Victim-offender mediation enables both sides to have their say in how crime is handled.

Corey Moore sinks shyly into the couch, dwarfed by his mom and dad who sit on either side of him. The soft-spoken 12-year-old, who excels in math and likes to ride his bike, hardly fits the image of "juvenile delinquent." Yet he committed a crime that got him expelled from school and confined to a youth detention center for four days. "It was scary," he says quietly. "It didn't feel right, because I wasn't sleeping in my own bed." He snuggles closer-more securely-to his dad.

One Sunday last spring, a friendly water-balloon fight outside Corey's Fresno, California, elementary school turned destructive when one of the kids found a piece of a water pipe and smashed it against a window. A few of them clambered through the opening, discovered a baseball bat, and broke into three classrooms: stealing some things, "tagging" the walls with scribbles. Then they broke into the teachers' workroom that housed their mailboxes, a photocopier-and a freezer filled with ice cream treats. Inhibitions depleted, the children zealously scooped out ice cream sandwiches, chocolate bars, and other frozen fare-carrying out armloads of stolen snacks while fumbled booty melted into pools on the floor.

Corey "went along," not thinking "I'd get in much trouble." But the next week, police officers escorted the boy out of the school in handcuffs.

"I remember looking into his eyes and feeling so disappointed," says Terry Marinaro, then the school's vice-principal. "And I knew he saw that in my face."

A short time later, Marinaro had the opportunity to express her feelings to Corey directly-as a part of the Victim Offender Reconciliation Program (VORP) of the Central Valley. "You were somebody we knew and trusted and liked," she told him on behalf of the teachers and the other administrators. "And we all felt so violated." Corey started to cry.

The affected teachers also spoke openly, sharing the hurt, the fear, and the insecurity they and the students had felt when they first entered the vandalized classrooms that Monday morning. Each time a victim or one of his parents spoke, Corey had to summarize what was said-until the other person felt sure Corey understood. The child shared his side in the same way-a process that took time, patience, and courage.

Then, with the help of a VORP mediator, the group talked about "how to make things right," explains Marinaro. In the end, Corey agreed to work 43 hours of community service at a local church to cover repairs and cleanup costs. He wrote letters of apology-and read them aloud-to the teachers and students of the damaged classes ("Probably the hardest part," claims his dad, Lawrence). And he bought gift certificates for the teachers.

"There were a few bumps," admits VORP interim director Jay Griffith, referring to the maintenance and food-service tasks assigned by the church. "Sometimes Corey had to go back and clean up a few areas again. There was a certain standard he had to meet. And it was important to work those things out as soon as they came up."

Overall, Corey's willingness and perseverance to take responsibility for his actions impressed his parents, the school staff, and his probation officer, and four months after the initial meeting they came back together for a time of celebration. "I don't think he'll do something like that (crime) again," says his mom, Betty. "I think he's mature enough now to know what he did was wrong."

Corey agrees he will stay out of trouble, despite the lure of his peers. "I'm going to think for my own self next time!"

Restoring Balance

Terry Marinaro lauds the way VORP personalized the offense for Corey by bringing him face-to-face with his victims and their pain. "He learned empathy"-a quality she deems essential in conflict resolution. She also endorses the program's success in giving power to both victim and offender as they worked on a resolution. "We created it together," she says, a joint accomplishment that gave both sides a sense of satisfaction, balance, and justice. In the traditional juvenile justice system, she contrasts, victims usually feel sidelined by the court, their needs ignored. And young offenders who feel fleeced of their power-and consequently their self-worth-often angrily seek to avenge that indignity.

VORP gave Corey "a lot of personal power," Marinaro adds. "He was never made to feel that he was a bad person, just that he had done something wrong and had the opportunity to make it right."

We can learn to share power with kids, "or they may find out that they can take it with a gun," cautions Ron Claassen, who in 1982 founded the Fresno-area VORP, a program birthed in Ontario and now multiplying throughout the U.S., Canada, Europe, and Australia. Ron served as VORP director for 17 years before resigning in November to concentrate on his responsibilities as a university professor (see box on p. 27).

VORP is a faith-based program that, in the criminal justice setting, drops the religious lingo but holds fast to the biblical principles of Restorative Justice as applied to human relationships. The program's reconciliation process comprises three integral parts: the offender's recognizing his unjust and hurtful actions (confession), taking steps to make amends (atonement), and planning ways to live differently in the future (repentance).

"When an offense happens, relationships have been broken, says volunteer mediator and VORP board chairman David Kleschold. In VORP, as in other Restorative Justice structures, "we are trying to repair those relationships. And repairing relationships is what the Church should be about, because we have the perfect model of Christ. As Christians, we should be leading the charge in this."

