On April 4, 2007, talk show host Don Imus, while chatting with his sidekicks on his morning radio program, referred to the Rutgers women's basketball team-which had lost a college championship game the previous evening-as "nappy-headed hos." This was not the first time that Imus and the regulars on his show-which was nationally syndicated by CBS Radio and simulcast on MSNBC-had ed racial and sexual innuendo into their early morning banter. "Imus in the Morning" had long been a show that alternated serious conversation with prominent politicians and journalists with crass locker-room humor and gibes directed at homosexuals, blacks, Jews, and other ethnic minorities, most of them figures in sports, entertainment, or politics. In the past, Imus had weathered occasional protests against his insulting brand of humor, but this time would be different. His remark about the Rutgers team was picked up by a liberal media watchdog group and posted, with an accompanying video clip, on its website and, later, on YouTube. Almost immediately, there was an outcry from black organizations and leaders, and calls for Imus to be fired. An apology by Imus did nothing to quiet critics, as other groups and individuals began to clamor for him to be taken off the air. Media coverage, spotty at first, expanded as protest grew more vocal. In a little over a week, the controversy came to a head. With advertisers bailing out and critics unappeased by apologies and a two-week suspension, NBC, and CBS abruptly canceled the long-running show. HKS Case Number 1920.0
This supplement is the third part of a three part case. The main case (case 1908.0) provides background on the California three strikes law, and then briefly describes the proponents and opponents of the ballot measure, and the arguments each side put forward. The sequel and supplement can be read sequentially in class. The brief sequel summarizes the impact of the ballot initiative-which was overwhelmingly approved by voters-on both the state prison system and the state budget. This supplement tells a different story: of two judges in Pennsylvania who pleaded guilty to taking kickbacks from the owners of two juvenile detention centers, in a scheme many labeled "kids for cash." HKS Case Number 1908.4
This sequel is the second part of this three part case. The main case (case 1908.0) provides background on the California three strikes law, and then briefly describes the proponents and opponents of the ballot measure, and the arguments each side put forward. The next two parts can be read sequentially in class. This brief sequel summarizes the impact of the ballot initiative-which was overwhelmingly approved by voters-on both the state prison system and the state budget. The third part (supplement 1908.4) tells a different story: of two judges in Pennsylvania who pleaded guilty to taking kickbacks from the owners of two juvenile detention centers, in a scheme many labeled "kids for cash." HKS Case Number 1908.1
In November 1994, California voters were presented with a ballot initiative on a proposed "three strikes" measure, which would impose stiff penalties on repeat offenders. Under the terms of Proposition 184, offenders with one or two violent or serious felonies on their records would get much longer sentences for second or third felony crimes-in the case of a third "strike," a term of 25 years to life; moreover, these repeat crimes did not have to be violent or serious to qualify as a strike. Although California already had a three strikes law on its books, a voter-approved initiative would make it difficult for future lawmakers to tamper with the bill's tough provisions. This case consists of three parts. The first provides background on the California three strikes law, and then briefly describes the proponents and opponents of the ballot measure, and the arguments each side put forward. HKS Case Number 1908.0
In the early 1970s, the Missouri Division of Youth Services (DYS) took its first steps toward radically changing the way it dealt with youthful offenders remanded to its custody. For years, like most states, it had incarcerated juveniles convicted of felony or misdemeanor offenses in large quasi-penal facilities called "training schools." Instead, DYS began establishing smaller "cottage-style" residential programs that emphasized rehabilitation over punishment and applied a therapeutic approach to its troubled young charges. Over the next three decades, DYS expanded this approach to encompass its entire juvenile offender population. By the mid-2000s, the "Missouri model," as it became known, was perhaps the most admired-and, many considered, most effective-juvenile corrections system in the US. This case describes the Missouri model-including the population it serves, the educational and therapeutic programs it offers, and the frontline staff of "youth specialists" it employs to work closely with young offenders. The case also provides an overview of Missouri's impressively low recidivism figures and a brief discussion of the complexities of comparing such figures among states. It concludes with a discussion of the challenges the Missouri DYS has faced in sustaining its highly regarded, but demanding, approach over many years. The case can be used in classes on child welfare policy and criminal justice. HKS Case Number 1904.0
