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Bigger Than A Bag of Dope: They led twenty of us through the big wooden door and into a courtroom where a young man of color was on trial for possession of heroin with intent to sell. Five of his family members sat behind him. This was not the day at jury duty I had imagined. They sat me in Jurist #3’s seat, and my emotional and moral panic began. How could I participate in a trial prosecuting someone for selling drugs when it is a symptom of much bigger crimes that would not be discussed in this courtroom? And how was I to act in the face of a criminal justice system that is immoral and racist? I
looked at the defendant, John, as they read the charges, and all I could
think about was the disenfranchisement of the people of color and the poor in
this city, a major cause leading people to sell drugs. Not to say selling
heroin is not bad. In the Catholic Worker Free Clinic in Kensington, we see
the sad and dehumanizing effects of heroin on individuals and families every
day. But the economic, social, and political
oppression that is occurring in our inner cities is far worse, and
constitutes far larger crimes than selling heroin. In John’s face, I Sitting in the courtroom, I also began to think about how this system contains the marginalized by militarizing the inner city and targeting the city’s poor, people of color, and immigrants. I began to hear the weekly stories from the clinic of those who are harassed for being homeless, searched for having dark skin, beaten for being poor, and arrested for being from another country. These are the real crimes that should have been on trial in that courtroom, and until those issues were dealt with, no one had the moral authority to say anything about a young man who sold a few bags of dope. I was promptly dismissed with the judge’s disapproval after I expressed some of these sentiments in front of the court, but even after I left, I could not get John’s face and his family out of my head. I kept thinking about how to handle the problem of when people in the community do something against the greater good or against an individual. And if aggressive policing, harsh sentences, and a monstrous prison system is not a moral response, what is an alternative that reflects our values of love, compassion, and accountability while providing a path to healing and resolving conflicts? Coincidently, the Sermon on the Mount was one of the Gospel readings for the week of my jury duty, and I began to think about the Gospel’s challenge to forgive, love beyond our logic and reason, and to live in a different way. Restorative Justice offers a model for us to put these values into practice. Restorative Justice doesn’t focus on the breaking of a law, but on the harm done and on the breakdown of community. Instead of perpetuating violence, it seeks real healing by addressing the needs of those who were harmed, those who did the harm, and how to repair the community. Instead of institutional harsh punishments, it engages all parties to begin a dialogue to identify their needs, understand each other, and figure out how that harm can be repaired, both for the person and the community. It is in these personal relationships that love and forgiveness can blossom. Although this may seem unreachable, the Navajo do not have a word for offender, but instead use a word meaning “one who does not think they are of the community.” So when someone steps outside of the community to harm another, they have a peacemaking circle to re-integrate them back into the community. That would be something I would not mind missing a day, or month, of work in order to do. Peter Pedemonti |
began to see all the closed factories in
Kensington, the failing schools, and the dilapidated neighborhoods that sit
only a few miles from million dollar