Triggers and Vulnerabilities: Why Prisons Are Uniquely Vulnerable to COVID-19 and What To Do About It

covid-19 virus illustration
When I reviewed the causes and effects of the 2008 Financial Crisis for Cheap on Crime, I relied partly on a series of lectures given by Ben Bernanke, Director of the Federal Reserve. As he explained it, the Great Recession was a case of “triggers and vulnerabilities:”

The triggers of the crisis were the particular events or factors that touched off the events of 2007-09–the proximate causes, if you will. Developments in the market for subprime mortgages were a prominent example of a trigger of the crisis. In contrast, the vulnerabilities were the structural, and more fundamental, weaknesses in the financial system and in regulation and supervision that served to propagate and amplify the initial shocks. In the private sector, some key vulnerabilities included high levels of leverage; excessive dependence on unstable short-term funding; deficiencies in risk management in major financial firms; and the use of exotic and nontransparent financial instruments that obscured concentrations of risk. In the public sector, my list of vulnerabilities would include gaps in the regulatory structure that allowed systemically important firms and markets to escape comprehensive supervision; failures of supervisors to effectively apply some existing authorities; and insufficient attention to threats to the stability of the system as a whole (that is, the lack of a macroprudential focus in regulation and supervision).

The distinction between triggers and vulnerabilities is helpful in that it allows us to better understand why the factors that are often cited as touching off the crisis seem disproportionate to the magnitude of the financial and economic reaction.

Bernanke’s distinction between triggers and vulnerabilities is useful to the current crisis as well. Today we learned that a man behind bars in Chino is the first acknowledged COVID-19 casualty in CA prisons, and that 59 of his fellow prisoners have tested positive. As of today, we’ve also seen the first positive test in the San Francisco jail system. It’s all going to mushroom from here.
Several of my colleagues (see especially here and here) are making the important argument that the spread of COVID-19 in prisons is a very big deal, to the point that not addressing it properly could negate much of our social distancing effort outside the prison walls. But what is it about prisons that make them such an effective Petri dish for the virus to spread?
Think of COVID-19 as the trigger, and think of the disappointing–even shocking–reluctance of federal courts to do the right thing as another trigger. These triggers operate against a background of serious vulnerabilities, some of which preceded the decision in Brown v. Plata and some of which emerged from it.
First, what gets called “health care” in CA prisons really isn’t. Litigation about it took a decade and a half to yield the three-judge order to decarcerate, and until then, horrific things were happening on a daily basis. Despite ridiculous expenses, every six days, a CA inmate would die from a completely preventable, iatrogenic disease. The cases that spearheaded Plata, including the story of Plata himself, were emblematic of this (see Jonathan Simon’s retelling of these stories here.)
It is important to think again of what it was, exactly, about overcrowding that made basic healthcare impossible to provide. First, medical personnel were, and still are, difficult to hire and retain. California has gigantic prisons in remote, rural locations, and it is difficult to attract people willing to work healthcare in these locations. Housing, clothing, and feeding so many people in close proximity meant not only that violence and contagion were more likely to occur, but also that the quality of these things–diet, especially, comes to mind–was extremely low. Every time someone had to be taken to receive care, the prison would have to be in lockdown, which meant more delays and big administrative hassles. The administration and pharmacies were total chaos. People would wait for their appointments in tiny cages for hours without access to bathrooms. People’s medical complaints were regularly trivialized and disbelieved–not, usually, out of sadism, but out of fatigue and indifference in the face of so much need. Moreover, the scandalously long sentences that a fourth of our prison population serves mean that people age faster and get sick, and make the older population an expensive contingent in constant need of more healthcare and more expense.
The outcome of the case–reducing the prison population from 200% capacity to 137.5% capacity–was mixed in terms of the healthcare outcomes. But it also yielded four important side-effects. First, it exposed the inadequacy of county jails for dealing with a population in need of both acute and chronic healthcare. Second, it created big gaps in service between counties that relied more and less on incarceration. Third, because the standard was the same for the entire prison system and relied on design capacity (rather than, following the European model, on calculating minimum meterage per inmate), it yielded some prisons in which overcrowding was greatly alleviated alongside others in which the overcrowding situation was either the same as, or worse than, before Plata. And fourth, because of the way we dealt with Plata, we became habituated to resolving overcrowding with cosmetic releases of politically palatable populations (i.e. the “non-non-nons”) rather than addressing a full fourth of our prison population–people doing long sentences for violent crime and getting old and sick behind bars.
So, now we face this trigger–COVID-19–with the following vulnerabilities:
  1. We still have a bloated system, because the Court used the wrong standard to create minimal space between people for their immediate welfare.
  2. We’re now dealing with lots of small systems that answer to lots of different masters and have different priorities and ideologies.
  3. We already have a lousy healthcare system behind bars, which could not be fixed even with the release of more than 30,000 people, and that was *without* a pandemic going on.
  4. We have gotten used to doing a “health vs. public safety” equation that doesn’t make sense and biases us against people who committed violent crimes at the wrong time and for the wrong reasons. In fact, we are so married to the idea that we can’t second-guess mass incarceration, that the newest preposterous suggestion has been to protect people from COVID-19 by… introducing private prisons into the mix.
Stack these vulnerabilities against the trigger, and what you have is an enormous human rights crisis waiting to happen in the next few weeks. It’s already started.
And if you wonder whether this can be contained in prisons, well, it can’t. Guards don’t live in prison, obviously; prison staff has already been diagnosed positive in multiple prisons. Stay at home all your like, wear your home-sewn masks all you wish; we have dozens of disease incubators in the state and apparently very little political will do do anything to eliminate them.

