In the summer of 2010, a Massachusetts man who had just retired from 33 years of policing – the last 17 as a police chief – did an odd thing for relaxation and rejuvenation: he enrolled in Howard Zehr’s restorative justice class at 91����Ƶ’s Summer Peacebuilding Institute (SPI).

Chief Len Wetherbee already knew quite a bit about the subject. While serving as chief in Concord, Massachusetts, he had read books by Howard Zehr and knew of Barry Stuart, a long-time judge in Canada who had written about the restorative ways indigenous peoples respond to “criminal” matters.

But now Wetherbee was interested in learning more about the university that had educated a bright, energetic woman he had helped recruit in 2008 to be executive director of in Massachusetts.

Her name was (MA ’04) – she had previously worked with in Charlottesville, Virginia, but landed in the Boston area when her physician-husband got a position with Tufts University.

“Chief Wetherbee called me throughout the week at SPI,” Larson Sawin recalls with a smile. “I suspected he’d be wary of the ritual components of SPI, but the coursework caught his imagination. He said the days went so quickly, five o’clock would roll around and he felt like the day had just started.”

At first, some of his SPI classmates were skeptical that police – often considered a fundamentally coercive force – could play a positive role in RJ processes. If only they had known the full scope of what was happening in Massachusetts.

Beginning in 2000, Wetherbee led his department to use restorative processes for juvenile offenses such as vandalism, trespassing, shoplifting, and bullying. The department encouraged the development of a group of trained volunteers to handle these matters, with an officer sitting in on each case.

The results were so positive, neighboring police departments got wind of the experiment and became interested too.

By the time Larson Sawin was hired in 2008, Communities for Restorative Justice had 80 trained volunteers handling referrals from police departments in two communities northwest of Boston.

Three years later, volunteers now number 100, and 10 communities are in the mix – including the urban communities of Cambridge and Arlington – with more communities knocking on the door. Offenses now include violent crime, offenders with records, and adult-initiated offenses.

“More of our police partners understand that restorative justice must treat the victim’s needs as central. If the victim wants restorative justice, it shouldn’t matter if the offender is 16 or 60, or that he broke into someone else’s house last week and therefore has a rap sheet,” explains Larson Sawin.

As an example of a successful case, Larson Sawin told of a swastika spray-painted on the side of a school building. The community wondered if there was a sleeper cell of neo-Nazis lurking about. When the young men responsible were caught, they agreed to participate in a circle process with members of the synagogue. They heard stories of childhood years spent in Nazi Germany and about all those who perished under that symbol. This encounter proved transformational for the young men.

As for the future, “we’ve got miles to go,” says Larson Sawin. “Any theory of change must include ‘bottom-up’ and ‘top-down’ strategies. While more communities are embracing this approach, we’re working towards statewide legislation. With folks like Chief Wetherbee in our corner, I know we’ll get there.”

Restorative justice is fragile. It hinges on people taking determined steps to relentlessly pursue their healing despite the pain it may bring. It challenges us to growth, to imagine beyond the current status quo and to take the creative risk of feeling and acting in a different, yet deeply courageous way.
—, 91����Ƶ restorative justice professor

I spend 30 to 40 percent of my time in a typical workweek researching grants for funding, writing grants, reporting to grant-givers, and otherwise focusing on fundraising. I had not expected to be doing so much of this type of work when I was getting my master’s degree in conflict transformation, but unfortunately it is an absolute necessity. This field does not yet have clear streams of funding.
—, executive director, Communities for Restorative Justice (Mass.)

How did I start from zero? We did research on the indigenous system of restorative justice called jirga, and I wrote a book on it. I then arranged for the first international conference on restorative justice in Pakistan. I started talking about the similarities and differences between jirga and RJ in the media, NGO and UN forums. I re-wrote Howard Zehr’s Little Book on RJ for the Pakistan-Afghan context and circulated it widely. I wrote a short play for [Pakistani] TV on RJ. I made it clear that I am doing RJ the Islamic way. And then donors started approaching us…
—, founding director of JustPeace International, based in Pakistan

At the outset we tried to convince some seemingly skeptical schools to sign up for the training. While they consented to the training, they did so reluctantly and ultimately the restorative action program there never successfully took root. A lot of time and money wasted to no avail. The experience taught us to go where we are invited and welcome.
—, author of Educating for Peacebuilding

Always start by building relationships, by working in partnership with others.
—, director of Central Virginia Restorative Justice

It’s common sense

Restorative justice is basically common sense – the kind of lessons our parents and foreparents taught. This has led some to call it a way of life. When a wrong has been done, it needs to be named and acknowledged. Those who have been harmed need to be able to grieve their losses, to be able to tell their stories, to have their questions answered – that is, to have the harms and needs caused by the offense answered. They – and we – need to have those who have done wrong accept their responsibility and take steps to repair the harm to the extent it is possible.
—, professor of restorative justice at 91����Ƶ