The rise and fall of drug courts

FINDLAY — In the introduction to her book "Raising Lazarus," author Beth Macy notes that "when Americans fall into addiction, survival remains a luxury." For a decade, Hancock County attempted to improve those odds through its drug court, a specialized docket that combined treatment, accountability and judicial oversight for people struggling with substance use disorders. The voluntary program operated from 2015 to 2025, beginning under judges Joseph Niemeyer and Reginald Routson as overdose deaths climbed, access to Narcan lagged and the community struggled to respond to increasing substance use. Over those 10 years, 177 people participated. Judge Jonathan Starn, Hancock County Common Pleas Court judge, said the program had successes, but ultimately did not have the numbers to support its continuation. As of Friday evening, 89 people were incarcerated at the Hancock County Justice Center. Of those, 26 faced at least one drug-related charge, accounting for 44 drug-related charges in total. Twenty-four of the 26 had no violent offense charges. Beginnings Drug courts were developed in a Florida courtroom in the late 1980s, as part of a response to the drug epidemic and the nation's "war on drugs." Rather than focusing solely on punishment, the courts sought to treat addiction while reducing crime and repeat offenses. A "drug court," sometimes referred to as a "recovery court," blends punitive measures with treatment, aiming to reduce recidivism and address addiction among offenders. Locally, methamphetamine remains the most common drug encountered by authorities and emergency calls are tied to substance use more often than what may be realized at first glance. A 2000 report from the U.S. Department of Justice concluded that early evaluation of the court methods were not definitive, but were "promising." "Rehabilitation, all but abandoned as a sentencing goal, was revived for drug-involved offenders through the institution of drug courts," the report, authored by Richard S. Gebelein, reads. "They were created in some cases to relieve dockets overcrowded by the rising number of drug cases in the late 1980s and to reduce prison overcrowding. … For drug-involved offenders, drug courts replaced what was lost when indeterminate sentencing was eclipsed as a means to rehabilitation." Gebelein later defines rehabilitation as reform to prevent recidivism. Local look In Hancock County, participants were not typically ordered into drug court, Starn said. Those who entered the program generally worked towards transitioning out within nine months to a year. The approach required judges and court staff to become unusually involved in participants' lives. In a traditional courtroom, Starn said, judges maintain distance from the people appearing before them. Drug court changed that relationship. "It's very weird for a judge starting this, because you maintain this distance of, 'I'm the judge, that's the defendant, that's the plaintiff,' and you don't have much interaction," Starn said. Drug court allowed for much more one-on-one interaction. "You talk to them like a person, a real person," he said. Sometimes, all it takes is someone believing sobriety is possible and encouragement that helps. That personal connection helped Starn better understand "where they're coming from" and recognize issues that might contribute to substance use. If someone was using drugs as a means of self-medicating for mental health issues, for example, treatment could be recommended. At the same time, understanding must be paired with accountability. "When they're doing well, praise that," he said. "Oftentimes a lot of folks we deal with, never got that. When they're not doing well, there need to be immediate consequences." Journalist and bestselling author Sam Quinones sees that combination as fundamental to an effective drug court. While writing "The Least of Us," an examination of America's opioid epidemic and the events that caused it, Quinones spent time with Hardin County's drug court under Judge Scott Barrett, who retired in 2022. According to him, Barrett came to understand the power of addiction from the bench. "Opioids demanded an addict's total obedience," he wrote. "Proof of this was the extent to which people on these drugs were willing to lie, cheat, connive and live in the worst discomfort — all in pursuit of these drugs. … Life seemed impossible without dope." Barrett created his recovery court not to "achieve miracles," Quinones wrote, but to keep participants moving toward sobriety through incremental progress. "If you don't have accountability, you really have nothing," Quinones told The Courier. He said an effective drug court requires a judge to know "a good deal" about each participant and meet with them regularly. "You have to be someone's father and then you also have to be someone's judge," Quinones said. "You have to be someone who's understanding and yet, there's a point at which you have to say, 'Okay, we're done understanding. You have to suffer some consequences here because you're not following the program.'" He described the challenge as finding the line between compassion and coddling. While local law enforcement and health professionals often disagree about harm reduction measures such as syringe exchange programs and drug-testing strips, both generally support the use of naloxone, commonly known as Narcan. Narcan reverses opioid overdoses and is harmless if administered to someone not overdosing. Although approved for prescription use in 1971, it did not become available over the counter until 2023. Today, Ohio's Project DAWN (Deaths Avoided with Narcan) lists free distribution sites statewide. Quinones said he carries the medication but believes it is being "asked to do too much." Narcan, he said, is an important tool, but never a stand-in for treatment. "It's better than dying," he reasoned. One of the greatest challenges in recovery can be separating a person from the influence of addiction. Substance use can alter brain chemistry and lead people to behave in ways they otherwise would not. "Would you ever think of