What should we do about it? Follow the excellent roadmap that Margo Schlanger and Sonja Starr charted here, primarily point four: get over your icky political fears about public backlash and let older, sicker people out–even if they committed a violent crime twenty or forty years ago. If you are a governor or a prison warden with some authority to release people, do as Sharon Dolovich implores in this piece and use your executive power to save lives.

Hunger Strike in Calaveras County Jail

Jail
Calaveras County Jail, courtesy
The Calaveras Enterprise.
Chapter 6 of Cheap on Crime dealt with a transition with our perception of inmates–from wards of the state, who need to be clothed and fed and taken care of for the duration of their sentence, to capitalist consumers, whose every need beyond the very bare minimum (and sometimes even the bare minimum!) is monetized. The consumer label, of course, is ironic

Well, the shit finally hit the fan at Calaveras County Jail, where inmates are fed up with the endless monetization of their lives. The Calaveras Enterprise reports:

Seventeen inmates at the Calaveras County Jail have announced their plan to initiate a hunger strike in protest of “outrageous prices” for telephone calls and commissary items including soup and ramen noodles.

“Not only are we afflicted, but our families as well,” the inmates wrote in a letter to the Enterprise. “We have made attempts at every other level to have this situation resolved, to no avail. We are hoping that the public can get involved and know the real situation that is going on here.”

According to the inmates, local calls cost $2.91 for the first minute and 41 cents for each additional minute, while long-distance calls cost only 21 cents per minute. A soup from the jail’s canteen currently costs $1.23. They claim that those prices are far higher than those at other California facilities in which some of them have been detained.

Nineteen-year-old inmate Marc Holocker told the Enterprise on Monday that prices have gone up at the jail since he was incarcerated in May, and that his weekly allowance of $20 provided by his family is no longer sufficient to meet his needs. Outside of the telephone calls to his lawyer, which are free of charge, Holocker no longer calls family members, he said, opting instead to spend his money on food items.

Just recently I posted about how the prison food industry is one small, often unnoticed “piecemeal privatization” that escapes the gaze of the anti-private-prison crowd. The awfulness and meagerness of prison food (nutraloaf anyone?) feeds (no pun intended) directly into the commissary business. The phone call gauging is an ongoing scandal, in CA and elsewhere (and that’s before we even ask hard questions about the calls’ privacy). In Cheap on Crime I bitterly commented that people in prisons and jails who review their institutions on Yelp have drawn the natural conclusions about how they’re being treated, and it seems the people striking in Calaveras are taking to more direct action.

