Changing Minds, Changing Hearts

 

Changing Minds, Changing Hearts

YouTube: Shaka Senghor

Recently I had the great privilege of hearing Shaka Senghor speak. He has written Writing My Wrongs: Life, Death and Redemption in an American Prison. Shaka Senghor committed murder. His story of pain, struggle and transformation moved me profoundly. I was particularly interested in his accounts of being in solitary confinement and discovering books—from ancient classics to modern stories of black men. He writes this about one if his first experiences:

“When I got back to my cell, it was nearing time for count, so I sat down and opened up the dog-eared pages of Eldorado Red. From the first page, I was hooked. Goines’s vivid tale of inner-city life and the underground lottery had me in its spell, and his ability to articulate the pain of the streets validated the anger, frustration and disappointment I felt toward life in the ‘hood. Goines placed me back on the streets of Detroit; he made me feel alive again. I read the whole thing that night.” 1

All of us need our experiences to be validated. What do most of us living outside the fence in nice neighborhoods know about the traumas young black people experience in the streets and neighborhoods?

Senghor goes on about reading The Autobiography of Malcom X, “Without question, it was one of the best and most important decisions I have ever made.”2 This made me remember a statement from more than one of my students, “If I’d learned this stuff about my people in school, I don’t think I would have dropped out.”

Senghor echoes the power of black people learning black history when he writes, “My reading of Black history gave me a sense of pride and dignity that I didn’t have prior to coming to prison.”3

Books were an important part of his changing identity, as was learning to write and journal. When he figured out that writing in a journal was a method for learning about himself and a way to manage his anger, it all became a powerful tool for transformation. He writes:

“It’s hard to express how much this process of examination began to change me. Within the lined pages of my notepads, I got in touch with a part of me that didn’t feel fear whenever something didn’t go my way—a part of me that was capable of feeling compassion for the men around me.

For the first time I could remember, I began to recognize my true self.”4

There it is: the recognition of one’s true self. People are not born criminals. People with severe damage or psychological illnesses are in a separate category. I did not want to know about or discuss my students’ crimes. I learned that crucial lesson early on when I looked at a difficult student’s file and discovered what he’d done. It did not help the already tenuous relationship between us, and it was not my job. I did have the privilege of watching people being transformed by education as they learned to read and write, as they learned and articulated what was important to them as they thoughtfully figured out what their futures might look like outside the fence. As they worked and learned, as they figured out how smart and capable they were, they were discovering their own compassion and goodness, their true selves.

When I heard Shaka Senghor speak, he read the letter he wrote to his victim and talked about the letter from the victim’s godmother, who forgave him. He talked about the long road to forgiving himself. When asked about forgiving his mother who had abused him as a child, he said the lesson he learned was that forgiveness did not mean that the other person automatically changes their behavior.

It was an amazing evening. When he finished his speech, the audience gave him a standing ovation. All the proceeds from that evening’s book sales went to the Children’s Literacy Network, which sponsors Staying in Touch in the county’s prisons. Inmates choose books for their children and read the books into a recorder. Their children then receive the books, recordings and cards from their parents. Senghor praised the program, noting just how important those connections are for both parents and children.

I taught many remarkable men in my prison classroom. Early in my twenty-five year career, I had two men in a history class. (To protect them, I’ve changed their names.) Mr. Hamden was supremely organized in whatever he did, including his school work. A dream student, every assignment was done perfectly. He never missed a class and came in early every day. At a time when the Jaycees, an organization for leadership training and civic organization for people 18-40, had a chapter in the prison, Mr. Hamden found a program that would take store coupons and turn them into a charitable project. Under his leadership, other inmates and both federal and contract staff collected coupons and turned them in.

Mr. Engling was in the same class and another excellent student. He and his classmates wrote a play about a man experiencing events in the 20th Century. I don’t remember a single hitch in the whole process. Mr. Engling was warm and fun as he crafted the script to include everyone in the class. They then loved rehearsing—and the performance turned into a huge hit.

Years later I had Mr. Walls. He was at the end of a long sentence, delighted to be able to earn his high school diploma. He was a joy in class as he sat in the front row asking good questions and keeping discussions lively, interesting and focused. His assignments were typed (no easy task with very few typewriters available in the library), and he earned straight A’s. One of his papers was the story of his teenage years, including what he described as the terrible decision to drop out of school. He went on to write about his re-awakening when he discovered books and school. After he was released, he wrote letters back to our program’s Pre-Release class, encouraging people who were ready to go home and warning them about pitfalls outside the fence.

