When a Court Meant to Heal Is Led by a Judge Who Silenced a Defendant
Veterans Treatment Courts were created to correct a failure in the justice system.
They exist because courts recognized that punishment alone does not resolve trauma, that accountability without dignity often deepens harm, and that veterans—many carrying visible and invisible wounds—require a model of justice rooted in rehabilitation rather than domination.
In these courts, judges are not simply referees of law. They are central figures in a therapeutic process. Their conduct sets the tone. Their restraint gives the court credibility. Their treatment of participants models the very self-regulation and accountability the system seeks to instill.
That is why judicial temperament matters more in Veterans Treatment Court than almost anywhere else in the legal system.
And that is why the public cannot ignore the contradiction presented when a judge associated with such a court is also publicly linked to an incident in which a defendant’s mouth was duct-taped shut.
In a courtroom presided over by John Russo, a Black defendant was physically silenced. This is not a matter of rhetoric or interpretation. The act eliminated the most fundamental component of procedural justice: the right to be heard.
No healing-centered court can be reconciled with that moment.
Veterans Treatment Courts rely on a principle well established in legal and behavioral research: people are more likely to comply with court requirements, accept responsibility, and change behavior when they believe the process is fair and respectful. This concept—known as procedural justice—is not abstract. It is operational. It is the mechanism through which rehabilitation works.
Dignity is not a courtesy in these courts.
It is the method.
Physically silencing a defendant communicates the opposite message: that voice is a problem, not a right; that control matters more than understanding; that order justifies humiliation. Even if framed as courtroom management, such conduct contradicts the very philosophy that underpins problem-solving courts.
This is not an argument about credentials.
It is not a dispute over titles or tenure.
It is not speculation about intent.
It is a question of alignment.
A judge entrusted with a Veterans Treatment Court is entrusted with modeling restraint under pressure. Veterans are asked to regulate emotions shaped by trauma, stress, and past authority failures. They are asked to trust a system that claims to see them as more than a case number. That trust cannot survive visible contradictions between a court’s mission and a judge’s conduct elsewhere.
Dignity cannot be taught where it has been denied.
Empathy cannot be credible when humiliation has occurred.
Rehabilitation cannot function where power is exercised without restraint.
This contradiction matters because it does not stay contained within one incident. It affects public confidence in specialized courts designed to heal rather than punish. It raises legitimate concerns about whether leadership in such spaces reflects the values they are meant to embody.
Veterans Treatment Courts represent one of the justice system’s most promising evolutions. Their success depends on moral consistency as much as legal authority. When that consistency fractures, the harm is not theoretical—it is institutional.
Justice is not only about enforcing rules.
It is about how power is used.
And in courts built to heal, dignity is not symbolic.
It is essential.