When her 20-year-old grandson was murdered, long-time victim advocate Pamela Leonard, MA ’06 (), found herself suddenly in a new role. What she learned has strengthened her zeal for criminal justice reform. To read more about 91短视频 alumni involved in law, check out the summer issue of , 91短视频’s alumni magazine.
One Monday evening in November 2012, Pamela Leonard, MA 鈥�06 (conflict transformation), worked until dusk harvesting herbs on her farm in Lexington, North Carolina. When she got inside, a terrible message was waiting: her 20-year-old grandson had been shot by an armed robber in Atlanta. He died later that night.
For the prior 20 years, Leonard had worked with defense lawyers for people facing the death penalty. Now, she suddenly found herself cast in the role of the victim. While her grandson鈥檚 murder wasn鈥檛 prosecuted as a death penalty case, the tragedy gave Leonard new perspective on how the criminal justice system fails victims by drawing such fierce lines between prosecution and defense.
‘Confusing’ lines drawn
There was, for example, closed-circuit video footage of her grandson鈥檚 murder, which Leonard wanted to see. At first, the prosecutor refused to let her see it, for fear of giving away information critical to the case (eventually, Leonard was able to watch it). There had also been a bystander who鈥檇 remained beside her dying grandson as he said his last words. Leonard鈥檚 daughter, Allison Webb 鈥� the mother of the victim 鈥� wanted to send this person flowers as a token of appreciation. That also wasn鈥檛 allowed, to Leonard鈥檚 daughter鈥檚 great distress.
鈥淰ictims just get so confused by things like that,鈥� says Leonard. 鈥淲hen you are a victim-survivor or victim of the crime, there鈥檚 a misconception that the prosecution is representing you.鈥�
Instead, she says, prosecutors are representing the state. That means victims鈥� own needs 鈥� perhaps for more detail about the crime, or a better understanding of the criminal justice process 鈥� take a back seat to the prosecutor鈥檚 efforts to win a conviction. Defense lawyers, meanwhile, traditionally keep defendants under tight control, wary of revealing any information that could weaken their position in the courtroom. Victims who want to reach across these lines for whatever reason, as Leonard and her family learned, are often simply turned down.
During her career in the legal system, when she lived in Atlanta, Ga., Leonard spent most of her time working on a relatively new and somewhat counterintuitive practice known as 鈥渄efense-initiated victim outreach,鈥� or DIVO. Pioneered by the lawyers defending Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh in the 1990s, DIVO grew out of the restorative justice movement鈥檚 focus on how crime affects relationships between offenders and victims. As the name implies, DIVO essentially involves the defense team and defendant making themselves more accessible in order to meet certain needs that victims may have.
Between offender and victim: a relationship
Serious crimes like murders, DIVO advocates contend, create relationships between the offender and the victim鈥檚 loved ones. By making defendants and the defense team available to the surviving victims, DIVO can help victims meet their newly created needs in unique ways, such as providing details about the circumstances of a crime that only the offender can answer.
鈥淚鈥檝e now lived it,鈥� says Leonard, looking back on her experience as a victim-survivor of a murder. 鈥淚t expanded my understanding of why DIVO is needed, and why an overhaul of the criminal justice system is needed.鈥�
In a 2006 article in The Champion, the publication of the National Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers, Leonard wrote that, from a victim鈥檚 perspective, the criminal justice system 鈥渃an be overwhelming, frustrating, depersonalizing and, from their perspective, very slow, especially in death penalty proceedings.鈥�
鈥淭he primary benefit to victims who choose to work with a defense-initiated victim outreach specialist is empowerment, which means having a clearer realization of what matters to her or him and why those goals are important,鈥� she continued.
Leonard emphasizes that DIVO has to be a process entirely driven by victims鈥�, not defendants鈥�, needs. 鈥淭he defense isn鈥檛 entitled access to the victims, [but] victims should be entitled to access to the defense,鈥� she says.
DIVO advocates for ‘simple human decency’
DIVO advocates also point out that an openness to relationships with victims can benefit a defendant in the courtroom 鈥� a key point when trying to sell defense attorneys on the concept. A relationship with victims can increase the likelihood of a plea deal or serve as a mitigating factor during sentencing. Finally, Leonard makes a moral case for rethinking the traditional, walled-off nature of prosecution versus defense.
鈥淓ven if no material benefit results from reaching out to victims, simple human decency calls for defense attorneys to relate to victims with respect and compassion,鈥� she wrote, in The Champion.
Leonard, an editor of the essay collection, Restorative Justice and Social Work, believes that DIVO is beginning to catch hold. For more than a decade, she and her colleagues in the field have done an enormous amount of outreach, educating judges, prosecutors and defense attorneys about the benefits of the approach. Federal public defenders now routinely incorporate DIVO, as appropriate, in capital cases.
Restoring the land, healing from loss
The trial of the man who killed Leonard鈥檚 grandson ended in a plea deal, for which he鈥檚 now serving a long prison sentence. Eventually, Leonard鈥檚 family was able to meet the man鈥檚 mother 鈥� a step that was an important part of their healing process.
Her experience at 91短视频鈥檚 (CJP) also played a major role in helping Leonard cope with the loss of her grandson. She says studying restorative justice with professor and taking CJP鈥檚 , or STAR, training were particularly valuable, helping her 鈥渘avigate the criminal justice system without demonizing the young man鈥� who killed her grandson.
Several years before she became a victim herself, Leonard had already begun to step away from the emotionally draining world of capital cases. In 2008, she and her husband bought a farm in North Carolina where they now grow organic medicinal herbs.
鈥淚t was time for me to move on,鈥� she says. 鈥淒IVO is very life-affirming [work], but it comes at a price.鈥�
Before she arrived, the place 鈥� which they named Gentle Harmony Farm 鈥� had been conventionally farmed in corns and soybeans. Conventional agriculture and conventional criminal justice in this day and age aren鈥檛 as different as they might first seem, Leonard says. Both exact a heavy toll on their surroundings. Both could use some rethinking. As an organic farmer, she feels like she鈥檚 still fundamentally chipping away at the same sort of transformative work she鈥檇 done in the justice system.
鈥淲e want to leave this land in better condition than when we got here,鈥� Leonard says. 鈥淭here鈥檚 not an institution in this country that doesn鈥檛 need restorative justice.鈥