People who are not steeped in restorative justice – who have only a cursory understanding of the philosophy – believe that restorative justice is short on accountability. Even some of the staff of PBMR, which I like to think of as a restorative justice organization, struggle with accountability. Kazu Haga, in his book, Healing Resistance, said that in holding someone accountable, we need to put the emphasis on holding. Meaning that we should put the emphasis on relationship. What is needed and what does the one who has caused harm need to do to put the “us” back into right relationship? Here's the thing about accountability, the starting place has to be that the people are good – that we are each of us created in the image of God. The harm done is a deviation from that goodness that we possess. Now we must work to repair the harm. “ Forgiveness and compassion are always linked : how we hold people accountable for wrongdoing and yet at the same time remain in touch with their humanity enough to believe in their capacity to be transformed.” (Bell Hooks) Recently, two of our staff, Joe Montgomery and Fred Weatherspoon, accompanied a group sponsored by Juvenile Justice Initiative (JJI) to Hamburg, Germany. The trip’s intention was to learn about and tour juvenile prisons in Germany. The gourp consisted of members of JJI, state of Illinois representatives, and Fred and Joe—both who are system impacted from their youth. Their perspective is powerful and telling as they share their reactions to Germany’s juvenile justice system over and against their own experience in the U.S. I sat down with Joe and ask him about his experience. I encourage you to spend some time with his responses. Kelly: Besides being in a different country, what really stood out to you about the trip? Joe: The biggest thing is that they trust their kids . They’re put in a place, a detention center, where they don’t have to fend for themselves – survive on their own. In Germany, the kids have what they need. That’s the thing, from day one, the staff are working to get the kids what they need to get back home in good way. Education is big. You don’t have to be an A grade to go to school – everybody goes to school. Here, in our country, you have to be on a cetrain level to get into school. And even then, there are so few spots for education, that it may take years to get into school or a program. [If at all] It’s crazy to me how they value education. Even the correctional officers (CO’s) have an education. They have to have a college degree and they take continuing education classes. But the biggest thing was that they treat those kids with dignity . They work to ensure that they succede. Here, we expect failure from our kids and so we don’t put anything in to preparing people to come home. Kelly: You had some state officials with you, do you hope they took from the trip? Joe: I hope they learned from what they saw, and make changes —like the requirements for someone to go to school. Here in our correctional facilities, we don’t do anything to help people make the changes they need to go home successfully. I think it is an attitude, too. To see the kids as trustworthy. I was shocked to see that in Germany, they could cook with pots and pans on a stove. They had utensils – real utensils! They trusted them. Their thinking is that we trust that you will make the right choice. Kelly: What else really sticks out for you? Joe: In Germany the district attorney doesn’t look to get the harshest penalty for you. They aren’t trying to send you to prison. That’s unbelievable! I couldn’t imagine someone here doing that for one of ours. Another thing: in Germany the people who make the laws are one the same page as those who enforce the laws. What I mean is that the laws that are made come from what is happening on the ground. When we heard the lawmakers, that’s what we saw in the detention center and on the streets and how the police worked. Here in the US, the law might say one thing, but that is not our experience in the community. Like you have to have probable cause to search someone’s car. But the reality is that police stop people all the time and just search the car hoping they find something. This exerpt is just a short snap shot of the reflections and wisdom from Joe and Fred’s time in Germany. Stay tuned for more from them, as we continue to explore the possibilities and potential of when we hold one another accountable by holding each person as sacred, precious, and worthy of restoration and healing.

Fr. Kelly once wrote: “We must create communities of hope where we recognize that our lives are intertwined with one other and that what affects one, affects us all. This ethos— the interconnectedness of all —is at the heart of our spirituality that calls us to be ambassadors of Reconciliation.” As you know our Front Porch Community Healing Center opened this past November, and it has brought many curious neighbors inside to see how the old Community Grocery/Liquor store has been transformed. The first few months were wonderful welcoming new friends inside, but something was missing . The space is beautiful, but those white cinder block walls were stark and colorless! So we called on our artist instructor, Alberto Alaniz, and a youth artist, Kathleen, the “granddaughter” of Father Kelly and creative energies emerged! A mural team of youth and staff gathered sharing ideas and sketches and began designing the layout. Alberto reflects on the initial brainstorming process, “ Love, Hospitality, Hope, Healing, and a strong sense of Community were important expressions of what the team felt PBMR stood for in this community and what our mural should give voice and challenge to in these dire times.”

