Some critics say reconciliation amounts to coddling criminals, believing it might allow them to shorten their prison terms. In fact, parole boards may look favorably upon a convict's participation, but there is no formal benefit beyond that.
Other victims, especially those who have suffered through violent crime, say the idea of coming face to face with the perpetrator is abhorrent. Their preference is a long prison term and a quickly fading memory of a life-altering event.
But a growing body of research shows that participants in the mediated encounters -- victims as well as offenders -- report strong satisfaction with the outcome. Studies also conclude that lawbreakers who complete the process are less likely to offend again.
"Some people mistakenly think restorative justice is some liberal way of letting offenders get off easy, but it really demands much greater accountability," said Mark Umbreit, director of the University of Minnesota's Center for Restorative Justice & Peacemaking.
"I'm not saying it's some magic bullet. But there's some pretty good data showing it does at least as much good as the costly, dysfunctional approach we're using now."
A Daughter's Request
You never know how a child will handle the death of a parent.
One day, Siobhan O'Reilly sat down and made a card for the man who killed her father. She drew a picture of her face, with tears streaming. She wrote: My name is Siobhan. I am 8 years old. I'm not mad at you.
Along with writing to Albertson, the little girl made a request: I want to meet him.
Her mother was taken aback. What did it mean? She has a theory.
For his daughters, Danny O'Reilly's death in some ways was an intangible thing. They weren't allowed to see his body; they never saw his battered bike. They did not attend the court hearings. In a sense, the only living proof of their father's fate is locked in a cell at the California Medical Facility, a state prison in Vacaville.
O'Reilly is a mother who takes her children's comments to heart. Arranging a meeting -- even if it were possible -- might not be wise, she figured. Still, "I didn't want to ignore it," she said.
Soon O'Reilly was learning about restorative justice and a woman named Rochelle Edwards. A trained mediator, Edwards was just beginning a program at San Quentin, bringing in surrogate victims to meet with inmates studying the impact of their crimes.