All three of these men were self-reflective, centered and focused on successful futures. They were kind, compassionate, helpful and courteous. All three helped me enormously by being perfect role models for newer students who were struggling. I found them charming and lovely to be around.

All three had committed murder.

Much of the discussion around prison reform centers around non-violent offenders. If those people are released, that would be progress, but it leaves many more people locked away who have, at an earlier time in their lives—often as teenagers—committed violent crimes like murder. People DO outgrow bad behavior and take responsibility for the crimes they commit. Those people who do not need to be kept behind bars. One of the missing pieces in our broken criminal justice system is any attention on the victims and survivors of violent crimes. When asked, people have amazing capacities to forgive.

I think about the people, especially those in power in the criminal justice system, who cannot look beyond a single, awful event—and see whole people. This article from the New York Times tells of someone who committed a murder and spent over forty years behind bars: False Hope and a Needless Death Behind BarsHe became one of the most respected inmates in the state’s system, took total responsibility for his crime, earned degrees and started a program in which victims and offenders could communicate. He had support from prison guards, judges, clergy and prosecutors. After he was denied parole ten times, he committed suicide at age 70.

Another compelling reason to release people who’ve served long sentences, may have committed violent crimes and are doing good work behind bars, is that the world needs them! Formerly-incarcerated people are organizing across the country to work for prison reform and to work with vulnerable young people. No one can do it like they do. They know. They have the answers, the solutions and the commitment. Many of the men I knew expressed their needs to “give back” to their communities.

“Our worst deeds to not define us,” says Senghor. Prison is tough. In America we don’t simply lock people up and take away their freedom—we add further punishment like the use of solitary confinement. Our current system allows life inside to be miserable and dangerous. It is not easy to admit and atone for crimes committed. But, if people serve their sentences for many years and become valuable citizens behind bars, we should at least consider releasing them. If they can change their hearts and minds, we should be able to do the same. We need to start imagining a world where we matter to one another. Part of the blaming and shaming has to do with how cut off we all are to the people who live in prisons. Media images of “those animals,” as one person described them, abound.

Mr. Walls wrote this, “I have thought a lot about this in the quarter of a century I’ve been locked up. When it is their loved one who is charged with a crime and convicted, people always want leniency, mercy and humane treatment for the person they love. But, when it happens to people you feel no connection with, it is common to hear cries of “3 Strikes and you’re out!” and “Execute him!” He also wrote, “I wish citizens would demand that prisoners be treated as they would want their beloved sons and daughters to be treated, because that is who we are. We are your brothers and sisters who have made mistakes and lost our way from the right path. Only through education will we find our way back.”

Mr. Walls wrote this, “I have thought a lot about this in the quarter of a century I’ve been locked up. When it is their loved one who is charged with a crime and convicted, people always want leniency, mercy and humane treatment for the person they love. But, when it happens to people you feel no connection with, it is common to hear cries of “3 Strikes and you’re out!” and “Execute him!” He also wrote, “I wish citizens would demand that prisoners be treated as they would want their beloved sons and daughters to be treated, because that is who we are. We are your brothers and sisters who have made mistakes and lost our way from the right path. Only through education will we find our way back.”

  1. Shaka Senghor, Writing My Wrongs: Life, Death and Redemption in an American Prison, (New York, Convergent Books, 2013, 2106), p. 99.
  2. Ibid., p. 101
  3. Ibid. p. 101
  4. Ibid. p. 192

We found it–it’s ours!

Civil asset forfeiture sounds confusing, and most Americans don’t know that it means drug enforcement officials can help themselves to people’s cash, cars and other belongings. Christopher Ingraham’s article in the October 1, 2015 issue of the New York Times is titled: Most Americans don’t realize it’s this easy for police to take your cash.  

In The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, Michelle Alexander calls forfeiture laws “Finders Keepers” and traces the practice of the police being able to seize cash and assets when enforcing drug laws back to 1970.  But it wasn’t until 1984 during the Reagan Administration that Congress amended the law that allowed all law enforcement agencies to retain the proceeds for their own use. Alexander continues, “ Suddenly, police departments were capable of increasing the size of their budgets, quite substantially, simply by taking the cash, cars, and homes of people suspected of drug use or sales.” [1]

When I read about this in The New Jim Crow, it shocked me, and then I remembered bringing up the idea of search warrants with my prison students in a civics class one day. It set off a firestorm with my students saying that the police could barge in and help themselves to anything they wanted. At the time, I found it hard to believe.

