Healing the Dark Parts: A Path To Repairing Gender Violence

Role: Producer, Cinematographer, Editor

UNC Chapel Hill Hussman School of Journalism, M.A. Thesis, 2021

For Some Survivors of Violence, True Justice Comes Outside of The Law

Interrogations. Court rooms. Testimony. Calling the police and going through the criminal justice system can be re-traumatizing. What happens when survivors find healing on their own terms?

When Jocelyn Arild was 20, a man she considered a friend raped her at a college party in Chico, California.

Arild told her boyfriend a few days later. “‘If it really happened, you’d call the police,’” he told her.

But Arild, who was studying women and gender, knew the challenges that survivors face in reporting sexual assaults. “I was well aware that survivors who go to report are often not believed,” she said. “And it often would be more traumatic.”

Arild is not alone in her hesitancy to involve the police or court system in the aftermath of an assault. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that one in three women will experience some form of sexual violence in her lifetime. But the Bureau of Justice Statistics reports that in 2019, only 33.9% of rape or sexual assault cases were reported to the police. Even when sexual assault is reported and a survivor submits a rape kit, the justice system often fails to pursue perpetrators; the federal government estimates there is a backlog of 200,000 untested rape kits across the country.

Given those challenges, some people are choosing to reconcile harm and seek justice in alternative ways. For Arild, a restorative justice process finally brought her face-to-face with the man who raped her, 20 years later.

While it’s common in restorative justice for a survivor and perpetrator to speak in person, conversations between the prosecution and the defendant in court are rare. The criminal justice system treats sexual assault as a crime against the state. A jury or judge will decide the punishment for someone on trial for rape or sexual assault according to the law. In restorative and transformative justice processes, the outcome is on the survivor’s terms, asking what they survivor needs to heal.

Alternatives to this system are also taking on new life after repeated acts of racialized police violence have spurred mass demonstrations in the U.S. and ignited a conversation around the role police and the criminal justice system play in society. As of 2016, 35 states have adopted legislation to use restorative justice with incarcerated youth and adults. “Defund the police,” has become part of the national conversation, as have alternatives like transformative justice, a framework which addresses violence from a harm reduction standpoint.

“Restorative justice was probably the only way that I was going to achieve justice in this situation,” said Arild. And much more than if I had gone to the police and had reported the case and had gone to court.”

After 20 Years, An Apology

Based in indigenous practices, restorative justice is “a process to involve, to the extent possible, those who have a stake in a specific offense to collectively identify and address harms, needs and obligations in order to heal and put things as right as possible,” according to Howard Zehr of the Zehr Institute for Restorative Justice, a Virginia-based program at Eastern Mennonite University that trains individuals in restorative justice. The process typically involves a person who was harmed and the person who harmed them, and can also include friends, family or community members who might have a role in the reconciliation and healing.

“It’s not just a thing that you do, it’s who you are,” said Dr. Alissa Ackerman, a restorative justice practitioner based in southern California who focuses specifically on sex crimes. “And so what that means is that you honor the humanity of all people. No matter what they’ve done, no matter what they’ve said, they’re a person.”

And yet, it is still focused on the needs of the survivor. “Being survivor- centered means that we are always focused on the needs of the person who was harmed,” said Ackerman. “...So do they feel safe? Where are going to hold this session so that they feel the most safety? Who’s going to be with them? Are they going to have a support person there? What kind of goals do they have for the session?”

Nine years after Arild was raped, she decided to report the case to the local police. A few factors went into this decision. First, the statute of limitations was about to expire. The California Code of Civil Procedure states that a survivor has 10 years after a sexual assault occurs to “file an action for recovery or damages.”

Second, as the years passed, Arild wondered if the person who raped her had raped other people. “What if another young woman had gone to the police station, and her case had been dismissed because there just wasn't enough information. And if I could go and back her up,” she said. “I also think part of it was telling my story and trying to heal.”

Arild met with a detective at the Chico Police Department who said he had training working with survivors. They sat in a cold, dark room and she told him how she was raped. At the end of their conversation, “He said to me, ‘this is a he said versus she said. So you don't have a case. And you should get some counseling.’ Arild had been in counseling for years at that point. “I left more traumatized than I came into that room,” she said.

Arild didn’t think she would ever find healing or justice in her case. It wasn’t until she met Ackerman 20 years later that this changed.

