up, accuse him of beating you etc., because
it's a felony.' I have personally witnessed Victoria Horstman cause
selfinflicted wounds to her face, neck, and arm, and then call the police
and claim John Dalton did it."
We will have a full account of Dalton's hearing to dismiss all charges
against him because of outrageous government conduct next week.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
'Don't Do Drugs' (The Houston Chronicle publicizes a drug-prevention program
called "Drugs Kill." Houston advertising executive Earl Littman introduced
the program to Fort Bend Independent School District elementary schools in
May, although he initiated Drugs Kill at some other, unspecified place in
1997 after being "approached" by the U.S. Justice Department. The program
instills the anti-drug message from the first grade, and children receive
quarterly rewards for avoiding drugs. Upon graduation, students "qualify to
apply for" a $1,000 scholarship to college. Both children and parents sign a
pledge card. Children also receive posters of local athletes encouraging a
sober lifestyle. Littman said he hopes a poster is placed in every child's
bedroom - just as long as it's not former Dallas Cowboys star Mark Tuinei.)
Date: Mon, 24 May 1999 12:27:05 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: US TX: 'Don't Do Drugs'
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: Art Smart (ArtSmart@neosoft.com)
Pubdate: Wed, 19 May 1999
Source: Houston Chronicle (TX)
Page: "This Week" Supplement, page 1
Copyright: 1999 Houston Chronicle
Contact: viewpoints@chron.com
Website: http://www.chron.com/
Forum: http://www.chron.com/content/hcitalk/index.html
Author: Devika Koppikar, This Week Correspondent
'DON'T DO DRUGS'
Program Delivers Message To Youths
Illegal drugs sell at every street corner, convenient store parking lot and
school, said David Culbertson, former drug user.
To combat the invasion, noted Houston advertising executive Earl Littman
introduced the Drugs Kill program in Fort Bend Independent School District
elementary schools in May. The campaign aims to keep children drug-free from
first grade through high school (and afterwards) with incentives.
"Today, 50 percent of high school students have tried some type of illegal
substance, but we hope this campaign creates the first drug-free class of
2010," said Littman.
Drugs stay within close proximity to children in Fort Bend schools, said
Littman. When he introduced the campaign at Quail Valley Elementary School
in Missouri City on May 4, a 7-year-old boy shared that another little boy
recently offered him inhalants.
"Drugees love to trap kids, by giving them free samples, telling them it's
cool and will make them relax," said Littman.
But the Drugs Kill campaign reverses the drug dealer's enticements by
telling children that drugs kill careers, families and neighborhood. The
program is unique as it asks both children and parents to sign the pledge
card. Research shows parent involvement in a child's life reduces drug use
by 40 percent, said Littman.
The program begins to instill the anti-drug message from the first grade, as
compared to other campaigns which reach children starting in middle school,
he said. Additionally, children periodically receive quarterly rewards for
avoiding drugs. Upon graduation, students qualify to apply for a $1,000
scholarship to college.
"In the campaign, we want to reward good behavior," said Littman, an Uptown
resident. "We also tell the kids at a very early age not to take drugs or
accept anything from strangers."
Participating Fort Bend County elementary schools include Blue Ridge, Quail
Valley, Brazos Bend, Ridgemont, Lakeview, Sugar Mill, Mission Bend,
Townewest and Palmer.
"Drugs Kill is different from other anti-drug campaigns as it tells children
that they matter," said Vickie Rockwell, first-grade teacher at Quail Valley
Elementary. "The program is determined to mentor children, be there for them
and check on them for 12 years so that they remain drug-free."
In addition to pledge cards and incentives, children receive posters of
local athletes encouraging a sober lifestyle. Littman said he hopes a poster
is placed in every child's bedroom.
"It's very hard to get through to teen-agers," said Culbertson, who lives in
West University. "So it's good the Drugs Kill program begins early."
By sharing his personal story, Culbertson often joins Littman in promoting
Drugs Kill. Culbertson said he used drugs as an escape from traumatic
experiences he suffered as a 15-year-old youth. However, the addiction
became a vicious cycle of getting high, withdrawals, denial and once again
getting high.
Then, after not being able to hold a steady job and ruining family
relationships, Culbertson entered treatment at the age of 37. It was a long
journey to recovery, but now at age 48, Culbertson has transformed.
Currently, he is the president of his own forklift company, Forklift
Technology Systems.
"I'll tell people that drugs turns normal, sane people into animals," said
Culbertson. "Even if you are predisposed to drugs (have a family history of
it), you can avoid drug addiction if you abstain from it."
Littman initiated Drugs Kill in 1997 when the U.S. Justice Department
approached him about a campaign. The department originally asked him to
create a billboard. However, Littman said he believed this wasn't enough to
influence children so he expanded the program.
Today, he devotes his entire time and efforts to Drugs Kill and aims to
reach youth organizations such as Girls Scouts and Boys Scouts, schools,
churches and any place children may go. Various foundations, private
donations and grants fund the program with an annual budget of $220,000.
"Every penny goes to keeping children off of drugs, as there is no salaries,
overhead or rent," said Littman.
Since its inception, more than 200,000 pledge cards have been distributed
with 4,000 children in the Houston area having returned pledge cards
declaring their drug-free lifestyle, said Littman. Littman said he believes
the campaign has reached at least 1 million children.
"I know this program will work because I've seen how (campaigns such as)
designated drivers, wearing seat belts have entered public consciousness in
the past few years."
