Marion County’s justice of the peace strives to connect with people through court

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People calling the Marion County Justice Court during Salem’s February snow storm likely didn’t realize a judge was on the other end.

When court employees stay home on snow days, Justice of the Peace Justin Kidd likes to man the phones, answering questions and helping people pay their tickets as an incognito clerk.

“I hear the concerns that people have,” Kidd said. “It’s good for me to just get that experience, because people treat you different when you’re a judge.”

In his nearly four years as a judge, Kidd, 45, has made it his mission to increase access to justice.

He has done so by holding court proceedings in Spanish, crafting solutions unique to the person standing in front of him and officiating holiday-themed weddings.

The justice court oversees traffic violations, small claims and lawsuits seeking less than $10,000, evictions and weddings.

Since taking the bench in 2021, Kidd has worked to expand what his court can do and lessen the burden on the state court system. The justice court over four years has doubled its cases from around 16,000 to 32,000 by broadening the types of disputes it handles, he said. He oversees around 100 trials every week and has officiated over 1,000 weddings.

Kidd said he tries to make the court process as accessible and comfortable as possible for people.

“Courts are for everybody, and so everybody should have an equal shot,” he said. “If something about the forum makes you feel intimidated, makes you feel like you can’t participate, then you don’t have an equal shot.”

Road to the bench

Kidd was born and raised in Colorado.

He took a winding career path, living all over the U.S. and planning to work in fields such as geotechnical engineering and diplomacy before having a change of heart. 

He was working for the Jewish Healthcare Foundation in Pittsburgh when he met his now-husband, Rob Owen, a longtime freelance journalist. 

Kidd’s employer told him that if he wanted to move up in the field, he needed to get a terminal degree, such as a doctorate or law degree. He went to law school at the University of California, Berkeley “almost by accident,” at first planning to return to foundation work until he fell in love with the law. “I found out that it’s super fun,” he said.

After working a summer job at the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Montana, he drove through wine country in McMinnville on his way back to school. “How can I live here?” he recalled thinking.

After earning his law degree in 2009, Kidd knew he wanted to work for the government, provide community service and do litigation.

He was hired by the Oregon Department of Justice and worked there for 12 years, representing agencies such as the state Health Authority, Department of Transportation and Department of Human Services’ Child Welfare Division in court.

A self-described theater kid, he found being a trial lawyer is much like putting on a play. He got to write the play, decide who he was going to “cast” on the stand, create a narrative based on true facts, direct the play as he direct- and cross-examined witnesses, and conclude with the “11 o’clock number” – closing arguments.

Kidd led the justice department’s honors program, where he mentored the agency’s incoming lawyers and helped them “find that match between what they’re good at and what they love,” he said.

Working in the justice department’s trial division, Kidd said he only saw some of the worst foster homes. “We can do better than that,” he recalled telling his husband. “There are kids who need homes, and we could provide a really good home.”

They decided to adopt, and now have two sons who were previously in foster care.

Kidd said being a foster and adoptive parent became a central part of his identity. “I think it gives me a different view into the cases than I would have otherwise,” he said.

That’s partly because he and his husband maintain positive relationships with their children’s biological mothers, who live with addiction and mental health challenges. He said watching them work through those struggles gave him empathy that now informs his decisions in court. 

“I understand how fragile that recovery cycle can be,” he said. “I think having had that lived experience gives me more empathy and maybe just more insight into the people that are here in the court.”

During the Covid pandemic, he read in a news article that the Marion County Justice Court had an opening on the bench.

He was a relatively young applicant but thought, “What do I have to lose?” he said. “That is how I became a judge.”

Accessible justice

When Kidd took the bench, he said the justice court was “an under-utilized asset” – mostly just handling citations issued by the Marion County Sheriff’s Office, such as those for speeding, unauthorized junkyards, fish and game violations, noise complaints and minors in possession of alcohol. 

He recalled thinking, “We have this building that the county is paying for and we have these staff. Why are we just doing this little piece?”

Meantime, state courts were “utterly overwhelmed” coming out of the pandemic, Kidd said. He asked Tracy Prall, the presiding judge of the Marion County Circuit Court, what he could take off their plate so they could deal with pressing public safety problems.

The justice court now handles citations issued by the Oregon State Police and those issued by local cities outside of their borders, as well as evictions.

“I love this job because I get to see a wide swath of humanity and the different ways that they approach problem-solving tasks,” Kidd said.

He said his job is largely to keep people safe, so he tries to educate people from the bench and fashion solutions unique to each person’s root problems when making sentencing decisions. The fact that he runs a specialized court that doesn’t deal with crimes gives him more latitude to do so.

For some people, he said, “I find that the most productive thing that you can do for your community is to work on yourself first.”

Some of those who come to court are teenagers who received a citation and pleaded not guilty because they didn’t know what else to do. Others are adults with dozens of unpaid tickets.

“Sometimes it’s saying, ‘Look, your dad is in the back row. He would not be here if he did not love you. What would happen if you were to crash at 103 miles an hour? Think about your dad,’” he said. “A lot of my work is thinking about, ‘What is it that this person needs in order to change their behavior, to interrupt that pattern so they can be safe for themselves?’”

He often allows court-ordered treatment as a form of community service for people who have addiction or mental health issues and can’t afford to pay a fine. 

“Is your problem that you have not gone and got your license because you’re afraid about your undocumented status?” he recalls telling people. “Go get your license, I will waive the fine.”

Having been a foster parent, he knows how uncomfortable it can be to take young children to court. He created a kids’ room in the courthouse with books and toys so that children don’t need to be on display or listen to their parents’ testimony.