When Cheap on Crime Becomes Mainstream: Santa Clara to Divert Nonviolent Drug Offenders

Chapter 3 of Cheap on Crime opens with a 2009 headline from the San Francisco Chronicle, which reads, “Many Contra Costa Crooks Won’t Be Prosecuted.” Who are said “crooks”? D.A. Kochly explains: “[B]eginning May 4, his office will no longer prosecute felony drug cases involving smaller amounts of narcotics. That means anyone caught with less than a gram of methamphetamine or cocaine, less than 0.5 grams of heroin and fewer than five pills of ecstasy, OxyContin or Vicodin won’t be charged.”
This was viewed with suspicion and scorn at the time; Kochly lamented the lack of funds and said, “We had to make very, very difficult choices, and we had to try to prioritize things. There are no good choices to be made here. . . It’s trying to choose the lesser of certain evils in deciding what we can and cannot do.”

Compare that to today’s headline: The Mercury News informs us that “Santa Clara County DA will stop filing charges in most minor drug cases.” The policy is basically the same as the one from Contra Costa ten years ago: “the aim of the change is to keep one- and two-time offenders out of the court system, diverting them instead to drug treatment programs and reserving bandwidth for more serious addiction cases that cross over to become community nuisances or public-safety concerns.” Again, costs are cited, in the grand humonetarian fashion: “the policy shift also cuts out an exponentially larger number of corresponding court dates, potential bench warrants and jail stays and thousands of work hours for judges, attorneys and police officers. All of those efforts go to address offenders that everyone agrees might have addiction issues but do not pose a threat to public safety.”

Same news, different spin. What used to be regarded with scorn at the very beginning of the Cheap on Crime era has now gone mainstream. Note how easy and acceptable (and non-radical!) it is for a prosecutor (!) to cite cost expenses (!) as a justification for diverting nonviolent offenders into a public health treatment silo.

In many ways, this is the coda to Cheap on Crime: the ultimate success of the cost-centered rhetoric in normalizing the decarceration of nonviolent offenders. Years after recovering from the recession, the thinking patterns formed during the recession are here: marijuana should be legalized for revenue and so that our resources can be spent on the “real” offenders; treatment and prevention are cheaper than punishment; crime rates are low, and therefore there is no risk to public safety. It’s nice to see this trend continue to play out on the state level, at the heart of the consensus, while War on Drugs dinosaurs rage in the White House.

Cruelty to Migrant Kids Is Not “Cheap on Crime”

The Washington Post reports this absolutely heartbreaking piece of news:

The Trump administration is canceling English classes, recreational programs and legal aid for unaccompanied minors staying in federal migrant shelters nationwide, saying the immigration influx at the southern border has created critical budget pressures. 

The Office of Refugee Resettlement has begun discontinuing the funding stream for activities — including soccer — that have been deemed “not directly necessary for the protection of life and safety, including education services, legal services, and recreation,” said U.S. Health and Human Services spokesman Mark Weber.

Since these days things that used to solidly reside in the “needless to say” category need to be explicitly said, I’ll open with this: This is monstrous, gratuitous cruelty. And what is the justification?

Federal officials have warned Congress that they are facing “a dramatic spike” in unaccompanied minors at the southern border and have asked Congress for $2.9 billion in emergency funding to expand shelters and care. The program could run out of money in late June, and the agency is legally obligated to direct funding to essential services, Weber said.

Last week I spoke on a mini-plenary about dignity and austerity. The other presenters addressed issues such as takings, welfare cuts, neoliberal banking, and the like, in which “savings” are synonymous with, essentially, letting go of caring for the world’s (or the country’s) weakest population. Because in criminal justice things don’t operate quite that way, I’ve had to explain that investing money in people in the context of criminal justice is not necessarily to their benefit, and often works to their detriment. The big exception to this statement, though, is rehabilitative programming: the dark side of the developments I discussed in Cheap on Crime (and on the plenary) is the continued trend to deeply cut rehabilitation programs.

Doing so, especially in the context of juvenile populations, is not a wise, “justice reinvestment move”. Beyond being cruel, it is penny wise and pound foolish. Educated, physically active, nurtured children are far more likely to have a “stake in conformity”, to use Hirschi’s term. Are migrant kids deprived of the opportunity to learn the language most prominently spoken in their new country and, for heaven’s sake, to play soccer, more or less likely to desire to be law-abiding, proud residents?