For information on Drugs Kill, contact Littman at 713-621-7678.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The Supermax Solution (The Village Voice describes Upstate Correctional
Facility, New York's 70th prison and first "supermax" institution. The
$180 million maximum-security cage, designed to hold almost 5,000 inmates,
will open this summer in Malone, population 14,297, located 15 miles south of
the Canadian border. Career options are so few in the North Country that
prison guard has become a popular choice. What could be worse than spending
23 hours a day in a cell? Try spending 23 hours a day in a cell with somebody
else. Rehabilitation is beside the point. The aim is to cut costs - to house
as many prisoners as cheaply as possible. Locking together pairs of criminals
with a history of breaking prison rules may save dollars, but it has an
ominous history. Pelican Bay State Prison in California is eliminating the
practice because 10 prisoners have killed their cellmates in the last few
years.)
Date: Wed, 19 May 1999 17:10:34 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: US CA: The Supermax Solution
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: Nathan Riley
Pubdate: Wed, 19 May 1999
Source: Village Voice (NY)
Copyright: 1999 VV Publishing Corporation
Contact: editor@villagevoice.com
Address: 36 Cooper Square, New York, NY 10003
Feedback: http://www.villagevoice.com/aboutus/contact.shtml
Website: http://www.villagevoice.com/
Author: Jennifer Gonnerman
THE SUPERMAX SOLUTION
Malone, New York - The homes for the town's newest residents arrived
last summer atop 14-wheel tractor trailers. Each tiny, prefab dwelling
came furnished with two beds, a mirror over the sink, and
steel-reinforced walls. With a photo and caption, the Malone Telegram
heralded these new homes: "prison cell blocks arrive." Evidently,
prison building qualifies as good news in Malone, New York (Pop.
14,297), where concrete cages are not merely houses for criminals. To
locals, they are also an answer to chronic underemployment, a magnet
for luring new retail stores, and the best hope of recapturing
malone's boom years.
Each morning around 6:30 a.m., the rumble of construction trucks
interrupts the quiet of this rural town 15 miles south of the Canadian
border. Pickup trucks, bulldozers, and dump trucks careen down Route
37, turn onto Bare Hill Road, and thunder past a dog pound before
stopping inside a vast clearing on the edge of Malone. Here, hundreds
of men in hard hats are hurrying to finish construction of Upstate
Correctional Facility, which will be the state's most punitive
penitentiary when it opens this summer.
Upstate is the first New York prison built specifically to house the
state's most dangerous inmates, making it a "supermax" in prison
lingo. States across the country have erected supermaxes in recent
years, but New York's will be among the harshest. What could be worse
than spending 23 hours a day in a cell? Try spending 23 hours a day
in a cell with somebody else. The most harrowing aspect of life
inside Upstate is that confinement will not be solitary.
Severe overcrowding led New York's prison officials to begin
double-celling inmates in 1995. Men shared a bunk bed at night but
were out of their rooms during the day. This practice started with the
least violent inmates, and it never applied to prisoners who had
defied prison rules - and been sentenced to 23 hours a day in their
cells. Until now.
Upstate will enforce a new form of punishment by locking pairs of men
together, all day, in 14-by-8-1/2-foot cells. At this two-story
prison, 1500 inmates will be crammed together, watched over by 800
surveillance cameras and 370 guards. Rehabilitation is beside the
point. The aim is to cut costs-to house as many prisoners as cheaply
as possible without triggering a riot or an avalanche of lawsuits.
Locking together pairs of criminals with a history of breaking prison
rules may save dollars, but this policy has an ominous history.
Pelican Bay State Prison in California is in the midst of eliminating
this practice because 10 prisoners have killed their cellmates in the
last few years.
Upstate's experiment in human containment requires the participation
of Malone residents - without the town's leaders' encouraging its
construction, and without men and women willing to work inside, the
prison would not exist. Malone's citizens do not decide prison
policy, nor do they, for the most part, commit the crimes that have
packed the state's prisons. But they are the ones who will enforce
Upstate's rules. In exchange, Malone will get what it craves: a boost
for its ailing economy. The prison will create 510 well-paid jobs
(including guards, administrators, and clerical workers). Townspeople
hope it will also end the exodus of young people moving away in
search of work.
Even so, this $180 million prison is spreading unease throughout
Malone. Some residents wonder exactly what will go on inside the
high-security facility. Others are simply anxious that the prison
will change their town for the worse. There are already two medium-
security prisons in Malone, hidden in the same strip of forest where
the new supermax is being built. And some residents are beginning to
believe that the prisons' impact extends far beyond the lives of
those who work inside.
Prisons seep into a town's psyche in ways that are nearly impossible
to measure - shrinking civic pride, straining guards' marriages,
feeding anxieties about race and crime. The opening of New York's
70th prison will transform Malone into one of the nation's largest
prison towns. Soon, Malone will have an inmate population of almost
5000 - far fewer than the 17,740 prisoners now in New York City's 14
jails, but a huge number considering that inmates will make up more
than one-third of Malone's total population.
Inside its concrete walls, Upstate will reflect the nation's
criminal-justice priorities at the end of this century: high-tech
cost-saving over inmate rehabilitation. Beyond its motion-detecting
fences, however, the townspeople's trepidation about their new
supermax echoes the nation's growing doubts about its prison-building
craze- a multibillion-dollar experiment in crime control that
persists even as crime rates drop, that has imprisoned nearly 2
million people while permanently altering the landscape, economy, and
spirit of hundreds of America's towns. Todd Fitzgerald leans forward
to shut off his tractor's engine and ponders how a supermax came to
be built on his winding dirt road. "I don't think we're stupid up
here and don't care," says the 37-year-old farmer, taking a break
from plowing a field where he will soon plant alfalfa. "But there's
low population density, and you don't get the opposition when you're
building something controversial."
Todd did not want a maximum-security facility built just a patch of
woods away from his house. But he did not fight it. Some of his
neighbors signed a petition protesting the prison, but most people
did nothing. "Up here," Todd says, "people think if the state wants
to do something, they're really going to do it."
Decades of factory layoffs and farm closings have decimated the
economy in Malone, leaving behind a town hungry for work and for
hope. When Malone's residents tell a stranger about their hometown,
they rummage through the recesses of their minds, dusting off
decades-old memories of what once gave them paychecks and pride.
