I been watching you

and you're not two-faced.

You treat everybody the same."

That was said to me by a transgender prostitute

who before I had gotten on the bench

had fired her public defender,

insulted the court officer

and yelled at the person sitting next to her,

"I don't know what you're looking at. I look better than the girl you're with."

(Laughter)

She said this to me

after I said her male name low enough

so that it could be picked up by the record,

but I said her female name loud enough

so that she could walk down the aisle towards counselor's table with dignity.

This is procedural justice, also known as procedural fairness,

at its best.

You see, I am the daughter of an African-American garbageman

who was born in Harlem

and spent his summers in the segregated South.

Soy la hija de una peluquera dominicana.

I do that to make sure you're still paying attention.

(Laughter)

I'm the daughter of a Dominican beautician

who came to this country for a better life for her unborn children.

My parents taught me, you treat everyone you meet with dignity and respect,

no matter how they look, no matter how they dress,

no matter how they spoke.

You see, the principles of fairness

were taught to me at an early age,

and unbeknownst to me, it would be the most important lesson

that I carried with me to the Newark Municipal Court bench.

And because I was dragged off the playground

at the early age of 10 to translate for family members

as they began to migrate to the United States,

I understand how daunting it can be for a person, a novice,

to navigate any government system.

Every day across America and around the globe,

people encounter our courts,

and it is a place that is foreign, intimidating

and often hostile towards them.

They are confused about the nature of their charges,

annoyed about their encounters with the police

and facing consequences that might impact their relationships, their finances

and even their liberty.

Let me paint a picture for you

of what it's like for the average person who encounters our courts.

First, they're annoyed as they're probed going through court security.

They finally get through court security, they walk around the building,

they ask different people the same question

and get different answers.

When they finally get to where they're supposed to be,

it gets really bad when they encounter the courts.

What would you think if I told you

that you could improve people's court experience,

increase their compliance with the law

and court orders,

all the while increasing the public's trust

in the justice system

with a simple idea?

Well, that simple idea is procedural justice

and it's a concept that says

that if people perceive they are treated fairly

and with dignity and respect,

they'll obey the law.

Well, that's what Yale professor Tom Tyler found

when he began to study as far back in the '70s

why people obey the law.

He found that if people see the justice system

as a legitimate authority to impose rules and regulations,

they would follow them.

His research concluded

that people would be satisfied

with the judge's rulings,

even when the judge ruled against them,

if they perceived that they were treated fairly

and with dignity and respect.

And that perception of fairness begins with what?

Begins with how judges speak to court participants.

Now, being a judge

is sometimes like having a reserve seat to a tragic reality show

that has no commercial interruptions

and no season finale.

It's true.

People come before me handcuffed,

drug-sick, depressed, hungry

and mentally ill.

When I saw that their need for help

was greater than my fear of appearing vulnerable on the bench,

I realized that not only did I need to do something,

but that in fact I could do something.

The good news is is that the principles of procedural justice are easy

and can be implemented as quickly as tomorrow.

The even better news, that it can be done for free.

(Laughter)

The first principle is voice.

Give people an opportunity to speak,

even when you're not going to let them speak.

Explain it.

"Sir, I'm not letting you speak right now.

You don't have an attorney.

I don't want you to say anything that's going to hurt your case."

For me, assigning essays to defendants

has been a tremendous way of giving them voice.

I recently gave an 18-year-old college student an essay.

He lamented his underage drinking charge.

As he stood before me reading his essay,

his voice cracking and his hands trembling,

he said that he worried that he had become an alcoholic like his mom,

who had died a couple of months prior due to alcohol-related liver disease.

You see, assigning a letter to my father, a letter to my son,

"If I knew then what I know now ..."

"If I believed one positive thing about myself,

how would my life be different?"

gives the person an opportunity to be introspective,

go on the inside,

which is where all the answers are anyway.

But it also gives them an opportunity

to share something with the court that goes beyond their criminal record

and their charges.

The next principle is neutrality.

When increasing public trust in the justice system,

neutrality is paramount.

The judge cannot be perceived to be favoring one side over the other.

The judge has to make a conscious decision not to say things like,

"my officer," "my prosecutor," "my defense attorney."

And this is challenging when we work in environments

where you have people assigned to your courts,

the same people coming in and out of your courts as well.

When I think of neutrality,

I'm reminded of when I was a new Rutgers Law grad

and freshly minted attorney,

and I entered an arbitration and I was greeted by two grey-haired men

who were joking about the last game of golf they played together

and planning future social outings.

I knew my client couldn't get a fair shot in that forum.

The next principle is understand.

It is critical that court participants understand the process,

the consequences of the process

and what's expected of them.

I like to say that legalese is the language we use to confuse.

(Laughter)

I am keenly aware that the people who appear before me,

many of them have very little education

and English is often their second language.

So I speak plain English in court.

A great example of this was when I was a young judge --

oh no, I mean younger judge.

(Laughter)

When I was a younger judge, a senior judge comes to me,

gives me a script and says,

"If you think somebody has mental health issues,

ask them these questions and you can get your evaluation."

So the first time I saw someone

who had what I thought was a mental health issue,

I went for my script and I started to ask questions.

"Um, sir, do you take psycho -- um, psychotrop --

psychotropic medication?"

"Nope."

"Uh, sir, have you treated with a psychiatrist before?"

"Nope."

But it was obvious that the person was suffering from mental illness.

One day, in my frustration, I decided to scrap the script and ask one question.

"Ma'am, do you take medication to clear your mind?"

"Yeah, judge, I take Haldol for my schizophrenia,

Xanax for my anxiety."

The question works even when it doesn't.

"Mr. L, do you take medication to clear your mind?"

"No, judge, I don't take no medication to clear my mind.

I take medication to stop the voices in my head,

but my mind is fine."

(Laughter)

You see, once people understand the question,

they can give you valuable