OCCC is unusual because it does not have a caseload limited to first-time, low-level offenders like a typical community court. Most specialty courts serve a narrow geographic area or political jurisdiction, like a county or a city. Each is designed to provide services beyond, or in place of, adjudication. All are designed to serve, not punish, the offender.

“One part of that is knowing that we care. What an extremely different thing that is from a regular court,” said Eileen Moore, a California appellate-court judge and Vietnam vet who has volunteered as a mentor in the veteran-treatment court since it was founded in 2008. She is a firm believer in this restorative-justice alternative. “I think that being greeted in front of the courtroom with a friendly hello and being treated with dignity is something that criminal defendants usually do not enjoy, and it’s much appreciated,” she said.

The OCCC is one of 50 community courts in the U.S. These are somewhat different from the country’s 3,000 stand-alone specialty courts: They offer services to anyone who lives in the area, whether or not they are accused of committing a crime, and can include a combination of drug, DUI, mental-health, veteran-treatment, and other specialty courts in a single location. Staffed by a rotating team of attorneys, corrections staff, and administrators, the OCCC was founded by Wendy Lindley, a now-retired county judge who presided over the court until 2014. After securing a donated space in a former department store on Main Street in Santa Ana, Lindley essentially went door-to-door, convincing county agencies to partner with one another in a multi-service agency. Costs for running the OCCC are divided up among the county’s court system and the agencies that send full-time staff here, including the offices of the public defender and district attorney.

Lawyers and judges recommend participants during traditional arraignments. Other times, participants hear about OCCC while in jail awaiting judgment. “I tell them to just send them to me—people with mental health conditions, a vet willing to seek some treatment—and I will try to divvy them up,” said Kimberly Stevens, a public defender assigned to the community court. “I want these programs to service as many of my clients as they can because I believe this is a way out of the cycle of jail, street, prison, street.”

A team of lawyers, correctional officers, social workers, and other relevant staff evaluates each candidate for eligibility and likely success in the program. Opponents see this as a biased selection process. They argue that some courts select only candidates who are likely to complete the rehabilitation programs in order to maintain their success records. As Judge Perez described it, the level of offense that would enable someone to be considered for a mental-health court, for example, is, “No dead bodies, no sex crimes, no arson, no gang-related crime.”

“Not everyone’s ready for the treatment program when they get here, and that’s always disappointing,” Stevens said. “But a lot of them are, and they really blossom.” She recalled one client who arrived in court with banana stickers on his forehead and yelled at everyone within earshot. Over the course of some weeks, and with medication and placement in stable housing, his behavior in court started to change; he even came in “looking dapper” at times.