Restoring Justice
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Over the past few years, I have been a volunteer with AVP—the Alternatives to Violence Project. AVP volunteers work with prisoners who are seeking new ways of relating to themselves and others—ways that are supportive and creative rather than destructive. That’s a tall order in U.S. prisons, which are no one’s idea of a good time. During weekend workshops held inside prison walls, I have met men who have been convicted for drug and gang offenses, for robbery, rape, and murder. These men are facing the shame of being labeled as outcasts and failures by their families and communities. Many of them, however, have also begun a journey on the path toward remorse. Each of them has been confronted with a moment of truth—a moment in which he has had to own up to the pain and suffering he has caused others.
In AVP workshops, prisoners learn nonviolent ways to handle conflict. These events are one of the few settings in which prisoners’ worth and dignity is acknowledged. But such programs in U.S. prisons are rare, and their effectiveness is limited by a prison system with an overwhelming emphasis on punishment.
Instead of reconciliation and rehabilitation, we as a nation have chosen to inflict increasing levels of suffering. We now have two million people behind bars, compared with 200,000 three decades ago. With only 5% of the world’s overall population, the U.S. accounts for fully 25% of the world’s prison population. In small town America during the last decade, a new prison has broken ground every 15 days. And criminal justice scholars remark on a disturbing trend—the rapid growth of so-called “supermax” or super-maximum security prisons. These institutions are designed for permanent and complete isolation of human beings, and they are known for brutal practices that human rights groups have denounced as torture.
With all this emphasis on building prisons with our tax dollars, we might well ask: Has the intensification of incarceration actually “worked”? It’s true that the “great American lockup,” as one observer called it, has happened alongside a falling crime rate. But there is no evidence that lower rates of crime are actually a result of increased incarceration. In fact, during the last decade, states that did not embrace tougher rules for sentencing saw the same decline in crime as those with tougher sentencing laws. And recidivism—the rate at which released prisoners commit new crimes—actually increased during this prison-building boom.
The idea of making an offender suffer for his or her crime is often understood as retribution—literally, “paying back.” But, as a New York Times reporter noted: “How the suffering inflicted on an offender compensates for his crime has never been clear, unless it is through vindictive satisfaction.” And is this really the meaning of justice? Lawyers, religious leaders, and even victims’ families, are asking the same question. Many of them have joined a movement for “restorative justice.” They aim to respond to the impact of violence and wrongdoing in ways that heal, in ways that reduce rather than perpetuate suffering.
Renny Cushing, executive director of Murder Victims’ Families for Reconciliation, was motivated to do restorative justice work by his own agony of a loved one lost to violence. In 1989, Renny’s father was murdered on his doorstep by a stranger who shot him in the chest while his wife of 37 years stood nearby. Renny continues to struggle with ways to bear the pain. But one thing he knows is that his suffering will not dissolve by shifting it to the person who killed his father. “Sometimes people think it’s a zero-sum game,” he says. “They think if they can make someone else feel pain, theirs will go away. I just don’t think it works that way.”
Through efforts of the group Renny directs, victims’ families have been able to tell their stories, support one another, and speak out against the death penalty. Some courageous members of this group have found the strength to meet with the prisoner who killed their loved one, and even to move toward forgiveness.
A man from Tennessee, a member of Murder Victims’ Families for Reconciliation, shared his thoughts from a conference several years ago:
Meeting people who had a relative executed by the [government] was one of the most powerful experiences, because in putting my arms around them, I felt somehow as though I was working towards reconciling myself to the man who attacked our daughter [who had been murdered only seven months before]….I remember our first small group meeting where several people told their stories, and we were then asked to draw what we felt about the death of a loved one. I drew a picture of our daughter’s grave, and then lost it for a few minutes—I just couldn’t stop weeping.… When a group of people who have been terribly wounded by the actions of others comes together, not for revenge, but to seek reconciliation and forgiveness, there is a power present: God is near.
