Evolving Perspectives on Youth Justice

Listen to the Smart Justice podcast episode featuring Judge Arnold:

“The government has an obligation to give children the best chance to turn their lives around," says Judge Gary Arnold.

For more than three decades, Arnold served as a guiding force in Arkansas’s judicial system—shaping not only courtrooms, but the lives of children and families across the state. When Arkansas established its first dedicated juvenile courts in 1991, Arnold became one of the state’s inaugural juvenile judges, stepping into a system that was still in its infancy.

At the time, juvenile justice in Arkansas lacked consistency. County judges—often local administrators with no legal background—had wide discretion in handling youth cases. The result was a patchwork of approaches and outcomes.

“It varied all over the state. Some county judges handed cases to local attorneys. It wasn’t the best for anybody—the government, the juveniles, or their families,” Arnold recalled.

There were few written procedures and virtually no legal precedent. As one of the system’s early architects, Arnold and his peers had to build the structure from the ground up.

“We just made it as we went along,” he said. “We had goals—like better outcomes for families—but no roadmap.”

A System Without Shelters

One of the starkest challenges was the lack of safe alternatives to incarceration. In the early days, juveniles were often placed in adult jails—not out of cruelty, but because there simply weren’t other options.

“Even when we stopped sending them to jail, we didn’t have anywhere to put them,” Arnold said. “And that’s still a problem in some areas—whether it’s a detention center, a shelter, or foster care.”

The strain on the foster care system continues to limit judges' options, especially in rural counties where resources are scarce. As Arnold put it, “Kids can’t go home, but foster care slots are limited. That’s a continuing challenge for every juvenile judge.”

From “Superpredators” to Second Chances

The 1990s brought new pressures. Gang violence surged in places like Little Rock, and national rhetoric around youth crime turned punitive. The now-debunked theory of the “superpredator”—which suggested that some children were beyond rehabilitation—led to tougher sentencing and a rise in youth incarceration.

“It was a difficult time. The focus was on public safety, understandably, but it made it harder to balance the needs of the child and their family,” Arnold recalled.

But as research mounted, attitudes began to shift. Data showed that rehabilitation worked better than incarceration at reducing repeat offenses. Even some of the state’s toughest judges began to change course.

“I saw really hardcore judges soften. Detention went from being the first option to the last resort,” said Arnold.

Persistent Gaps—and Progress

Today, Judge Arnold sees clear signs of progress. Youth incarceration is down—not because courts are going easy on crime, but because alternatives are being taken seriously, he says. Programs that focus on trauma, family dynamics, and mental health are showing better outcomes.

“We’re not locking kids up like we used to because we know it doesn’t work. It’s not softness—it’s effectiveness,” Arnold said.

Still, the gaps remain. Access to services depends heavily on geography. In resource-rich counties, a young person might be offered wraparound care. In others, there may be little more than a courtroom and a holding cell.

“The response isn’t shaped by the problem—it’s shaped by what tools you have in your county. That’s the frustrating part,” he said. “We know what’s wrong, and we often know what to do. But we don’t always have the resources to do it.”

The Stakes Are High

For Arnold, the work of juvenile justice has always carried enormous weight. One misstep with a child, he says, can ripple across a lifetime.

“When you make a mistake with a kid, that may last 60 years. You have to be careful. You have to be sensitive to how the system affects them and their families.”

Now retired, Judge Arnold remains a steadfast advocate for reform rooted in data, compassion, and common sense. His legacy is a reminder that justice for children is not a matter of leniency—it’s a matter of listening, learning, and leading with care.