Contrast this horror with another piece of news: San Francisco sets out to eliminate its Juvenile Hall. Readers of Nell Bernstein’s Burning Down the House, as well as anyone even minimally informed with the realities of juvenile confinement in California, will surely welcome this beneficial development, and look forward to a public health model of handling juvenile transgressions.

Upcoming Cheap on Crime Appearance at Manny’s

Hello Everyone,

I’m writing to invite you to an upcoming talk at Manny’s, the new café/civic engagement center in San Francisco (Valencia and 16th). 

When: April 9, 7:30pm-9pm
Where: Manny’s, 3092 16th Street, San Francisco
What: Cheap on Crime talk, with a special emphasis on the Trump Administration era. A little abstract:

Literature on “late mass incarceration” observed a contraction of the carceral state, with varying opinions as to its causes and various degrees of optimism about its potential. But even optimistic commentators were taken aback by the Trump-Sessions Administration’s criminal justice rhetoric. This paper maps out the extent to which federal, state and local actions in the age of Trump have reversed the promising trends to shrink the criminal justice apparatus, focusing on federal legislation, continued state and local reform, and the role of criminal justice in 2020 presidential campaigns. In this talk, I argue that the overall salutary trends from 2008 onward have slowed down in some respects, but continued on in others, and that advocacy concerns should focus on particular areas of the criminal justice apparatus, notably the intersection of crime and immigration and the issue of violent crime.

Come in your thousands and bring friends!

CDCR Eliminates Inmate Copayments for Health Care

Today CDCR announced that, effective March 1, they will eliminate inmate copayments for healthcare, because an internal analysis reveals that copayments “have minimal fiscal benefit and are not aligned with patient care.” 

Specifically, copayments may hinder patients from seeking care for health issues which, without early detection and intervention, may become exacerbated, resulting in decreased treatment efficacy and/or increased treatment cost. The Department’s health care delivery system, known as the Complete Care Model, is based on a preventative and comprehensive approach to patient care. Early detection and preventative health care aligns with most public and private health care organizations and can prove to be fiscally prudent.


The first thing that occurred to me upon reading this was how many people are probably unaware that incarcerated patients make copayments, just like patients on the outside. How did that come about? CDCR provides background:

In 1994, Section 5007.5(a) was added to the Penal Code (PC) to read: CDCR is authorized to charge a fee in the amount of five dollars ($5) for each inmate-initiated medical or dental visit of an inmate confined in the state prison, which will be charged to the prison account of the inmate. If the inmate has no money in his or her personal account, there shall be   no charge for the medical or dental visit. An inmate shall not be denied medical care because of a lack of funds in his or her prison account. The medical provider may waive the fee for any inmate-initiated treatment and shall waive the fee in any life-threatening or emergency situation, defined as those health services required for alleviation of severe pain or for immediate diagnosis and treatment of unforeseen medical conditions that if not immediately diagnosed and treated could lead to disability or death. Follow-up medical visits at the direction of the medical staff shall not be charged to the inmate.

This section aligns with other savings trends I reviewed in Cheap on Crime. The most egregious one is, of course, the pay-to-stay jail, but less egregious examples abound and participation in health care costs is one of them. 

What I find interesting is that the same savings rationale used for imposing the costs in the first place is now being used for getting rid of them–copayments are not vile and unjust; rather, the problem is that they don’t pay off, because they deter people from seeking health care and thus make their condition worse and therefore more expensive.

The elephant in the room, of course, is the question of quality. Health care in California prisons is becoming more and more expensive and we are once again taking heat from the Ninth Circuit for the disappointing quality of mental health care in prison. But if it’s not getting better, it is at least being offered for free.

From “Nothing Works” to “Something Works”

This morning, the Guardian is covering a great vocational program in Southern California called Manifest Works, “an immersive workforce development and job placement organization; we turn real-world experience into learning opportunities for those impacted by foster care, homelessness, and incarceration.” From the Guardian story:

One of the most common entry points into the entertainment industry is as a production assistant, or PA. The PA might get coffee, run electrical cords, or break down the set; the job’s chameleonic nature makes it a behind-the-scenes linchpin. Manifest Works, a not-for-profit based in Los Angeles, ties the hustle of a PA job to its training program for people affected by incarceration, homelessness and foster care. Some participants had been out of prison as little as three months.