Workers hurriedly sewing and gluing slippers at Tru-Stitch Footwear,
a fixture in Malone since 1938. The gangster Dutch Schultz and his
mobster pals buying beers for locals at the majestic Flanagan Hotel
on Main Street during the 1930s. The sprawling farm that everyone says
brought in the largest spinach crop east of the Mississippi River.
Today, that 1200-acre farm is no more. Slippers sewn by the town's
residents still appear in the pages of J. Crew and L.L. Bean
catalogues, but over the last decade Tru-Stitch has shrunk its
workforce from more than 1100 to 350. And a couple of years ago, a
fire tore through the Flanagan Hotel. "It was like the heart and
soul got ripped out of Malone," says one lifelong resident. Actually,
the spirit of Malone had been taking a beating for years as its
economy, like those of towns across New York's North Country, began
to sputter.
Over the last two decades, prisons have become the North Country's
largest growth industry, the panacea for its towns' economic woes.
Since 1980, New York has built eight prisons in this part of the
state, bringing the total to nine. Hoping to bolster its economy,
Malone lobbied for a medium-security prison in the mid 1980s. It
ended up with two: Franklin Correctional Facility in 1986 and Bare
Hill Correctional Facility in 1988. Before long, the state increased
the size of both prisons, from 750 beds to more than 1700 today.
Initially, the state's new supermax was slated for Tupper Lake, a
town 60 miles away, in the heart of Adirondack Park. But when
environmental groups protested, the state again turned to Malone.
"We couldn't care less where the prison is built as long as we get the
beds we need," says James Flateau, spokesperson for the state
Department of Correctional Services. "Nobody will make space
available in New York City for a prison, and Governor Carey opened a
prison in Long Island and got run out of town for it. So the only
place left is upstate. Critics like to say we arrest people in the
city and send them to prison so we can create jobs in upstate New
York. That simply is not true."
Shipping thousands of prisoners to the North Country does accomplish
what most people want from a prison - it keeps the criminals far
away. Upstate could not be much farther from New York City - home to
two-thirds of the state's prisoners - and still be within the state's
borders. Meanwhile, the outskirts of Malone are starting to resemble
a full-fledged penal colony. The new supermax is so close to Bare
Hill Correctional Facility that an Upstate inmate staring out the
back of his cell will have a tough time figuring out where his
prison ends and the next one begins.
Most Malone residents, of course, will never see this view. But those
who have stepped inside an Upstate cell do not forget the
experience. Todd McAleese, a 27-year-old plumber, has been working on
the prison for almost a year but cannot imagine surviving in one of
its cells. "I'd be dead in a week," says Todd as he nurses an
after-work beer at the Pines, a pub popular with the prison's
construction workers. "I would not eat or drink and I'd be the
biggest prick. I'd spit on every guard who walked by. I'd be doing
swan dives off the bed." Todd pauses, then takes a sip. "But this
isn't a regular prison," he says. "This is the worst of the worst."
Joyce T. Tavernier, Malone's Republican mayor, visibly shudders when
she recalls peering inside an Upstate cell while touring the
facility with fellow members of the prison's local advisory board.
"We give our cats more room than that," says the 65-year-old mayor,
while seated in her modest office next to a wooden pole with an
American flag. "We all thought we wouldn't want to be in one, but I
think everyone realized this is the way it had to be," she says.
"We're not talking about people who spit on the sidewalk or cashed a
check that bounced."
When Todd Fitzgerald, the farmer, spotted a tractor trailer carrying
cell blocks parked along his road, he drove closer and poked his head
inside. "You'd have to be a total animal to be locked up like that,"
says Todd, who owns 25 acres and 35 cows. "I think it would drive me
nuts. But we don't know who's going to occupy the cell. He probably
deserves that or worse."
Few Malone residents will wind up in these prefab pens. And neither
will you, unless you go to prison and refuse to obey the rules -
unless you slice another prisoner, cut a hole in the fence, or stash
cocaine in your cell. If you do misbehave, prison officials will slap
you with time in the "box" or the "hole" - a "special housing unit"
(SHU) set apart from the general inmate population. On any given day,
close to 4000 of the state's 71,000 prisoners are doing time in
special housing units at facilities across New York. They can be in
there for a few weeks or many months. Or they could be looking at 17
years, as Luis Agosto was after he slammed a lieutenant in the head
with a baseball bat during a 1997 riot at Mohawk Correctional Facility.
As the state's SHU population has grown, prison officials have run out
of places to house these inmates. To solve this dilemma, the state
converted one of its maximum-security prisons, Southport Correctional
Facility, into a supermax in 1991. Putting hundreds of troublesome
inmates together in one prison helps keep the peace at other state
facilities. "It's a major management tool," says Flateau. But a few
months after Southport's transformation, angry inmates staged a riot
to protest conditions, taking three guards hostage for 26 1/2 hours.
Southport is still a supermax, but the demand for places to send
rebellious prisoners persists. So over the last year, prison
officials have added 100 SHU cells to eight prisons around the
state, and have begun housing two men in each. The rest of the
solution lies with Upstate. There, officials insist, the problems
will be manageable. "When you get large groups of inmates - that's
when you have problems," says Thomas Ricks, Upstate's superintendent.
"But here there's never going to be any large groups of inmates.
They're not as likely to get in trouble because they're only dealing
with their cell mate."
If you get sentenced to at least 75 days in the box, you could find
yourself on a bus headed to Upstate. The only way you can avoid this
fate is if prison officials decide you are mentally ill or a "known
homosexual." (In the state prison system, sex is banned and a sort
of "don't ask, don't tell" policy prevails; you are a "known homosexual"
if you get caught having sex or if you tell someone you're gay.)