This brief case narrative tells the story of how a few people managed to wring consensus from over 40 of their neighbors on repaving a shared driveway. While there was general agreement that the driveway, which ran behind their buildings, was in poor shape, there was little impetus to do something about it, in large part because of the daunting task of organizing a large and disparate group of residents, who had hitherto shown little interest in working together on common goals. The case describes the barriers to mobilization in the Maple Lane neighborhood, and the tactics used to maneuver around them. HKS Case Number 1902.0
On January 11, 2006, residents of New Orleans's Broadmoor neighborhood, which still bore the deep scars left by Hurricane Katrina, were shocked by the headlines in The Times-Picayune. The Urban Planning Committee of a mayoral commission charged with developing a reconstruction plan for the hurricane-ravaged city had proposed giving hard-hit neighborhoods like Broadmoor four months to prove that they were still viable and, hence, worth rebuilding. Worse still, the paper had printed a composite map, drawn from the committee's report, which showed six green dots indicating low-lying areas that could be turned into parks and "greenspace." One of those green dots covered Broadmoor. Incensed at what they viewed as a betrayal by their own city government, Broadmoor residents who had returned to salvage their flood-damaged homes began to consider how to save their neighborhood from the bulldozers. Their efforts quickly coalesced around the Broadmoor Improvement Association-a venerable neighborhood organization-and a determination to create their own plan for recovery. A core group of residents-many of whom had never met each other and none of whom had ever worked on a redevelopment plan-would take the lead in organizing the planning process for the still-scattered community.
On January 11, 2006, residents of New Orleans's Broadmoor neighborhood, which still bore the deep scars left by Hurricane Katrina, were shocked by the headlines in The Times-Picayune. The Urban Planning Committee of a mayoral commission charged with developing a reconstruction plan for the hurricane-ravaged city had proposed giving hard-hit neighborhoods like Broadmoor four months to prove that they were still viable and, hence, worth rebuilding. Worse still, the paper had printed a composite map, drawn from the committee's report, which showed six green dots indicating low-lying areas that could be turned into parks and "greenspace." One of those green dots covered Broadmoor. Incensed at what they viewed as a betrayal by their own city government, Broadmoor residents who had returned to salvage their flood-damaged homes began to consider how to save their neighborhood from the bulldozers. Their efforts quickly coalesced around the Broadmoor Improvement Association-a venerable neighborhood organization-and a determination to create their own plan for recovery. A core group of residents-many of whom had never met each other and none of whom had ever worked on a redevelopment plan-would take the lead in organizing the planning process for the still-scattered community.
On the night of November 28, 2006, Reverend Jeffrey Brown, a Baptist minister and co-founder of the Ten Point Coalition in Boston, Massachusetts, received bad news: 20-year-old Jahmol Norfleet, a leader in one of Boston's warring gangs, had been shot and killed near his home. Norfleet's death did not simply represent one more grim statistic in a year marred by gang violence in Boston: it threatened to undo a fragile truce between two gangs that had been locked in a deadly feud for years. Brown, along with a handful of police and other officials, had been instrumental in coaxing gang members, Norfleet among them, to the table and forging peace between the rival groups. Less than a decade earlier, the so-called "Boston miracle"-a dramatic decline in homicides, especially among the city's youth-was singled out by President Clinton as a model for the rest of the nation. Among the heroes of that miracle were Brown and his fellow co-founders of the Ten Point Coalition, a group of African American clergymen. In addition to walking the most dangerous streets in the city in an effort to reach out to gang members, Brown and other Coalition members had also become participants in a citywide initiative-Operation Ceasefire, a "partnership" of the Boston police, probation officers, court officials, youth workers, prosecutors, academics, and others-which was widely credited with the steep in gang-related killings. The success had brought national and international acclaim, but ultimately led to a fracturing of both the Coalition and the Operation Ceasefire alliance. Now, faced with a resurgence in gang shootings, Brown, along with others who had participated in Operation Ceasefire, sought not only to revive the strategies that had proved so successful in the past, but also to find new ways to halt the cycle of retaliatory killings that had brought Boston's homicide rate to a ten-year high. HKS Case Number 1887.0
