“We have moved into a frightening position where increasingly as a society we seem to be leaving individuals—particularly young men—behind, because of a lack of belief or understanding that the conditions they face are as serious as they are,” said Paul Gionfriddo, the CEO and president of Mental Health America.
“The issues people are dealing with—it’s overwhelming, serious,” Onassis Jones, a mental-health specialist, said. “As with Caswick, you have the grief issues, depression, and murders on top of everyday stress. People just don’t talk about it, and it becomes a way of living.”
The Orleans Parish Criminal District Court sits next to the city jail in downtown New Orleans. On the day of Caswick’s hearing, the third-floor courtroom filled steadily; by 8 AM, the gallery was standing room only. Save for the well-dressed attorneys, the uniformed corrections officers, and law enforcement sitting in the front rows, nearly everyone was a black or Latino male defendant waiting for his case to be heard.Caswick arrived 35 minutes late, dressed in camouflage pants and a black hoodie. Roam had been waiting outside the courtroom since the building opened, and his frustration was obvious. Nevertheless, within 20 minutes he finalized an agreement: compulsory drug court, five years’ probation, no jail time, and an expunged record if Caswick completed drug court and avoided arrest while on probation.“See, I told you to tell me everything, and I’d take care of it,” Roam said as he walked Caswick out into the scrum of lawyers and family members in the hallway. “Caswick, you don’t understand how much of a break this is for you.”“Listen, I want you to take every advantage of this opportunity,” Roam continued. “I represent so many young brothers like you, dealing with trauma and stress, without really dealing with it. Talk to the counselors in drug court. Listen to what they say to you, recommend to you. This is a chance for you to take care of yourself. Get the help you need, face what you have to.”Caswick thanked him and headed down the stairwell to begin life on probation. He’d avoided jail, but drug court would bring its own kind of burden. It wasn’t just the thrice-weekly appointments. It was that Caswick could no longer self-medicate, as he’d done since he was 11.There were also financial pressures: bills to pay for the car, the house where he lived with his new girlfriend, Jasmia, whom he’d met after breaking up with Rose; money for his and Rose’s kids, for Jasmia’s kids, for his mom, for the drug-court fees. And his arrest and court appearances had cost him his job at Domino’s.“When they get into the system in front of a judge, we want them to be able to fix their lives in three days,” said Karen “kg” Marshall, the executive director at ReThink. “In drug court they tell you, ‘Find a job.’ The next time you come, ‘Give us an address for stable housing.’ Like this shit is easy.”Following his sentencing, Caswick was able to find a new job at a restaurant cooking and doing dishes. It was steady money, and, most importantly, it offered a routine. Working with court counselors, he even got on a prescription-drug regimen that allowed him to sleep at night and lessened his anxiety and depression during the day. For the first time, he had consistent one-on-one counseling.He was providing for Rose and the kids, and with Jasmia working at Burger King, the two were able to save enough for a splurge—a trip to Houston to visit her kids, who were living there with an aunt.He didn’t know where his path might lead, but at least he was living right, not robbing people, stealing, or selling drugs.“I never thought about being old, and that’s crazy,” Caswick said to me once. “In New Orleans, you kinda skeptical you gonna live to see that long. They say when you turn 25 years old out here in the streets of N’awlins that you’re an OG. In other ’hoods OGs are 35, 45. Here though, it’s 25.”