At Upstate, your new home will be a 105-square-foot rectangular room.
It'll be bigger than any other state prison cell you've lived in.
But it's still no larger than the bathrooms in many Manhattan
apartments. Step in and spread your arms, and your fingers will touch
both your bunk bed and the wall. But don't even think about
rearranging the furniture. The sink, toilet, desk, chair, mirror, and
bunk bed are already bolted to the cell's five-inch-thick walls.
Prison officials say they will try to find you a compatible cell
mate. If you smoke, you should wind up with a smoker. If you're
small, you're not supposed to get a roommate who can easily
overpower you. Most likely, you'll share a cell with someone who is
the same race. You may spend your days obsessing about whether he
has tuberculosis or HIV. And if prison officials don't do a good job
matching cell mates, you could be assaulted or raped or killed.
At first, it might not be so bad living with a roommate. He may help
you battle the boredom, and he could stop you from becoming suicidal.
But it won't be long before sharing a cell all day every day becomes
unbearable. You'll be able to tell what your cell mate has eaten for
breakfast by the stench of his feces. And soon, you will feel like
you are living inside his skin.
When you arrive at Upstate, the guards will confiscate most of your
possessions - snacks, razors, radio, photographs. All you'll have to
entertain you are a pen, paper, and your cell mate. You won't be
trading gossip in the mess hall, napping through ESL classes, or
playing ball in the rec yard. In fact, you won't be leaving your cell
at all. Food trays arrive through a slot in the door, and there's a
shower in the corner that's carefully regulated to spew lukewarm
water three times a week.
You will almost never see the prison's 370 guards. Nor will you see
much of the 300 "cadre" inmates, who keep the facility running,
mopping the halls and doing laundry. To stay plugged in to the
prison's gossip mill, you may try to chat with your neighbor on the
"telephone" - by plunging all the water out of your toilet and
shouting down the pipe. But if you're losing your mind, or if your
cell mate turns out to be a "booty bandit" (rapist), you better pray
the guard who is supposed to check on you every half-hour intervenes.
Good luck trying to get help from the outside world - from a
journalist or an attorney with Prisoners' Legal Services (PLS). Prison
officials don't let reporters interview inmates in the box, and
Governor George Pataki shut down PLS last year by decimating its budget.
A guard in a central tower will control your access to the outside
world. Each day, the officer will unlock your back door by flipping a
switch in the control room. Now is your time for "recreation" - a
privilege that the courts have said you must get. At Upstate, "rec
time" means 60 minutes by yourself in the outdoor cage attached to
the rear of your cell. It's about half the size of your cell, just
big enough to do jumping jacks. You could try to wrap your fingers
around the steel-mesh fence and do a few pull-ups. But you can't lift
barbells, toss horseshoes, or shoot hoops. The cage is empty. Of
course, even if you had a basketball, there's barely enough room to
dribble more than a couple of steps.
Looking out from your own personal rec area - what one of the prison's
architects describes as a "caged balcony" and some guards call a
"kennel" - you'll see other cages and a dirt yard empty except for a
row of surveillance cameras mounted on poles. Officers watch your
every move, and if you don't come in from recess, they'll come get
you.
But if you do follow the rules and don't irk the guards, you'll
regain a few privileges after 30 days. You'll be able to buy candy
from the prison store, though you won't actually be able to go there
and pick it out. And you'll get back your own underwear, so you can
ditch that state-issued pair. Stay clean and you will eventually
escape this prison-within-a-prison. You'll be shipped to another
facility to finish off your sentence or sent straight back to the
streets.
When Malone's townspeople discuss their new supermax, phrases like
"double-celling" or "inmate-on-inmate assaults" rarely pop up.
Instead, they talk about family reunions. Raymond Head, 35, is hoping
the new prison brings home his brother Jamie. Back home, the two
used to hang twice a week - "wrestling, playing Nintendo, whatever
brothers do," Raymond says. But now that Jamie, 28, has become a
guard at Eastern Correctional Facility in Ulster County, he rarely
sees Raymond, a guard and union leader at Malone's Franklin
Correctional Facility.
Career options are so few in the North Country that prison guard has
become a popular choice. Many correction officers spend the bulk of
their twenties working in other parts of the state before they can
collect enough seniority to transfer home. When Raymond became a
correction officer in 1984, he was assigned to Bedford Hills, the
women's maximum-security prison in Westchester County. There, he
earned $13,800 a year, and lived in a $700-a-month studio apartment.
Rents in the area were so steep that some of his colleagues slept in
their cars.
Raymond survived on 99-cent Big Macs and dreamed of a transfer back to
Malone, where his $45,000 annual salary far exceeds Malone's median
household income, which was $21,229 at the last census count. "I had
no idea what I was getting myself into," recalls Raymond. "I thought
about quitting a couple times down there. I was pretty homesick."
Raymond did nearly four years at Bedford Hills before he got home.
Since then, the wait for a transfer back to the North Country has
stretched to six or seven years. The opening of Upstate could shorten
this delay. Jamie filled out his "dream sheet" for a transfer to the
new supermax, but ended up number 448. "They're only taking 326,"
Raymond says. "So he probably won't make it. He'll have to sit back
and wait another year or a year-and-a-half."
Mayor Tavernier grows excited when she talks about Upstate's opening.
"Malone has been dying a bit," she says. "There's been no new
business for a few years. Since the prison has been announced, we
have . . . a wholesale food place, Aldi, which we had not had in the
area. And Price Chopper is coming to Malone. And a couple of
drugstores that had stores in the area are building larger ones."
Indeed, when the construction dust clears, Malone will have a total of
four drugstores and eight convenience stores. The enthusiasm the new
stores have created seems to have little to do with residents wanting
another place to purchase aspirin or toothpaste, however. In Malone,
pounding jackhammers and the growl of bulldozers are less a nuisance
than a morale booster.