Williams spoke softly and deliberately, rocking back and forth in his crisp white sneakers. He applied to the program after an alum recommended him. He was doing security before that. “Not what I wanted to do with my life,” he said. “This is giving me an opportunity to pursue something closer to what I wanted for myself.”

He still wasn’t sure what on-set role he’d like most. “Everybody wants to be the director,” he said, knowingly.

California, as the country’s most populous state, has one of its highest prison populations, and the highest population of people on probation or parole. It is also home to the multibillion-dollar entertainment industry.

A 2017 study in the Economic Journal evaluated the career trajectories of 1.7 million people released from California prisons between 1993 and 2008, and concluded that, while employment curbs recidivism among the released, the quality of opportunities may be more important than the quantity available.

Sixty-three people have completed the Manifest Works program since it began in fall 2014. Many have established steady freelance careers doing production work. No alum has gone back to prison.

What do they mean by “quality of opportunities?” The study referred to in the Guardian story is by Kevin Schnepel, an economist from the University of Sydney and you can find it here. The abstract reads:

I estimate the impact of employment opportunities on recidivism among 1.7 million offenders released from a California prison between 1993 and 2008. The institutional structure of the California criminal justice system as well as location, skill, and industry-specific job accession data provide a unique framework for identifying a causal effect of job availability on criminal behaviour. I find that increases in construction and manufacturing opportunities at the time of release are associated with significant reductions in recidivism. Other types of opportunities, including those characterised by lower wages that are typically accessible to individuals with criminal records, do not influence recidivism.

This kind of careful study is exactly what we need to counter the despair of the “nothing works” legacy. Because of the dramatic cuts to rehabilitation and vocational programs, which I discuss in Cheap on Crime, opportunities in California prisons really vary. San Quentin benefits from its proximity to the Bay Area, which guarantees an influx of volunteers–but are they programs they offer really effective? More importantly, why are opportunities in construction and manufacturing more important in curbing recidivism than opportunities in other fields, such as service?

A few things come to mind: construction and manufacturing are opportunities that structure one’s day in addition to providing an income. It’s easier to stay the course when you have to be somewhere and perform a job that shows tangible improvement (i.e., putting together a kitchen or producing X gadgets.) They are also jobs that, in the right setting, can provide camaraderie, and have fairly strong unions. But who knows if this is true? To understand why some job opportunities are more effective, we’d need to interview formerly incarcerated folks who are employed in these jobs and ask them about their day and their thoughts about this.

In any case, it’s important for prisons to follow up on studies such as Schnepel’s and on the success of programs such as Manifest Works. Resources are limited, and they need to be invested where they’d yield real results.

Ending Lifetime Registration of Sex Offenders–A Courageous and Sensible Idea

Yesterday’s L.A. Times reports:

“SB 384 proposes thoughtful and balanced reforms that allow prosecutors and law enforcement to focus their resources on tracking sex offenders who pose a real risk to public safety, rather than burying officers in paperwork that has little public benefit,” said Ali Bay, a spokeswoman for the governor.

Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Jackie Lacey sought the change because the current registry has grown to a difficult-to-manage 105,000 people, which reduces its value to law enforcement trying to solve sex crimes by checking those on the list.

Because the registry is public, it also punishes people who have not committed new crimes for decades, including some who engaged in consensual sex, bill supporters argued.

This is an excellent idea. Before you get all riled up, read the actual text:

This bill would, commencing January 1, 2021, instead establish 3 tiers of registration based on specified criteria, for periods of at least 10 years, at least 20 years, and life, respectively, for a conviction of specified sex offenses, and 5 years and 10 years for tiers one and two, respectively, for an adjudication as a ward of the juvenile court for specified sex offenses, as specified. The bill would allow the Department of Justice to place a person in a tier-to-be-determined category for a maximum period of 24 months if his or her appropriate tier designation cannot be immediately ascertained. The bill would, commencing July 1, 2021, establish procedures for termination from the sex offender registry for a registered sex offender who is a tier one or tier two offender and who completes his or her mandated minimum registration period under specified conditions. The bill would require the offender to file a petition at the expiration of his or her minimum registration period and would authorize the district attorney to request a hearing on the petition if the petitioner has not fulfilled the requirement of successful tier completion, as specified. The bill would establish procedures for a person required to register as a tier three offender based solely on his or her risk level to petition the court for termination from the registry after 20 years from release of custody, if certain criteria are met. The bill would also, commencing January 1, 2022, revise the criteria for exclusion from the Internet Web site.

