THE SUN held a forum last week on violent crime in Baltimore. And while panelists suggested some ways to stem the tide, they aren't in position to make it happen.
That's because the answers to thwarting the crime wave lie in Annapolis, not Baltimore; in the governor's office, not the mayor's office.
Crime prevention still isn't a major priority in the state capital. No one wants to identify what needs to be done because it might prove unpopular. It would surely cost a lot of money:
Tough, unyielding prison sentences for violent offenders.
Large-scale education, treatment and job-training programs for those a few years away from their prison release date.
Sufficient drug-treatment programs to meet the demand.
More police aid so Commissioner Edward T. Norris can launch a full, citywide attack on crime.
A no-nonsense overhaul of the criminal justice system's glaring weaknesses in Baltimore.
Both panelists and those in the audience were in agreement on what has to occur. Yet not one person expressed anger at Annapolis' failure to confront this pivotal issue for the state's largest city.
Baltimore's crime and drug situation remains Maryland's major millstone. It explains the continuing population flight, the decline in schools and Baltimore's impoverishment, which is easily the worst in the state.
All this doesn't alarm Gov. Parris N. Glendening. He's turned his focus elsewhere, toward that other population center in the Washington suburbs. That's where he's from. That's where the votes are to win future elections.
But it is becoming more and more apparent that much of Baltimore's situation could be reversed if the state did a better job of running its own programs.
The prison system is a mess. Mr. Glendening has strongly resisted efforts to add beds. Only with legislative prodding did he agree to modest increases.
Rehabilitation has been largely forgotten as a penal philosophy. Warehousing is what Maryland does best. Education, job-training and treatment programs are bare bones.
The state's parole and probation division up till now has been a joke.
Offenders don't fear arrest and conviction because they know: a) they can often "beat the rap" through weaknesses in the court system; b) they won't spend many years in prison because of liberal time-reduction policies; and c) they can pretty much thumb their noses at release requirements.
The courts in Baltimore remain disgracefully inadequate.
"Copping a plea" is how the overworked state's attorney's office frequently handles violent offenders. It needs money for more lawyers, staff and modern equipment.
The city courthouse is an embarrassment that the governor would never tolerate if he worked there. The wheels of justice don't operate well in a building crumbling from lack of repairs.
The city's video bail-review system proved so dysfunctional that a judge shut it down recently. Only then did the state find money for modern video equipment that should have been in place years ago.
Lt. Gov. Kathleen Kennedy Townsend has been the designated point-person for all this. She has put in place some innovative, small-scale anti-crime and anti-drug projects, but her power is quite constrained: The governor, not Ms. Townsend, sets policy and makes all the budget decisions.
Law and order aren't Mr. Glendening's pet issues.
It should be a no-brainer for the governor to allocate an additional $17 million for drug-treatment slots to handle Baltimore's 60,000 addicts.
A report by the Abell Foundation and the Open Society Institute last week explained the city's dire plight:
The economic costs of Baltimore's drug epidemic exceed $2.5 billion a year.
One in 40 Baltimore adults is on probation for a drug offense -- seven times the rate nationally.
The city's violent crime rate is four times higher than the national average; its property crime rate is twice the national rate.
And yet there's stiff resistance in the State House to giving Baltimore enough money to get many of those 60,000 addicts off drugs. Untreated drug addicts cost Baltimore $30,000 a year each. A methadone maintenance slot costs just $3,500.
Who's doing the math down in the governor's shop?
It's depressing. Commissioner Norris is making some headway in lowering the murder rate, at least. Those in the audience clearly appreciated his energetic approach.
But there's only so much a police commissioner can achieve on his own -- and only so much the mayor of a stressed city can achieve.
It's really up to Annapolis, and especially the governor.
Barry Rascovar is deputy editorial page editor.