It is just as important as ever to attend to the little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained. -Howard Thurman I came back from a funeral I presided over for a friend’s mother, and all I could share was paraphrasing that you needed to have been there. Undoubtedly, you’ve heard someone say you had to be there! I call it an awakening , a deeper realization that unexpectedly catches me in a holy moment; the little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained to borrow a phrase from Howard Thurman. And too often my words fail to convey the depth or excitement of that little grace. There are those who can come close with a picture, a song, or a poem; but I believe nothing really beats being there. Fernando, our neighbor across the street, called me over the other day to show me two bullet shells lying in the alley. He poured out a heartfelt lament of concerns for the safety of our community and the misfortune of all the violence in our society today. Then, as he kissed the crucifix hanging around his neck, it was as if his faith kicked in and he began speaking words of hope and gratitude mentioning improvements and changes for the better he’s seen happening over the years. He blesses God for this, and attributes a lot of it to the presence and work of PBMR. His words graced my heart with a deep realization of a new relationship with the man who first came to us to work off some court ordered community service hours for a traffic violation. My words can’t describe the awakening of that little graced moment. Attending the funeral that I mentioned above were men and women whom I had not been in touch with over the past 15 or more years. Back then they were youth in our neighborhood, in our programs at PBMR, in the juvenile detention center, in courtrooms – now productive adults in their 30’s. They wanted to assure me how much they appreciated my role in their survival by not allowing the evil around them to enter into them; and they made it through. I found myself touched with little graces, as stories were told how the welcome, accompaniment and safety at PBMR had seen them through. And I knew it had to be through the Blood of Christ they were brought near. And we were all brought together by the woman who had brought us together in the first place years before. Painfully accepting her passing, we came to celebrate in many stories the legacy of truth-telling in the life Precious Renee Talley shared with us. She had been a Christmas present to her loving parents born on December 26th in 1956. Maybe that’s why they named her Precious. And yet to all who came to know her, she truly was precious with little energy for futility. With many mourners I too thank God for the gift of Precious in my life. Her down-to-earth approach brought her much respect. For Precious life was not only a gift but also an obligation. Her obituary read she could be as sweet as cotton candy but at the same time tough as nails. The home-going had many witnessing that she knew Christ who knew suffering . She lived her life familiar with sorrow, pain and woe. Hers was a dignity no one could take from her even as aging would bend her down low enough to lean comfortably on her walker, but spiritually standing tall ; a woman whose education was limited but not her wisdom. And her truthful unfiltered, blunt, and holding-nothing-back ways to speak truth were invitations for her hearers to be about truthful ways in their living. Awakenings, these little graces, play a significant role for me in living Precious Blood Spirituality in our ministry at PMBR. Caught up in the lives of our neighbors, our youth, our mothers and all our ministry I am surrounded with evidence of the power of redemptive suffering through the blood-stained cross of Christ present in our day. And I’m sure in your life as well, in our Precious Blood family, there’s no lack of little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained as we study the book of the cross. I am so glad that somewhere in my life, there must have been a moment when I said, “Here I am, send me” . My life has been filled with countless little graces during 20+ years at PBMR, and all I can say is you had to be there.

There is an African proverb that says, “when a child is rejected by the village, he will burn the village down just to feel the warmth .” I was asked to give a talk to the Center of Social Concerns at Notre Dame about the work of PBMR and Restorative Justice. They asked, too, if I would talk to a Restorative Justice class the following day, so I decided to make a trip out of it and bring along a couple young people. I can tell stories, but the real impact is to hear first-hand from those who live it each day. We got an early start so we could walk around campus. Of course, the Notre Dame stadium and “touch-down” Jesus was what they wanted to see. It was a beautiful day and the energy was high as the students moved quickly on foot and on the scooters. As we walked across campus, I suggested we take a peek inside the Basilica, which is a beautiful church. As we entered, they were taken aback by the number of students in church praying – no doubt making a quick visit before or after class. “They just come in here a sit?” one asked me. I told them that often people just need a quiet and safe place to be for a while. That they understood, but it is rare in their lives. One of them asked about the Stations of the Cross that lined the walls of the basilica and, so, I took the opportunity to talk about story of Jesus’ passion. As I pointed out each station, I got a nod of approval from an older gentleman in the pew. As we got to the building where we would talk, I could sense that both were nervous. I assured them that they would do fine and that they just needed to be themselves. I spoke for a while and then introduced them to the group. Their nerves gave way as they began to tell their story. They were honest and spoke from their heart. They shared what it was like being an African American “kid” growing up on the south side of Chicago. Of course, they spoke of the violence and their experience of being locked up, but they also talked about PBMR and all the good that was happening in their neighborhood. “Some people”, they said, “think we are all just criminals - bad people, but there is a lot of good in the neighborhood, too.” While they weren’t polished speakers, their story was theirs and they were authentic. As we closed the night, the students continued to engage with them – asking questions and thanking them for coming the campus. I could see both beaming with pride as they were the center of attention. On the ride home I asked them how they felt it went? They both said in so many words that it made them feel good – like they were somebody , instead of a nobody. It was one time when they weren’t defined by someone else. At the very heart of our work, is breaking down walls of judgement so that we can discover the dignity in one another. In the case of the two youth that accompanied me, they need people and society to see them, not judge them, and embrace them for who they really are. How many times have they been called a menace to society? Told that they are the problem? As we talked more, I think they were slowly beginning to believe that they were worthy of being respected and loved. A couple of days later, I went to court with another young man who I have known for most of his life. He was now 30 years old. He had endured a great deal…having had his bumps and bruises along the way. I got one of those early morning calls that he had been arrested . I worked to get him out of jail, and now accompanied him to court. As he stood before the judge, the state’s attorney called him a violent felon…even though he had not yet been convicted. There he was with his white dress shirt and black slacks and hair neatly tied back – another black man with dreads labeled as a felon. As I sat there, I wanted to cry out “you don’t even know him!” They knew nothing of all that he had overcome - obstacle after obstacle. They didn’t know that he's in a strenuous program to become a lineman for the power company and just the day before sent me a picture of him on a pole with his white helmet…. a sign that he had graduated to the next level. They didn’t know that he had three beautiful children and a beautiful wife. They didn’t know that he was one of the most respectful young people I know. As I saw him stand there for all to see, dressed as he thought they wanted him to dress, I knew he felt as though he was seen as violent felon – guilty because if his blackness. I felt sick; I felt anger, I felt powerless. But I also felt the love for a young man who deserved to be loved. I believe that our spirituality is to stand there at the foot of the cross , with all our powerlessness, but, also, with all our love and devotion. There is a story of older woman who had a deep devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe. A visitor to her home asked her why she had such a deep devotion to Our Lady. The older woman responded in her language, “porque se quedo'” – because she stayed.

