In Maryland, people can be arrested, thrown in jail and forced to defend themselves against criminal charges without input from police or prosecutors.
That’s because anyone — a jilted lover, a neighbor, a co-worker — can ask a district court commissioner to bring charges.
These judicial officers are not required to have a law degree. But they hold immense power and can make decisions that profoundly affect people’s lives.
District court commissioners can only consider one side of the story. They aren’t allowed to investigate or ask people for proof to back up their allegations.
Though the system was designed to expand access to justice, it has falsely swept up community members, Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott and even the three-time Grammy Award-winning rapper T.I.
The Banner interviewed more than 100 people and reviewed court records, courtroom audio recordings and body camera video and found the system can be easily abused and upend lives in a matter of hours.
About this series
This is the second story in a series investigating a system that allows people to seek criminal charges on their own in Maryland with no input from police or prosecutors.
• Part I: Maryland lets anyone file criminal charges — and innocent people pay the price
• Part III: How Maryland could fix a system that lets anyone seek criminal charges
• Previously: How a woman in Baltimore was able to file criminal charges against rapper T.I.
People who’ve faced these charges include a lawmaker trying to keep the peace, a military veteran misidentified in a dispute and a federal employee who stepped in to help his daughter.
Here are their stories.
‘I didn’t feel innocent until proven guilty’
Del. Caylin Young was at an event at the Reginald F. Lewis Museum of Maryland African American History & Culture in Baltimore in 2022 when a man in the audience started to shout.
Like a church usher, Young, 38, who also serves as deputy director of the Baltimore Office of Equity and Civil Rights, calmly guided the man out of the room. Their interaction lasted less than a minute.
Four months later, Young was stunned to learn he’d been charged with second-degree assault for the incident.

The man, Vann Millhouse, had sought charges against Young with a district court commissioner.
The case totally disrupted his life.
Young, a Democrat from Baltimore, said he faced questions from neighbors, community leaders and fellow lawmakers. He had to take time off from work to fight the allegations. And U.S. Customs and Border Protection even revoked his approval for Global Entry, a federal trusted-traveler program.
Del. Caylin Young at the Reginald F. Lewis Museum of Maryland African American History & Culture
Another person at the event happened to take cellphone video of the encounter, which showed that Young did not use physical force.
Prosecutors eventually dropped the case.
“I didn’t feel innocent until proven guilty,” Young said. “The assumption was that I did something wrong.”
‘It’s obvious it’s not me’
Robert Johnson III was at his home in Waldorf when he received a notice in the mail to appear in the District Court of Maryland for Baltimore City, but it did not explain the reason.
Johnson, 49, a retired master sergeant in the U.S. Air Force, was perplexed. He said he twice spoke to someone in the state’s attorney’s office to try to understand why he’d been summoned to court.
Unsuccessful, he hired an attorney, Shimon Kafka, who picked up a copy of court documents that detailed allegations against him.
The paperwork listed his name and address. But the court documents contained the wrong phone number. And they stated that he was only 5-foot-1 and 150 pounds instead of 6 feet tall and 250 pounds.

A woman alleged to a district court commissioner that someone with his name had threatened and harassed her and posted videos of them having sex on social media without permission.
Johnson was facing charges such as electronic communication harassment and distributing an intimate sexual image.
“Man, this is not me,” Johnson recalled thinking. “And it’s obvious it’s not me.”
Kafka tried to convince prosecutors to drop the case so it could not be refiled, but he was unsuccessful. So on March 4, 2024, Johnson appeared at Eastside District Court for his trial.
A different man named Robert Johnson also showed up with an attorney.
“He does not know this young lady, has never heard or seen this young lady in his entire life,” Kafka told the judge about his client. “But he’s standing here before your honor charged with these crimes.”

Assistant State’s Attorney Kathleen Copsey explained that when the woman filed for charges, she “used an internet search engine to try to find a proper address for service.”
Prosecutors could not get in touch with her, Copsey said.
Later, Copsey called the case for trial and rested without presenting evidence.
Baltimore District Judge Michael S. Studdard then acquitted Johnson.
“It cost me money and time, a good amount of time,” said Johnson, who added that he spent $1,000 on attorney fees.
‘I know I’m going to jail’
Baltimore Police arrested Monique Polley on April 4 on two counts of second-degree assault after a man purporting to be Daniel Polley, her brother, alleged to a district court commissioner that she attacked him and his loved ones with weapons, including a Taser.
“I’m reading these charges, and I’m like, ‘I’m going to jail. I know I’m going to jail. There’s no way they’re going to let me go home,’” Monique Polley said. “I couldn’t believe it.”
She was right.
Police took Polley to the Baltimore Central Booking & Intake Center, where a district court commissioner ordered her held without bond.
District Court Commissioner Jerome Jones also issued a no-contact order.
“That’s my brother,” Polley told Jones. “He didn’t write this stuff down. I was just on the phone with him.”

