蜜聊直播

At several turns, Tim Steller鈥檚 Sept. 7 column, 鈥淩epeat offenders, not school case, prosecutor鈥檚 real problem,鈥� reads like a press release from the Tucson Police Officers Association (TPOA), the local police union. Because the argument that prosecutors are too lenient and Tucson is less safe thanks to light sentences is a familiar TPOA refrain.

It is also false, and has been proven so again and again.

蜜聊直播 has spent decades showing us that longer sentences don鈥檛 work. Our state hands down some of the longest prison sentences in the country; in fact, as the Prison Policy Initiative reports, 蜜聊直播 鈥渓ocks up a higher percentage of its people than any independent democratic country on earth.鈥�

If harsher punishment created safety, every town in 蜜聊直播, including Tucson, would be among the safest cities in America. Because, according to multiple analyses 鈥� most recently from ASU鈥檚 Academy for Justice 鈥� people in 蜜聊直播 convicted of violent crimes, drug offenses, and property crimes receive sentences that are 25% longer, 40% longer, and twice as long, respectively, as the national average.

So much safety, right? No, in fact, 蜜聊直播 isn鈥檛 safer. Because longer sentences don鈥檛 address the underlying conditions 鈥� poverty, untreated mental illness, and a lack of stable housing and access to opportunity 鈥� that drive people into the criminal justice system in the first place.

That鈥檚 the real revolving door. People cycle in and out of jail not because any one prosecutor is too lenient, but because the system was built to punish desperation rather than confront it directly.

Steller leans on the case of Daniel Hollander, who entered a school gym with a gun in the middle of a psychotic episode and ended up with a short sentence. But the real pivot in his column comes when he parrots TPOA鈥檚 talking points over so-called 鈥減rohibited possessor鈥� cases. He even calls prohibited possessor charges a 鈥渦seful鈥� way for police to get 鈥済ang members and gunslingers off the streets.鈥�

Useful to whom? Not to the Tucsonans whose lives have been shaped by poverty, segregation and systemic, institutional violence. Not to the families destabilized when a parent is repeatedly locked away. And certainly not to a community that wants fewer shootings, not more headlines. 鈥淯seful鈥� in this context only applies to a police union that thrives on fear, bigger budgets and political leverage 鈥� not on solving the problems that lead people to pick up a gun in the first place.

Steller points to the 572 prohibited possessor cases filed by the Pima County Attorney鈥檚 Office (PCAO) last year, noting that around half were dismissed or pled down, treating this data like it鈥檚 evidence of leniency. What it actually shows is how shallow the whole model is. Counting prosecutions and racking up prison years has been 蜜聊直播鈥檚 playbook for decades, and it has failed. If we鈥檙e measuring safety by case counts, we鈥檝e already lost the plot.

TPOA鈥檚 鈥渞evolving door鈥� rhetoric works because it shifts blame away from policing itself and away from political leaders who refuse to deal with root causes. The real reason these stories get repeated is because addressing mental health, housing, wages and opportunity would shift power and resources away from police unions and politicians, and put them in the hands of the community.

And that鈥檚 not what TPOA wants.

If Tucson is serious about safety, it won鈥檛 come from another round of harsh sentences. It will come from investing in people before they ever enter a courtroom, as one survey of people from all across Tucson begs. It will come in the form of housing security, treatment for those in crisis, real jobs that offer stability and prosperity, and programs that interrupt violence before it starts.

That doesn鈥檛 make for an easy headline. But it鈥檚 the only path to real safety. Tucson deserves better than recycled talking points about 鈥渞epeat offenders.鈥� We deserve solutions that actually work 鈥� and leadership willing to put community needs ahead of political power.