Gathering on “The Front Porch” As a little girl growing up in North Star, OH, I remember sitting on our front porch and waving to all the people who passed by on Rt.127! Being farmers, we would run to our porch swing on a rainy day and watch the rain watering our fields. On weekends and evenings, neighbors would gather on our porch to tell stories and have some ice cream and warm pie that Mother just baked. Last week when the temperatures reached almost 50 degrees here in Chicago , I sat with one of our mothers on her porch as she told of her granddaughter’s murder and the pain of going to the court hearings month after month and rehearing the horror of the night. She cries, “Will the pain ever leave; will I ever find healing?” I leave her porch thinking of the differences in our porch conversations. Today on 51st St. in the Back of the Yards, PBMR has opened a “Front Porch” , a warm, open space for neighbors, staff, and participants to gather, share stories, connect, and be fed physically and spiritually, to heal pain and celebrate friendship. After 5+ years of vacancy, many were waiting with great expectation for those doors to open...Neighbors were stopping and asking, “Is this going to be a Church, an art center?” “Will you be selling liquor?” Then on November the 8th, the doors did open and we celebrated the birthing of the radical transformation of a once neighborhood “Grocery/Liquor store“ into a no-steps, 2- room gathering place to lift spirits , not sell them! The place hosts circles of all kinds – Mother’s healing circles, Youth circles, RJ leadership circles, Support circles for men and women returning from prison, Staff circles, Drumming circles, Community Mass circle, Planning circles - all for the purpose of healing harm and building relationships. While precious blood continues to pour out on the streets we walk and the porches on which we stand, we invite the community into a safe place, a comfortable corner to share with others their suffering, their confusion, their hopes and know that they are not alone. Everyday I’m at the “Front Porch” someone new stops by – someone in need of healing longing for a place of peace, a mother with 2 young children asking for prayer, a young father walking home from work...young, old, rich, poor, neighbors curious to see if this is a place for them. “Need some water, coffee, chips, some cookies, a hug? Come inside. You are welcome here! ” For those who saw the chaos and smelled the stench when the doors first opened in late July, the transformation has been amazing. Rats had their way, and quickly learned that they had lost their home! Neighbors, funders, board members, attorneys, friends of PBMR have been welcomed into this new creation and they stand with mouths open in amazement- sometime even to the point of tears. Mothers were especially excited as they could not believe there was such a place in their community – a place to find peace, to experience a “Spa Love Day”, a place where pain and disappointments can be shared, where reconciliation can happen among women/men/youth; a place to drum out frustrations and clear one’s brain! Summer will offer all kinds of activities and “Front Porch” experiences as we set up easels outside and the community comes together to paint and chat, to barbecue and know they are safe to come off their porches and get to know their neighbors and the community in a new way! PBMR continues to hear the voices of the community and respond as best we can to that call – it is the call of our spirituality – to build a community where all are welcome, all are seen as IN the circle, where all offered radical hospitality, hope and healing, where those who feel “far off” will be brought on to “the Front Porch” (close) through the Blood of Christ. We invite all of you to come , especially this summer, sit on "The Front Porch” to see and engage in our building a community of LOVE!! Donna Liette, CPPS

One by one, people walked to the front of the room, carrying wooden crosses with the names of their loved ones written on the front and sides. Holding their Mothers, Fathers, children, sisters, brothers, friends in their hands, each person spoke the name of their loved one aloud for all to hear and carefully placed their cross on the Wall of Remembrance . I watched as a young girl, whom I have come to know quite well these past few years, walked up, and spoke name after name into the microphone. She took her time, didn’t rush, and made sure to read every name carefully and with intention. Not yet 18 years old, and this little girl read upwards of 15 names. Hot tears streamed down my face. One of my greatest joys of being at PBMR is working with the youth—particularly the young women. They are brilliant, strong, creative, wise individuals who never cease to amaze me day after day. But in moments like these, I am reminded of the invisible unbelievably heavy burden of trauma and pain that these young people carry. Because of the neighborhoods they’re born into, the dangers they face, and the color of their skin they are burdened with a level of grief and loss that I will never fully understand. These kinds of wounds live beneath the surface —no one can see the trauma that another person carries—and yet our wounds are crying out for someone to see, touch, and heal the broken pieces of our hearts. But where, when, and by whom can we let ourselves truly be seen? Is there anywhere or anyone safe enough to let our walls down and share our sorrow? One mother spoke about how before leaving the house she puts on a full face of make-up in hopes of covering up the pain and depression that she battles daily. Here in this room, her tears wiped away this protective mask, and she shared how losing her husband, sister, and son, coupled with the stress of struggling to take care of her family often feels like too much to bear. Folks in the front and back of the room nodded in understanding communicating that they too feel what she feels. By sharing our wounds with one another, we didn’t sink from grief, but found community and solidarity which kept us afloat. There is a deep need and hunger for sharing our wounds in the context of community—to let down walls and unpack the hurt. I also believe that spaces safe enough for this type of healing are few and far between, especially for folks in our