Can We Trust Our Judges to Keep Us Safe?

When a judge releases someone accused of violent crime, and that person later commits—or is accused of committing—another violent crime, the public is left with a question that is difficult to avoid:

Can we trust our judges to keep us safe?

That question has returned to the forefront following the latest arrest of Allen Hollingsworth.

Hollingsworth was just 18 when he opened fire in downtown Seattle in 2016, wounding five people. He was eventually convicted of first-degree assault with a deadly weapon.

In 2019, prosecutors pushed for a substantially longer prison sentence. Judge Averil Rothrock instead imposed nine years, explaining that a lower sentence would give Hollingsworth an opportunity to improve himself.

Hollingsworth was ultimately released from prison in February 2026.

Less than seven months later, Bellevue police arrested him following a confrontation in which officers say they found him in possession of a loaded, stolen handgun.

That does not prove Rothrock's sentence caused Hollingsworth's subsequent conduct. It does, however, raise a fundamental question about judicial discretion: When someone has already demonstrated a willingness to use a gun against innocent people, how much weight should rehabilitation receive compared with the obligation to protect the public?

And Hollingsworth's case is not occurring in a vacuum.

Rothrock's judicial philosophy has faced scrutiny in other cases involving violent young offenders. One of the most painful examples involves the death of Tacoma pot-shop employee Jordan Brown.

In 2022, two teenagers accused of an earlier armed robbery were released to electronic home detention. Prosecutors had sought continued detention. The teenagers were accused of an armed robbery in which guns were allegedly used and an employee was pistol-whipped.

They were placed on electronic monitoring.

According to subsequent reporting, the teenagers allegedly cut off their monitoring devices. Three days later, prosecutors say, they were involved in the robbery of a Tacoma marijuana shop where 29-year-old employee Jordan Brown was shot and killed.

Again, the distinction matters: the people who allegedly committed the crimes are responsible for those crimes. A judge does not pull the trigger because a defendant was released.

But judicial decisions are not without consequences.

Judges are given enormous authority because society expects them to make difficult judgments about risk. They decide who remains behind bars, who returns to the community and what punishment is appropriate after someone has been convicted.

With that authority comes an equally enormous responsibility.

The public can accept that judges will sometimes make decisions that turn out badly. No judge can predict the future. No sentencing system can eliminate crime. And rehabilitation is a legitimate objective, particularly when dealing with young offenders.

But public safety cannot simply be a secondary consideration.

When someone accused or convicted of serious violence is released, the question should not only be whether that individual deserves another opportunity. The question must also be: What is the risk to everyone else if we are wrong?

That is the uncomfortable part of judicial discretion.

The defendant has rights. The victims have rights. The community has rights. And when those interests collide, judges are the people entrusted to make the decision.

That is why the public deserves transparency about how those decisions are made.

What evidence is being considered? How is the likelihood of reoffending evaluated? How much weight is given to prior violence? What happens when a defendant violates release conditions? Are judges held accountable when their risk assessments repeatedly fail?

These are not questions about demanding that every defendant be locked away forever.

They are questions about accountability.

A justice system cannot promise that every person released from custody will remain law-abiding. But it can—and should—be expected to explain why a person is being released, what risks were identified and what safeguards are being put in place to protect the public.

The Hollingsworth arrest makes that conversation unavoidable.

Five people were shot in 2016. A judge subsequently chose a sentence that emphasized the possibility of rehabilitation. Years later, Hollingsworth is accused of once again possessing a loaded firearm—this time allegedly a stolen one.

In the Jordan Brown case, a different set of allegations produced an even more devastating outcome: an innocent worker was killed after teenagers accused of an earlier violent robbery were released to electronic monitoring.

These cases do not establish that a particular judge is responsible for another person's criminal behavior.

They do establish something else: judicial decisions can have consequences far beyond the courtroom.

The public is routinely told to respect judicial independence. That principle is essential. Judges must be able to make decisions without fearing political retaliation or public intimidation.

But judicial independence cannot mean judicial immunity from scrutiny.

If judges have the power to decide who goes home and who stays behind bars, the public has a right to examine those decisions—especially when the defendants involved have histories of violence and the consequences of release are catastrophic.

The question isn't whether judges should be allowed to make mistakes.

They will.

The question is whether our system learns from those mistakes.

And ultimately, whether the people entrusted with deciding who poses a danger to the community are giving public safety the weight it deserves.

Can we trust our judges to keep us safe?

That isn't an attack on the judiciary.

It is a question every judge, prosecutor, defense attorney and elected official should be willing to answer.