Hennepin judge steps down to look at crime from a new angle

As a Hennepin County District Court judge for a quarter century, Pamela Alexander didn't retreat from controversy.

She received death threats in 1990 for her groundbreaking ruling that struck down a law that gave harsher penalties for possession of crack than powder cocaine. She said the law discriminated against blacks. Her ruling eventually was upheld by the state Supreme Court, and more recently the U.S. Sentencing Commission.

"I'm just pleased the 6,000 inmates had an opportunity to have their sentences looked at," she said recently. "For all those people who said I was letting lose all the criminals under the sun: It never happened."

Despite her stature and satisfaction with her life on the bench, Alexander decided to take her career elsewhere. On Wednesday, she marked her move to the Council on Crime and Justice with a reception attended by dozens of well-wishers who toasted her arrival with champagne. She is taking over as president of the 50-year-old independent nonprofit which aims to help communities address the causes and consequences of crime through research, demonstration and advocacy.

Michael Friedman, executive director of the Legal Rights Center, said Alexander's stature will allow her to help broaden the political debate about criminal justice. He said the "highly punitive" system causes concentration of those with criminal records in poor neighborhoods, creating cascading problems. "Our current policy makes some neighborhoods less safe in the name of making other neighborhoods think they're more safe," he said.

Alexander takes over for former Hennepin County Attorney Tom Johnson, who was once her boss. The judge started her career defending clients at the Legal Rights Center before prosecuting offenders in the Hennepin County attorney's office.

Her main focus will be children of incarcerated parents. Alexander wants to work to keep them in school and to get support for the families. Often when a parent goes to prison, the family loses its main source of financial support and gets "dropped into poverty," she said.

Mission meets skepticism

While Alexander has a sterling reputation and plenty of clout, at least one important leader is skeptical.

Minneapolis City Council President Barbara Johnson wants a hard look at repeat offenders and whether they should do more prison time. "We can't have communities saturated with these people that have these long criminal histories," she said. "It can't help them to be going back into a community where there's an over-saturation of people in the same straits as they are."

Johnson, who represents the most northern part of the city, urges Alexander and the academics to get out into the community. "Don't tell me these sad stories; go spend time on these corners. Go get carjacked in your driveway going to get milk for your kids at Cub. Then tell me about the ex-offenders," Johnson said.

Alexander admits she doesn't have a lot of the answers, but she is willing to try. She is a lifelong Minnesotan who grew up in the south Minneapolis neighborhood now known as King Field. She and her husband raised their two daughters in the city, too. Her parents still live in south Minneapolis and aren't shy about questioning their daughter's decisions, including leaving the bench.

She notes that 85 percent of inmates return to the community from prison, and most of them do not want to re-offend. "If these people have served their time, they need to be integrated back. It's a lot easier for the rest of us if we offer housing and employment," she said.

Crime affects everyone

The judge also wants to address racial disparities in arrests and the response to disorderly conduct cases in school settings.

She talks, too, about how crime effects on neighborhoods. The recent murder of a mother and young son in her old neighborhood hit her hard.

"My heart was shattered when I saw the little best friend of the boy," Alexander said. "How is he going to cope?"

As with many nonprofits in tight times, Alexander must work to bring in money. The council relies on a $3 million annual budget, but currently operates at a cash-flow deficit, she said.