neighborhood. People have been hurt time after time, from such young ages. While safety is a basic human need, our youth, parents, and families often lack safety of any kind—whether it be psychological, emotional, physical, or spiritual. Nowhere and no one feels safe, and so people stay bottled up, wounded, and alone, unable to heal or move forward. And we wonder why things aren’t getting better. This year, PBMR is focused on healing —on creating more spaces and places where people can be vulnerable and allow love to touch their wounds. If we want to bring healing to the visible exterior in our community, we have to begin with the invisible interior. We have to begin with seeing, hearing, and holding the hearts of those we love, and becoming vessels of love and care for one another . As the young woman placed her cross on the wall of remembrance, we began to see that all the crosses organically were forming the shape of a heart . The pain of loss and grief of our hearts was momentarily flooded with love , and for a second, we gained a glimpse of the yoke being easer and the burden light.

Greetings to all of my fellow incarcerated community members and also to anyone reading this from the other side of the fences. Though you may not be aware of it, you are also part of our community . Incarcerated people affect and are affected by almost every segment of U.S. society and culture. From the people who are directly locked up, their immediate and extended families and friends, to the people who have been directly harmed by those who are incarcerated, and their immediate and extended families and friends (two groups that overlap more often than you might think). If we only included those two groups, what do think the number would be? On any given day in the U.S., there are over 2 million people incarcerated; if each of those incarcerated persons has 10 people that love them, that is 22 million people directly affected. What about those who were harmed? If each of those persons has 10 people who love them, that’s probably at least another 22 million people directly affected.... How many police officers are there in the U.S.? Correctional officers? Their family members would bring the total to what number of people directly affected by the incarcerated community? Lawyers, judges, and their family members.... The numbers get large, quickly.... My point is just that our society, our American Culture, is deeply intertwined with the lives of the incarcerated community. We as the incarcerated tend to view ourselves as separate and distinctly isolated from the non-incarcerated. This is a valid way to view ourselves—on its face, the point of incarceration is to keep us isolated and segregated from society in almost every way. We are all well aware of the downsides of the system of incarceration as it exists in our lives; the detrimental impacts incarceration has on us, as well as on our loved ones; the negative views of who we are, as well as the negative views of those who love us. I submit that those negative outcomes and views reach further into American Culture than people realize. In many ways, incarceration is the antithesis of Restorative Justic e . Those issues are not the focus of this writing. The focus of this writing is how we can come to understand and internalize the ideals and principles of Restorative Justice and Restorative Practices. In no way am I trying to assert that I am an authority or that I have all the answers when it comes to Restorative Justice. I feel my experiences have given me some insights, and my mission is to engage in Restorative Justice Practices in ways that I feel can impact the lives of my immediate community and my more extended community. I owe. It is as simple as that for me: I owe. The list of people I am indebted to in my life is extensive and grows longer every day. I am a former Juvenile Lifer, meaning I was sentenced as an adult to Life Without Parole for a crime I committed when I was 15 years old. My debt begins and ends with the lives of the two people I took from their families. I can never pay down that debt. I know that. The only thing left for me with that understanding is to do everything I can, at every opportunity, to ensure that what I did never happens to another family. That is an insurmountable task, it is commensurate with my debt. I can never reach that goal. What I can do is use my experience to improve outcomes for others’ experiences—I can use what I have done, the life I have lived, the things that have happened to me, to say that I have an idea for how we can do better. I can get my message out there. My message is that we can do better. We can do better for ourselves as an incarcerated population, we can do better as a community, we can do better than the bare minimum of isolation, degradation, punishment, and the perpetuation of the cycles of violence that tear down our lives on such a daily basis. We can heal. Healing ourselves is the single most fundamental effective tool we have in the quest to stop the cancer that is violence. Just as it is true that “hurt people hurt people”, it is also true that “healed people heal people”, and that is hopeful. I am a stakeholder. I am a person who has caused harm as well as a person who has been harmed —both of these things are true at the same time. Contrary to the traditional narrative of the criminal legal system, these two true things about me do not cancel each other out; they are mutually exclusive facts about me, both equally true, and both equally valid. This is also a truth of every person I have ever met and interacted with in any kind of meaningful way in the Illinois prison system. I have never interacted with anyone (that I know of) who is incarcerated and who is not also a survivor of violence. 