Abstract
Now picture your child, this child whom you love, being called to account for the thing he has done. Do you see him kneeling, cuffed, in a pool of his own urine, denied all but one meal a day and a few hours of sleep? Does the picture include your child being raped or beaten—perhaps both—by the very staff entrusted with her rehabilitation? Can you hold this image as day after day passes? Can you hold it for months? Can you live with it for years? (p. 14)
This passage exemplifies the raw, gut wrenching reality faced by youth in the U.S. juvenile prison system. In Burning Down the House, Nell Bernstein exposes a system riddled with abuse and neglect of the young people it is commissioned to rehabilitate. Drawing upon the lived experiences of young people who survived juvenile incarceration, and institutional data and other research, Bernstein provides an emotional yet well-supported critique for readers. The author asks a simple question that followed me through the entire book. “Would this be acceptable if it were my child?” (p. 14)
In early chapters, the author presents a compelling rationale for why and how popular culture, racism, and socioeconomic oppression all coalesce to label juvenile offenders—who tend to be youth of color from underserved communities. Race, income, and age intersect to contribute to the mythical “super predator” and the idea that young people who break the law deserve punishment rather than support. Bernstein also notes the irony in certain laws and statutes, where government utterly fails young people in crisis, pushing them into the system instead of offering a viable safety net. For example, in Los Angeles County, the author notes that youth facing homelessness are ticketed, then fined, and then jailed—all for being homeless.
Using research from departments of juvenile justice and other studies, Bernstein argues that jailing youth does not help to build a safe and sustainable society but instead that they learn to adapt, harden, and survive inside youth prisons. Upon release, the young person has been exposed to trauma that impacts their emotional health and may lead them to commit future crimes due to limited life options.
Bernstein argues that now is the time to make changes for the good of these youth and the larger society. She offers clear strategies to improve the system, including listening to the experiences of youth involved with the system and understanding that positive relationships are key to rehabilitation. The author also notes that quality interventions for underserved youth who may be at risk for involvement in the system are crucial but that they are often poorly funded. Bernstein maintains the thesis implied by her subtitle—that the juvenile justice system as we know it must be dismantled. She promotes the use of community-based programs and services over juvenile prison.
Bernstein’s recommendations are supported by the detailed ethnographic work she has done with youth and current asset-based principles of youth development. Later chapters in the book detail therapeutic models aimed at building meaningful relationships, unique reform programs, and positive youth development strategies. All are shared as potential best practices, though Bernstein also cautions us that these fledgling efforts are challenging status quo juvenile justice policy, funding, and practice. Rehabilitation, she notes, relies on strong communicative relationships, something in short supply to most youth in the system.
She concludes by reminding us that even though the number of youths in the system is dropping, “[w]e should not break out the champagne … for doing less of a terrible thing” (p. 308). Burning Down the House is highly recommended for staff, administrators, and policy makers involved with juvenile justice as well as youth allies and social workers committed to supporting youth at risk for involvement with the system.