Saturday, March 8, 1997 | 11:59 a.m.
IT wasn't the kind of case that parents' rights advocates point to with pride, but the saga of Jeremy Anderson is a cautionary tale about the abuses of Big Brother.
The brouhaha over 9-year-old Jeremy's concrete etchings has gone global, thanks in part to his mother's penchant for publicity. Shopping her son to network talk shows, Barbara Anderson spun the story her way -- of a boy and family victimized by the system.
Guilt, innocence and grandstanding aside, the handling of the sidewalk vandalism case raises questions about the treatment of juveniles and the role of their parents. Jeremy's summary arrest, body search and lock-up were shocking enough. Even more egregious was that the police could walk on campus and haul away a third-grader without notifying his folks.
Notification -- or lack of it -- is a touchstone issue for parental rights groups. They have railed against Nevada school districts for what they see as policies designed to compromise family bonds. While local schools have circulated prying questionnaires about divorce and other personal subjects, campus counselors have fought to bar parents from reviewing their own children's records.
Gov. Bob Miller and the Legislature have been co-conspirators in this effort. Again this year, they rebuffed attempts to pass a Family Rights and Privacy Act, ostensibly to protect children.
Jeremy was afforded precious little privacy when he was strip-searched and lodged in Juvenile Hall with 200 other youngsters. How many others were there without their parents' knowledge?
Terry Miethe, an associate professor of criminal justice at UNLV, says the system works best when there is a "measured response." By that, he means action commensurate with the gravity of the act.
Jeremy's act, marking up freshly laid concrete, wasn't in the same league as a drive-by shooting. But it was an expensive bit of desecration that was going to cost the contractor $11,000 to fix. Something had to be done; the only questions were what and how.
Though reluctant to second-guess the police, Miethe notes, "The kid wasn't a fleeing felon. It probably could have been handled in a smoother way."
When the police arrived at McMillan Elementary, school officials, per policy, checked their identification and asked to see the warrant. The principal said that "repeated attempts" were made to phone home, but there was no answer.
Curiously, two months had elapsed before the arrest, so it wasn't exactly hot pursuit. Yet Barbara Anderson claims that she was never contacted by the police. (A school district spokesman said the school attempted to notify Barbara Anderson but it did not have her current work phone number, so messages were left on her home answering machine.)
Betty Johnson of Nevada Concerned Citizens isn't surprised at such heavy-handedness. "When a child is in trouble, the state wants you to pay. And they also want to counsel your child without your permission. Are parents responsible, or is Big Brother going to run the show? You can't have it both ways."
Tell that to Ms. Anderson. In attempting to discover the facts, the single mom said she was denied a copy of the police report, which was sealed under Nevada confidentiality statutes.
The conservative activists at NCC say the Legislature, which is considering bills to make parents legally liable for the actions of their youngsters, takes an oddly cavalier attitude about parental notification. This can be dicey in a state that treats 8-year-olds as adults. Though 8 is the age of accountability in the Mormon Church, does it make sense to sanctify it as the law of the land?
There are other questions, too. Should Barbara Anderson have been more forthcoming when the contractor apprised her of the situation? Should the authorities have used their "community policing" model to resolve the problem without a ritualistic campus bust? Should schools be working with parents, or forced to assist law enforcement?
You can be sure that the debate over rights and responsibilities will rage long past the Andersons' 15 minutes of fame.
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