Several rules make it even worse. A mere suspicion that someone is involved in using or selling drugs is all that’s need for property to be seized; the owner has no right to counsel; and the burden of proof is on the owner. Few people can afford lawyers and do not want to challenge the government’s action for fear of criminal charges.

There are even more insidious aspects to this. I cannot imagine the anger, desperation, frustration and despair of having property seized only because the authorities are suspicious. For the police to be able to simply help themselves to someone else’s property opens the door to all kinds of abuse and corruption. More people need to know that this has persisted for decades, with reforms not going nearly far enough. As Alexander writes, “Despite all of the new procedural rules and formal protections, the law does not address the single most serious problem associated with drug-war forfeiture laws: the profit motive in drug-law enforcement.” [2]  No wonder the drug wars have continued!

Fortunately, there is bi-partisan support for reform of this practice. In a time of legislative gridlock, the beginnings of reform are sailing through both houses of the Michigan legislatures.


  1. Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness (The New Press, New York, 2012), 79.
  2. Ibid., 83.

The Eighth Amendment

“Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.”

–The Bill of Rights’ Eighth Amendment

 

We are not doing at all well on this one. Three recent articles address the issues. The Bail Trap in the magazine section of the New York Times on August 16, 2015 says, “Every year, thousands of innocent people are sent to jail only because they can’t afford to post bail, putting them at risk of losing their jobs, custody of their children–even their lives.”  

NPR posted an article entitled In Ferguson, Court Fines and Fees Fuel Anger; the article explains people’s outrage in response to the city’s use of fines. 

On September 9th the New York Times published an article called Solitary Confinement is Cruel and All Too Common. Its first paragraph says,

“If mass incarceration is one of modern America’s deepest pathologies, solitary confinement is the concentrated version of it: far too many people locked up for too long for no good reason at no clear benefit to anyone.”

Justice Anthony Kennedy says that solitary confinement “drives people mad.”

The problem is far larger than excessive bail, fines and 80,000 people in solitary confinement.  People are sentenced for decades for drug offenses, devastating lives and whole communities; drug use is still a criminal issue and not a public health problem; disproportionate numbers of people of color languish on Death Row; many people on Death Row are innocent; children are incarcerated, treated as adults, put in solitary confinement and given life sentences. All of this horror says as much about our divisive politics of fear and the finger-pointing culture we live in as it does about the millions of people snarled in the system. This situation says that millions of impoverished, often mentally ill people and people of color simply do not count. We talk long about criminals paying the price, but we are failing to look at our thirst for punishment, our long and sordid history of racism or the situations and policies that set people up to fail. We are far too eager to see people behind bars as totally bad and not fully human. Using the right language is useful. The American culture has deep pathologies. I wish we had a national integrity and paid as much attention to the 8th Amendment as we do to the freedoms of speech and religion. I try to maintain hope, and the fact that California is addressing these ugly conditions is encouraging.

Incarceration in Germany

What We Learned From German Prisons

EARLIER this summer, we led a delegation of people concerned about the United States criminal justice system to visit some prisons in Germany and observe their conditions. What we saw was astonishing.

The men serving time wore their own clothes, not prison uniforms. When entering their cells, they slipped out of their sneakers and into slippers. They lived one person per cell. Each cell was bright with natural light, decorated with personalized items such as wall hangings, plants, family photos and colorful linens brought from home. Each cell also had its own bathroom separate from the sleeping area and a phone to call home with. The men had access to communal kitchens, with the utensils a regular kitchen would have, where they could cook fresh food purchased with wages earned in vocational programs…

READ MORE: What We Learned From German Prisons, NYTimes

 

How wonderful to have another perspective on how to treat people behind bars! Germany has a totally opposite approach to criminal justice to ours, training staff for several years so that it can effectively help people to be successful when they are released from prison. At its heart, Germany’s philosophy of how to treat people who have broken the law is about human dignity. In the United States, we are primarily about punishment. The statistics in the article say it all about which approach is better—for people who break the law and for society at large.

