When Markus Dewire and his girlfriend took a picture of their friend’s Fort Lewis College parking pass, copied it, reprinted it and put it on their own car, it didn’t feel as if they were doing much wrong. They were trying to save the $140 cost of an annual pass.
“The money we’d save by doing that, it was no trivial amount for us with our budget,” Dewire said. “It felt worth it in the moment.”
That changed rather quickly.
Dewire’s girlfriend got a call from an FLC police officer who wanted help with an investigation. The officer explained to Dewire, his girlfriend and Avery Matera, the friend whose pass they had copied, that their money-saving shortcut was being investigated as forgery – a Class 5 felony.
“I’m going into teaching, and a felony would pretty much kick me out of the teacher’s ed department,” Matera said. “I would lose all of my background checks that I’ve done to be in schools.”
But there was an alternative to the standard judicial process, police explained: a new diversion option for restorative justice run through the Southwest Community Justice Coalition.
The coalition gathered a group of students who were all accused of forging permits and held a 90-minute roundtable discussion. Together, they explored the reasoning behind the students’ actions and discussed how the college was harmed. To repair that harm, the students offered an idea: a tabling event in the Student Union to share with the student body the impact and significance of forging parking passes.
The FLC program is designed to create a mechanism for accountability within the community where harm occurred.
It is one pilot initiative of a larger effort underway in the region, spearheaded by the SCJC, to open a conversation on what justice looks like, how and why harm occurs, and how harm can be addressed.
The restorative pathway it offers is one option for diversion – among others – available in some cases handled by the district attorney for the 6th Judicial District, which includes Archuleta, San Juan and La Plata counties.
But it’s not the only work the coalition does. Its leaders emphasize that they work on a community scale as well as in partnership with leaders in the criminal justice system.
“The traditional legal system has but one approach, right, which is punitive,” said Lindsey Frischer, a lawyer hired by the district attorney to be the diversion and restorative justice coordinator. “... We’re really curious about, ‘How do we talk about conflict, harm and violence as a community?’ Because that’s all relational. And so that’s where restorative justice comes in.”
In practice, it’s an expansive philosophy that seeks to consider alternative systems of conflict resolution in real time – generally in the form of diversion from typical prosecutorial proceedings – but also reaches back to the histories that inform the current disparities and ingrained patterns of conflict ingrained in society.
The Southwest Community Justice Coalition is asking the community to consider how justice might be separated from punishment.
“Punishment doesn’t address the harm that was caused – full stop,” said Tirzah Camacho, one of the core coalition team members and a longtime community organizer. “It’s not conducive to healing, repair and reintegration. We are in a cancel culture where we outcast people. That’s a culture that is not sustainable, that is ill.”
The FLC students who forged parking passes say they are immensely grateful for the opportunity to explore the harm they caused and repair it, rather than just be punished for it. The felony they could have been charged with carries a maximum penalty of three years in prison and/or a $100,000 fine.
“People might honestly believe that one way to deal with violence and harm is punishment, is retribution, and we are suggesting and proposing – not as our original idea, but what has been modeled for eons – is that there’s a way more expansive way to address hurt, harm, conflict – and it’s all relational,” Frischer said.
The 6th Judicial District’s diversion team, of which Frischer was a member before she moved earlier this year – she continues her work with the coalition – and prosecutors work together to flag and review cases suitable for diversion. Some cases are diverted before charges are filed, and some after. Restorative justice can also have value after sentencing, coordinators say.
The FLC pilot program is exploring how well it works to have cases diverted directly from law enforcement, before they ever end up before a judge.
“I want to see that expanded more, especially if we think that it’s not the kind of case that needs to be in the criminal justice system, that doesn’t require a summons or an arrest,” said District Attorney Sean Murray.
Currently, only a small number of diverted cases end up in a restorative justice process, in part because a robust restorative pathway is just now coming to fruition.
Once a case is selected, coordinators work with both the harmed and responsible parties – the preferred lingo over “victim” and “defendant” – to assess their needs before a dialogue takes place. Like the traditional criminal justice system, the process can be slow.
“We want people to feel comfortable going into that space and thinking about accountability in a different way,” said Chris Braun, another core team member who helped develop the program at La Plata Youth Services.
Sometimes, a responsible party may need mental health or substance use treatment. They may also need support finding housing. Advocates work with both parties to explore what questions they want to ask of each other, what accountability looks like and how they might move forward.
Eventually, they come together in a formally facilitated restorative dialogue. That looks like a circle with the relevant parties, two facilitators and a lengthy conversation.
“These things can run several hours, sometimes completing with what we call a repair agreement, which is like coming to a mutual decision around (what) are the one, two, three-plus things that the harm party and the community members are saying will help repair the harm,” Frischer said.
The process reroutes power, Camacho noted, toward the people experiencing harm. It centers on meeting the needs, first and foremost, of the harmed party.
Southwest Community Justice Coalition also works with community partners outside the criminal justice system, including Toffee Webb, a community transition specialist with the Southwest Center for Independence, which supports the region’s disabled and aging population.
“Working with the SCJC has been a real practice of ensuring that there’s a disability framework in place to accommodate needs or consider policy choices and advocacy routes based on person-forward thinking,” Webb said.
It is not lost on core team members that for people conditioned to equate justice with punitive measures, the restorative approach might seem inappropriate or soft. It can be a shock to the system, organizers realize, because it challenges the status quo.
But restorative justice has an ancient lineage, strong historical foundations, dozens of statutes authorizing its practice, and support from local partners, including the Durango police chief, the municipal judge and the district attorney.
The restorative dialogues are anything but easy, Frischer noted, calling them “a way through” rather than a way out.
“I want to see my office buying in and believing in this kind of justice,” Murray said. “And again, not necessarily for every case, but for a lot of cases, because I think there’s a real opportunity to transform how we go about keeping justice and making the community safe.”
Although the coalition is not embedded in the criminal justice system, it has the support of local leaders.
“I fully support the ongoing collaboration with the District Attorney’s Office in advancing restorative justice practices that prioritize accountability, healing, and community safety,” Durango Police Chief Brice Current wrote in an email. “Together, we are investing in a justice system that not only works to reduce recidivism but also honors and respects the experiences of victims. By fostering a culture of restoration and responsibility, we strategize for safer communities where everyone has the opportunity for a second chance and meaningful justice is served.”
The Southwest Community Justice Coalition team has eight core members who first met in late 2023: Frischer; Camacho; Braun; La Plata Youth Services Graduate Social Work Intern Lenoir Kelley; FLC Coordinator of Peace and Conflict Studies Erik Juergensmeyer; 6th Judicial District Attorney’s Office Diversion Coordinator Sharon Davis; FLC Assistant Director of Compliance and Community Standards and Title IX Coordinator Madeleine Gillman; and Nicole Fortin, who is employed at the Durango office of the Colorado State Public Defender.
The group also does upstream work in meetings where community members are invited to explore the root causes of harm and learn about restorative justice in its many forms.
It is now part of a national cohort that will support the coalition both financially and with guidance as it navigates growth. It’s a stamp of approval that its founders and the district attorney are proud of.
Given the culture-changing nature of the work, that growth is not something anyone expects to happen quickly.
“It’s enlightening,” Camacho said. “I think there can be a change of heart that … I mean, it can change the world.”
rschafir@durangoherald.com