Arild had long been tempted to friend request the perpetrator on social media. They hadn’t been in contact since the assault, but had mutual friends, and he kept coming up on Arild’s suggested friend lists.

But working with Ackerman presented a different opportunity in the restorative justice process. Arild reached out to the man to see if he’d be willing to participate. He said yes.

Ackerman began having conversations with both Arild and James, who’s name has been changed in this story for privacy. Ackerman gave them resources, things to read and assignments on how to prepare for the restorative justice session. Ackerman consulted with Arild and James’ therapists to ascertain their emotional well-being and readiness to partake in the session.

Arild, who is now 43 and is married with two young children, was motivated to enter into the restorative justice process because even after years of therapy, the anxiety, depression and PTSD symptoms she experienced after the assault never fully subsided.

She wanted James to understand how the rape continued to effect her 20 years later. “I think my primary goal was to be heard, to not feel crazy. I wanted to know that it had happened, and that he knew it had happened,” she said. “I wanted him to understand how harmful it had been to me, and how it continued to affect me.”

On the day of the restorative justice session, it was pouring rain. Arild had chosen to meet with James and Ackerman at a Unitarian Universalist church in Marin County, which is north of San Francisco. James asked to begin the session by reading a letter that he had prepared. From there, Ackerman guided the conversation with a series of prompts. Jocelyn explained exactly how the assault impacted her. James took responsibility for what happened and apologized.

“At the end of the session, I felt relieved that it was over and relieved that there was an acknowledgement of the harm, and that he had heard me,” said Arild. And I felt validated and cared about.”

Transformative Justice: Holding the System Accountable

For other communities, calling the police is not an option because it can often make situations worse. This where transformative justice comes in.

Mya Hunter, a cultural organizer based in Durham, N.C., describes transformative justice as going beyond the individual and looking at the systemic issues that led to the harm. “We’re not just going to hold the person who’s done harm accountable,” she said. “We’re going to hold the system that made it possible for the harm to happen accountable.”

Hunter describes a harrowing experience when the Durham police pulled her and a friend over for a broken tail light on Halloween night in 2014. During the arrest, Hunter called her trusted colleague, Nia Wilson. Wilson began a phone chain, calling a lawyer and other community members who all arrived at the police station where Hunter was taken. The group held the police officers and the magistrate accountable for the wrongful arrest, and advocated for Hunter’s release that night.

“What I didn’t know at the time was that on the other side of the way, the lobby is filling up with community members who are making it abundantly clear that they’re going to stay there until we’re returned to the community,” said Hunter. The police released Hunter and her friend that night.

Hunter is a member of SpiritHouse, a Black woman-led organization in Durham, N.C. that focuses on using arts and culture to address poverty, racism and inequalities. SpiritHouse runs a program called the Harm Free Zone which trains community members in transformative justice practices.

“They’re really clear moments in time, especially for people of color communities, Black and brown communities, where we didn’t have the luxury of calling the police,” said Hunter. She explains that in many cases, communities can rely on each other to stay safe without involving the police.

“We do actually have an incredible depth of knowledge of what we could do if we couldn’t call the police,” she said. “We just have to actually tap into it.”

The Future of Justice

Today, Arild says she “feels like a different person.” She is more joyful, her PTSD symptoms are less pronounced, and she is proud of what her and James accomplished through restorative justice.

Hunter sees positive potential in addressing gender violence with transformative justice as well. In a transformative justice framework, addressing a harm like domestic violence could begin by knowing one’s neighbors and being in touch with community members, so if someone is experiencing violence at home, that individual has people to turn to for help outside of calling the police.

A transformative justice approach would seek to heal those involved in the gender-based violence case, and mend the root causes of the harm. “Because typically...hurt people hurt people,” she said. “And so transformative justice asks that we also see the person who’s performed the harm and we see them as human.”

Transformative justice also looks to the future, seeking to change an individuals’ circumstances so the violence does not occur again. “We’re going to vision what’s possible on the other end of this process,” she said. “How do you want to live beyond this point? What kind of support do you both need after this?”

Hunter is hopeful about the future of this wor. Even during the height of the pandemic, she’s watched as conversations about transformative justice, which used to only occur in small, closed circles, are now part of the public discourse.

“I’m seeing things shift. States are seriously talking about defunding the police,” she said. “Sometimes I wake up, and I’m like, that’s wild. It makes me really hopeful and excited.”