The Criminals’ Families Are Victims Too

Over the course of a career, most reporters eventually find themselves in a courtroom, covering a trial. If it’s a murder case, in particular, it becomes a painfully sobering experience because, in court, in person, sit the friends and relatives of the victim.

You’d have to be rather lifeless yourself not to sense the depth of hurt they’re feeling. Sometimes, they make it clear themselves with their own words. But even if they say nothing, you realize that the ripple effects of violent crime extend far beyond the unlucky victim.

In the last 20 years or so, national and state victims’ rights groups have proliferated. A current Web site indicates that all 50 states have at least one such group.

But are they the only victims of crime?

Researchers who want to use Orange County as one of three testing grounds for a new project say no.

They’ve expanded the definition of crime victims to include workers in the criminal justice system and, perhaps most controversially, relatives of the offenders.

The project, still in its early stages, is a joint effort of Louisiana State University and National University, which has 25 campuses in California, including two in Orange County.

The project hopes to use Orange County as the “suburban” site for the study. Washington, D.C., and various Louisiana communities will be used as urban and rural centers, respectively.

Project leaders concede the toughest sales job will be convincing society that offenders’ relatives also are “crime” victims.

“In no way do we wish to minimize the victims of crime and their families,” says project investigator Kevin McCarthy. “But it’s equally important to understand the offending family suffers and people in criminal justice [work] suffer. It may not be the same level or in the same phases as that of the victims, but nevertheless it’s there and it impacts the level of community cohesion.”

Not the Same, but Real

McCarthy, an assistant professor of psychiatry at LSU, says he hopes the research will help both the unseen victims and society in general.

“What do you say to a child whose father has just been sent to prison for life?” he says. “How do you help someone in the office who says she’s seeking a divorce because her husband is in jail for 10 years? What are the unique characteristics of this population? What is known is that they tend to carry the stigma of the offender themselves.”

With project funding not yet in hand, McCarthy says efforts are limited to training interviewers and lining up interview subjects.

National University spokesman Hoyt Smith says the school hopes the project answers questions not usually asked.

As for offenders’ families, he says, “They are victims. When you have an income provider [who goes to prison], are the children guilty by association? His parents? What happens when you have a convicted felon in the family? How does that affect siblings? You’ve still got a lot of people who are law-abiding members of a society that are feeling they’re in the wake of a criminal sibling or daughter or parent. Can you write off the whole family?”

McCarthy hopes the project eventually will help all victims get whatever help they need. Victim-assistance programs help relatives of the crime victim, but offenders’ families generally “are left struggling with their pain on their own. As a result, they become isolated.”

A society is best healed, McCarthy argues, when all the victims are recognized and helped.

National University, which offers 48 programs at the graduate and undergraduate levels as well as credentialing teachers, is involved through its criminal justice program.

In conservative Orange County, the school may well hear a chorus of “Who cares?” about offenders’ families. Their tears in the courtroom often go unnoticed.

With that in mind, I asked Thomas MacCalla, a National University vice president, about a potential backlash.

“Who cares?”’ MacCalla says, repeating my question. “We all care. Or, at least, we should.”

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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at the Times’ Orange County edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.