Juvenile justice: how the youth correctional system hurts the very people it's supposed to help.

Joseph Rodriguez hovered at the edge of a roof contemplating suicide when he was a teenager incarcerated at the notorious New York City lockup, Rikers Island. Remarkably, at that very moment, be says, "They called my name. I was going home. I was quite lucky they called my name."

Though Rodriguez's run-in with the law took place more than 30 years ago, it has stayed with him. He gives voice to that experience in his photographs, which share an intimate and harsh look at how the juvenile justice system is working--both for and against--young offenders today.

His multimedia project, Juvenile Justice, is part of a pilot program for high school students. "I would like younger audiences to get a closer look at what it might be like to go through the juvenile justice system;' Rodriguez says, "and through the stories of these individuals, perhaps learn something."

One problem with the system is that youth, often looking more grown-up than they are, are tried as adults in most states. That means teenagers face longer sentences for a whole spectrum of offenses, from graffiti to homicide.

The downward spiral teens often find themselves in is a product of broken homes, drug addiction, gang affiliation, and inadequate foster care. Once they are convicted, many find themselves in a cycle that's difficult to break out of as they run away or violate their probation.

Our society, says Rodriguez, is unforgiving and unwilling to offer teens in trouble the redemption they need. He zeroes in on California, which has the largest prison budget of any state. Since 1984 California has constructed 21 prisons and only one state university. The Department of Corrections added 25,864 employees, while the higher education workforce was reduced by about 8,082, according to Tara-Jen Ambrosio and Vincent Schiraldi in their report, "Classrooms to Cell Blocks: A National Perspective" (Justice Policy Institute).

Carlos, 19, seemed to be making his way through the system by taking advantage of its educational opportunities, but his story is not exactly one of success and redemption. Carlos learned English and got his GED while doing 16 months for assault. At one point he tried to go to business college but was discouraged when the admissions counselor threw away his application, assuming he wasn't interested.

Carlos came to the United States from El Salvador at age 9. It took three days for him and his younger sister to cross the border, without their mother, who was a dishwasher and came here before they did. He got involved in dealing drugs for fast cash and used drugs himself.

"I was doing crack, and I did it for five days straight;' he says. "You get dehydrated, and then it takes everything out of you. You get emaciated. You usually don't eat. I been there, man."

Carlos is working and has a daughter but is still affiliated with his gang, the 19th Street gang in San Francisco. He hangs out on 19th Street and Mission, where drugs, gang activity, and addicts are endemic.

The alienation and desperation that spawns drug addiction seems to be a common thread among all of the stories of young people trying to fit in--with their friends, their families, their gangs. It's clear that doing time can further isolate youth. It is particularly rough during adolescence, when fitting in is most crucial.

Katrina has had trouble fitting in for most of her life. She has been in foster care and juvenile corrections systems her whole life--yet she expresses strong feelings for her father.

"I never lived with my dad, but he is my everything," she says. "I love him so much" But her attitude about how she's going to succeed belies the lack of support in her life. "I think positive. I just have higher self-esteem than other people," she says. "It comes from me--raising myself, teaching myself."

After attempting suicide while living in a group home, Katrina was sent back to the San lose juvenile facility, even though she had not committed any illegal offense. She copes much better there, but the setting does not offer the same real-world experience as the group home. "I didn't have the courage to be successful in a group home," Katrina says. She enjoys the solitary activity of working out and dreams of being a bodybuilder.

The physical is a big part of any teen's life and perhaps even more so for teen offenders. Counselors at juvenile hall encourage minors to change themselves in all kinds of ways. One boy, Louie, made a big step toward recreating himself by cutting his hair, which represented a large part of his sense of identity. After making it into a transitional group home, he was so unhappy he tried to run away. He was sentenced to another year and a half in juvenile hall for violating his probation.

Like most juveniles doing time, Kethan, 17, has been in and out of foster care since he was a child. "My mom was on crack," he says. "My brother and I would take care of each other when we were younger." Kethan has been arrested more than 15 times. He started selling drugs, was sent to juvenile hall and then to Log Cabin Ranch, the San Francisco Juvenile Probation Department's post-adjudication facility for delinquent male juveniles. Log Cabin provides a 24-day residential program that provides treatment and rehabilitation.

School has always been a positive experience for Kethan, and writing, in particular, a good way for him to express himself. While incarcerated, he attended writing workshops with the Beat Within and WritersCorp programs. He won an international poetry slam in Washington, D.C. for his poem, "Wonder Bread."

Many teen offenders have the added responsibility of caring for children of their own. Charles, 20, has gone through the system but wants to take care of his girlfriend, Krea, and his children. Both he and Krea work to provide for their family. They are trying to make it without using the welfare they see so many other poor and undereducated young people rely on, but their dreams are modest: "We can't all rap, hoop, or dance out of our situations," he says.

Charles and his six brothers and sisters grew up poor, and he was in trouble by age 12. His father was not involved in his children's lives, providing limited financial support, but no parenting.

Just as photographer Joseph Rodriguez found himself at his wits end years ago at Rikers Island, so do countless teens who struggle today to understand their place in a society that rejects them.

They call out for help in their own ways, some more overtly than others. One 15-year-old doing time in the maximum-security unit in Santa Clara County Juvenile Hall cut symbols and letters in his own flesh because, he says, "I have not had anyone visit me in months."

Photo project by JOSEPH RODRIGUEZ, an award-winning photographer living in New York. The book of this project, Juvenile, is published by Powerhouse Books (www.powerhousebooks.com). Text for this story compiled by MAUREEN ABOOD, literary editor of U.S. CATHOLIC.