Seeking reconciliation and forgiveness is not easy. As anyone who has tried to forgive themselves or other people knows, it doesn’t happen overnight. And when the crime committed includes loss of life, the work is even harder.
The movement for restorative justice aims to create spaces where the seeking of reconciliation and forgiveness can happen—spaces where healing and liberation can have a fighting chance. Those at the forefront of this movement believe that criminal justice as it is typically practiced in the U.S. rarely provides such opportunities.
Restorative justice scholar and religious leader Jim Consedine is one of these voices. His experienced observations are insightful: “Many years of prison ministry have shown me how little remorse there is among inmates simply because they never have to meet their victims and see the devastation they have caused.”
Prisoners are far more likely to re-offend, says Consedine, if they are not given the opportunity to express shame or grief over their offenses. When these emotions are repressed, and when jailers and judges treat prisoners as worthless or doomed, the cycle of offending continues. And victims are left no better off than before. “Restorative justice,” writes Consedine, “offers a process whereby those affected by criminal behavior…all have a part in resolving the issues that flow from the offending.… [W]hile retributive justice asks, ‘How do we punish the offender?’, restorative justice asks ‘How do we repair the damage of this offending?’”
In some indigenous communities, like the First Nations of Canada, and the Maori of New Zealand, this latter question has inspired centuries of attempts to deal with the impact of crime. In the U.S., communities have started to put similar wisdom into practice. In Burlington, Vermont, a Community Justice Center has been operating since 1998. The Center oversees five panels of citizens who meet weekly to review cases, including simple assault, drug possession, and theft. Unlike traditional courts, this process helps offenders see the actual pain their behavior caused, and this makes them less likely to offend again; as an added advantage the process is a whole lot less expensive than the court system.
Restorative justice. A simple idea. A deeply religious idea.
The Hebrew notion of teshuvah, or returning to God through repentance, is closely connected to the ancient notion of shalom. Usually translated merely as “peace,” shalom’s full meaning has to do with a reign of justice, healing, and righteousness. Scholars tell us that the purpose of Jewish law was not the meting out of vindictive suffering, but the restoration of balance, and a renewal of the promise of abundant life between humans and God.
Perhaps one of the reasons our nation clings so closely to punitive models of justice is that we are still steeped in orthodox Protestant—and specifically Calvinist—notions of atonement. Orthodox Christians writing long after Jesus’ death interpreted his execution as a “necessary sacrifice” which would save the righteous. And Calvinism taught that certain souls were damned, predestined for eternal torment.
But our Unitarian Universalist tradition sees things differently. We defy the notion that suffering in itself brings atonement or salvation. We reject orthodox interpretations of Jesus’ death. We believe that if there is something healing about Jesus, if there is something redemptive about this storytelling troublemaker from Nazareth, it is the way he lived, not the way he died. And we reject the claim that God is a vindictive and abusive father who would inflict murder and suffering.
As Unitarian Universalists, we have another element in common with the restorative justice movement. We are a covenantal faith, not a creedal one. What is most important to us is the quality of our relationships: not conformity of belief, but the promises we make to one another and to the larger human family. Not a particular book, not a particular place, but relationships are sacred. Restorative justice shares these values. Restorative justice helps people and communities heal their relationships, if at all possible, rather than condemning some to the hell of continual punishment.
The practice of covenantal faith requires not only a personal returning, but also a collective one. A collective promise that says, “Return to me, and I will return to you.”
A collective promise that says, if you hunger for reconciliation and healing, if you are ready to tell the truth, come as far as you can. Come as far as you can, and we will return the rest of the way to you.
A collective promise that says, if you are willing to seek forgiveness, we are willing to work with you to heal the pain and the damage that resulted from your actions. “Return to us, and we will return to you.”
When people come together to seek reconciliation and forgiveness, the God of love and justice is near. The presence that transforms, the presence that forgives, the presence that makes us new—that presence is near. It is in the places of transgression and return that we will learn what it means to be human. It is in the places where we are broken that we will encounter a sacred and transforming power.
- Restoring Justice - May 1, 2012
