Spirit and Conscience

On a beautiful night in April of 2004, my friend Ronnie (not his real name) went out for a walk around midnight. He wanted to watch the open water of the Mississippi, take in the clouds, feel the breeze and celebrate spring. As always, his very large, old dog, Sampson, came along. Under the bridge, teenaged guys and girls were drinking.

As Ronnie passed by, they approached him. They liked Sampson and wanted to pet him. Ronnie assured them that “Sampson wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Ronnie felt mellow and wasn’t worried about talking to some inebriated kids—they were far less threatening than the other folks who usually hung out under the bridge. Being tolerant and open-minded, he ignored their gang-style attire.

Suddenly Ronnie noticed a tall, burly youth off to the side pacing back and forth and swearing. At that point he knew he was in trouble. The kids started shoving Ronnie. “What you got?” they said. He pushed their hands away. “Show us what you got,” they said. When they saw that Ronnie had no money or valuables on him, their frustration turned to rage. “You wanna get shot?” One of the kids reached into his hoodie with his right hand and Ronnie assumed he was reaching for a gun. He thought his life was about to end. But it wasn’t a gun—just brass knuckles. When Ronnie felt the blow on the side of his head, his adrenaline kicked in. He pinned the kid to the ground and punched him in the face. Then he thought, “Why did I do that? I’m not even mad. I’m not mad at anybody. I’m just out enjoying the evening.” By this time there were only four guys left, and they were all kicking Ronnie in the head and one of them was clubbing him with a heavy walking stick Ronnie had picked up at the river. It was useless to fight because there were too many of them.

Ronnie saw a bonfire nearby and yelled for help. Sampson barked.

A neighbor, who knew the kids and had thought they were just fighting amongst themselves, came running and waving a board. Ronnie, who was already disengaged, yelled, “The cops are on their way.”

While the neighbor swung at the kids and yelled at them to get lost, Ronnie, with his glasses broken and “pain in every part of his body,” grabbed Sampson, limped away and called the police.

Two of the kids, Jack and Miro (not their real names), were caught as they fled on foot. Ronnie identified them the same night. The others scattered and were never apprehended.

Three months later, Ronnie, along with the county professionals involved with the case, was asked for his input concerning consequences for the assailants. Should they get probation until age 21 or 21 months in prison? Although Ronnie was still traumatized, revenge was not on his mind. He said he preferred probation until 21, and ultimately that was what the judge decided. Ronnie wanted the best possible outcome for the perpetrators. He was concerned for their well-being.

Miro was sent to a program in another state; Jack was assigned to an alcohol treatment program—and a victim empathy class, where he came to recognize the human rights of the person he had assaulted. He came to feel empathy for the pain and fear his victim had gone through. One year later he wrote Ronnie a letter expressing remorse.

On a beautiful afternoon in May of 2005, Jack and Ronnie met again, under very different circumstances. Jack’s probation officer and his social worker were present. The meeting had been arranged as part of Hennepin County’s Operation DeNovo, a restorative justice initiative, in which victims and offenders have the option of meeting face to face.

The account of the assault and the meeting comes from the victim and the probation officer. Jack was not interviewed for this story but gave his permission to write about these events.

The probation officer, who has worked in restorative justice for 10 years, said the meeting between Ronnie and Jack was not typical. First of all, it was in a public place, a coffee shop. Usually these meetings are held in libraries or community centers. She only agreed because Ronnie convinced her that was what he wanted. And secondly, Ronnie took charge more than is customary. There was a pronounced contrast of personalities. “Ronnie’s really a character,” she said. “And Jack is quite shy.”

Predictably, Ronnie was very expressive and Jack, a good-looking 18-year-old, was quiet. The probation officer let the flow go, occasionally punctuating it with questions to Jack such as, “What do you think?” “How do you feel?” Both young men seemed so positive, she said.

Ronnie said it was an emotional meeting. He called it a “spiritual experience.” He brought his unique mix of conservative Christian education, transcendental meditation, “Jesus was the original radical pacifist,” New Age workshops and “God is you and me and the space in between” to bear. He wanted nothing more than to see Jack overcome his dependence on alcohol and become integrated into the community. There was an immediate connection between the two of them. They smiled at each other.

Ronnie told Jack how his life had flashed before his eyes in slow motion when he thought he was going to die. Ronnie told him that for months after the assault he couldn’t shake the fear. “Should I take karate? Kung-fu? Should I get a taser?” He was mad at all the kids in the group. He went over and over what had happened. It was with him at all times. He was skittish about getting close to strangers when he was out in public.

Jack talked about the assault. He said they’d been drunk and trying to get money. He didn’t remember much and had been sick the next day. Ronnie remembered his own mornings like that. Ronnie asked Jack what his life had been like in the past 13 months. Jack said he’d earned his GED and was going to get a scholarship to a tech school.

Then Ronnie told Jack his letter was the most moving letter he’d ever received. He had read it while riding the bus and couldn’t resist sharing it with a fellow passenger, a woman he knew from a coffee shop.

Ronnie said his major motive in meeting with Jack was to tell him that he forgave him and to help him get on a better path in his life. Ronnie said to him, “Even people age 50 don’t complete their past the way you are. You have a good future. You’re doing a huge, mature thing.” The professionals at the meeting were stunned. They were even more stunned, not to mention concerned, when Ronnie called over the waiter, someone he knew only slightly, and told him why he was meeting with Jack. Ronnie said, “We realize everything we need to know by sharing with other people. It reinforces our good decisions. You have to share, have to acknowledge the good things and the bad things. Jack is doing a brave and mature thing and should be encouraged. It’s important to complete the past.” To Jack he said, “You need to be open about what happened—you’re going to gain more respect, and good things are going to come back to you the more you take responsibility and talk about it.”

