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"Judge, I want to tell you something. I want to tell you something.
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