When I was sixty years old, I found myself out of work and looking for a job. The folks at the local probation office had mercy on me, hired me, and eventually moved me into the role of intake officer (seeing probationers for their first visit after court) and Community Service Coordinator (working with local non-profits and hooking up probationers who have been ordered community service with the proper work site). Our office deals with misdemeanor offenders who are sentenced in General Sessions (County) Court. Common offenses are DUI, Possession of Drugs, Shoplifting, and Domestic Assault. I like what I do, and I like the people I work with. They are committed professionals who care about each other and about the people that make up their case loads. However, we are not always perceived that way. More often the profession is regarded with suspicion and even contempt. Here is my response as an “outsider” who wandered into the probation office from another vocation.
A probation office is sort of like a garbage truck. Everyone wants us to do our job, but they don’t want us parked next door. We are perceived as tainted. That may be true of all law enforcement agencies—guilt by association. The equivalent would be fear of a doctor because the diseases he treats may rub off on other patients. I tried several times to get our local newspaper to do a human interest story on some of our successes, or on the service provided to the community through the work of probationers at the local food bank and rescue ministry. Whenever I called, the reporter ignored my request and began immediately digging for dirt. Apparently, only an article that fed the negative perception of our office was newsworthy. I gave it up.
The negative perception of the probation office can be summed up in three statements, to which I want to respond.
1) “I don’t have time for this crap.” Translation: “Probation is a way for local government to harass and oppress me.” The assumption behind this statement is that probation is a right, not a privilege. It has been a common practice in most counties for so long, that it is perceived this way. But in reality, probation is an alternative to 30 days to twelve month’s jail time. It allows the convicted offender to stay with his family, maintain employment, and provide some form of pay-back service to the community which he has in some form endangered. Those who complain about having their lives interrupted seldom consider the alternative. Neither, apparently, does a segment of the community.
2) “It’s all about money.” Well, in some ways, it is. Our office uses electricity, buys equipment, rents a building, and pays employees. (Case workers of any kind, by the way, are on the low end of the American pay scale. No one goes into such a profession for the money. Most of them are idealists.) All probation offices in Tennessee, whether private or part of a county system, charge probationers a fee that is set by the state Board of Probation. Some folks see this as unjust. I have had clients tell me that “the government should pay for this.” My response is, “Friend, I am the government.” In other words, if a probation office does not collect fees, it will come out of the pockets of local taxpayers. How about a referendum in Sevier County to see how local citizens would feel about that? Let me add here that there is a process for truly indigent probationers to have this fee waived by the court.
3) “My probation officer is mean.” Law enforcement philosophy in our culture has two poles: retribution and therapy. Is justice a matter of punishment, or an opportunity to change lives for the better? Most court systems and their probation offices walk the middle ground between the two. Either way, the job of the probation officer is to see that the probationer completes his court ordered obligations, which may include retribution (such as trash pick-up) or therapy (such as addiction treatment). Failure to complete obligations will result in a violation of probation, which means the probationer will be back in court and face even more severe obligations, often jail time. That means that, if the officer presses the probationer to complete his obligations, that pressure is in the probationer’s best interest.
It is also my observation that only @10% of our clients are deliberately malicious or dangerous. The remaining 90% are simply irresponsible. That means that the probation officer is a surrogate parent. The term “mean” should be more justly translated “stern.” It’s interesting that “mean” is often a child’s response to a parent who loves him enough to provide structure and discipline. Success in our office is defined by personal growth and the willingness of our clients to take responsibility. Those successes are too rare, but they provide the impetus to keep officers going. Caring probation offices provide another chance for people who missed loving parental or pastoral authority. I realize that that statement raises a host of questions about church-state-family issues, which can be discussed at a later time. My point here is that our office acts as a safety net, not only to protect the community, but to salvage lives. Thank God for some “mean” folks.
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