The modern American criminal justice system is built on punishment, retribution, and isolation. Yet for many victims and communities, that system fails to bring true healing. As Howard Zehr, widely regarded as the grandfather of restorative justice, writes in The Little Book of Restorative Justice, “Restorative justice is not primarily about forgiveness or reconciliation. It is about addressing harm, needs, and obligations.”
Restorative justice offers a radically different paradigm. Rather than focusing on what law was broken and how an offender should be punished, restorative justice asks: Who has been harmed? What do they need? And who is responsible for meeting those needs? It is a relational model that seeks accountability through empathy, repair, and, often, dialogue. It does not preclude punishment, but it re-centers the process around healing.
Zehr identifies three pillars of restorative justice: focusing on harm rather than rules, emphasizing offender accountability not through punishment but through repair, and promoting the participation of victims, offenders, and communities. This model, he notes, is particularly powerful not only in minor crimes but in cases of serious harm.
Consider the story of Conor McBride and Ann Grosmaire, detailed in Paul Tullis’s 2013 New York Times Magazine article “Can Forgiveness Play a Role in Criminal Justice?” When Conor shot his girlfriend Ann in a fit of rage, her parents were devastated. But they also felt called—by their faith and by the memory of their daughter—to seek a different path. “Forgive him,” Ann’s father heard her say as she lay dying.
That forgiveness led the Grosmaires to initiate what became one of the first restorative justice conferences in a murder case in Florida. With the help of Sujatha Baliga, a former public defender and national leader in restorative justice, they convened with Conor, his parents, prosecutors, and clergy. The circle allowed each person to share their truth. Conor described in painful detail what led to the shooting. Ann’s parents confronted him, not with vengeance, but with love and grief. They demanded accountability, not in the form of life without parole, but in an opportunity for Conor to do good in the world in Ann’s name.
Ultimately, Conor accepted a 20-year sentence with probation. While some saw this as leniency, the Grosmaires saw it as justice. They were not “soft on crime.” They were strong in a different way. As Kate Grosmaire put it, forgiveness was not for Conor, but for themselves: “Because if I do [stay stuck in that moment], I may never come out of it. Forgiveness for me was self-preservation.”
Linda White’s story echoes this strength. A retired college professor in Texas, her 26-year-old daughter Cathy was brutally murdered by two teenage boys. For years, White found herself drifting away from traditional victims’ support groups, which, while helpful early on, became mired in anger. “The talk was always about making people suffer more and more,” she told the Davis Vanguard. “That just didn’t work for me.”
Years later, White participated in a victim-offender mediation process with one of her daughter’s killers. The emotional meeting gave her something years of incarceration never could: understanding, accountability, and peace. “I had forgiven Gary years ago,” she said. “It doesn’t mean that it’s ever going to be okay what he did… But I could see him as a person.”
These stories are not rare anomalies. As a 2024 article “The Role of Restorative Justice in Modern Criminal Justice Administration” explains, restorative justice has demonstrated clear results in reducing recidivism, increasing victim satisfaction, and promoting rehabilitation. Offenders who participate in restorative processes are 10–25% less likely to reoffend. Victims report feeling heard, empowered, and more emotionally resolved.
Critics argue that restorative justice is too soft for serious crimes. But as Zehr reminds us, it is precisely in those deep wounds that restorative practices may have the greatest impact. “Real accountability involves facing up to what one has done,” he writes, “understanding the impact of one’s behavior, and taking steps to put things right.”
That process is not easy. Restorative justice is not a shortcut, nor does it always end in forgiveness. It is a structured process facilitated by trained professionals, often taking months or years. It requires the offender to accept responsibility. It demands courage from victims. And it calls upon the community to support—not isolate—those involved.
The justice system wasn’t built to accommodate such complexity. Prosecutors, like Jack Campbell in the McBride case, must weigh community backlash, legal precedent, and political risk. As the article notes, Campbell initially hesitated but ultimately allowed the restorative circle to proceed. “Opposing a church deacon asking for mercy for his daughter’s murderer has its own problems,” he admitted.
What restorative justice offers is not a replacement for the legal system, but a complement. In minor cases, it can divert individuals from jail entirely. In serious crimes, it can offer something the courtroom often can’t: the chance to be seen, to be heard, and to take responsibility in a meaningful way.
In Zehr’s words, “Restorative justice is a compass, not a map.” It does not erase harm, but it points toward healing. It challenges us to imagine a system where justice is not only about what offenders deserve, but about what victims need—and what communities can do to repair.
In a society where cycles of violence often beget more violence, restorative justice offers a path forward grounded in humanity, not vengeance. And for many, that path is the only one that truly leads to justice.
Respectfully, you and Robb Davis and all the rest of you restorative justice / decarceration types are out of your freaking minds. Ok, not respectfully.
The shining ironic example of this to me is the case of Jen Angel, the well-loved community activist in Oakland who owned Angel Cakes, a popular cupcake bakery. On February 6, 2023, she was sitting in her car near a in downtown Oakland when someone broke into her vehicle and stole her purse. This ‘live and let live’ activist didn’t give the business money to the poor beleaguered victim-of-society, she fought for her stuff like a bad-ass. As she attempted to get her stuff back from the criminals by reaching in a grabbing it from their car, she was caught in the getaway car’s door and dragged over 50 feet on her head on the pavement until her head impacted a curb. She was placed on life support and later declared to have lost all brain function before passing away three days later.
