Baltimore – Arlando “tray” Jones was a small child when his father was killed by Baltimore police during a robbery. His mother died several years later after fighting alcoholism.
His surviving relatives often struggled to keep him. Sometimes the lights went out and the refrigerator was empty.
Jones turned to a notorious drug trafficker in the neighborhood, a sinister father figure whose luxurious lifestyle demonstrated what could be achieved in the streets. Under the supervision of “Fat Larry”, Jones finally had stable homes and money in his pocket, but the violence was around him. He started carrying a gun and punishing anyone who crossed him. Just a teenager, he was accused of murder attempt and sent to youth arrest in the early 1980s.
There, at the Maryland School for Children, Jones says that a staff member sexually assaulted him repeatedly while another watch. The guards would corner children in dark spaces and bribe them with additional snacks and other special treatment, according to a series of recent demands that allege widespread misconduct in Maryland’s youth detention centers.
“They broke me,” Jones said, telling how his abusers defeated him to submit. “Everything that connected me with my humanity was gone.”
Jones is among thousands of people Looking for responsibility under a New state law That eliminated the statute of limitations for claims for child sexual abuse. It was spent in 2023 with the Catholic Church abuse scandal In mind. But now Maryland legislators are struggling to address an unexpected avalanche of cases aimed at the State Youth Justice System. They are concerned that the state budget cannot support a possible payment.
Associated Press requested an interview with the State Youth Services Department, but the department responded with a statement.
“DJS takes accusations of sexual abuse of children under our care with the maximum seriousness and we are working hard to provide decent, human and rehabilitation environments for young people committed to the department. We do not comment on pending litigation,” said the agency.
For the plaintiffs, it is not surprising that Maryland’s leaders have not anticipated a public calculation of this size. Many victims spent decades in silence, paralyzed by shame. They were some of Maryland’s most vulnerable residents, mostly black children who grew in poverty with little family support.
All these years later, Jones still broke crying in an interview. “But now I know that shame is not mine to endure,” he said.
Maryland legislators approved the law of victims of children immediately after a scathing Research Report That revealed a generalized abuse within the archdiocese of Baltimore. Before their passage, the victims could not sue after turning 38.
The change of law led the archdiocese to request bankruptcy to protect its assets. But state leaders did not anticipate that they would face similar budgetary concerns. Legislators are now considering a new legislation to protect the state financially.
It is estimated that 6,000 people have retained lawyers and new Complaints They are arriving, according to the lawyers involved. In addition to monetary damage, the plaintiffs want a mandatory reform of the Maryland Youth System.
The system has generated serious criticism over the years. A 2004 Justice Department report found a “degree of deeply disturbing physical abuse” in the installation where Jones was arrested, now called the Charles H. H. Hickey Jr.
Many other facilities appointed in the demands have already been closed, and state leaders have strengthened supervision in recent years. They have also focused on stopping less young people.
The defenders say they are sure that the system is significantly less abusive than it was.
Other states have faced similar awards after changing their laws. While youth arrests and detention rates are decreasing nationwide, research shows that most detainees are children of color. A 2024 report by the non -profit organization The sentencing project found from young blacks is approximately five times more likely to be imprisoned than their white companions.
“It is not only in Maryland, it is everywhere,” said lawyer Corey Stern, who represents Jones and others. “It is really a domino effect in the United States”
Even so, Maryland’s demands paint a particularly disturbing image. They were not only selected facilities or a small group of abusive personnel members, but was in the whole state and persisted for decades, the lawyers say. Abuse was often a poorly kept secret, but the system repeatedly could not stop it, according to the demands.
In a complaint filed earlier this month, 69 people filed claims against the same abuser, a former housing supervisor in Hickey.
One of the plaintiffs in that case, who asked to remain in anonymity, said that as abuse increased, he began to avoid properly cleaning to be less desirable. Later decades struggling with the problems of addiction and mental health. He said demanding the state “even now he felt he was breaking.” The AP does not usually identify the victims of abuse unless they want to be named.
Nalisha Gibbs said he initially did not report his abuse because no one would have heard. A past experience gave him evidence of that.
Not long before going to the youth arrest for a touch of curb lost by a school aluminum officer, Gibbs said, he had been raped by an uncle and punished by his mother when he was not silent for abuse.
In the detention center, a female guard would come to his cell at night and assign it. Gibbs said that the woman will degrade her, calling her without value and “a disposable.”
For returning home 15 minutes after the curfew, she was sentenced to a lifetime of trauma.
After 30 days in detention, Gibbs never returned to high school. He ended up in parenting care, where he suffered more sexual abuse. He spent his 20 years addicted to drugs, sometimes living in the streets. But in 2008, she sought treatment. He enrolled in a transition housing program and won the GED. Now he lives with his fiance and his mother.
Thinking about her childhood, she sees an scared girl who needed an adult to defend her.
“She only had so much life off by the people who mistreated her and mistreated her,” Gibbs said through tears. “But I’m not that girl anymore. I can fight for myself.”
A couple of years after being released from Hickey, Jones was involved in a drug fight that became shots, killing Joshua O’Neal.
Jones was 16 when he was arrested and accused of murder. He was later sentenced and sentenced to life imprisonment.
He said that sexual abuse pushed him to the limit; If it was heading on a negative path before youth arrest, that experience sent it to the brutality without control of the drug game.
In 2022, he was released from prison under a state law that allows Prayer reductions For people convicted as children.
During his imprisonment, Jones obtained a degree in Psychology. He has studied philosophy and published two books. Now 56, he works in the Prison and Justice initiative of the University of Georgetown, which teaches students about mass imprisonment and penitentiary reform.
He said that he was educated restored part of the humanity he lost. He helped him recover his freedom and gave him a second chance of life. He also made him question everything.
“An orphan child survive poverty as best I can,” he said. “Where was my first chance?”
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Associated Press Reporter Brian Witte in Annapolis contributed to this report.