In her book Sex Fiends, Perverts, and Pedophiles, Chrysanthi Leon of the University of Delaware discusses the changes in our approach toward sex offenders. As she lucidly explains, we used to be able to differentiate between different types of sex offenders and find compassion and pragmatism in our approach toward their punishment and rehabilitation. But with the sex panics of the 1980s, we started blurring lines and seeing all sex offenders as just one category, identifying all of them with the perpetrators of the most heinous crimes. This was a big mistake. Sex offenders, as Tamara Lave reminds us, have a remarkably low rate of recidivism, and the effort to warn the public from them would be better spent on narrow categories of sex criminals that actually recidivate. This bill is a step forward toward more careful classification.

But there’s something else here that is important.

The impetus for the new bill is that the sex offender list has grown so long that it has become difficult to manage. Local authorities spend a lot of time processing paperwork, and time means money. Again, as I discuss in Cheap on Crime, the practicalities of punishment become so cumbersome that we’re taking a step in the right direction. Indeed, any deterrent effect the list has becomes diluted once everyone is on the list for everything, as J.J. Prescott and Jonah Rockoff remind us here.

In sight of the federal disaster that is the Trump/Sessions gratuitous, senseless cruelty enforcement mechanism, it’s nice to see California once again making a reasonable decision.

Trumpland: Worse Than Nixon

The Trump Administration has published its 100-day plan. Read carefully: it includes mass deportations, as well as a Nixonian plan for federal funding of the police. The cycle continues.

The similarities are striking (especially the noxious racial undertones of both punitive turns,) but this is not merely a re-run of the late sixties: Trumpland is much worse than the early days of Nixonland in several ways.

First, when Nixon ran a campaign of aggressive criminal justice, there was at least partial justification for the public’s support of him. He had data in hand showing that crime rates were rising. Whether or not the public felt it on an everyday basis or it was governmental manipulation, it wasn’t complete distortion. It’s true, as Steven Raphael tells us, that the rise in crime may not have been as dramatic as we think, because crime rates seem to have been considerably underreported until the 1970s because of incomplete FBI data collection (not all counties were included.) But this means that, even if crime wasn’t rising that dramatically, there was plenty more of it than there is now.

By contrast, we are now experiencing the lowest crime rates in forty years (and, if the inacuracies from the 1970s are big, even in longer.) Trump’s capitalizing on a one-year rise in murder rates is simple deception. And, again by contrast to Nixon, there isn’t even a horrible redball crime in the form of the Manson murders to sway public opinion to the cause of oppressive crime control. The basis for this return to Nixonian policies is based on pure fabrication.

Second, when Nixon’s policies started fueling arrests and convictions, we didn’t already have so many people in prison. The arc of growth was enormous, but it grew from a much lower place. Even with recession-era reductions, prison population has only started to decline. An increase in prosecutions and incarcerations means enhancing an already grotesquely bloated criminal justice apparatus.

Third, after years of Nixonian growth, states already know all the tricks of prison construction: rather than taxing voters (who might like prisons, but don’t like paying for them) they’ll use lease-revenue bonds to house people.

And fourth, privatization is already well fused into the wheels of the penal machine. By that I don’t mean private prisons – I mean mostly the pervasive privatization of the insides of public prisons. In a hypercapitalist America, headed by the epitome of hypercapitalism, this industry is already well-positioned to take advantage of a further increase in incarceration.

I don’t think all of this is happening because the economy is better, but that certainly isn’t helping. Don’t get me wrong: of course I’m happy that the economy has improved. But one of the effects of this will be that a neo-Nixonian influx of money into policing and sentencing is going to create the same cycle I talked about in Cheap on Crime: we can afford to, so let’s arrest and charge lots of people, and let the states worry about how to pay for incarcerating them.

We’re looking at some dark times ahead. On many fronts.