27 years of incarceration has given me the confidence to say that I feel I have a pretty good insight as to who is incarcerated. I have spent the vast majority of my incarceration in maximum security settings, so almost everyone I have spent serious amounts of time with are incarcerated for violent acts— they are all also survivors of violent acts. Maybe there is an unmet population of incarcerated peoples who have not had experiences with personal violence,. If there is, I haven’t heard about it. A point I would emphasize is: Just because these facts are mutually exclusive and do not cancel each other out does not mean that there is not a direct relationship between these facts. More educated people than myself have conducted study after study that show unequivocally that there is a direct causal relationship between being a person who is a survivor of violence and a person who has committed violence. Hurting someone does not undermine the fact that you have been hurt. It also needs to be stated bluntly that being hurt does not ever excuse hurting someone. Both of those things are wrong, humans do not deserve to be hurt, there is no excuse for inflicting unnecessary pain on someone. It is equally true that it is never okay for someone to inflict pain on you. My experience tells me that the people who make up my community have an imperative need to come to terms with this truth: It is never okay for someone to hurt you. Period. People have a need to justify the things that happen in their lives, good and bad, positive and negative, healthy and unhealthy. It is a characteristic we share as humans. We like to make statements like “she earned it,” or “he deserves that.” Sometimes that is true—she did earn it, when it comes to things like paychecks or certificates or college degrees. One thing she never earned: being punched. Sometimes he does deserve it: a hug, a promotion at work, or an A in class. Something he never deserved: getting stabbed. Saying things to justify physically inflicting pain on another person is implying that it is okay to do harm to others. It is not. The justification of violence is an especially potent problem for two reasons: 1) it excuses the harm; and 2) it normalizes violence which helps to perpetuate the cycle. The thinking goes, “If I normalize the violence and harms I have experienced in my life, I am more likely to pay that violence and harm forward because I view it as no big deal and okay.” Recognition of this immediate and underlying truth is the first step in Restorative Justice. I’d like to make a short analogy to further illustrate my point about who deserves or has earned what. Imagine you come home from work, walk into your house, are greeted happily and excitedly by your dog, walk into the kitchen and find a pile of dog sh*t on the floor. In my mind you would obviously be upset. You look at your beautiful friend, wind up and punch him in the ribs! He yelps and scurries away. Did he deserve that? Did he earn it? No, he didn’t and [he says] you are an asshole for reacting like that. Did he learn his lesson? Probably not. Can you tell yourself a story to justify your actions? Sure, but that doesn’t make it right on any level. Now the trick, did you deserve to be called an asshole there? No, you didn’t. Why not? For the same reason your dog didn’t deserve to get kicked: because it doesn’t serve any purpose except an immediate, unsatisfactory expulsion of anger. Now you have to deal with guilt and all other kinds of complex emotions. And honestly, that is just a dog. I love dogs, they are awesome. They are not humans. Humans deserve to be treated with more dignity and more regard than animals (don’t hurt animals either, by the way). The point is that the infliction of pain (or punishment, to use the more popular terminology) does not evoke or invoke “personal accountability”, which is the stock and trade of Restorative Justice and Restorative Practices. The reason that personal accountability is so important in this process is that only through personal internalized self-accountability can we, as people who have caused harm, start to do the work toward restoration, our part of the work at least. Only through owning what we have done can we begin to work through the emotions of what we have done, of what has happened and how it has affected another person. A person who did not deserve whatever act was perpetrated on them. It also has to be acknowledged that doing harm to another also does harm to ourselves. There is hope though, even though we can never undo the harm we have caused, Restorative Justice is not about undoing something, it is about doing something. It is about doing something positive, healthy, and healing. This is the crux of Restorative Justice, this is what makes it so tough to partake in, the fact that it does not allow us to take a victim stance and excuse our actions by making statements about what happened to us or what is happening to us. We resolve to examine our actions based not on the motivations that may have driven us, but based on how they have affected someone else. We won’t dismiss the things that have happened to us, we have to deal with those things also. We won’t be able to fully heal if we don’t come to terms with the total, cumulative effects of the things that happened in our lives, both to us and by us. We have to deal with all the different facets of our shared histories. The narrative we have been sold consists of a group of ideas presented as facts, even though they are fundamentally wrong. The main ideas that drive this false narrative are that inflicting pain on another person will somehow lessen our own pain— it doesn’t; that incarceration as an answer to violent crime is effective—it isn’t; that our American ideal of prison as a deterrent has ever actually worked—it hasn’t. Period. Those are just the facts; there is no argument against these facts. The closest anyone ever comes to justifying prison goes something like, “Whatta ya gonna do? Let everybody outta da joints tomorrow?!” That is not an argument for prisons, at least not a cogent one. Prison is not an effective tool for dealing with crime. If it were even half as effective as it is purported to be, the United States of America would be, by far, the safest developed country in the entire world to live in. There are many paths to follow away from the purpose of this writing at this point; I am not interested in making those points, yet. The thing I’d like to focus on is: If prison isn’t the answer as a response to crime, especially violent crimes involving personal harm, what is a valid, purposeful response? One answer is Restorative Justice Practices . I will leave alone the facts here that surround the issues that are systemic in our culture and are leading causes and effects of violence, because I’d like to stay focused on what actions we can engage in that are