Central Valley VORP sounds that call in local churches, and over the years has successfully challenged hundreds to volunteer as mediators, providing an opportunity for mediation in up

to 500 cases a year in the greater-Fresno area.

Before any joint meeting, the mediator meets first with the offender (most of whom are juveniles) and his or her parents-explaining the structure, the ground rules, and the purpose. The alternative, the mediator points out, is that the criminal justice system will decide the offender's fate, with little chance for dialogue.

If the offender agrees to the mediation-and 80 percent do-the mediator then meets separately with the victim(s), again explaining the process and purpose. This preliminary meeting gives victims free rein to vent their deepest "raw" feelings, and for many it's the first time anyone has cared enough to listen. If they agree to meet with the offender-and again, about 80 percent do-they commit to help bring about a constructive solution. "We still want them to be honest about their feelings and thoughts, but express them in a respectful way," says Griffith. And when the two sides come together and treat each other with value, encouragement, and dignity, "something significant happens"-the beginning of renewed trust.

VORP doesn't always succeed, of course, "because not everyone's willing to work constructively and cooperatively," says Griffith. One of Corey's cohorts, for example, also voluntarily attended the same VORP meeting, but demonstrated no remorse and failed to follow through on his agreements. His case went back to juvenile court.

Without strong family participation, Griffith notes, young offenders often falter in their commitments and endurance. To compensate, many need the reinforcement of "other support and accountability people" such as mentors, "another way for the Church to get involved."

Restoring Humanity

VORP also helps put a face on seemingly "victimless" crimes-such as vandalism of public property. In Fresno, that face usually belongs to Linda Easley, claims specialist in the city's Risk Management Division. In recent years, the city has spent close to $1.5 million annually on graffiti cleanup.

In reconciliation meetings, Easley shows the vandals that their actions harmed real people-"not just walls and fences and telephone poles." Costly repairs consume money that could have been more productively channeled into parks, pools, recreational resources-things the youth would have enjoyed. Their parents and neighbors have to shell out higher tax payments, curtailing investments in family priorities. People lose pride in the community.

Making amends usually means restitution. Since most vandals are 14 or 15-too young for the city to hire for repair work-VORP meetings seek out creative alternatives. Sometimes Easley offers to get them a minimum-wage job-on the condition that they willingly do any task the employer assigns, including cleaning toilets or taking out the trash. "These kids tell me, 'Yeah, yeah!' They are seeing dollar signs in their heads," Easley chuckles. "Then I introduce them to their employer-their mother!" Only instead of paying her child, "she sends the money to me to help take care of the cleanup bill."

Easley disputes the perception that Restorative Justice measures like VORP are "soft" on budding criminals. Under the traditional juvenile justice process, she points out, first offenders often get "a slap on the hand" and go right back out to vandalize again. But a youth referred to VORP-"who has to look at what he's done, admit he did something wrong, and then do something about it"-confronts a toughness that makes him reconsider his actions before a criminal pattern sets in.

In her four years as claims specialist, Easley "conservatively" estimates that she has participated in 25 to 30 VORP mediations-with the full backing of the mayor, the police department, and other city officials. "We don't hide our light under a bushel basket about this," she stresses. "We make sure that the powers-that-be know we are doing these, because the city as a whole definitely benefits." That VORP is faith-based evokes no constitutional quandaries: "No one is preaching," says Easley. "The faith part comes through in caring for one another."

Easley notes an obvious drop in Fresno's crime rate-which she attributes to a combination of VORP and other community-based programs. Recently when a press conference was called to demonstrate a new "cleanup mobile," the driver "drove around for two days and couldn't find any graffiti to clean up!" she says with a satisfied laugh.

Fresno deputy probation officer Phil Erdman became a "true believer" in Restorative Justice three years ago after attending an eight-week training course led by Ron Claassen. Before then, he realized that a "big piece was missing in the criminal justice system"-the voice of the victim. So Erdman now serves as the Restorative Justice facilitator for the probation department-in part, screening juvenile cases to determine which ones to refer to VORP. He then takes the resulting agreements back to the court for approval as official conditions of the offender's probation.

Usually the court honors the agreement, especially after Erdman's staunch recommendation. "I consider this a holy commitment that needs to be respected, because it involved everyone who was harmed by the crime," he says.

Erdman weighs VORP's success on the basis of victim satisfaction. "When I see victims who have been able to voice their hurt and then have a part in deciding what's going to happen to the person that harmed them, I think that is what's most important. That's healing.

"It comes down to accountability," he adds. In our traditional system, victims often protest that offenders-even when locked up-"aren't held accountable, because they're not held accountable to them, the victims. They want a bigger piece of the pie. And Restorative Justice gives them that."

Terry Marinaro uses another analogy. After VORP addressed Corey's school vandalism, "the scales of justice truly came into balance."

Illustration by Paul Turnbaugh