This Election, Say No to Old-Skool Crime Panic: Part 1

Last Monday’s presidential debate was interesting for a variety of reasons. To me, a particularly interesting point was the reemergence of old-skool crime risk narratives. As I explain in Cheap on Crime, the recession years were characterized by a rethinking of our ideas about crime, crime prevention, and crime control, and by a bipartisan understanding that, regardless of one’s stance on the morality of mass incarceration, it is simply not economically sustainable to punish so many people so harshly and for such long periods. This means that, in the last few years, we were exposed to new and surprising declarations from long-time conservatives arguing for more civil rights protections, a truce in the war on drugs, and sentencing reform. This is not just about money, though; new advances in neuroscience and developmental psychology have led to a rediscovery of childhood, which in turn has led to several developments in legislation and in caselaw reforming juvenile justice.

And yet, it seems like some things never change. One such thing was Donald Trump’s argument last Monday that murder rates are up. Anyone who lived through the Nixon campaign must have felt, as Yogi Berra would say, déjà vu all over again. The logic behind this old-skool crime panic argument is: crime rates are rising; the only way to stop them is by cracking down on street offenders; the best way to do it is aggressive policing in the streets. The problem is that none of these things is fairly presented or even true.

First, as my colleague John Pfaff explains in The Nation, it is statistically misleading to focus on a rise in one type of crime in the course of one year:

Despite the increases cited in yesterday’s FBI report—the rise in murders in 2015 was the largest in both absolute and percentage terms since crime started dropping in the early 1990s—the United States remains an historically safe place to live. The murder rate in 2015 is still lower than it was in 2009, and before 2009 the last time the murder rate was as low as it was last year was in 1964. Overall, 2015 had the third-lowest violent crime rate since at least 1970, and probably even before that, since our older crime stats likely understate crime much more than they do today.
Yes, crime went up in 2015. But crime remained at near historic lows in 2015, too. Both of these statements can be, and are true. Despite the rise in violent crime, we remain safer today than we have been in decades.

What happened in 2015 happened in the course of one year, against an opposite trend, and one year cannot be regarded a trend:

Because we have so much less violent crime today than in 1990, any given increase will be a bigger percent jump today than 25 years ago. If we have 100 units of something, five more is just 5 percent, but that same five-unit increase is a 10 percent jump from 50. So while the number of murders rose by 11 percent in 2015, compared to 9 percent in 1990, the total increase in murders in 2015 was about 400 less than in 1990. The percent change looks worse because we are doing so much better.

Second, there are no grounds to fear sensible nonpunitive measures. Remember the vast number of articles in California newspapers quoting cops claiming that criminals have been running rampant in the streets since the early releases of Prop. 47? The proposition passed in November 2014. It is now October 2016 and the numbers are in: there is no correlation, on a county-by-county analysis, between releases under Prop. 47 and crime rates. None. Long prison sentences, serious felony charges, and refraining from paroling people do not make us safer. At all.

Third, cracking down on suspected street offenders via aggressive stop and frisk policies is never a good idea. The odds of actually catching contraband on someone during a brief stop and patdown are very low. In New York City, where the NCLU conducted a multi-year inquiry, they found that nine out of ten people who were stopped and frisked were found to be totally innocent. The benefits of finding contraband on a small percentage of the citizenry are far outweighed by the costs of humiliation, degradation, and the loss of trust between police departments and the communities they serve. Even more importantly, as Jill Leovy’s book Ghettoside demonstrates and as David Simon repeatedly explains in his public appearances, the problem is not just overenforcement: it’s overenforcement of showy, aggressive police power that comes directly at the expenses of enforcement that requires brainy, creative police work. The time and manpower spent on stop and frisk is time not spent solving murders and robberies, which are presumably the serious crimes that Trump wants us to be afraid of.

This election, Californians have an opportunity to say no to old-skool crime panic by voting on sensible criminal justice reforms that will save us money and help us treat our neighbors and fellow residents more humanely. Vote Yes on 57 to eliminate prosecutorial monopoly on trying juveniles as adults and to give nonviolent adult offenders a chance on parole. Vote Yes on 62 to eliminate the costly and failed death penalty. Vote Yes on 64 to save money on marijuana prohibition and to bring in much-needed tax revenue. Vote No on 66 to refuse a costly and dangerous death penalty “tweak” that will provide (and pay) undertrained attorneys and risk wrongful executions. Say no to unfounded crime panics. We’ve been there before and we know it doesn’t help. And say yes to sensible reforms.