forms of Restorative Practices and are healing in nature so that we can move forward in our lives to live with real purpose and intention. I will touch on those systemic issues briefly here and there because, as stated above, nothing in our society exists in isolation, everything and everyone is connected , often more closely than we might initially imagine. The main aspect I would like to keep in the forefront here is the concept of personal accountability. Personal accountability, as I have come to understand it, in- volves 5 key components: 1) Acknowledging our responsibility for our actions; 2) Acknowledging our actions’ impacts on another or others; 3) Understanding that impact and expressing genuine remorse for those actions; 4) Taking restorative actions or making reparations to the degree possible; and 5) Making sure that we live a life that ensures that we never repeat those actions or actions similar to those that will cause harm. Another way to talk about personal accountability is to say “taking responsibility.” I have heard this phrase misused as often as any other in my life as a prisoner. This misuse has to be attributed to the deep cultural acceptance of the misconception that uses punishment and accountability as interchangeable terms. I have had many conversations with my peers about the nature of taking responsibility. I maintain that taking responsibility involves much more than admitting guilt. Admitting guilt can be thought of as taking responsibility because it is a fundamental aspect of that process, but that is truly only the beginning. Add to that the nature of criminal court proceedings that are interested in “holding people accountable” for their actions in ways that are simplistic and superficial at best, especially pertinent here is the nature of a sentencing proceeding after guilt has been assigned. When a sentencing judge asks the convicted criminal if they have anything to say before a sentence issued that is known as an allocution. Allocutions are ostensibly utilized to give us an opportunity to “take responsibility” for our actions, that is often the way allocutions are referred to and talked about. Our lawyers, the prosecutors, the judge, even our family and friends tell us that this is our opportunity to engage in this part of the criminal process directly and “be accountable” or “take responsibility,” but it doesn’t equate to actually being accountable or taking responsibility. The work comes into play when we talk about the next steps; i.e., if I have taken a step down the road of responsibility by admitting my guilt, what does that admission now require of me? How do I continue down that road to healing and reconciliation? The next step in the process involves recognizing the harms that we have caused to another human being. As I stated above, there is no justifying hurting another person. Once we internalize that understanding we can begin the process of working through a true recognition of how we have hurt someone and the effect that has had and continues to have on those persons. In an ideal situation this reckoning would take place with the participation of the people who have been harmed. We are not in an ideal situation. The IDOC and the State of Illinois do not recognize the promise of Restorative Justice Practices as evidenced by the fact that they have no mechanism in place for people to engage in reconciliation and recognition of harms caused. Every Restorative Justice program I have ever heard of is instigated and run by private groups. That is the situation as it exists for us. That increases the degree of difficulty when it comes to assessing and recognizing the true effects of the harms we have inflicted upon others, but it does not make it impossible or any less important to honestly engage in this step. It is imperative that we recognize what we have done —without that recognition there can be no chance of true accountability and any kind of restoration put forth is rendered hollow by its lack of veracity. Expressing remorse is another part of the process that has to be acted upon in an unconventional way. Without the ability to directly apologize to the survivors of our actions, we must put some thought into what we can do to express our remorse. There is an important point to highlight here—the fact is that expressing remorse for actions we know were unacceptable is an important step to forgiving ourselves for what we have done to ourselves. Please remember that doing violence to another is also doing violence to the self. This is critical. I am aware that this statement can come across as minimizing the harm done to others, but this is untrue; it is another aspect that the myth of prison’s effectiveness causes to become accepted, that there is no room for a comparison of harms experienced by one person or another. Every person’s experience is just as true, valid, and important as every other person’s. Going down the rabbit hole of whose experience is more important implies a zero sum scenario for pain and hurt; the human capacity for suffering is almost infinite, and causing pain to another can never relieve the pain you feel. In fact, all it does is perpetuate and increase the suffering and cycle of violence . “Hurt people hurt people is both inherently true and the most concise definition of why we have to learn to forgive each other and ourselves for our past harms. Without engaging in healing practices for our self-inflicted hurts we will never be able to dent the progression of the violence cycle. No single step in the process of personal accountability is any more important than any other, however, step 4, taking restorative actions or making reparations, can offer one a feeling of truly engaging in the process in a tangible way. It can involve some of the most important fore-thought in that it requires us to look into the avenues available to us as incarcerated people to try to find the ones that allow us to most effectively invest ourselves toward making reparations. I have found that many times, men I have known have had to literally invent new ways to work toward paying down the debts we have incurred by our past actions. I have also encountered many men who have started down this path without even realizing what they were doing or why— they just felt compelled to do something positive