The plethora of pharmacies in Malone is one of the few public signs of
the town's invisible population. Local drugstores have contracts
with the prisons; the inmates help keep them in business. And the
best customers at the town's many convenience stores are prison
guards, who often have long commutes. But this retail boom hardly
meets everyone's needs. "You go through this town and that's all you
see - 24-hour convenience stores," says Gerald K. Moll, the police
chief of Malone. "You can't buy a pair of jeans, but you can get
coffee and a newspaper." Shoppers hunting for bargains once flocked
to J.J. Newberry on Malone's Main Street. But today, all they will
find if they rub the dirt off the store's cracked windows is a
cavernous room empty save for a plastic garbage pail. J.J. Newberry
closed four years ago, and the dog feces caked to the cement walkway
in front appears to be almost that old. Sears has left town, too. Now
the best choice for Malone's clothes shoppers is Kmart. A waitress
at a Main Street diner tells visitors, "When you go back to New York
City, bring us some department stores!"
Hints of bitterness occasionally surface in conversations about
Upstate, since some residents already feel left out of this new town.
Lee Mandigo was thrilled when he first heard the state was building
a prison less than a quarter mile from his trailer home. "I thought,
'Hell, I live at the bottom of the hill and I have carpentry skills.
I could work up there for 18 months,'" says Lee, as he stands on his
front lawn, nodding toward the evergreen trees in the distance that
hide the supermax. But when Lee, 34, tried to land a construction job
at the prison, he says he was told there were no more available. All
the work had been contracted to out-of-town companies.
As the new supermax has grown, so has Lee's frustration. He has had
to endure watching the prison get a little closer to completion each
time he drives by, knowing that state money is flowing into other
people's pockets but not his. More than a year has passed since Lee
last saw a paycheck, and even when he had a job building roofs and
additions for other people's homes, he earned only $5.25 an hour.
"There's not enough work," he says, slouching forward as he shoves
his hands deep into his jean pockets. "Everyone is depressed."
To pay his bills and feed his two young children, Lee is clinging to
the same hope that buoys many of his fellow townspeople. He's trying
to get into the prison. When he's not caring for his one-year-old
daughter, Lee pores over photocopies he made at the local library of
a study book for the prison guard exam.
Lee's other solution to his cash shortage involved sticking a for-sale
sign in front of his house. Not long ago, he paid $6000 for these
seven-and-three-quarters acres of land, then bought a trailer home
for $7000. Lee figures his only chance for reaping a profit lies with
the families of Upstate's inmates, and he plans to ask his real
estate agent to advertise the property in a New York City newspaper.
Already, Lee says he knows what the ad will say: "Be close to your
loved one! Bottom of the hill! You can practically see 'em!"
Lee may be the only person in town who is hoping the new supermax
entices prisoners' family members to move here. At Embers, the
town's busiest diner, this possibility evokes strong emotions. "The
ones that are in prison now [in Malone], it's not that serious," says
Myra Fleury, the diner's 63-year-old owner, who hustles around in a
pair of fuzzy slippers, frying platefuls of bacon and refilling
coffee mugs. "They're not killers. They're drug addicts, deadbeat
dads." But the new inmates, Myra says, "won't be going home in two or
three years. So I think you might see more families moving in. That's
what people are concerned about."
"People are always afraid of changes," says Molly Augusta, who works
the diner's grill. Myra nods in agreement." Especially in small towns,"
she says.
The new prison has kept Malone's rumor mill grinding for nearly two
years. They're going to put the state's death house in Malone.
They're building a gas chamber. They're building a women's prison.
They're building a prison hospital. They're opening a home for the
criminally insane. They're building yet another men's prison. They're
building housing for inmates' relatives. State prison officials
insist none of these rumors are true. But that has not stopped them
from flying around every bar and coffee shop in town.
The town's most persistent rumor is that prisoners' families are
moving to Malone. This fear is not completely far-fetched. A few
inmates' relatives have moved to nearby Dannemora to be closer to
Clinton Correctional Facility, a maximum-security prison. But this
rumor is repeated so often, and with such conviction, that it seems
to be about something far more than a handful of relatives. Perhaps
the wives and mothers and girlfriends and children of inmates
represent everything Malone fears most. They are mostly poor,
African American or Latino, and from New York City. Townspeople insist
that if these strangers move here, they'll rob Malone of its
small-town feel. Residents worry about having to lock their doors
when they leave their homes, or no longer recognizing most of their
fellow shoppers at the Super Duper Supermarket.
What concerns townspeople most is crime. It has been on the rise here
in recent years, and many locals blame the prisons. There are no
statistics showing that inmates' families are the cause, however.
"The only people who get in trouble are our local people," says
Molly, flipping hamburgers on the grill. "When you read about anyone
breaking into a place in the paper, it's a local person - not someone
whose husband is in prison."
When an almost all-white town is home to thousands of African American
and Hispanic felons, anxieties about race and crime never stray far
from the collective imagination. But few people in Malone want to
talk about race. One exception is Kaye K. Johnson, who estimates that
there are only 15 or 20 African Americans living in Malone, including
her own family. In 1990, Kaye, her husband, and their then
five-year-old son came to Malone from Trenton, New Jersey. "We moved
here to get away from urban decay, crime, drug dealers on the
corners," says Kaye, 51, as she serves tea in the living room of her
tidy, split-level home. "We saw an ad in the paper: No crime. Cheap
land. We called the number and they flew us up here and we bought
some land on sight."
Since arriving in Malone, Kaye has launched a one-woman campaign to
monitor and improve the town's race relations. Every time the Malone
Telegram or the Press-Republican in nearby Plattsburgh mention
prisons or racial incidents, Kaye cuts out the story. Her files are
bulging. Recent additions include an article about a guard accused of
public nudity (he was wandering around his porch dressed only in
socks, then hiding behind a barbecue when cars passed) and another
about a guard who was charged with sexually abusing an inmate in a
prison laundry room (the inmate fought back, slicing the guard's
penis with a coffee can lid).
