RESTORATIVE JUSTICE: HEALING BROKEN RELATIONSHIPS AT SYLMAR JUVENILE HALL
Last day of August 2008. It was four thirty in the afternoon. I was in the dayroom at the Barry Nidorf Juvenile Hall, in Sylmar, CA, getting ready to leave the unit where 50 youth aged from 14 to 17 are being tried as adults. (There are over 270 other youth of the same age group also being tried as adults in California.) We had just finished the final blessing of a liturgy where the fifty minors along with their parents began to say good bye to each other. One of the staff who was nearby says, “I was really moved by this healing liturgy. I am a mother. Everything I see and feel comes from being a mother.” She had tears in her eyes. “Most of these kids may end up having to face a lot of time behind bars. Look at them: they are still kids who need their parents. Yet they are being tried in an adult court. If only our system would give them another chance, they would make it.”
How is it possible that a staff member at this facility could make such a comment when it goes against what most people have been led to believe? Namely, that these kids are dangerous monsters that need to be locked up for the rest of their lives. There are a few sociopaths among these kids; they should be detained however necessary to protect others. Most of the minors here at Sylmar, however, are just kids who deserve a second chance. If we would only make the effort to engage them in some sort of restorative justice process, we would all see that they do in fact deserve a second opportunity in society, just like the staff member had seen.
After the Gospel reading at the liturgy, the youth read out loud to their parents how they would like to be forgiven. They asked their parents for healing where their relationships had been broken. After five kids read their reflections, which they prepared during a meditation class, each anointed the hands of their parents. As they put the oil in the form of a cross on their parents’ palms, a prayer was said so that the dark moments of misunderstandings would be healed.
As I watched the kids try to stop the flood of tears flowing down their faces, I began to think of Montserrat (a mountain in Spain), where the founder of the Jesuits, St. Ignatius, went and prayed one night before the statue of the Black Madonna, and where the next morning he took off his sword and left it behind forever. I was at this place not too long ago, standing there high above on the mountain, peering into the caves where hermits had lived for centuries—men who were intensely seeking to be connected to God. The entire terrain of Montserrat is filled with Presence. A stillness, a holiness, penetrated Monserrat as I walked over the stones to the large church where the Black Madonna rests. I remember passing by that very same spot, where Ignatius spent all night praying. He wanted to do something radical, give meaning to his life. He surrendered his arms. Everything.
On this last Sunday of August, the sacred space in the Sylmar unit was somehow connecting me to Montserrat and Ignatius. During the liturgy, I was able to share in a similar experience within sacred space. I looked out and saw Jose, a 15 year-old kid who will never have another meal at his mother’s table, gently take the blessed oil and slowly anoint his mother’s hands. His only words were his silence, tears gently slipped down his cheeks. He embraced his mother tenderly. Then all the youth anointed their mothers with the oil. As I witnessed this expression of love I, I reflected on how our country is the only one in the world that gives kids life sentences without the possibility of getting out. We have given life sentences without parole to 2700 children, the rest of the world, none.
After the anointing, I invited some mothers to come forward and read what they had written about their sons. One mother read out loud, “Son, I want you to know that I think and pray for you every second of the day and night.” All the mothers then anointed their son’s hands. As I witnessed this, feeling the intensity of the moment, I was seeing very clearly how the youth before me are still young kids. The love that was being given was transforming this dark place into a very sacred place. What words can be used to speak of this palpable presence of God?
Ignatius was prisoner on various occasions. Jesus too was a prisoner. Where some think God’s presence is non-existent, it is there where it is palpably felt. Ignatius was passionate about his former profession as a military man, but there was no way to express his love to those he was fighting. He therefore surrendered his arms at Montserrat and later went to the hospitals to help the very poor and sick, the prostitutes and those at the margins of society. He loved them. With this love, everything changed.
Maybe this is what I felt the unit at Sylmar, so different, yet so similar to Montserrat. During the liturgy, I could feel this love for those present connecting to God’s heart. With love, the place became sacred. It did not erase the pain, nor did it take away the deep sadness of broken hearts, but something greater was taking place because of it.
Each parent was given the bottle of oil they used during the liturgy to bring it home and anoint and pray for their children and relatives. When a family member is locked up behind bars, healing is really needed at home. Similarly, when a crime occurs, the family system suffers and needs healing both on the side of the victim and on the side of the offender.
I do not have any desire to return to Montserrat: I continue to experience a sense of holiness in a space not so distant; in a place of much darkness and suffering; in the lives of kids facing life sentences; in parents not knowing what is going to happen to their children. All this and the power and presence of a former Prisoner now Risen, made me grateful that I could be connected to a moment and place so sacred.
I walked out of the Sylmar juvenile hall with the staff person who had told me that her way of seeing everything comes from being a mother. We couldn’t say much, except she said, “I just want you to know I also took a bottle of oil for healing with my own children. We all need healing. I’m glad the brothers and sisters of these youth will also be receiving some attention and healing. We here only seem to be about punishing kids, instead of seeing how we can bring healing life. We did this afternoon.”
Michael Kennedy SJ
24 September 2008