How We Respond to Harm

Imagine this, based on a true story. Two teenage boys are arrested for driving drunk. No one was hurt, thank goodness. They are asked to sit in a “restorative justice” circle with the mother of a child who was killed by a different drunk driver. She will tell them about her inconceivable pain and loss. They will explain to her why they drove drunk. They can bring a supporter or two to help them. Then they and their supporters will need to come up with a plan to make things right with the community, their families, and themselves. They will explain their plan to the circle, who will help them improve it. One of the boys says, “Couldn’t you just punish us?” 

We may imagine that someone has been made accountable when they have been caught, shamed, and punished. But punishment is from outside. Sitting with and feeling the pain of the person you harmed may start something inside you. Empathy may lead you to want to become a better person. It’s a more true kind of accountability. 

This process equally gives the person who was harmed a chance to tell their full story—which rarely happens in court—and to understand why the person did what they did. Together they can begin to create relationships. Telling their stories, they begin to heal each other.

Restorative Justice is a different way of responding to crime and harms of all kinds. Instead of punishment, it seeks accountability and healing. It is as ancient as human society, but is becoming increasingly popular today as people realize that prisons often act as crime schools rather than places of rehabilitation. Punishment often makes things worse for everyone, except those who profit from the prisons.

It was when I was facilitating a restorative justice group in a women’s prison in California that I became friends with Rahkii “Hyp” Holman. We traveled two hours each way to the prison together. 

Our backgrounds were starkly different. I went to a British boarding school and Oxford University. I grew up not knowing anyone who went to prison. Rahkii was raised in working-class Boston-Roxbury and was bussed from his Black neighborhood to a white school for the twelve years of his schooling. He saw the mass incarceration era of the 90s take place before his eyes. 

At school I learned to play a musical instrument—a bassoon my uncle had—but couldn’t play in the orchestra because my sense of rhythm was so bad. Hyp’s musical talent—he’s a Hip Hop harpist and music producer—served as a protective factor for him. It took him abroad on tour and opened his eyes to the wider world. 

One of my grandfathers was a Christian socialist, the other made a pile of money serving the British Empire. Rahkii is a descendant of the Transatlantic Slave Trade, and his great uncle was Amilcar Cabral, the African independence leader for Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde. He has just produced a short documentary about Cabral and will screen it on July 5th, Cape Verde’s 50th year on liberation from Portuguese rule.

INTERVIEW WITH RAHKII HOLMAN

David Belden (DB): How did you learn about restorative justice?

Rahkii Holman (RH):  I went to college in my thirties. While I was there I learned about a program called Get on the Bus. They bring busloads of children to see their parents in prison on Mother's Day, and Father's Day. It was kind of a restorative celebration. It was dope, and once I learned about that, I started teaching a student-led course on restorative justice. Like most young people, my peers and I had a desire for a social life. Our social life was risky and dangerous. Some people ended up serving time and we all caused some kind of harm in the community at one point or another. We all needed healing, opportunity, basic safety, good education, not the underfunded schools, unemployment, and massive policing we actually had.

DB: So you got taken with the idea of it first, before seeing it practiced, aside from the bus trip?

RH: The thing about it that resonated with me, though, was, growing up, we got whupped. I'm from that generation. But my Pops would have these family conference circles that he would do. We would be able to speak freely and talk about how we’d been impacted by things. When he thought that he might have overreacted or was wrong, he went there.  So I grew up with an adult, a caregiver, you know, an authority figure, who was like, “I'm opening this up to you because I think I was wrong.” So restorative justice resonated with me when I heard it.

DB: How did your dad learn that? Or did he make it up?

RH: That's a good question. He made it up. I think it was something that he wanted that he didn't get, in his upbringing. My father was involved in the Black Power movement but he was also a street dude with all its trappings so, he was socially conscious and streetwise. 

DB: So after college you went to work for Community Works (CW), which does restorative justice in the Oakland / Berkeley area. Did you think about doing the Restorative Community Conferencing (RCC) program that brings young people who’ve been arrested into a community circle to make amends? 

RH: I have an affinity for RCC. It truly keeps our young people out of jail. I’ve actually participated in some of the conferences. I wanted to focus my work at the org around what happens after people get out. I developed the restorative reentry approach at Community Works and implemented it via the intensive reentry case management program. 

DB: Too many people come out of jail or prison only to go back in. How did you work with folks to get them a new start?