Rooting through her manila folders stuffed with clippings, Kaye
wonders aloud how the prisons have changed her town, how they have
influenced residents' attitudes and behavior. "I'd never been called
the N-word until I moved here," says Kaye, a teaching assistant at
the local middle school. "At the same time, I've never met such nice
people as I did here either. It's like two extremes." Kaye believes
the prisons' racial imbalance is partly to blame for how some Malone
residents treat her. "The attitudes of correction officers spill over
into the community," she says. "Many of them haven't gone out of the
area, and the only black people they know are in the prisons. I
don't want to see these attitudes perpetuated."
So Kaye became Upstate's loudest opponent. Last year, she tried to
stop its construction by filing a lawsuit with the help of the Center
for Law and Justice, an antiprison group in Albany. Their suit
included almost every conceivable argument against the prison: that
it would spread tuberculosis and HIV, that it would increase noise in
the area, that it would adversely affect the environment, that it
would cause traffic jams, that it would disrupt water service. A
state supreme court judge ruled against them, saying they had failed
to show that Kaye herself would be adversely affected by the new
supermax. Like everybody else in town, Kaye worries about crime, and
about all the worst aspects of urban life coming to Malone. So she
too prays that inmates' relatives do not buy homes here. "I know all
prisoners' families are not criminally prone or dangerous," Kaye
says. "But you want your family to be safe and not have to worry
about drive-by shootings. And not that Malone is going to escalate to
that point, but . . . certain types of people - no matter what color
they are - I don't want them around."
Three miles away from Kaye's home, workers are putting the final
touches on the new prison-gluing tiles to the floors, sweeping up
debris, preparing to add the superintendent's name to the metal sign
out front. Soon the construction trucks will pull out of Upstate's
70-acre lot for the last time. People driving down Route 37 at night
will see an even brighter glow, as the new supermax joins with the
town's two other prisons to light the sky like a city in the
distance. Malone's residents will not hear the shouts echoing down
the corridors of their new high-security prison. But as pairs of
violent criminals from New York City and around the state move into
the supermax's cells, Malone's residents will be left to confront
their fears, to decide what problems the prison solves and which ones
it brings, and to wonder how this latest chapter in America's
experiment in crime control will end.
Research assistance: Hillary Chute
Tell us what you think: editor@villagevoice.com
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Federal Courts Bogged Down In Methamphetamine Cases (The Tennessean says the
drug is clogging up the federal law enforcement system in Middle Tennessee.
Because criminal cases take precedence over civil cases, the impact of drug
cases is further magnified. Firearms or money-laundering charges often
accompany the illegal-drug charge, increasing costs all around. Wendy Goggin,
acting U.S. attorney for Middle Tennessee, said the 18 lawyers in her office
spend nearly 40 percent of their time investigating and prosecuting drug
cases, most of which involve meth. Despite ever more DEA agents, prosecutors
and judges, it's never enough.)
Date: Sat, 22 May 1999 06:26:04 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: US TN: Federal Courts Bogged Down In Methamphetamine Cases
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: EWCHIEF
Pubdate: Wed, 19 May 1999
Source: Tennessean, The (TN)
Copyright 1999 The Tennessean
Contact: letters@tennessean.com
Website: http://www.tennessean.com/
FEDERAL COURTS BOGGED DOWN IN METHAMPHETAMINE CASES
The powder looks like talc or cocaine, but it's smoother than the
first and more powerful than the second.
In Middle Tennessee, the drug is clogging up the federal law
enforcement system, from the agents who hunt those who make it to the
judges who put away those who abuse it.
"It's going like gangbusters," Vince Morgano, assistant special agent
in charge of Tennessee for the Drug Enforcement Agency, said of
methamphetamine or meth, known on the street as crank.
"We are just getting flooded. The U.S. attorneys are swamped and the
judges are swamped," Morgano said.
And because criminal cases take precedence over civil cases in federal
court, the impact of the many drug cases is further magnified.
"It means civil cases scheduled for trial have to get bumped by
criminal cases under the speedy trial rule," said U.S. District Court
Judge Todd J. Campbell. "Because those cases have to come first, their
presence seems larger."
Drug cases also carry more baggage, Campbell said. Firearms or money
laundering charges often accompany the contraband charge, "so they
take a considerable amount of time."
And time is precious.
Wendy Goggin, acting U.S. attorney for Middle Tennessee, said the 18
lawyers in her office spend nearly 40% of their time investigating and
prosecuting drug cases, most of which involve meth. The rest of their
time is spent prosecuting fraud, firearm offenses and other felonies.
Because of the volume, Goggin said, her office must choose which drug
cases to pursue in federal court, where fines and prison sentences
are typically tougher than in the state system.
Morgano said he would like more cases to be heard in federal court,
but because of the backlog he is forced to hand over many cases to the
state system.
"They are not going free. They are prosecuted under the state system.
However, they are not getting anywhere near the same amount of time in
jail in the state system as they would in the federal," Morgano said.
Drug offenses can be filed in both courts, but the larger cases those
involving massive amounts of drugs, interstate traffic, conspiracy and
money laundering often become federal cases because of the harsher
penalties.
Despite the federal backlog, Morgano shows no signs of backing off.
His office is growing almost as much as the drug problem.
"In 1990, when I came here, this was still a medium-sized city with a
medium-sized drug problem," Morgano said. Today, it's the sprawling
home to a major league crank habit.
When Morgano came to Nashville, his office occupied a handful of rooms
and employed four agents.
Today, DEA offices cover much of the fifth floor of the federal
courthouse on Broadway. The agency, whose sole charge is to eradicate
illegal drugs, now employs eight agents and 10 police officers
deputized as agents. Four more agents have been budgeted for 2000.