in their lives. I was such a person. I began doing what I thought of as “good things” just because, not for a specific cause or thought, literally just because. In my mind this is illustrative of the simple and obvious truth that we are all more than just our worst decision or act. We are human; we are all capable of astounding amounts of love and kindness in ways that are not recognized by the court system, the IDOC, prosecutors, the news, or the traditional American Culture narrative that has brought us to this point in our individual lives. For many people I have known, this is where the rubber truly meets the road because it can have tangible measurable results. This is unlike step 3, expressing remorse—because no one can know how another person truly feels. On the inside, people sometimes struggle even with their internal dialogue as to whether the remorse they are expressing is heartfelt or just mouthed words to effectuate a lessening of guilty feelings. Plus, if you are engaging in positive actions, with positive intentions you will often see positive results . This is what living with a true sense of purpose and intention feels like. Finally, step 5: making sure that we live a life resolved to never repeat actions that result in the harms being committed again. This is the culmination of the process of personal accountability, not because it forces us to endure over and over the traumas that perpetuate the cycle of violence, but because this is the opportunity that frees us from that terrible existence. Living with intention is what allows us to be healed and to extend that healing to others, first to those we love and then outward to the other people we come into contact with in our lives and finally to the rest of the members of our communities and society as a whole. I call out to all of you, let’s be better. Let’s be better than the worst we can do to each other, let’s be better than doing the bare minimum to survive as a culture. Better yet, let’s do our best —we can do more every day, we can extend the hand of care and friendship, and most importantly, we can extend the recognition of value and humanity that every person is entitled to under the banner of basic human dignity . This is the underlying tenet that has been missing in our lives as prisoners: basic human dignity. We can’t wait for someone to hand it to us because we are already entitled to it. It just has not been recognized. Instead, we need to choose to embrace every day with intention and positivity while also embracing our shared humanity and inherent dignity. I am not saying that if you embrace these steps there will be an instantaneous change in the ways that we are treated and treat each other. We are trying to overcome centuries of a story being told to us, a story that violence is an acceptable answer, that prison works as a deterrent, or that our hurts don’t matter because we should be tougher than that. I am saying that acting on these principles is a dignified way to live. That doesn’t imply an easy way to live. I would never presume to say that your life will be easy, I only say that you, as a human, are entitled to dignity and safety, and that embracing Restorative Justice Practices is a way to live that. I want to give acknowledgement and thanks to authors Victoria Law (Prison By Any Other Name, Prisons Keep Us Safe and 20 Other Myths of Mass Incarceration), Danielle Sered (Until We Reckon). Their books on U.S. incarceration and its historical genesis, its current state, and new ways of looking at violence in our communities has served as inspirational and clarifying for my own positions on our community. -- This article was written by Eric Anderson from Kewanee Illinois State Prison for the Kewanee Horizon Publication. Eric has been incarcerated for over 27 years. Arrested at age 14 he was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. After resentencing through the Miller Vs. Alabama Supreme Court Ruling, automatic life without the possibility of parole was ruled unconstitutional. He still has three more years before he can come home. Through his years of incarceration, Eric has taken every opportunity to take responsibility for his actions and be a force for good despite all opposition. His words are full of wisdom and offer a challenge for us all—that we can do better. Thank you, Eric.

“When I was seven my auntie adopted me. As my stepmom she changed my name to Henry. At age eleven she put me out, later admitting she never did like me. I came into her life as a package deal with my little brother whom she really loved.” I listened to Johnathan (his birth name) for about fifteen minutes as his story unfolded eventually landing him now in Cook County’s Temporary Juvenile Detention Center (JTDC) at age seventeen. He thought his story not out of the ordinary, sleeping in abandoned cars or on the floor of a friend’s home. “I look at my life, and I love it. I feel better telling you about it.” It’s been twenty-some years of listening to stories of the disarray of young lives. Yet God, like a shepherd, is there leading JTDC kids , struggling, resisting, and longing to be led. Parker Palmer reflects: “violence is what happens when we don’t know what to do with our suffering.” While the courts focus on the violence, I sit and listen to the suffering. “I love my birth mother, but,” Alfred confides in me, “she’s an addict.” “Do you have any sisters or brothers?” I always ask that, then wait as they calculate how many on their father’s or their mother’s side. He counts on his fingers including as his siblings the children of a caring women who he calls “mother.” On his sixth finger he looks at me and says, “these six died in a fire two months ago; all children of my stepmom.” “Come close, I don’t want anyone to hear. My mother is homeless and is in a wheelchair. Can you help her? ” “Do you think I did the right thing? Think I can plea self-defense?” Thomas tells me what happened on the train – the one I take whenever going downtown, and the one that is too often in the news reporting stabbings, shootings, and robberies. His was a detailed story that now has him going to the adult court for attempted murder. “I go to court every Wednesday hoping DCFS will find a placement for me.” The lives of some incarcerated kids are overseen by