Our current focus on prison reform cannot be only about fixing sentencing guidelines or releasing people who are serving draconian sentences for non-violent offenses, though those steps are necessary. As Nicholas Turner and Jeremy Travis say, we must re-think our values. Also, we must ask ourselves how mere punishment–often with long periods in solitary confinement, and without education and robust, positive rehabilitation programs, make it possible for people to get out of prison and automatically become good citizens with good jobs to support themselves and their families. The article says that German prisoners are “expected to exercise good judgment.” My prison students taught me the simple lesson that if I treated them with respect, they treated me—and their fellow students—with respect. When I raised my academic expectations and told them they were capable of good work, they became successful students. When prisoners are treated as bad, throwaway people, often their behavior reflects that.

The article points out the fundamental differences between the two countries. In spite of—or maybe because of–Germany’s history of the Holocaust, they need to treat protect the human dignity of their incarcerated citizens. The authors state, “Most notably, America’s criminal justice system as constructed in slavery’s long shadow and is sustained today by the persistent forces of racism.”

Our current system has wrecked families and communities, and the damage will be felt for decades to come. We have a long way to go to fix our overwhelming prison problem, but this information provides hope that we can begin to change our thinking and move forward in more hopeful, ultimately sustainable, ways.

A Ruling Passion: Abolishing the Death Penalty

Mr. Walls was my student at the end of his very long sentence, finishing his last high school credits and feeling grateful to be leaving prison with a diploma. On the first day of my Civics class, he grabbed a front row seat and did far more than the assigned work. One day he spoke to me in the hall about his interest in the abolition of capital punishment, asking me if he could address the class. He got to know people well when delivering books to people on Death Row in another institution. “Most of them were poor and black,” he told us. He went on to argue that the death penalty solved nothing: it did not deter crime, it did not bring the victims back, and it added layers and layers of loss and grief to the families and loved ones of the people who were executed. He talked to anyone or any group who would listen: he wrote letters to the editor and letters to legislators. He worked on this issue all the time. I called it his “ruling passion.”

News of Nebraska outlawing capital punishment is welcome, as is the continuing conversation about the efficacy of lethal injections and the spotlight on what happens to people when it goes wrong. I am heartened by knowing that other states are considering a ban on what Mr. Walls called “killing people legally.” Innocence projects around the country are discovering just how many people are innocent; the fact that we still kill innocent people is chilling. I am also encouraged to read information from Conservatives Concerned About the Death Penalty. Marc Hyden, the national coordinator, and other right-leaning opponents have been persistent for years in claiming that capital punishment is “out of line with the conservative ideas around respecting human life, upholding fiscal responsibility and limiting the scope and power of the government.” [1]

Keeping people on Death Row and carrying out capital punishment raises other questions. In an article from Harper’s magazine, Kenneth E. Hartman writes about his experiences of Christmas in prison from his early years in the 1980’s when even the guards got into the spirit of celebration with inmates. He then traces his holiday experiences through the next decades when not only did prison populations swell to unbelievable levels, but punitive attitudes grew to new and cruel heights. Hartman says the new philosophy of corrections is a “more aggressive approach to crime and criminals that holds that rehabilitation to be both pointless and fruitless.” In other words, these are throwaway people beyond any redemption.

Sent to a new facility, Hartman asks a staff member if the canteen could sell eggnog, something he had enjoyed during the holidays in another prison. The staff member says it would be impossible and asks, “What would the victims think?” Hartman replies that he doesn’t know. [2]

Exactly. No one knows what victims think or feel because only a very few are part of the process. If offenders and victims were given a chance to talk face to face, would each victim or member of victims’ families all want the person put to death? Would they want people on Death Row to suffer terribly every day for the rest of their lives? Or, would they want the space and opportunties for them to heal through the process of facing and taking responsibility for their crimes, thereby recovering their full humanity?

I am impressed with the conservative groups who are working to abolish the death penalty because it interferes with their core values. It speaks of their integrity to match actions with beliefs. People who want capital punishment and work hard to keep it going, even in the face of the recent horrors with lethal injections gone terribly wrong, need to be able to say that it is perfectly acceptable to kill people who might be innocent; be able to say that it is acceptable to kill people because they are too poor to hire a good lawyer; and be able to say that it is acceptable to mete out the death penalty on people of color far more than to white people. American citizens need to recognize—and honor–the 8th Amendment, which prohibits cruel and unusual punishment, including torture.