In January 2003, President George W. Bush was finalizing a groundbreaking proposal for Medicare, the federal health insurance program for the elderly. Under the terms of the plan, Medicare would offer a major new benefit: prescription drug coverage-a long-sought but elusive goal for seniors and their advocates. By any measure, this would seem a surprising initiative coming from a politically conservative White House. If approved by Congress, the benefit would represent the largest expansion of Medicare, or of any federal entitlement program, since its enactment almost 40 years earlier. But the Bush proposal also represented a departure from the popular government insurance program - it aimed to inject market forces into Medicare by encouraging beneficiaries to enroll in government-subsidized private health plans that would compete directly with the traditional government-run, fee-for-service program. The drug benefit would be the chief inducement for seniors to make the switch to private plans. For Bush, the stakes were high. During the 2000 presidential campaign, he had pledged to overhaul the Medicare program and to add prescription drug coverage. Seeking to deliver on that promise, Bush had put his Medicare proposal at the top of his domestic agenda for 2003. Even with its emphasis on market-driven solutions, the plan would have to win over conservative Republicans, who resisted the notion of expanding an already large and costly government program, especially in a time of soaring budget deficits. It was also likely to get a cool reception from most Democrats, who viewed private sector competition as the first step in the dismantling of Medicare as an entitlement program. Republicans had the upper hand: for the first time in decades, the GOP controlled not only the White House, but both chambers of Congress as well. HKS Case Number 1870.1
In January 2003, President George W. Bush was finalizing a groundbreaking proposal for Medicare, the federal health insurance program for the elderly. Under the terms of the plan, Medicare would offer a major new benefit: prescription drug coverage-a long-sought but elusive goal for seniors and their advocates. By any measure, this would seem a surprising initiative coming from a politically conservative White House. If approved by Congress, the benefit would represent the largest expansion of Medicare, or of any federal entitlement program, since its enactment almost 40 years earlier. But the Bush proposal also represented a departure from the popular government insurance program - it aimed to inject market forces into Medicare by encouraging beneficiaries to enroll in government-subsidized private health plans that would compete directly with the traditional government-run, fee-for-service program. The drug benefit would be the chief inducement for seniors to make the switch to private plans. For Bush, the stakes were high. During the 2000 presidential campaign, he had pledged to overhaul the Medicare program and to add prescription drug coverage. Seeking to deliver on that promise, Bush had put his Medicare proposal at the top of his domestic agenda for 2003. Even with its emphasis on market-driven solutions, the plan would have to win over conservative Republicans, who resisted the notion of expanding an already large and costly government program, especially in a time of soaring budget deficits. It was also likely to get a cool reception from most Democrats, who viewed private sector competition as the first step in the dismantling of Medicare as an entitlement program. Republicans had the upper hand: for the first time in decades, the GOP controlled not only the White House, but both chambers of Congress as well. HKS Case Number 1870.0
In February 1994, top officials from China and Singapore signed a landmark partnership agreement to develop a massive new industrial park and residential community in the city of Suzhou in China. The ambitious project, modeled after Singapore's highly successful industrial-residential parks, would provide not only jobs for hundreds of thousands of people, but homes and community facilities as well. The agreement between the partners also called for a "software transfer," in which Singapore would share its highly-touted expertise in managing economic development with its Chinese partners. The China-Singapore Suzhou Industrial Park (CS-SIP) enjoyed the support of the highest levels of government in both nations. But the joint venture soon foundered, as CS-SIP ran into problems and fell short of its goals. The harmonious partnership between likeminded nations that their leaders envisioned did not materialize. Singaporeans accused local authorities of undermining the project, while Suzhou officials criticized the Singaporeans for taking their complaints to Beijing instead of dealing directly with them. After five years of disappointing results, Singapore pulled back from CS-SIP, dramatically reducing its share in the partnership. This case tells the story of CS-SIP in two parts: Part A describes the project and outlines the hopes both nations invested in it, as well as the potential snags that could derail it; Part B details the problems that led to a falling out between the partners. Both parts can be assigned together, or Part B can serve as a sequel to be read after classroom discussion of Part A. The case is suited for discussion of international development issues, in particular, the difficulties of doing institutional transfers across national boundaries. HKS Case Number 1860.0
