A knock at the door can be noise or a turning point. On this show, it became the latter when Judge Steve Duble stepped in between canvassing stops and laid out a practical blueprint for access to justice in Harris County. The conversation moved fast from election logistics to the lived reality of courts: parking that keeps people away, fines that don’t match a person’s means, and evictions that can be softened with the right help at the right time. Rather than theory, he brought concrete reforms—grants, kiosks, hybrid hearings, and on-site lawyers—all designed to lower friction for people who are anxious, busy, or unfamiliar with legal systems. That mix of empathy and execution framed the episode’s core message: small courts can deliver big change when they meet people where they are.
We pressed on how accessibility works in practice. Duble described securing an eviction-diversion grant that funds dedicated staff who intervene before a case spirals. Notices now include QR codes to legal aid intakes, so tenants can connect with help without hunting for it. Hearings run hybrid by default, removing the need to request Zoom access and reducing missed appearances due to childcare, shifts, or traffic. Doors don’t slam at the start time; late arrivals still get a chance to be heard. In a system where missed minutes can mean default judgments, these process tweaks are not cosmetic—they are fairness in motion.
Fines and fees were another focus. The law allows ability-to-pay determinations, but many people don’t know to ask, and many courts don’t make it simple. Duble’s team built a two-page form and a clear policy: public benefits or low income can reduce fines to zero or near zero. This isn’t leniency; it’s legality applied with care. By acknowledging that a flat fine hits a minimum-wage worker harder than a high earner, the court aligns consequences with capacity. That approach cuts failure-to-pay warrants, reduces churn, and keeps people working, licensed, and stable. It is smart justice that respects both the code and the community.
We also explored the rising tide of debt litigation. Credit card and payday loan cases now make up a massive share of civil filings, often after debts are resold to aggressive collectors. Duble’s court hosts a pilot with South Texas College of Law that places a live lawyer in the courtroom for debt dockets. If a person meets income thresholds, they get full representation; otherwise, they get immediate guidance. He pairs that with Houston Volunteer Lawyers on eviction dockets to help tenants and property managers craft win-win agreements that avoid defaults and create soft landings. These interventions turn adversarial moments into problem-solving sessions, where leverage and law get translated into options.
Language access and inclusion rounded out the playbook. The court’s resource center offers public computers, printers, a manager, volunteers, and a legal service kiosk with live lawyer chat—not AI—and multilingual toggles for English, Spanish, and Vietnamese. Forms and guides are produced at least in English and Spanish, with interpreters available or cases reset if needed. The court collaborates with disability rights groups and national organizations like the National Center for State Courts and Pew to keep practices current and evidence-based. Data is being opened up through dashboards, signaling accountability that builds public trust.
Finally, we talked representation without making it the whole story. Duble is the first openly gay Justice of the Peace in Harris County, a milestone that matters for visibility and legitimacy. But his case for reelection rests on results: more access, fewer barriers, fairer outcomes, and partnerships that scale beyond one courtroom. Elections can feel distant; JP races sit at the bottom of the ballot. Yet this is where rules touch real life—where a QR code on a notice, a hybrid link, or a calm reset can protect a job, a home, or a chance to get back on track. That was the lasting takeaway: local justice is everyday justice, and it’s worth answering the knock.