In an article in the New York Times called The Radical Humaneness of Norway’s Halden Prison by Jessica Benko, I was struck by the stark contrast of Norway’s highest security prison lying in the middle of blueberry fields, where the people inside are allowed fresh air and sunlight every day. We have the grim situation in this country where 80,000 people live in solitary confinement, many not seeing anything other than a small patch of sky for decades. Inmates in Norway are treated with compassion and respect, and the goal is to do as much as possible to prepare people to get out. Benko at the New York Times interviewed Ragmar Kristofferson, an anthropologist who teaches in a correctional training facility. “If you treat people badly, it’s a reflection on yourself,” he says. “In officer-training school,” he goes on to explain, “guards are taught that treating inmates humanely is not something they should do for inmates but they should do for themselves.” [3]

In Norway, if someone does something terrible, he or she is not automatically a terrible person. In the United States, if you make a mistake and commit a crime in this country today, you become that mistake—and can lose your life.  If we treat people humanely and with respect, they tend to respond humanely and respectfully. If more people could personally know and have relationships with people facing the death penalty, I think our attitudes would drastically change. Our current ruling passion in many parts of the country is to punish—and punish severely with strong voices fanning the flames of revenge and retribution. The problem of obtaining drugs to execute people is creating conversations in a few states to bring back the gas chamber, the electric chair and even—the firing squad. The violence toward people behind bars with very long sentences for non-violent crimes, the murders of black people by police, the 80,000 people in solitary confinement and our thirst for the death penalty are all part of our retributive thinking. That thinking needs to be balanced by more voices of reason, compassion and mercy. Abolishing the death penalty would support offenders’ families and it would support victims’ families if they were part of the process. If we could make our policies more compassionate and do it for ourselves as Norway does, it would move us all into a more humane country.


1. Khan, Naureen, With Nebraska Leading, Conservatives Reconsider the Death Penalty, Aljazeera America, June 2, 2015.

2. Hartman, Kenneth E., Christmas in Prison: Greeting the Holidays in an Age of Mass Incarceration. Harper’s Magazine, December, 2014.

3. Benko, Jessica, The Radical Humaneness of Norway’s Halden Prison, The New York Times, March 26, 2015.

Restorative Justice

Restorative justice is a theory of justice that emphasizes repairing the harm caused or revealed by criminal behavior. It is best accomplished through cooperative processes that include all stakeholders.
Practices and programs reflecting restorative purposes will respond to crime by:
  1. identifying and taking steps to repair harm,
  2. involving all  stakeholders, and
  3. transforming the traditional relationship between communities and their governments in responding to crime.

Russian writer and philosopher Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote, “The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.” If he could examine our prisons today, I think we would be judged very harshly. If he could see the millions of people in them and see how we are criminalizing poverty and childhood damage, we would be judged inhumane. If he could learn of the draconian sentences for non-violent crimes, we would be judged unjust. If he could see what damage mass incarceration is doing to families and communities and how difficult we make it for people getting out to put their lives back together, we would be judged foolish and shortsighted. If he could see the number of children we condemn to adult, violent environments and lifelong sentences, contemplate the tens of thousands of people in solitary confinement and understand the way most incarcerated people are treated, we would be judged ruthless and brutal. If he could understand its racist elements, I think he might point out our core value of equality and label us hypocritical.

Criminal behavior is complex, and some of its root problems like poverty, mental health issues and poor—or no—educational opportunities seem intractable, but there are better ways of dealing with criminal justice if we care enough about our identity as a people. We need a sharp 180 degree turn toward restorative justice. The ways is which we carry out “justice” is tragically broken and sick, and the damage being done is affecting us all. It—and we–need to be healed.

Across the Line

Making big changes and seeing the world very differently require courage. Maya Angelou said, “Courage is the most important of all virtues, because without courage, you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.” Individual people can so easily put blinders on about big, painful problems, but we are also capable of moving from a place of safety and security over into an unknown space where we feel insecure and often frightened. Making courageous decisions needs moral muscle and a desire to feel honor and self-respect. It is how we grow. Instead of focusing on these national faults lines in our criminal justice system, we could focus on our strengths, our capability for great compassion and our deep concern for the common good. If individuals are capable, then so are we as a nation capable. I’ve found people’s courage and capabilities amazing—especially among my students in prison.

Dropping out of school has serious consequences, especially to people’s self-respect. People who drop out often feel like failures and losers. None of my prison students had graduated from high school before I knew them. I think about the first days back in school for these men—how vulnerable they looked with their wooden faces and wary, anxious eyes. But, they had already crossed the first difficult line, the doorway into the office to sign up. They had to swallow their pride about their grave mistakes. I found it so interesting when asked about the decision they most regretted, that they said it was not the crime they committed, but dropping out of school. “If I hadn’t dropped out, I wouldn’t be here,” they answered.