It's still not enough.
To keep up with the drugs, Morgano said, he would need another 15
agents and the court would need more prosecutors and judges.
The DEA could already occupy Goggin's 18 assistant attorneys and the
six district court judges full time through drug arrests, he said.
With three major interstates dissecting it, an airport and plenty of
rural land to hide in, Nashville is the perfect halfway point for all
points east.
"This is like a pony express stop. All money and drugs stop here,"
Morgano said.
DEA arrests have increased from 77 in 1995 to 172 last year. So far
this year, 104 people have been arrested by DEA agents on drug charges.
Meth busts have more than tripled. Two years ago, the DEA busted 12
meth labs. Last year it hit 41. This year, 55 have been targeted.
Other agencies are also feeling the strain of the increase in drug
cases.
The IRS, which primarily chases tax offenders, also investigates drug
cases because of the large amounts of money involved.
The agency spends about 20% of its time investigating money laundering
and other financial felonies associated with drugs, said Anthony A.
Cesare, chief of the agency's Criminal Investigation Division for the
Kentucky- Tennessee district.
Like the U.S. attorneys, the IRS must pick and choose its cases and
manage how much time is spent on drug cases.
If it had more agents more drug cases would be initiated, Cesare
said.
Morgano said the cases he was sending through the federal system were
major cases, often involving many people, large amounts of drugs and
money.
More such cases are coming, he warned.
In the next few years, he said he expected three of every four cases his
office handled to involve methamphetamine, up from half of their cases
today.
There are signs Morgano will be proved correct.
Two major meth busts in Tennessee in the past six months signal to
Morgano that the state could be facing a turf war between the local
meth labs and those shipping the drug from South America.
All he can do to stop it is lock people up and file as many charges as
he can in federal court, he said.
"But the assistant U.S. attorneys have limited resources," he said.
"And there are only so many judges here to do my cases."
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The Racial Issue Looming In The Rear-View Mirror (The Washington Post says
that from the U.S. Justice Department and Capitol Hill to Sacramento and
other state capitals, there is a growing assault on racial profiling.
Perceptions matter in part because there is relatively little hard data. As
observed by David Cole, a Georgetown University Law School professor who
wrote "No Equal Justice: Race and Class in the American Criminal Justice
System," there is also "no data that shows a police department doesn't engage
in racial profiling." Part of the problem is that current crime statistics,
which reflect the racist impact of such policies in the past, may be used as
justification for continuing them. For example, in the April edition of
"Vital Stats," the Statistical Assessment Service says "crime patterns," that
is, racial disparities in arrests, prosecutions, and sentencing, may make it
"rational" for police to focus more on blacks and males than on whites and
women: "The unpleasant truth is that profiling can be statistically
valid . . . ." Cole agrees that the "stereotype the police are relying on is
not entirely irrational.")
Date: Fri, 21 May 1999 20:40:38 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: US: The Racial Issue Looming In The Rear-View Mirror
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: Craig VanDeVooren
Pubdate: Wed, 19 May 1999
Source: Washington Post (DC)
Copyright: 1999 The Washington Post Company
Address: 1150 15th Street Northwest, Washington, DC 20071
Feedback: http://washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/edit/letters/letterform.htm
Website: http://www.washingtonpost.com/
Page: A3
Author: Edward Walsh, Washington Post Staff Writer
THE RACIAL ISSUE LOOMING IN THE REAR-VIEW MIRROR
Activists Seek Data On Police 'Profiling'
Kevin Murray is 39, a successful Los Angeles lawyer who drives a black
Corvette. One night last June, Murray was stopped by police in affluent
Beverly Hills.
Later, the officer would claim she had stopped him because his car lacked a
front license tag. But Murray said the officer never mentioned the front
tag when she pulled him over and did not issue him a traffic citation.
Murray concluded that he was stopped only because he is black.
That might have been the end of it except that Murray was also a member of
the California Assembly, and on the night he was stopped had just won the
Democratic primary for a seat in the state Senate, where he now serves.
Within weeks of the stop, he introduced legislation requiring California
law enforcement agencies to collect and make public records on the race,
ethnicity, gender and age of everyone they stop. The bill breezed through
the legislature, only to be vetoed by then-Gov. Pete Wilson (R).
But Murray is back with a similar bill this year and he is not alone. From
the Justice Department and Capitol Hill to Sacramento and other state
capitals, there is a growing assault on "racial profiling" by police, the
practice of stopping black and other minority motorists for questioning,
and sometimes a search, because of their race or ethnic background.
The American Civil Liberties Union renewed its criticism of racial
profiling yesterday in a lawsuit filed in federal district court in
Oklahoma City. The suit alleges that Army Sgt. Rossano V. Gerald, 37, who
is black, and his then 12-year-old son, Gregory, were stopped by Oklahoma
state troopers and subjected to more than two hours of questioning last
August. Searching Gerald's car without his permission, the troopers did
more than $1,000 in damage to the vehicle, according to the suit. They
found nothing illegal.
Attorney General Janet Reno has condemned racial profiling and endorsed the
concept of data collection to learn how extensive the practice is. Rep.
John Conyers Jr. (D-Mich.) has introduced legislation that would require
the Justice Department to collect racial and ethnic data about police stops
from law enforcement agencies across the country. Bills similar to Murray's
are being considered in other states.
Meanwhile, many leaders of police organizations wonder what all the fuss is
about. Many deny that racial profiling is a widespread police practice and
maintain that when it has occurred it has been an exception.
Skeptics include Robert T. Scully, president of the National Association of
Police Organizations, an umbrella group for 4,000 police unions. "I really
don't believe racial profiling happens," said Scully. "Police are not
stopping people because of the car they drive or the color of their skin.
