Mecklenburg jail should be where justice begins, not music careers | Opinion

Do we have a jail, or a wellness retreat?

That’s a fair question in Mecklenburg County these days, where inmates can now record original music in a new, state-of-the-art studio and partake in five-course dinners alongside paying guests inside the jail.

In an America growing frustrated with soft-on-crime experiments, this lands a little too on-the-nose for even a mockumentary. But it isn’t satire: It’s the real direction of our local justice system.

Before we turn incarceration into an experience, we should answer a simpler question: What is jail for?

Clarity before creativity

Mecklenburg County’s jail holds about 1,000 people on any given day, though the roster churns constantly. That’s because while the terms are often used interchangeably, jail and prison aren’t the same.

Prison is where people serve long sentences after conviction, in facilities run by the state. Jail is short-term and high-risk, filled largely with people awaiting trial and others serving brief stints. The mission is basic but serious: Keep detainees alive, accounted for and off the street. That requires tight security, clear lines of authority and a relentless focus on safety.

But jail is a volatile environment, and Sheriff Garry McFadden’s job is particularly difficult. He’s essentially running the triage room of our local justice system, dealing with everything from acute mental health crises to international gang activity.

The city’s most hardened, violent offenders might spend a few years there before trial, right alongside a college kid waiting for his mom to bail him out after a rough night.

The recent record is sobering. After a stretch of deaths in custody, state investigators cited the jail over safety protocols, and families of the deceased began to sue. In a televised interview, the sheriff pointed to fentanyl and mental illness and acknowledged drugs still make it past the perimeter.

The headlines cooled this year, but the problems haven’t: A man died in custody just last week, and in June, a jail employee was arrested after allegedly stabbing a coworker on the job.

And yet, instead of closing ranks, the jail is opening its doors — to community dinners, guest traffic and media projects. That seems backward. In any high-risk system, you secure the perimeter before you host an open house.

Mercy isn’t mush

I asked the sheriff’s office to talk about these new initiatives. I didn’t get to speak with Sheriff McFadden, but he did send over a statement.

In it, he noted that the August death in the jail was the first in over a year and said that the Mecklenburg County jail’s “innovative” programs are done through the National Sheriff’s Association, backed by research. The goal, he said, is that inmates “will become better citizens upon release and be in a better mental state while in our custody and care.”

That goal is worthy, but the question is sequencing and role.

There is a Christian duty to visit the imprisoned. But the state’s vocation is different from a parish’s. Government must keep people safe, uphold the law and administer reliable consequences.

When a jail borrows the language of ministry before delivering on custody and care, it blurs roles and erodes trust.

We’ve seen exactly how those blurred lines can wound the very people justice is supposed to protect. When an accused murderer is placed in front of TV cameras as a model participant in the studio rollout, the victim’s family hears a message they shouldn’t: that their pain is a footnote to someone else’s redemption arc.

Dignity for offenders and compassion for victims are not opposites, but timing and forum matter. Rehabilitation and enrichment are credible only after the basics are nailed.

Back to basics

Policy swings like a pendulum. After years of “tough on crime,” the impulse in liberal cities like Charlotte now is to soften every edge. The early ‘90s rhetoric around “superpredators” was too dehumanizing, but what we have now is way too far in the other direction.

We don’t need to swing back to cruelty, but we do need to stop confusing generosity with clarity.

Clarity says jail is temporary, and it’s meant to be sobering. Clarity says if fentanyl is still getting in, you tighten mail screening, searches, staffing and accountability before adding amenities that increase traffic and complexity.

Think of the place less like a chaotic waiting room and more like a transit center: Low-level detainees are released promptly on bond, illegal immigrants are cleanly turned over to ICE and the highest-risk defendants move quickly through the courts.

If the TV cameras roll inside Mecklenburg County’s jail, the result should look more like Scared Straight than Glee.

Contributing columnist Andrew Dunn is the publisher of the Longleaf Politics newsletter, which offers thoughtful analysis of North Carolina politics and policy from a conservative perspective. He can be reached at andrew@longleafpol.com.