Not that I have a clue who he is, as rap music isn’t my preferred genre, but Meek Mill was doing pretty well for himself as a rapper.
Born in South Philadelphia, Mill grew up around North Philly; his father was murdered when he was 5. He’s infused his music with his experiences growing up in a poor, single-parent home. His career took off after his 2009 release from prison.
His third album, Wins and Losses, climbed quickly to No. 3 on Billboard’s albums chart after its release this summer. Its 2015 predecessor, Dreams Worth More Than Money, entered the charts at No. 1. Almost as much attention has been given to his two-year romance with the singer-songwriter Nicki Minaj, which ended this year.
An impressive climb out of a troubled childhood to commercial success. But then there was his 2008 drug and gun conviction which, if news accounts are remotely accurate, resulted in a split sentence, during which he spent 8 months in jail with some unnoted period of probation to follow. And in 2017, some bad stuff happened.
In October, Mill pleaded guilty in Manhattan to reckless driving charges after he was arrested for doing wheelies and other stunts on a dirt bike on city streets and then posting video of his performance online.
He was also arrested in March for fighting at a St. Louis airport — although those charges were dropped after he agreed to perform community service for the Veterans Association in Philadelphia.
His original sentencing judge was not impressed. To the contrary, she was pretty pissed.
“I gave you break after break, and you basically just thumbed your nose at this court,” [Court of Common Pleas Judge Genece] Brinkley told Mill. She said Mill’s sentence would be served in state prison, where he would be eligible for state parole supervision after two years.
Mill was sentenced to two to four years. He is appealing, and calling for Judge Brinkley to recuse herself. Notably, the sentence rejected both probation and prosecutorial recommendations.
Brinkley, 61, a judge since 1993, had “assumed a non-judicial, essentially prosecutorial role in the revocation process,” and ignored the recommendations of the probation officer and prosecutor, neither of whom sought imprisonment.
Mill had some serious support in his corner at sentence, but it did him no good. He got whacked. In an effort to raise consciousness, Jay-Z took to the New York Times.
On the surface, this may look like the story of yet another criminal rapper who didn’t smarten up and is back where he started. But consider this: Meek was around 19 when he was convicted on charges relating to drug and gun possession, and he served an eight-month sentence. Now he’s 30, so he has been on probation for basically his entire adult life. For about a decade, he’s been stalked by a system that considers the slightest infraction a justification for locking him back inside.
If Meek Mill is a big deal, Jay-Z is a bigger deal. It might seem disingenuous to surface when it’s a friend on the line, but he’s got 99 reasons why it’s not. To say Mill was “stalked” for the “slightest infraction,” however, isn’t a fair characterization of probation or what happened to Mill.
What would be fair is that it’s almost unheard of that rearrest, itself a violation of the terms of probation, results in punishment when there was no conviction. And even when there is a conviction upon a new offense, that the probation judge piles on. The new judge, knowing that a defendant was on probation at the time the offense was committed, will take that into account when imposing sentence. The probation judge really has no further role to play. Except here, where no conviction ensured.
What’s happening to Meek Mill is just one example of how our criminal justice system entraps and harasses hundreds of thousands of black people every day. I saw this up close when I was growing up in Brooklyn during the 1970s and 1980s. Instead of a second chance, probation ends up being a land mine, with a random misstep bringing consequences greater than the crime. A person on probation can end up in jail over a technical violation like missing a curfew.
It’s true that probation can be a minefield for the non-compliant probationer. If a PO wants to write up his charge for a curfew or dirty urine violation, back to court they go, and there isn’t a lot they can do about it. Many defendants prefer incarceratory sentences to probation for just this reason, that they know they’ll violate and would rather get the sentence behind them.
But Mill didn’t get whacked for a curfew violation. Nor did his PO pull him offstage for a random urine test in the middle of a concert. Probation isn’t about second chances, but not blowing the first. And that’s where Meek Mill differs from the rest.
But it’s time we highlight the random ways people trapped in the criminal justice system are punished every day. The system treats them as a danger to society, consistently monitors and follows them for any minor infraction — with the goal of putting them back in prison.
Probation is a sentence, a punishment that allows a convicted defendant the opportunity to be out, to get a job, to care for his family. It also allows him the opportunity to screw up. It’s silly to say the goal is to put them “back in prison,” particularly since most people on probation were never in prison. If the system wanted them in prison, that’s where they would be. They aren’t.
But these defendants are the routine sort of defendants. Meek Mill was hardly routine. He was a star. He flew high, and high-fliers suffer the Icarus problem. Everything he did made news. This included the less-than-good things as well as his music and relationship with Nicki Minaj. He had a target on his back, and he should have known it.
Jay-Z’s point about the system is fair, even if his characterizations might have stretched the details a bit too far. But that’s not what happened to Meek Mill. His actions, even though he was able to avoid the direct consequences of new convictions, embarrassed the judge, who had an unhealthy connection to her probationer whose great success made her pale in significance.
When no conviction follows, and when probation and prosecution recommend no jail, a sentence of two to four years is inexplicable, completely outside the norm and, in conjunction with the judge’s effort to insert herself as moral and musical scold in Mill’s career, reflects an abuse of authority.
No, Meek Mill isn’t like all the others on probation, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t entitled to a fair sentence just like everyone else. And he should remember that he’s in the spotlight for all things.
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The probation judge usually doesn’t impose additional time? That has not been what i have seen.
In King County, WA this issue is a big problem. The county courts are unified for felonies in superior court, and a district court for crimes in unincorporated king county.
But almost every city has their own municipal court (because only if they prosecute the crimes themselves can they also keep the traffic infraction money).
Those muni judges (and sometimes but much less often the district court judges) often lack perspective. It is a delicate dance to try and get a client to go resolve his probation matter before his felony sentencing as our the felony judges do have that perspective and will run just about anything concurrent and it is the last judge’s sentence that controls. Those muni judges will often tack on another 30-60 days for new offense probation violations.
It is a mind boggling pain in the ass these small muni systems don’t use government prosecutors or defense attorneys but contract out to small private firms for both functions and most use a different privately owned jail and the same process never seems to work twice to get an inmate to be transported before the case is done.
The judge of one muni court appears to take sadistic pleasure in refusing to transport guys resolving new felonies with prison time to deal with his probation matter before being shipped off to prison. He leaves the warrant outstanding on purpose to mess with their security status and eligibility for programming. And then they get out after a sentence of a few years and hits them with six months local time.
And there is a gap in our statutes for inmates to demand resolution for charges while in prison. It only applies to felonies not to misdemeanors.
There’s almost always someone whose mileage varies. Small-town local courts are often very different than big city courts. We can’t account for every one of them.
This the case even with seattle muni court not nyc but not small town
Okay then. I can’t wait to find out about Portland.
Yes you can, that is your job. You are the only legal accountant left standing. We have faith in your multifarious abilities.
According to New York’s premier journalistic entity, the judge is being investigated by the FBI for how she handled the case and that “undercover agents have been in the courtroom monitoring the Meek proceedings since April 2016”. The word “extortionate” is thrown around.
I’m not entirely sure Page Six is the best source for such things.
Even Joe Tac wasn’t going there. Neither will I. Now I need to shower.
He’s still alive, so he’s doing better than Lil’ Peep (and a host of other hip-hop colleagues).
Kinda apples and oranges, don’t you think?
The point can be made that rappers tend to live longer in custodial environments, so cutting them extra breaks is no favor.
After Tupac, sure.