Louisiana’s slanted views on youth crime show a need to focus on solutions rather than individuals

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During this election season, I’ve been thinking a lot about what our voting choices can tell us about how we view ourselves as a state, as a nation, and as individuals, and how that self image is reflected in how we approach crime and punishment.

I’ve always been interested in incarceration, especially as it relates to Black people, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more focused on the incarceration of Black youth. I graduated from Lusher (now called The Willow School) in New Orleans, and I just finished my senior year at UNC-Charlotte.

In the past few years I’ve spent a lot of my time writing papers, researching, and presenting on Black youth. My honors graduation thesis is on the unrealistic nature of stories of Black youth overcoming adversity, and how those stories, combined with the unfortunate reality of Black male incarceration, has led to damaging assumptions about how to solve systemic issues.

Essentially, I argue that American society creates a false narrative of itself by focusing on individualism and individuals’ qualities in regard to crime. But instead of simply praising the youth that succeed or blaming the youth that don’t, we should be focused on systems: school systems, poverty, privilege and oppression, and access.

If we look at Louisiana, we find that we incarcerate our youth at a rate of 84 per 100,000 compared to the national rate of 39 per 100,000 ( U.S. News & World Report ). Despite this high incarceration rate, Louisiana ranks 50th in corrections outcomes and 49th in public safety.

So what exactly is youth incarceration doing for our state? We know its contributing to poor mental and physical health, a higher likelihood of further incarceration, and a lower chance of furthering or completing education—and we also know its not contributing to a safer environment ( Annie E. Casey Foundation ). So, the costs outweigh the reward. However, because in our society, we view these issues individually, we assume that locking these kids up makes the most sense.

If we step back, we can acknowledge that while Louisiana ranks so poorly in safety and crime, it also ranks poorly in economy (49th), education (47th), fiscal stability (41st), infrastructure (49th), and opportunity (44th). In an individualistic view of crime, we ignore that the young people who committed crimes are Louisianians who have been watching their state crumble as they grappled with inadequate money, education, and chances to be better.

Before they were “juvenile delinquents” they were kids realizing the truth about where they live — that it isn’t offering them as much as it should be.

To put that into perspective, I worked with Black and brown youth at an underfunded school in North Carolina doing leadership development. I had a group of sixth-grade boys in high-risk situations, and for our first assignment, they answered whether or not they believed they had leadership capabilities or the potential for leadership.

They overwhelmingly answered no — and here’s why. Those that answered “no” accompanied this answer with some iteration of “I’m a bad kid”. However, none of these kids had done anything particularly “bad” or criminal. Sure they were late to class or they talked too much, but they’re 6th grade boys.

As early as sixth grade, marginalized youth with inadequate schooling and limited opportunities, already viewed themselves as incapable of leading, and had already marked themselves as “bad.” This sense of self wasn’t created individually, but collectively, and illuminated how we see ourselves and define ourselves within American society.

We see some kids as “bad” and undeserving of opportunities. So while white kids get support in schools and diverted out of the criminal legal system, Black and brown kids get pushed out of school and pulled into the system. It’s easy to just say “Lock ’em up!” and not put in the work of fixing how systems privilege some and not others, just like it’s easy to remain ranked as one of the worst states in America and one of the highest crime states.

If we want to be better in Louisiana, we have to put in the work, and putting in the work doesn’t mean opening new youth incarceration facilities . We have to start with investing in communities of color and in schools as much as we invest in our prisons, because if we’re only spending $11,000 for a child to learn, we can’t justify spending over $150,000 for them to be traumatized in a cell ( No Kids in Prison ).

We have to increase opportunities for all Louisianians, especially education and economic opportunities. We have to view our youth, especially Black and brown youth, in positive ways, and give them the opportunities and guidance to grow, learn, and make mistakes. We have to realize that zero tolerance policies in schools and the high incarceration model are simply not working — and haven’t worked for a very long time.

As we enter more deeply into the election season, and we grapple with the effects of a governor that is committed to a “tough on crime” platform that amounts to “tough on kids,” I urge Louisiana residents to think about who we want to be as a state. And that means we all need to do the research. Of course, I hope that everyone will vote for candidates that will defend our kids and have pledged to work with communities in regard to youth crime.

But, maybe more importantly, I hope voters will cast a vote for a better Louisiana — and not just for themselves. A better Louisiana is better for everyone, not just those in power or those with money. A better Louisiana will work on the real issues, the true causes of youth crime (and adult crime), and will be a Louisiana where we all want to be.

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