the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS). Often these kids spend months incarcerated, just waiting for placement in a group home or with a family . Raymond seems resigned to this fate while telling me about his dream to someday be a chef and own his own restaurant. I’m touched by his untiring hope. “I fell on my knees and cried out really loud, ‘God forgive me!’” There had been months of nightmares and torturous feelings of guilt. To escape his depression, Hernandez told me of his attempt to shoot himself, while making a video of it. The gun jammed! “You have to be serious,” Hernandez instructed me, “You have to really get into it!” And I remembered Thomas Merton’s reflection that the deepest level of communication is not communication but communion. “After screaming to God I feel good again.” “I’m writing a book about my life to help kids not make the same mistakes I’ve made.” Jakwon lives in a neighborhood he claims is the worst in Chicago. “I became streetwise and did a lot of bad things.” He wants to help others by telling his story, like I hear from many other JTDC youth in their creative reflections on life as it really is in the hood – rapping realities of shattered lives. “Say a prayer for all of us,” I hear from a table where four kids are playing cards. They all bow their heads while we lift our voices to the God who knit them together in their mother’s womb, to God who calls them beloved sons, to God who has plans for their lives, as they ask the One who alone is their Judge for freedom, protection for their families (especially moms and grandmoms) and help for bettering their lives. Occasionally, tears are wiped away. Through it all, I am balancing ministry with a tinge of guilt as if volunteering as a chaplain in JTDC I am agreeing with a faulty criminal justice system – like guilt by association. Advocating for change is another battle ground. Here in JTDC I enter a healing ground where I find the Good Shepherd going after the stray to put them on his shoulder and tell them: “your faith has saved you.” Every Tuesday and Thursday evening finds me in JTDC doing something I can’t not do. Fr. Denny is a founder and continuous Spiritual elder for the PBMR community. He visits youth in JTDC every Tuesday and Thursday evening without fail to listen to the stories of the youth and offer presence, prayer, and accompaniment.

Recently, a group of the PBMR staff and partners attended a conference in Washington DC. This gathering marked the ten-year anniversary of the 2012 Miller vs Alabama case, which overturned mandatory life sentences for juveniles. Since hard-on-crime legislation, over 2,500 kids in our country received automatic sentences to die in prison— mandatory life without the possibility of parole . But after years without hope, the tides began to turn. In 2012 the US Supreme Court decision in Miller vs. Alabama deemed this type of sentence unconstitutional, and gave these now adults the hope of a resentencing. Since that decision, 950 men and women out of the 2500 have come home—a number of PBMR staff and community members being among them. The gathering was sponsored by the Incarcerated Children Advocacy Network (ICAN) , as a way to gather and celebrate the resilience and contribution that this community of formerly incarcerated men and women are making in the world today. PBMR’s Fred Weatherspoon and Harold "Mac" Hagerman were among those who traveled to Washington for this celebration. When asked about the experience, Fred shared, “I was choosing to take part due to my sentence of natural life that I received at the age of seventeen, as well as my work at PBMR as program manager for youth-based programs.” According to Fred, this was the first time an event such as this has happened in the US. Fred was struck by how life-giving and moving it was to be in the company of so many who had similar sentences as he did. Everyone understood each other. “Being with community” he said, “with so many that have shared your journey, will be forever planted in my soul.” It’s because of people like Fred, Mac, and countless others, that PBMR has become a gathering place – a safe place - for men and women who are returning home after spending time in prison. After spending decades in prison, it's amazing to see so many men and women come home, create a support system for one another, and carry such vigor to give of themselves to their communities and to today’s youth. We are beyond blessed to have so many as a part of our PBMR family, and see how they make a difference in the lives of today’s youth and advocate for systems change. These healers are all around us . This month, PBMR held its first healing circle for formerly incarcerated women—many having been inside for decades. Pamela, our restorative justice advocate and trainer, and Teresa Davenport, our Family Forward Housing Coordinator, helped create an incredibly welcoming and healing space for these women. Many not having seen each other since their days in prison, one could hear both laughter and tears as they shared their stories with one another. Our spirituality calls us to remain hopeful in the midst of struggle and trauma . It is not the “Polyanna” type of hope – meant to sooth and gloss over – but the hope that slowly emerges deep within the stories of pain and trauma. The hope that resides even in the face of death, and allows us to move through our sorrow, with the promise that this is not the end, and we are not alone. Thomas Merton maintains that conflict will always be a part of this human experience, but that beyond that suffering lives hope in the promise of transformation and healing. He remarks that we can allow God’s grace to seep into the crevices of our lives and make us into a new creation. Let me close with, perhaps, an unlikely author - Tupac (Shakur): Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature’s law is wrong it learned to walk with out having feet. Funny is seems, but by keeping its dreams, It learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared. At the end of the day, as I reflect on the many difficult stories and realities, I am strengthened knowing that there are those who, in the midst of their own stories of pain, offer themselves to the world, and in allowing abundant grace to seep into their cracks, bring so much light and goodness into the world.