It is fitting that legislation to upgrade boot-camp standards in Florida would memorialize Martin Lee Anderson, the 14-year-old who died in custody at Bay County's boot camp in January.
But here's the thing: If legislators really want justice for the thousands of young people who desperately need help now and the countless more who will, they'll go far beyond what the Martin Lee Anderson Act of 2006 proposes.
The potential problem with the legislation is that it may provide cover for politicians who, by virtue of supporting this bill, will claim that "I did what needed to be done" for juvenile justice.
Hardly.
The Anderson case is only the latest one involving children who have died because the system failed.
It's one thing when bureaucratic snafus or shortfalls spawn delays in licenses or permits. It's another when children die or become society's detritus, destined for prison or lives on the margin.
It isn't that HB 5019 is without merit. It includes several needed measures for boot-camp operations and standards.
A program called Sheriff's Training and Respect (STAR), for example, would replace state-funded boot camps. Only four camps are now operating, and one is scheduled to close in June.
Importantly, the legislation also would establish a Juvenile Justice Accountability Commission to assess program effectiveness.
But the fact is that boot camps represent only a small and dwindling percentage of the youth programs around the state whose purpose is to help at-risk kids. Ironically, those programs - 80 percent of these are provided by private contractors - are themselves at risk because of grossly inadequate financial support over the past 12 years.
Juvenile justice advocates this week are making their pitch to legislative leaders for more help. Numbers alone make theirs a persuasive case.
Since 1994, the average cost of helping troubled young people in Florida has increased 38.8 percent, according to the Florida Juvenile Justice Association (FJJA). Programs run the gamut, from PACE Center for Girls, to day treatment, to intensive residential treatment and others.
Yet the taxpayer support that is critical to decent care seems to have been an afterthought. Although costs have increased significantly, budgets have not. Among six categories of treatment, increases for juvenile justice services have ranged from 1.66 percent on the low end to a high of only 3 percent, the FJJA reports. As a result, the fiscal hole is deep: an estimated $100 million.
Some private providers under contract to the state have the benefit of generous endowments to help narrow the financial gap. But even an organization like Eckerd Youth Alternatives - named for the late businessman and philanthropist Jack Eckerd - can't simply make up the difference between what the state doesn't spend and the actual cost of providing care.
"We're a business," says James T. Swann III, chairman of the EYA Board of Directors. While EYA's bottom line is the well-being of children rather than revenues, Mr. Swann explained, the nonprofit must be careful to protect the endowment's principal or risk its ability to help at-risk children in years to come. The Eckerd family has given millions, but the needs for programs that can help children turn around run into the multiple millions.
The 12 years of financial inadequacy cover two gubernatorial administrations and several legislatures. Democrats and Republicans alike must bear responsibility, responding to a lock-'em-up mentality that has been pervasive in Florida.
Adequate investment in programs that help troubled youngsters is good social policy because it puts some of the kids on the right track and enables them to become productive citizens.
But failure to invest adequately virtually guarantees an outcome of failure.
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