In February 1994, top officials from China and Singapore signed a landmark partnership agreement to develop a massive new industrial park and residential community in the city of Suzhou in China. The ambitious project, modeled after Singapore's highly successful industrial-residential parks, would provide not only jobs for hundreds of thousands of people, but homes and community facilities as well. The agreement between the partners also called for a "software transfer," in which Singapore would share its highly-touted expertise in managing economic development with its Chinese partners. The China-Singapore Suzhou Industrial Park (CS-SIP) enjoyed the support of the highest levels of government in both nations. But the joint venture soon foundered, as CS-SIP ran into problems and fell short of its goals. The harmonious partnership between likeminded nations that their leaders envisioned did not materialize. Singaporeans accused local authorities of undermining the project, while Suzhou officials criticized the Singaporeans for taking their complaints to Beijing instead of dealing directly with them. After five years of disappointing results, Singapore pulled back from CS-SIP, dramatically reducing its share in the partnership. This case tells the story of CS-SIP in two parts: Part A describes the project and outlines the hopes both nations invested in it, as well as the potential snags that could derail it; Part B details the problems that led to a falling out between the partners. Both parts can be assigned together, or Part B can serve as a sequel to be read after classroom discussion of Part A. The case is suited for discussion of international development issues, in particular, the difficulties of doing institutional transfers across national boundaries. HKS Case Number 1859.0
After the September 11, 2001, attacks on the United States, President George W. Bush launched a military offensive in Afghanistan, which led to the capture of Al Qaeda operatives thought to be behind the attacks. Top US officials debated how to extract crucial information from them about Al Qaeda's future plans. The Central Intelligence Agency wanted to apply aggressive interrogation methods, which it argued were necessary to convince detainees to reveal what they knew. But CIA officials worried such techniques might violate both international treaties banning torture and "cruel, inhuman or degrading" treatment of prisoners of war and detainees and, more consequentially, the domestic laws that enforced them. To protect its agents, the CIA sought a clear statement from the Bush Administration on how far agents could go in efforts to force detainees to talk. These cases tell the story of OLC's legal findings and their consequences. Part A (1853.0)describes a series of OLC memoranda on the treatment of detainees in the "war on terror," culminating in an August 2002 opinion that became known as the "torture memo," which narrowly interpreted the legal meaning of torture but took a broad view of presidential wartime powers under the Constitution. Part A ends as Assistant Attorney General and OLC head Jay Bybee must decide whether to sign the opinion. Part B (1854.0) tracks the results of the torture memo, tracing the use of interrogation techniques it sanctioned from CIA detention centers overseas to the naval base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. In the view of some, these harsher techniques eventually "migrated" to Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, where abusive treatment of detainees became an international embarrassment for the US. HKS Case Number 1854.1
After the September 11, 2001, attacks on the United States, President George W. Bush launched a military offensive in Afghanistan, which led to the capture of Al Qaeda operatives thought to be behind the attacks. Top US officials debated how to extract crucial information from them about Al Qaeda's future plans. The Central Intelligence Agency wanted to apply aggressive interrogation methods, which it argued were necessary to convince detainees to reveal what they knew. But CIA officials worried such techniques might violate both international treaties banning torture and "cruel, inhuman or degrading" treatment of prisoners of war and detainees and, more consequentially, the domestic laws that enforced them. To protect its agents, the CIA sought a clear statement from the Bush Administration on how far agents could go in efforts to force detainees to talk. These cases tell the story of OLC's legal findings and their consequences. Part A (1853.0)describes a series of OLC memoranda on the treatment of detainees in the "war on terror," culminating in an August 2002 opinion that became known as the "torture memo," which narrowly interpreted the legal meaning of torture but took a broad view of presidential wartime powers under the Constitution. Part A ends as Assistant Attorney General and OLC head Jay Bybee must decide whether to sign the opinion. Part B (1854.0) tracks the results of the torture memo, tracing the use of interrogation techniques it sanctioned from CIA detention centers overseas to the naval base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. In the view of some, these harsher techniques eventually "migrated" to Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, where abusive treatment of detainees became an international embarrassment for the US. HKS Case Number 1854.0
