Bail reform did not fix the system; it weaponized it

OPINION:

You are right to be furious about the federal magistrate judge who expressed “grave concerns” for the jail conditions of Cole Tomas Allen, the man accused of trying to assassinate President Trump last month at the White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner.

While victims and the public still reel from the horror, this inversion of justice feels grotesque. Yet this didn’t begin with one judge in the District of Columbia.

I watched the transformation from inside the system as a court investigator in Allegheny County, Pennsylvania. The mindset took root a decade ago, when billions in philanthropic dollars flooded “bail reform” and pretrial services programs nationwide.

Before the money arrived, arraignments were straightforward and professional. A magistrate appeared on a video screen from another building attached to the jail. One defendant at a time confirmed their identity. The magistrate read the charges, explained the right to counsel, set the next hearing and determined bond — all in less than three minutes.

It wasn’t therapeutic. It was justice, with public safety first. Then the money changed everything.

Starting in 2016, millions of dollars from the Laura and John Arnold Foundation, the MacArthur Foundation, the Heinz Endowments and others poured into Allegheny County’s pretrial services. What was sold as smarter, data-driven justice replaced experienced magistrates with newer ones focused on grant money and progressive priorities.

Violent repeat offenders, even those facing homicide charges, began receiving VIP treatment. Magistrates dropped professional distance and offered performative empathy, a la “These are just charges, OK? You have not been convicted. No one is saying you are a bad person.”

They reassured defendants that missing hearings “because something comes up” was understandable.

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I could not stomach it. Clutching the criminal complaint, packed with police narratives, victim statements, hospital reports and autopsy details, I had to leave the room as magistrates gushed over violent offenders while showing zero empathy for the victims I sometimes met face to face as they begged for help.

The power dynamic had completely flipped. The jail lost its authority, and defendants gained leverage.

Sheriffs’ deputies — friends of mine — were repeatedly sent to track down no-shows, their threat to the community rising sharply. As soon as the screen went dark, defendants laughed, high-fived and treated the proceedings like a joke.

The pandering was not rehabilitation. It broadcast weakness and gave offenders permission to game the system.

This shift was not sudden compassion, though. It was all about cold incentives.

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In my own office, higher-ups benefited personally from the grants. One director built a large new home just two years after the first checks cleared, while the deputy director took his wife and two children on a two-week Disney vacation.

Meanwhile, magistrates pandered to stay funded and remain on the bench; they knew our office could remove them. Grants rewarded lower detention numbers and higher release rates. Cut off the money, and the pandering stops.

The same magistrates who catered to defendants were ice-cold to victims. I saw them deny Protection from Abuse orders to bloodied women clutching their children — cases with no grant money or headlines.

In the new calculus, victims no longer mattered.

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Magistrates such as Bruce J. Boni and progressive newcomers such as former Magisterial District Judge Mikhail “Mik” Pappas (elected in 2017 with support from the Democratic Socialists of America) embodied the shift. Police and prosecutors warned of delays, bias and courtrooms tilted in defendants’ favor.

This was not unique to Allegheny County. Laura and John Arnold Foundation-backed programs rolled out nationwide, promising to end “unfair” bail policies, but often delivering softer treatment for the worst offenders.

Every time a story about a suspected shooter, such as Mr. Allen, explodes, I feel grim validation. For those of us inside the system, this has been a daily reality for a decade. The public is only now seeing what happens when billionaires and big foundations with no skin in the game experiment with public safety.

We have lived the consequences: deputies endangered, victims dismissed, communities less safe. It is time to reverse course. Restore no-nonsense arraignments. Demand real risk assessment over release quotas. Prioritize victims and law-abiding citizens.

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Above all, defund the philanthropic pipeline that turned courtrooms into laboratories for distant ideas. Taxpayers, not foundations, should fund justice.

The pandering judge in the District of Columbia is just the latest symptom. The disease began when the cash started flowing. Follow the money, expose the incentives and cut them off.

Only then will justice return to protecting victims, backing law enforcement and safeguarding the public.

• Kelly Rae Robertson is a former court investigator in Allegheny County, Pennsylvania, who witnessed firsthand how foundation-funded bail reform transformed the local justice system.

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