“Some people don’t have any other option but to bring their kids to court,” he said.

In a strip mall on Northeast Portland Road, the justice court doesn’t stand out. 

“I actually think that’s a feature and not a bug, because there are a lot of people who, for whatever reason, don’t feel comfortable in the marble palace of justice, but they feel pretty comfortable going to a strip mall,” he said.

Kidd often conducts hearings and trials in Spanish, which is the first language of many people who come to his court.

“Just seeing the way that people’s shoulders relax when they hear that I understand them in their own words, I think helps this be a place where they feel like they belong,” he said.

He also started learning Russian, the court’s second-most requested language, after realizing that translators sometimes weren’t accurately describing legal topics referenced in court. “My Russian’s never going to be better than the translator’s Russian, but because we have the same kind of conversations over and over again, I know the specialized vocabulary that they may not know,” he said.

Kidd limits himself to English and Spanish during court proceedings, but he helps people finish their plea at the front office window and officiates weddings in French and Russian as well.

He said he tries to use words in court that people can understand, instead of jargon and “SAT words.”

When he makes opening remarks in an eviction case, he doesn’t tell people there’s been “a complaint” and they “need to make a plea.” Instead, he says, “You and your landlord have a relationship, and something has gone wrong in the relationship, and this is your time to respond. Let’s see how you want to respond.”

Kidd said he also tries to be kind and treat people with humanity – especially when they’re in court facing eviction, often one of the worst days of that person’s life.

He said people often come to court with “a compelling moral reason” they shouldn’t be evicted. Maybe they’re ill, or their child has a disability. He said it’s his job to listen and show empathy while also explaining “in the kindest possible way” that state law is limited in what it allows him to consider.

He said evictions are the most emotionally difficult part of his job because he has few tools to solve the problem. 

“In the other parts of my job, I feel like I really can engage in some problem-solving, I really get to some root cause issues,” he said.

When Kidd feels his heart rate rising in court, he announces that he’s taking a break and will be back in five minutes. “I’ve coached a lot of foster kids through learning how to deal with big emotions, and so part of that rubs off on my own judging,” he said. “Recognize the emotion, let yourself feel the emotion, and then build yourself back and move forward.”

Kidd said once a week, he holds what he calls open court. “It’s kind of like open mic night,” he said.

People come to court and petition the judge for some form of relief. Some previously didn’t show up to a court date, or they owe an amount of money that’s “astronomical for them” and request a payment plan. 

“They were making difficult, unsafe choices for a long time, and something has changed in their life,” Kidd said. He has to evaluate whether the person is ready to make positive changes, while also balancing community safety and whether his decision is fair to others who aren’t getting the same break. “Sorting that out is hard, but it’s the work of being a judge,” he said.

‘Heart-first judge’

The idea for holiday-themed weddings stemmed from Kidd’s time as a lawyer. 

A trial had been set to take place on Halloween, and Kidd talked the judge into rescheduling so he could spend the day with his then three-year-old foster son.

When Kidd eventually became a judge, he decided he wasn’t going to make anyone be in court on Halloween who didn’t want to be there. 

In his first year as a judge, he also heard from several couples who wanted to get married on Valentine’s Day.

“My husband and I wanted to get married for a decade before it was legal, and the state told us, ‘No.’ It was really important to me to have a day when we could celebrate the equal dignity of every marriage,” he said. 

Kidd often gets choked up when overseeing weddings. “I sort of dread the day when I will not have that experience,” he said.

He recalled one gay couple in their 70s or 80s who contacted him last year to say they were finally ready to get married. They said a news report about Kidd and his husbands’ wedding story gave them the courage to pursue their own.

After their wedding at the justice court, the couple sent him a card. “Thank you very much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to perform our marriage ceremony. It took 54 years to find someone who we felt comfortable to officiate,” they wrote.

Kidd said he felt honored to do so. “Those were the people who were pioneering, making a life like my husband and I have possible,” he said.

He has also married many couples fleeing Venezuela or the war in Ukraine who were seeking asylum.

Kidd said some of his favorite weddings are unconventional. Some couples married and divorced before realizing they were happier together and reuniting. Others had been together for a long time and decided to get married after a grave health issue came up, so they could make health care decisions for each other.

“I find those ones really bittersweet, because those are the people who have been walking the walk and living the life and committed to each other on their own without the imprimatur of the state,” he said. “I just feel really honored to be there to recognize that dignity on their own.”

The snow last month came a day before Kidd had 18 couples set to be married on Valentine’s Day. Two judges on the Oregon Supreme Court planned to help officiate.

Kidd wasn’t sure if county buildings would remain open the next day, “but I’m going to be here,” he said at the time. “We’re going to march down to McDonald’s and find witnesses if we need to, but we’re going to have a great day tomorrow.”

He frequently works with students in the Salem-Keizer School District, speaking during career days and coaching high school mock trial. He said he wears funny socks to break the ice with students.

Kidd said he loves the personal interaction his job allows, but he misses “the brain food of complex civil litigation.” He plans to one day apply for a job as a circuit judge in Oregon’s state courts.

“I hope that I’m a heart-first judge. I’m working within the framework that the Legislature has given me, as we all do. But there’s such a danger when you’re a judge of becoming callous because you see problems every day, and a lot of the problems are pretty intractable,” he said. “It’s my hope that I never lose that sense of empathy and that memory from my own lived experience and my family’s lived experience about what it feels like to be on that side of the table.”

Contact reporter Ardeshir Tabrizian: [email protected] or 503-929-3053.

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