After the September 11, 2001, attacks on the United States, President George W. Bush launched a military offensive in Afghanistan, which led to the capture of Al Qaeda operatives thought to be behind the attacks. Top US officials debated how to extract crucial information from them about Al Qaeda's future plans. The Central Intelligence Agency wanted to apply aggressive interrogation methods, which it argued were necessary to convince detainees to reveal what they knew. But CIA officials worried such techniques might violate both international treaties banning torture and "cruel, inhuman or degrading" treatment of prisoners of war and detainees and, more consequentially, the domestic laws that enforced them. To protect its agents, the CIA sought a clear statement from the Bush Administration on how far agents could go in efforts to force detainees to talk. These cases tell the story of OLC's legal findings and their consequences. Part A (1853.0)describes a series of OLC memoranda on the treatment of detainees in the "war on terror," culminating in an August 2002 opinion that became known as the "torture memo," which narrowly interpreted the legal meaning of torture but took a broad view of presidential wartime powers under the Constitution. Part A ends as Assistant Attorney General and OLC head Jay Bybee must decide whether to sign the opinion. Part B (1854.0) tracks the results of the torture memo, tracing the use of interrogation techniques it sanctioned from CIA detention centers overseas to the naval base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. In the view of some, these harsher techniques eventually "migrated" to Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, where abusive treatment of detainees became an international embarrassment for the US. HKS Case Number 1853.0
When Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast on Monday morning, August 29, it cut a wide swath of destruction in the area; but despite inflicting enormous damage, it initially appeared that the storm had spared low-lying New Orleans the worst of its wrath. But as Katrina moved on, it soon became clear to those who had not evacuated the city that something was going very wrong: almost every part of New Orleans began to flood, and by the next day roughly 80 percent of it would be under water. The rapidly rising floodwaters, the result of three major breaches in the levees protecting the city, created a massive humanitarian crisis. Tens of thousands of residents escaped to rooftops or attics, where they waited anxiously for rescue, or waded in waist-deep water to find shelter; many went to the Superdome, which was already packed with people who had waited out the storm there, or to other improvised shelters in the city. As the days dragged on, it would become increasingly apparent that almost every aspect of the response from state, local, and federal government was falling far short of what was needed: evacuees languished in squalid shelters or on highway overpasses waiting for buses that did not come; looting and more serious crimes were reported to be rampant; food, water, and medical care were in short supply. As public outrage grew, fed by TV footage of distraught storm victims, emergency response officials and political leaders, all the way up to President George W. Bush, found themselves scrambling to cope with the "ultra-catastrophe" that Katrina had visited on New Orleans. HKS Case Number 1844.0
When Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast on Monday morning, August 29, it cut a wide swath of destruction in the area; but despite inflicting enormous damage, it initially appeared that the storm had spared low-lying New Orleans the worst of its wrath. But as Katrina moved on, it soon became clear to those who had not evacuated the city that something was going very wrong: almost every part of New Orleans began to flood, and by the next day roughly 80 percent of it would be under water. The rapidly rising floodwaters, the result of three major breaches in the levees protecting the city, created a massive humanitarian crisis. Tens of thousands of residents escaped to rooftops or attics, where they waited anxiously for rescue, or waded in waist-deep water to find shelter; many went to the Superdome, which was already packed with people who had waited out the storm there, or to other improvised shelters in the city. As the days dragged on, it would become increasingly apparent that almost every aspect of the response from state, local, and federal government was falling far short of what was needed: evacuees languished in squalid shelters or on highway overpasses waiting for buses that did not come; looting and more serious crimes were reported to be rampant; food, water, and medical care were in short supply. As public outrage grew, fed by TV footage of distraught storm victims, emergency response officials and political leaders, all the way up to President George W. Bush, found themselves scrambling to cope with the "ultra-catastrophe" that Katrina had visited on New Orleans. HKS Case Number 1844.0
This case tells the story of the decision by the city government of Philadelphia to develop a publicly-owned competitor to private high-speed internet connection systems ("broadband"). The case describes both the city''s rationale, its desire to attract new business and its fear that a "digital divide" was leaving poorer residents without affordable access to the World Wide Web, and its means of implementing its decision, through a new not-for-profit arm of city government, which would contract with a private provider. That private provider would agree to provide relatively low-cost wireless web access throughout the city, thereby creating the largest wireless network in the US to date; in return, the city would steer its own information technology business to the new system, which was designed to compete with the private firms Verizon and Comcast. The case is designed to promote a discussion of the nature and causes of monopoly by raising issues of whether the incumbent cable and telephone companies enjoy market power in any of the services they offer and, if so, whether it is advisable to build a new municipal system to promote competition. HKS Case Number 1824.0