They had to look in the mirror and face themselves as people with very rusty basic skills in reading, writing and math and as adults who knew very little about what was in their textbooks. In the macho world of prison, it took great courage to be doing the right thing for their lives, to face the unknown world of being back in school. They had to face their fears about failing again, open their books and begin. They had to decide that their lives were worth something, that they just might be capable of succeeding after all. One young man wrote me a note about three weeks into the semester, saying that he wasn’t sure he could do the work, but he wanted me to know how hard he was trying. He said it took him a whole year to “not be too scared” and sign up for school. I watched and was awed by his courage. I watched their courage every day.

I see a connection between being courageous—and the development of personal dignity. I wrote about South Africa in my last post, and how its people still give us shining examples of what it means when we put ourselves in vulnerable positions and do amazing, out-of-the-ordinary things.

Nelson Mandela gave the world so many shining examples of both courage and humility. There were many ways he could have reacted to his twenty-seven years of political imprisonment. If he had meted out punishment, many people would have understood a sense of anger and revenge. He could have punished the people who took away so many precious years. He could have called for the same kind of humiliating damage he himself had experienced. Instead, he invited one of his white jailors to his inauguration and gave him an honored place, showing his country and the world a new level of human stature, a new humanizing dignity and a new kind of courage.

The United States has our own shining examples of astonishing courage and dignity in the face of tragedy. The Christian Science Monitor Weekly magazine on April 13, 2015 has a cover photograph of Ricky Jackson, who served 39 years in prison, making him the person serving the longest sentence in America’s history for a crime he did not commit. The article called Innocence Found: The Ricky Jackson Story follows the intricacies of Jackson’s case and his efforts to free himself. It follows the Ohio Innocence Project, whose members started working on the case in 2006.

Eddie Vernon, a witness in the case, was only thirteen-years-old when the police and prosecutors coerced him into lying about what happened. His testimony sealed Jackson’s conviction—and that of two other young men, who were also innocent and spent decades in prison. After trial, Jackson was sentenced to die in the electric chair, and he spent two years on Death Row until the federal Supreme Court ruled Ohio’s capital punishment unconstitutional. The next thirty-seven years found him in a succession of prisons. When he went before five parole boards, they looked for a change in him and some kind of remorse. When he couldn’t demonstrate that because he was innocent, they extended his sentence each time. Eddie Vernon, after decades of his own remorse and guilt, finally came forward—terrified of being convicted of perjury. He too demonstrated great courage. Finally, the state withdrew and Ricky Jackson was freed.

What makes this story so compelling to me is that Jackson isn’t angry or bitter. He managed to live in prison with grace and humility, and he exhibits those same qualities as he struggles to put his life back together while dealing with the challenges of being out in the world. He has met with Vernon, and doesn’t harbor any resentment or anger toward him, knowing how much Vernon has also suffered.

Innocence Projects and organizations like Bryan Stevenson’s Equal Justice Initiative are finding innocent people on death row and serving years and years all over the country, creating tragedy for victims and their families and dishonor for us as a nation. I wonder how Ricky Jackson’s fate would have changed if restorative practices had been in place. As most programs involve the community, it might have been far harder, if not impossible, to coerce and believe the testimony of a thirteen-year-old boy. We have to drastically change course if we want to be move toward being more civilized, to use Dostoyevsky’s language.

When my students ventured across the scary line to sign up for school, they were being accountable to themselves, signing up to be their best, not their worst. They were moving beyond the labels of drop-out and felon and becoming students, then graduates. When graduation day came and they could finally wear the red cap and gown, they all walked and stood taller, their dignity and self-respect in place. Education is a part of restorative justice as it helps students discover their competence–and their goodness as human beings.

Maya Angelou also says, “I think the courage to confront evil and turn it by dint of will into something applicable to the development of our evolution, individually and collectively, is exciting, honorable.” All of the parts of restorative justice try to enhance the best in us: our ability to be responsible, our talent for creativity, our capacity to make moral choices, our power to be compassionate and our courage to be forgiving. With courage, we can all move across the line and begin to see our system and all of its victims differently. We need a change for the rest of us, because it would give us a much-needed new identity. It would honor us. We need to look no further for exemplary role models than those people who’ve spent years and years behind bars.