The waiter was blown away and gave Jack positive feedback for doing the right thing.

Ronnie introduced Sampson, and Jack was obviously hesitant about petting him. “Is he a nice dog?” Since the assault, Ronnie always answers that question the same way: “Only if you are.” Jack vaguely remembered the dog.

Then Ronnie introduced Jack to his girlfriend, Chloe, who was sitting a few tables away. “She’s the one who would have suffered the most if I’d been killed.” She said to Jack, “My life wouldn’t have been fulfilled.”

When Ronnie told Jack he was still afraid to go to the river, Jack was visibly moved. “You should be able to walk there any time without being afraid.” he said.
After the serious part of the meeting was over they continued the conversation, chatting about Hip-Hop and spoken word and other forms of expression, small talk unrelated to the assault.

Afterwards Ronnie said it was awesome when he was finally able to forgive Jack, and awesome to be able to tell him.

The probation officer said the meeting was extremely powerful. “It takes a lot of nerve for juvenile offenders to enter into this process. The public shouldn’t see this as warm and fuzzy,” she said.

The important thing about this process is accountability. A normal punitive response to crime never really requires that the offender recognize the harm they have caused. In restorative justice, the process can only go forward when the offender recognizes the victim’s pain. That is the only chance for redemption or rehabilitation.

The other important thing about restorative justice is that victims have a voice. So often we hear about victims going through the court system and being “re-victimized” because nobody cares what they’ve gone through. In this process they get a chance to express their feelings, something they can’t do in our adversarial justice system. Not all victims want to meet with the offender. But when they do, what they usually want to know, according to Jack’s probation officer, is : “Why did you do this to me? What have you learned? What are you going to do different in the future?”

Of course restorative justice in cases of petty crimes, such as property damage and graffiti, works differently than in felony cases of robbery burglary, aggravated robbery and assault. And it works in a different way again in cases of rape and murder. Whatever the crime, she said there’s no doubt that crime damages relationships. “If you don’t bridge that … “

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The concept of restorative justice is ancient. The Canadian Centre for Restorative Justice says that “Restorative Justice is an old idea with a new name. Its roots can be found in Aboriginal healing traditions and the non-retaliatory responses to violence endorsed by many faith communities. It represents a return of the simple wisdom of viewing conflict as an opportunity for a community to learn and grow. It operates on the premise that conflict, even criminal conflict, inflicts harm, and therefore individuals must accept responsibility for repairing that harm.

Communities are empowered to choose their response to conflict. Victims, offenders and communities actively participate in devising mutually beneficial solutions, and implementing those solutions. Conflicts are resolved in a way that restores harmony in the community members’ relationships, and allows people to continue to live together in a safer, healthy environment.”

Interestingly, according to Ekklesia magazine, there is talk in England of turning the prisons over to the churches and charities—whose goal would be rehabilitation.

In South Minneapolis we are not talking about anything quite that radical, but we will soon have the Seward Longfellow Restorative Justice Partnership, a joint project with Seward Neighborhood Group and Longfellow Community Council. Its mission is to “build community by providing the opportunity to repair harm by involving the victim, offender, and community in solutions that promote healing, accountability, and reconciliation.” Victims of crime and youth offenders in the Seward, Longfellow, Cooper, Howe and Hiawatha neighborhoods will be given the opportunity to meet if they want to. As an alternative to court, they can participate in Restorative Group Conferences in an agreement with Operation DeNovo, recognized by the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office. Professionally trained volunteer facilitators will guide the conferences. The goal of the process is an agreement reached through consensus among all participants. Agreements can include restitution, an apology, community service, and referrals to community programs. These neighborhoods don’t want to lose their young people; they want to help them have good lives.

To find out more about the Seward Longfellow Restorative Justice Partnership call Joan Vanhala, program manager, at 612-338-6205x108 or e-mail her at joan@sng.org.

To read more about restorative justice, read anything by Howard Zehr, a pioneer in the field. He is a professor in the Conflict Transformation Program of Eastern Mennonite University in Virginia. His book “Changing Lenses: A New Focus for Crime and Justice” is widely regarded as a standard in the field. His books of photo portraits and interviews “Doing Life: Reflections of Men and Women Serving Life Sentences” and “Transcending: Reflections of Crime Victims” will change your life. He writes that the purpose of the meetings between victims and offenders is to express feelings, clarify the facts of the case and make restitution agreements. (One mother, whose son was murdered, just wanted to know what his last words had been.)

There is no directive that victims ought to forgive or that offenders have to apologize. That might or might not happen. In the book about victims it is surprising how many of the victims do forgive the perpetrators. In the book about prisoners doing life, Zehr writes that “they are put through a complicated process that encourages them to look out for themselves … They are given few opportunities and little encouragement to address their sense of guilt and responsibility.” It is inspiring, then, how many of them express genuine remorse and do whatever they can to make this world a better place. The important thing in victim/offender meetings is that it makes the crime personal. Zehr writes, “Our legal system defines crime by the laws that are broken more than by the harm actually done to individuals. It identifies the government as the victim, … offenders are not held genuinely accountable. Real accountability would mean understanding the harm they have done and to whom.”