RH: My restorative reentry approach consisted of me meeting with people either while they were in jail or back home in the community. Before jumping into intake and risk assessment etc., I would offer up a one-on-one restorative process. I would begin with an opening quote or proverb, introduce a relationship building question, establish values and agreements. We would have a discussion about our experiences growing up and then move into the intake process. This way, we get to know a little bit about each other and the process is more relational and connective. 

Having these restorative conversations would open the way for people to take a deeper dive and share information pertinent to the journey they’ve been on and where they want to go. I would use this to support them in their reentry plan. Whatever it is that they wanted to do: address substance abuse, address their violence, reconnect with their family, find housing, employment and education etc. 

I would work with folks anywhere from three months to two years. Throughout this time we would continue to build a relationship. Going out to eat and attend events together. I would join folks in their substance abuse and anger management groups etc. I would go to dinner with them and their family. Sometimes I would hold Circles Of Support and Accountability (COSAs) with them and their family or even some probation officers. As you can imagine it was only the progressive probation officers that would want to engage in this. Particularly a few Black women probation officers. I know “progressive probation officer” sounds like an oxymoron but shout out to former p.o’s in San Francisco like Ramona Massey. 

This was really heavy and meaningful movement work. I never looked at it as “helping people”. It was never about charity. It wasn’t entirely altruistic either. It was the concept of Ubuntu: I am because we are. If people are working on healing and making progress then I and any life they touch will be better for it. I learned so damn much from the people I served as a restorative reentry case manager.

DB: You did a couple other unique and innovative programs. Tell us about them.

RH: I developed a music and Hip-Hop centered Restorative Justice curriculum called Build and Beats. I hold the Build and Beats healing circle for cohorts of young EMT students in San Francisco. Shout to Dusty’s Fishing Well, the org behind the SF City EMT program. 

I also implemented a guaranteed income project at CW, after securing a $600K grant. System-impacted people, whether formerly incarcerated or the child of an incarcerated parent, would receive $1000 a month for 12 months and then $500 a month for six months, with no strings attached. Guaranteed income is a movement born out of the Covid stimulus packages of 2020. In The Bay Area, the relatively young, former Black mayor of Stockton, Michael Tubbs, implemented the Stockton Economic Empowerment Demonstration (SEED), a successful guaranteed income demonstration. He came through and gave his blessings on our program. There’s a recorded panel featuring him and a few of us at CW as well as the East Bay Community Foundation, which contributed to our initial pilot. Shout out to the good sister: Zakiyyah Brewer. I joke and say I got to implement my socialist agenda just like my great Uncle Amilcar Cabral. And really, with the sense I always had about this country: the richest country in the world, why don’t we support disenfranchised populations this way?

DB: To finish, tell me about you and Amilcar Cabral.

Note: Amilcar Cabral (1924 – 1973) was one of Africa's foremost anti-colonial leaders. A Marxist, pan-Africanist and revolutionary poet, he led the nationalist movement of Guinea-Bissau and the Cape Verde Islands, but was assassinated shortly before Guinea-Bissau’s independence.

RH: I grew up knowing that my great grandpops was Cape Verdean. So I'm 4th generation. I was born July 15, 1975, ten days after Cape Verde’s Independence from Portugal. We celebrate our birthdays together. This year we turn 50. I like to tell people that, for part of my lineage, I was born free.  Over my altar, I have a photo of grandpops and Amilcar Cabral together. Cabral is my third cousin and I refer to him as my great uncle out of reverence. The photo must have been from when Amilcar came to speak to the UN in New York, and while he was here, he went to visit his uncle (my great grandpops) in Boston. So we grew up knowing about it, but we weren't in touch with our Cape Verdean roots at all.

DB: But it became a matter of pride for you. 

RH: Absolutely. I don't necessarily identify as Cape Verdean. I’m fourth generation so I really identify as Black but I absolutely embrace my Cape Verdean lineage.

I’ve been trying to learn Kriolu. I dabble in a few Cape Verdean music genres: I’ve produced a little bit of Funaná, Morna and Batuk. The older I get, the more I realize how much Cape Verdean culture comes naturally to me so I find ways to incorporate it in my life. Especially now, I look more towards Africa and less at the United States as a place to connect with. I already know enough about this damn place…

I recently finished a documentary about Amilcar Cabral, featuring interviews with Black Americans speaking on how He impacted them in their lives. Really great people with incredible insight. I’ll be presenting the documentary at the 6th Annual African Studies Association of Africa conference in Cape Verde in September of this year.

DB: So colonial independence movements and restorative justice are fully connected in your family.

RH: Absolutely. The desire for liberation and healing justice are literally in my DNA. It’s what guides me.