stealing your children's Christmas presents on the day you gave them to then go sell them to get dope?" Quinones asked. "No. But you will do that if you're addicted to these drugs. … You're willing to turn your back on anybody who loves you." Local sources corroborate this fact, saying other criminal offenses including theft, violence or child neglect or abuse can increase when users get desperate for "a fix." As Macy writes, people who are addicted "get trapped in an endless cycle of jail, probation and relapse. … When you peer into the country's most intractable problems — homelessness, disability, domestic violence, child neglect — you see the persistence of dopesickness everywhere." Keith Durkin, PhD, sociologist and professor at Ohio Northern University, believes drug courts to be a useful treatment model but argues they must be based in science and must only be offered to someone who is really trying to get out of addiction. A participant in a drug court needs to be genuinely ready for change. He believes if they're "sick and tired of being sick and tired" from substance use, they're not sick and tired enough. When courts don't screen properly, they "give a seat at the table to someone who's trying to avoid legal responsibility," he said. "They're not trying to make a foundational change." Durkin also emphasized that drug courts should address the broader social and economic conditions that contribute to addiction rather than focusing solely on individual behavior. He pointed to housing instability, poverty, social isolation and mental health challenges as important drivers of substance use. Both Durkin and Quinones see loneliness and isolation as significant factors in addiction. Quinones frequently identifies loneliness as a driver of substance use in his work, but Durkin believes the COVID-19 pandemic worsened these conditions by forcing people into isolation and disrupting social connections. Drawing on French sociologist Emile Durkheim's work on suicide, Durkin noted that individuals who are less socially connected are more likely to engage in self-destructive behavior. He also cited the concept of the sociological imagination developed by C. Wright Mills. "People's personal problems are a product of the life and times we live in," Durkin said, explaining Mills' work. In his view, factors such as social media, technology and the lingering effects of the pandemic have contributed to social fragmentation and increased reliance on self-medication. Despite describing drug courts as a "model of hope," he believes "they are the best choice among many problematic choices." To be successful, they must be connected to meaningful treatment rather than functioning primarily as punishment. Durkin and Quinones agree incarceration alone is not an effective response to addiction and call for a continuum of care connected to and following a prison sentence. "How do we turn these people's lives into a life worth living in an increasingly isolating society?" Durkin asked. Quinones advocates for specialized "recovery pods" within jails dedicated purely to those with substance use disorders. Such programs, he said, could separate addicted individuals from offenders who might reinforce criminal behavior while providing a pathway toward rehabilitation. Doing so keeps inmates away from other offenders who might teach them how to be "better" criminals, while also attempting true rehabilitation through the judicial system. He also posits that jail should be used in conjunction with other recovery efforts. Need for community, second chances Though the Hancock County drug court is no longer functioning, Starn spoke on the similar intensive supervision that was initiated through the county's intervention in lieu of conviction program. He explains it as an initiative that diverts people away from incarceration. Participants enter a guilty plea, but instead of being found guilty of criminal felonies, they're put into treatment in the hopes that they will not reoffend. If they successfully complete treatment, the case is dismissed. "We know that when you deal with substance use and mental health, counseling and treatment is, at least long term, the best way to prevent future crimes," he said. While unable to identify specific reasons for why the county's drug court program failed, Starn said he and other court staff worked to get the best of both worlds, bringing some aspects of the program into intensive supervision. At the heart of the criminal enforcement of narcotic-related offenses is saving lives. Quinones said that he saw firsthand the devastation drugs like meth and fentanyl have wrought on American communities. He said that while doing research in these communities and having the opportunity to speak with people affected by addiction, he was told that being arrested was the start to their sobriety. "I contend the place where people find the most sobriety is in jail," he said. "But what happens when they leave jail? That's where I think we are falling down and need to rethink … If we were to rethink jail significantly in this country, as some places are doing, then we would have a real ability to use the time … to position ourselves to take advantage of this pivotal moment in a person's life." Just as Barrett did in Hardin County, Starn agrees progress must be taken one day at a time. "You can't get to day two of sobriety without getting through day one," he said. Durkin recalled hearing a judge summarize the philosophy behind recovery courts this way: "You're not responsible for your addiction, but you're responsible for your recovery and the recovery began the second you entered my program." If addiction thrives in isolation, recovery demands connection. Whether through a judge's oversight, a counselor's guidance, a clinician's care or family support, experts agree that lasting recovery is a collaborative effort. For those working on the front lines, one principle remains clear: recovery is not achieved by the healthcare system or the criminal justice system alone, but through a partnership of both, supported by a community willing to invest in second chances.