Teria sidles into the room, black baseball cap jammed down over her dyed red hair. Seated in a semicircle are her parents, an aunt and a family friend — along with Ian, a taxi driver Teria robbed and assaulted last month, and his wife.

British go for Pacific style of justice

The atmosphere in the room, on the second floor of a rundown office block in Porirua, north of Wellington, is tense. Teria, a 16-year-old Maori girl, looks anguished. Tonight she must confront the man whom she and a friend lured into a dead-end street and attacked. She will learn first-hand about Ian's suffering, and be asked to help design a fitting punishment for herself.

This is restorative justice, a system that has transformed the way juvenile offenders are treated in New Zealand and is now being embraced wholeheartedly by the British Government. It brings criminals and their victims face to face, and assigns responsibility for retribution to families and the community.

David Blunkett, Britain's Home Secretary, last month announced plans for a major extension of a restorative justice scheme to deal with school bullies, already tested in two London boroughs. A programme is to be set up for adult offenders, who could avoid being taken to court or have their sentences cut.

Based on concepts rooted in ancient Maori and Pacific Island tradition, it is internationally admired and is being emulated by a number of countries. The aim is to keep young people out of court, reduce the rate of recidivism and give victims a meaningful role in the legal process. The approach has proved so successful in New Zealand that a pilot project is now under way in the adult justice system.

But critics claim it is a soft option offering the opportunity for criminals to say sorry to their victim and avoid harsher punishments.

Research from some of the programmes in Britain has been mixed, offering something to both sides of the argument.

Early analysis of a 15-month study carried out for the Home Office has suggested it could prove more effective for more serious offenders, while finding no strong evidence that offending behaviour could be changed among the young.

In Maori culture, and in Pacific nations such as Tonga and Samoa, the restorative philosophy has guided society for centuries. In these communities, the extended family and the tribe are the bedrocks. A crime committed by one individual against another has profound repercussions for whanau and iwi.

As Saga Manu, a Samoan who is one of Porirua's youth justice co-ordinators, explains: “Where I come from, we don't go to the police. If my son commits a crime against you, then your family seeks restitution from mine. It's up to the families and the village elders to sort it.”

In New Zealand, all 14- to 17-year-old offenders must now attend a family group conference. A punishment plan — often including an apology, community work and financial reparation — is drawn up and must be approved by all parties before ratification by a judge. The offender gets a clean slate upon completing the plan. If not, a court case and possible custodial sentence are in store.

Teria's conference takes place on a wet Wednesday evening in Porirua, a depressed town with a large Maori and Pacific Island population. A police officer describes how Teria and her friend got into Ian's taxi, grabbed his collar, semi-choking him, and robbed him of $50. Teria told him she had a knife and a gun.

Saga Manu asks Teria why she did it. “Dunno,” she mumbles, staring at the floor.

Now it is Ian's turn. He articulates his shock at being attacked. “It's the last thing you expect, from two young girls. It was scary. At what stage do you stop being a gentleman and start protecting your life? That's what went through my mind. It's the first time anything like that has happened to me.”

Ian, who bit Teria's friend's finger, drawing blood, subsequently learned that she had hepatitis B. He had a three-day wait for a negative blood-test result. He no longer works nights, the most lucrative time, and will not pick up some passengers. His wife and three daughters are deeply upset. Teria's relatives are visibly distressed by this account. Her mother, eloquent and dignified, says the family accept responsibility.

“We're absolutely remorseful and we'll do whatever we can to make amends,” she says. Left in private, Teria and her family must determine what restitution needs to be made. Their plan — with 100 hours of community work and a $250 payment for lost earnings — is scrutinised and signed by everyone in turn.

Finally, after three hours, Teria finds her voice.

“I just want to say sorry,” she tells Ian. “I shouldn't have done it. It was a stupid thing to do.”

He nods. “Thanks,” he says. As Teria apologises, tears roll down the cheeks of her father, an enormous Maori man, and her aunt. Ian's eyes are brimming. The evening ends with everyone embracing.

Manu believes Teria will not reoffend after the experience. Sixty per cent of young people who attend group conferences commit no further crimes; only a minority of juvenile offenders even reach the conference stage, with the remainder dealt with by police.

But things do not always run so smoothly. The evening before, the extended family of a 17-year-old Pakeha youth — all the grandparents, the mother and her boyfriend, the father, sister, uncle and aunt — spent five hours blaming one another for his crime spree.

“It can be harder for European families,” says Manu.

Some plans are strikingly inventive. A Maori girl who assaulted two people was sent for four days a week to an uninhabited island to share a tent with her aunt. A gifted artist, she had to paint landscapes around the island and learn associated tribal stories. Once a week, her art tutor canoed out to see her. She also had to write songs and undertake community work. To repair her relationship with her mother, they went skydiving together.

Results can be unexpected, too. Some victims offered jobs to their assailants.

Yet the system does provoke vigorous public debate.

Neil Cleaver, the senior restorative justice manager in New Zealand's Department of Child, Youth and Family, says: “A lot of people think it's a soft option. But it's actually harder than going to court.”

“Facing your victim across the room is probably the hardest part of all. It's about shaming people — in a positive way — and healing.”

“Europeans usually deal with criminals by outlawing them. Maori and Pacific Islander culture is inclusive. You're born into a structure that you are kept within, no matter how unacceptably you behave.”

http://www.nzherald.co.nz/storydisplay.cfm?storyID=3519878&thesection=news&thesubsection=world

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