They stop people because of probable cause. If [profiling] is going on, it
is the exception to the rule."
San Jose Police Chief William Lansdowne is another skeptic. He said that of
100,000 police stops a year, about 10 result in profiling allegations filed
with the department. "I don't believe it is occurring in our police
department, but the complaint is consistent from senior citizens, youths
and people of color," Lansdowne said. "I don't think we do a good enough
job explaining the reason for a car stop."
Lansdowne is not waiting for any legislative mandate. Later this month, his
department will begin collecting race and other data about every traffic
stop. "Our feeling is quite simple," said Jim Tomaino, president of the San
Jose Police Officers Association. "If you have nothing to hide, you have
nothing to hide. [Racial profiling] is a perception. But there's a big
difference between perception and fact and we said we'll show you the facts."
Perceptions, whether or not grounded in reality, have an impact on how
people act and think, which is why Lansdowne ordered the additional data
collection. "It's all about trust," he said. "I think we have a
responsibility to work closely together with community leaders. It's not
going to go away. We have an obligation to address it."
Perceptions matter in part because there is relatively little hard data on
racial profiling. "We don't know how prevalent it is," said Chuck Wexler,
executive director of the Police Executive Research Forum. "But I'll tell
you one thing: police chiefs are looking at it."
David Cole, a Georgetown University Law School professor, agreed there is a
lack of verifiable information. But Cole, the author of "No Equal Justice:
Race and Class in the American Criminal Justice System," said what
information is available suggests profiling is taking place. "There is no
data that shows a police department doesn't engage in racial profiling," he
said.
In 1992, the Orlando Sentinel obtained police videotapes of traffic stops
of more than 1,000 motorists by officers in a special drug unit of the
Volusia County, Fla., Sheriff's Department. They showed almost 70 percent
of traffic stops and 80 percent of vehicle searches were of black and
Hispanic motorists. Although a Florida Supreme Court decision requires
that deputies stop motorists only for legitimate traffic violations, only
nine of the 1,084 drivers who were stopped were given a traffic citation.
As part of a settlement of a lawsuit brought by the ACLU, the Maryland
State Police agreed in the mid-1990s to collect data on traffic stops. The
results stunned even the ACLU. On a stretch of Interstate 95 northeast of
Baltimore, a focal point in police drug interdiction efforts, black drivers
accounted for 17 percent of the traffic but 70 percent of those who were
stopped.
The most recent case involved an investigation of the New Jersey State
Police by that state's attorney general's office, the outgrowth of lawsuits
alleging racial profiling. In a report issued last month, the investigators
said that motorists stopped by troopers stationed at two state police
barracks along the New Jersey Turnpike were about 25 percent black and 40
percent minority. But black drivers accounted for more than half and black
and Hispanic drivers more than three-quarters of the cars that were
searched by police.
In what it described as "this insidious cycle," the New Jersey report said,
"police officers may be subjecting minority citizens to heightened scrutiny
and more probing investigative tactics that lead to more arrests that are
then used to justify those same tactics."
In the April edition of its newsletter, "Vital Stats," the Statistical
Assessment Service said that while crime patterns may make it "rational"
for police to focus more on blacks and males than on whites and women,
"most individual blacks, like most males, never commit serious crime. The
unpleasant truth is that profiling can be statistically valid and yet have
discriminatory real world results since most blacks who are stopped on
suspicion [like most males] will be innocent people."
"One reason this problem is so widespread is that the stereotype the police
are relying on is not entirely irrational," said Cole. "It is more likely
that a young black man will commit crimes than an elderly white woman.
Minorities commit more crimes than whites [on a percentage-of-population
basis]. I don't think all these police officers are bigoted in the
traditional sense."
But "if you start using race as a proxy for suspicion you are going to
sweep in a whole lot of innocent people. You also create a great deal of
enmity and it undermines law enforcement when people see the police as
their enemy," he said.
Whether they believe the allegations of widespread racial profiling, police
executives around the country know that this perception by many blacks and
other minorities cannot be ignored. Last fall, the International
Association of Chiefs of Police held a forum on "professional traffic
stops" that emphasized the importance of training and supervision to
prevent "biased traffic stops."
The organization opposes legislation mandating the collection of racial
data at traffic stops, arguing that it would be burdensome and could make
what is often a difficult and sometimes dangerous moment in police work
even more so. The organization also argues that the resources that would be
applied to data collection could be better used improving police training
and paying for video cameras in all police cruisers. But it does not deny
that racial profiling happens.
"It clearly does happen," said Dan Rosenblatt, executive director of the
chiefs' association. "And where it does happen, it is a problem. New Jersey
found it. We're still not convinced that the problems are systemic or
widespread. . . . But to say it is not a problem when it is is denying
reality."
The Police Executive Research Forum recently held a meeting on the subject
with about 20 police chiefs and community leaders from their cities and is
trying to craft a model policy on traffic stops. Wexler, the group's
executive director, said the community leaders made clear that while they
object to some police tactics, they want a continuation of the aggressive
policing that has helped produce a dramatic decline in the crime rate in
many cities.
"Police departments are as effective as the community allows them to be and
that's critical," Wexler said. "The days of what James Baldwin called an
occupying army are over. It's not that people just want more police. They
want more and better police. They don't want an invading army, but they
also don't want the police to back off."
New Jersey Stops and Searches
The New Jersey attorney general prepared a study of motor vehicle stops and
searches by officers from two state police stations, Moorestown and
Cranbury. The study found a disproportionate number of minorities were
searched.
Motor vehicle stops
White 59%
Black 27%
Hispanic 7%
Asian 4%
Other 3%
Searches
White 21%
Black 53%
Hispanic 24%
Asian 1%
Other 1%
NOTES: Stop figures are from April 1997 through November 1998. Search
figures are from various dates between January 1994 and February 1999.