Jen Angel’s friends and family made clear they didn’t want her killer ‘punished’. They called for restorative justice, arguing that putting the criminal in prison wouldn’t honor her values — and that even in the face of her brutal death, cycles of violence shouldn’t be perpetuated through incarceration. But the primary issue here isn’t what her friends and family wanted, but rather in keeping other people in the community safe and alive by removing the threat.
Restorative justice is not a viable mechanism for dealing with violent murder in most cases, despite your flowery example, as again community safety is the prime issue. Yes, it would have been better if we could send Robb Davis back in a time machine to fix the tragedy of the perpetrator’s life that lead them to a life of such depravity, but that’s not reality. Restorative justice may serve a role in cases of nonviolent harm, where reconciliation and understanding may be possible — but when someone drags a woman across concrete until her skull smashes against the curb, we’re no longer in the realm of repairable damage. That’s not a misunderstanding, or a lapse in judgment — it’s lethal depravity in action. The moment the perp chose his own get-away over a human life, the need for community safety by getting the killer off the street was the only concern, not the idealistic fantasies of DG, RD, and Jen Angel’s friends and family. None y’all get a vote here.
And I find seven years rather minor for such a violent, self-centered choice leading to the violent death of another. It doesn’t reflect the severity of the violence. We’re talking about a person who could make the decision put their need to run away above the life of the person they had already just victimized — and then killed through their own horrific negligence. That’s not someone you restore with a Kumbaya circle and a dialogue. That’s someone you remove from society, and only return when and if you are certain they are no longer a threat.
I may agree with you on restorative justice for some not-violent crimes. I may agree on prison reform in some form. But I’ll never agree that public safety take a back seat to a chronically-deranged idealistic fantasy. You’re just never going to convince me and the vast majority of people of that, no matter how many articles you write about it.
Alan my response is that (A) there are real cases where RJ has worked in murder cases. (B) Restorative justice does not replace criminal justice but can supplement it—by focusing on healing, accountability, and dialogue. (C) Some victims’ families find meaning in face-to-face encounters and in helping the offender take moral responsibility. (D) RJ centers the needs of survivors, not punishment for its own sake.
I view RJ as a tool that can work on a case by case basis, not a blanket policy. We can integerate into the justice system, especially at points where punitive approaches fail to meet emotional, relational, or rehabilitative needs. It also for the empowerment of victims and survivors, but they ultimately have to choose to engage or not.
Well, Ok, as outlined I don’t disagree so much . . . especially B, C and D.
Jen Angel’s friends and kin, from all I read, really didn’t want her killer punished at all. From what I read and obliquely from people who knew her, she was a great person, if a bit idealistic. I found it maybe telling that she held these beliefs about the community and justice and gave so much to Oakland, and then fought so hard to get her stuff back. I admired her bravery, if not foolishness, but it seemed to me she went into human nature ‘that’s mine!’ mode, and I can’t blame her for that.
From article: “It requires the offender to accept responsibility.”
How so? And what motivates an offender to participate in “restorative justice”, when they clearly did not accept responsibility PRIOR TO committing a crime?
Is the concept here that, “gee, I just didn’t think about the harm I was causing, but now I see the light” (coupled with a possibly-reduced sentence)?
Putting people in prison isn’t primarily about “punishment”. It’s about separating those who already have no empathy for others.
Also, is it a coincidence that those who are pushing this are apparently / primarily religious types? Sort of like the missionaries who set out to “spread the word of God” in dangerous parts of the world, and end up getting assaulted, kidnapped or killed – thereby putting the U.S. itself at risk in order to protect their lunatic citizens abroad? (Those who didn’t listen to the warnings from the U.S. State department in the first place?)
” And what motivates an offender to participate in “restorative justice”, when they clearly did not accept responsibility PRIOR TO committing a crime?”
People aren’t static – they change. Many have been victims themselves, grew up in childhood trauma etc, by the time years go by, they have accepted responsibility and many of them have changed dramatically.
Maybe, but seems to me that it takes time (e.g., years in prison) before most of them start thinking about that (or are at least no longer much of a danger to others).
I generally don’t see much point in keeping old people in prison, with the possible exception of someone like Dorothea Puente. (Then again, she was ahead of her time in regard to “helping” with the housing crisis, right? By providing housing, and also by ensuring that it “turns over” in a timely manner.)
Then there’s people like the Golden State Killer – who really belong in prison until they die – regardless of “restorative justice”, or a big fat “I”m sowwy”.
Sometimes, you forfeit your life (or what remains of it) for what you’ve done. Why would anyone other than a religious nut feel bad about that? I’d pull the switch myself.
Everyone is different, but yes, it sometimes takes a long time.
Yeah – maybe in the next lifetime.
The older I get, the less I see life as “sacred”. Not when you consider that time moves on (both before and after us), and not when you consider what we (and nature) do to all animals.
Not to get overly “spiritual” here, but I’m increasingly convinced that if “we” have a soul, so do all animals. For that matter, I’ve seen examples of what appears to be “empathy” from some animals, more than I’ve seen from some humans. (And they didn’t even go to “restorative justice school”. Nor is there necessarily a connection between how they were raised, vs. how much empathy they have – though I’m sure it’s sometimes a factor.)
Now if you’ll excuse me (my third comment anyway), I’m off to have my turkey sandwich for lunch. After all, I didn’t kill him (or her).
Not another lifetime. Usually a few years – sometimes 10 to 20. I know a lot of guys in prison who really don’t belong there anymore.