“Well, like I said, as of right now, while your case is pending, you can’t have no contact with him or the minor victim in this matter, OK?” Jones responded.
Polley said she was placed in a cell with a woman facing a charge of first-degree murder.
Daniel Polley, who did not file for the charges, showed up to a bail review hearing to clear his sister’s name.
District court commissioners do not require people who are seeking charges to show proof of identity.
Baltimore District Judge Rachel E. Skolnik, though, wanted to see his ID.
“I just, for the record, am looking at an identification for Daniel Polley,” Skolnik said. “There’s a different address listed. And I’m no handwriting examiner, but it does not appear as if the signature looks the same.”
Skolnik released Monique Polley, 31, of Baltimore, on her own recognizance.
More than one month later, prosecutors dropped the charges.
“You should not be able to use the criminal justice system as a weapon,” said her mother, Nina Polley. “This is a big, big scam.”

‘I’m never going to take freedom and time for granted’
On July 23, Lashawanna Reese stopped at her home in Upper Marlboro to retrieve some belongings, but something felt off.
Her estranged husband, Joseph Reese, was standing outside holding a power drill. He started running, she said, so she took off, too.
Lashawanna Reese hopped into her 2018 Toyota Highlander. Her estranged husband, she said, was trying to remove the disabled veteran license plate from the front of the SUV with the drill.
She said she drove around him and he fell down.
Then, Reese said, she called 911.
The Prince George’s County Police Department investigated, consulted with the state’s attorney and declined to pursue charges.
But Reese later learned that there was a warrant out for her arrest and arranged to voluntarily surrender.
While sitting in a large holding cell, Reese found out that she was facing charges of attempted second-degree murder, first- and second-degree assault and reckless endangerment.
“My heart just sank,” said Reese, 49, who served 24 years in the U.S. Navy, retiring as a chief petty officer. “I couldn’t even wrap my head around it.”
Joseph Reese had successfully pursued charges with a district court commissioner based on allegations that she hit him with the SUV.
A different district court commissioner later ordered her held without bond.
Lashawanna Reese experienced terrible heart palpitations while she squatted and coughed to show a correctional officer she was not hiding contraband, she said.
“This is real,” she remembered thinking. “I’m really getting locked up.”
At a bail review hearing, Assistant State’s Attorney Frank Denison said prosecutors believed the case was “an overcharge by the commissioner’s office.”
“It weighs a lot on me that — or goes a lot to say — that the police arrived on the scene and did not charge her,” Denison said. “I think, at best, it might be a second-degree assault.”
Prince George’s County District Judge Wennesa Bell Snoddy also took note.
“It’s written up that there were extensive injuries,” Snoddy said. “And it’s been my understanding and experience that when the police arrive to even a misdemeanor that they didn’t witness, if there are injuries, then somebody’s going to be arrested, and that she wasn’t arrested here.”
Snoddy ordered Reese to be released on a $10,000 unsecured bond, which means she did not have to put up any money.
More than two months later, prosecutors dropped all the remaining charges against her.
“It was such a weight lifted off of me,” Reese said. “I’m never going to take freedom and time for granted, because it could be taken from you in an instant.”
‘Locked up on a person’s word, on no proof or evidence’
Marion Fields was trying to help his daughter move on from a breakup and soon found himself in a legal battle.
His daughter, Kyana Fields, had split from her partner, Corey Buford.
She asked him to move out. He agreed but did not leave on the set date, Marion Fields said.
On Aug. 1, 2021, Fields said, he went to their apartment in District Heights to help his daughter get some belongings.
Buford then aggressively walked toward him while making threatening statements, Fields said.
Fields said he put Buford on the ground and placed him in a hold.
Law enforcement showed up and asked Buford to leave, Fields said.
Later, Fields visited a district court commissioner and obtained an interim peace order to protect himself, he said.
But Buford also went to a district court commissioner, who approved charges of first- and second-degree assault against Fields and issued an arrest warrant.
In an application seeking charges, Buford alleged that Fields poked him in the chest while yelling and spitting in his face.
Fields, Buford asserted, then punched him in the face, slammed him to the ground, choked him and threatened him with a knife at his throat. Buford claimed that Kyana Fields also struck him and squeezed his testicles while wielding a knife.
The father and daughter deny the allegations.
When Marion Fields was at work one day, the U.S. Marshals Service showed up to arrest him, he said.
As a Black man who grew up in the South, Fields said, he was taught that at any moment he could be arrested and falsely accused of a crime.
“I had a strong, secure sense of calm, knowing this was going to work out,” said Fields, 58, a U.S. Air Force veteran who lives in Clinton and works for the federal government.
Police took him to a jail in Washington, D.C., where he said he spent the night using a shoe with no laces to kill cockroaches.
A judge released him the next day.
But Fields had to return to Prince George’s County to surrender, and a district court commissioner there ordered him held without bond. He said he was put in an orange jumpsuit and jailed with a cellmate for the night.
At a bail review hearing, Fields said, a judge released him on his own recognizance.
More than eight months later, prosecutors dropped all the remaining charges against him.
Fields said he could have lost his security clearance and estimates that he spent more than $6,000 in attorney fees.
He had a warning for other people: “You could be arrested and locked up on a person’s word, on no proof or evidence.”

Comments
Welcome to The Banner's subscriber-only commenting community. Please review our community guidelines.