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Victims' perspectives connect with prisoners
Program puts face on crime's toll, attempts to repair harm
The Arizona Republic, Judi Villa
Oct. 7, 2006 12:00 AM

FLORENCE - Beth Hendrickson tapes the last photo she has of her daughter onto a white board.

In the picture, Tanya Ramsdell's eyes are closed and soot from a bullet fired point-blank colors her forehead black.

"This is what I have to live with," Hendrickson tells a group of 22 inmates at the Arizona State Prison Complex-Florence. "When I close my eyes, this is what I see." advertisement

The men gasp at the photo.

Hendrickson's presentation is part of a pilot program at many of Arizona's prisons to show inmates the impact of their crimes and to help them see the consequences from a victim's perspective.

Officials say the voluntary program not only could prevent inmates from committing new crimes when they are released but also be healing for victims.

The program, called the Impact of Crime on Victims, is being piloted in six of Arizona's 10 prisons. It is expected to go statewide by the end of the year.

"I have a reproach for crime now that I didn't have before," said Kevin Wilkins, who is serving time for selling drugs. "I feel repulsed by crime and what it does and the way it causes heartache."

Now, Wilkins, who admits he once had intentions of going back out and continuing to deal drugs, said things will be different when he is released in 2007. He no longer sees what he was doing as a "faceless crime."

"I'm just as guilty," he said. "I was out there selling it."

Making amends

The program is part of a larger Restorative Justice initiative that emphasizes repairing the harm caused by crime and is becoming increasingly popular at prisons across the country. The idea is to create a different way of thinking about crime and to have offenders take responsibility for their actions and make amends for the harm they caused.

"For the inmate, it is frequently quite startling," state Corrections Director Dora Schriro said. "They begin to appreciate that their conduct has had profound impact on others, and it has not been good, and it lasts a long, long time.

"For inmates to make that connection is really important in whether they continue to act this way."

In Arizona, prison officials have focused more on victims in recent years, involving them in the rehabilitation process and having inmates raise money and do other forms of victim-focused community service.

In fiscal 2006, Arizona prison inmates gave more than $151,000 in donations and more than $17,000 in labor-to-victim organizations.

"This is really what corrections is about," Schriro said. "(Inmates are) expected to take a hard-hitting look at themselves and change some of the things they do."

Since coming to Arizona three years ago, Schriro has been implementing a "parallel universe," where inmates engage full time in activities, like working and going to school, that mirror those of the free world. But in addition to skills like literacy, employability and sobriety, inmates also need to make the right choices even when nobody is looking.

The concepts of Restorative Justice, classes like the Impact of Crime on Victims and victim-focused community service are key ingredients that "should pay huge dividends to the public," Schriro said. "First, they have insights into the ways they have treated people badly. Then, they have opportunities to reverse that by doing good things for other people.

"The men and women who have been through this program are different. They have started to do the hard work. They're starting to change that conduct within themselves that hasn't worked for them or for the rest of us."

Inmates touched

The 10-week Impact of Crime on Victims classes were first piloted at the Florence prison in 2005. Thirty-six inmates attended. This year, 176 inmates are expected to take part. Prisons have waiting lists for the class.

Topics include substance abuse, robbery/property crimes, drunken driving, child abuse, crimes against the elderly, assault, domestic violence, sexual assault and murder.

Some inmates obviously are touched by victims' stories, said Beckie Miller, whose son, Brian, 18, was shot to death in 1991.

She has gone three times to tell her story to inmates at the state prison in Perryville. Each time, it is emotionally draining. But because the vast majority of inmates eventually will be released, "we've got to do something" to prepare them to live in society, Miller said. "Why not start there?"

"It gives you a purpose to think maybe you can make a difference," she added. "If you're going to live with this pain for the rest of your life, you have to give it meaning and purpose. Otherwise, it will destroy you."

Arizona's program is too new to tell whether it will be a success. But a similar program, Texas' Bridges to Life, is showing significant preliminary results, with only 9 percent of participating inmates returning to prison for a new crime. Only 1 percent of released offenders have returned for violent crimes.

Comparatively, about 25 percent of inmates released nationwide and in Arizona are sent back to prison for a new crime within three years of their release. In Arizona, nearly 8 percent of inmates return for a violent crime.

John Sage, founder and executive director of Bridges to Life, said the Texas program is working because it forces inmates to come face to face with what they have done and to think, many for the first time, about whom they have hurt. Ultimately, the program changes inmates' hearts, then their thinking and their actions, Sage said.

"Before they hurt somebody again, they may think about that," Sage said. "It makes them not want to hurt people. That's a big turning point."

Finding a purpose

In the visitation room at a prison unit in Florence, Hendrickson talks candidly about her youngest daughter, a red-haired, freckle-faced girl who was "a firecracker from Day 1."

She tapes photos of Tanya, who, if she were still alive would be 25 this month, onto the white board. For the next hour, Hendrickson tells how her daughter first got introduced to methamphetamine by a boyfriend then couldn't shake the drug.

She tells about the baby Tanya was carrying. She tells about that awful day in 2001, when Tanya and her boyfriend, the baby's father, were gunned down by a man who was angry the couple had shown his picture to police.

Hendrickson goes on: At first, the grief was so much she considered suicide. She hates holidays, Tanya's birthday, the day Tanya died, Mother's Day. Her last conversation with Tanya was a quarrel. She carries guilt because of that and because, as a mother, she was supposed to protect her child, and she wasn't there the day Tanya was killed.

"I learned you have to find a purpose. This is my purpose," Hendrickson said. "It's not just about me and Tanya. It's about you guys and other people. If I can stop one kid from being killed, and I can stop one family from going through what we went through, then Tanya's death will be less senseless. It will have had a purpose.

"Help me give Tanya's death some meaning."

Afterward, inmate Larry Severns said the class helps put inmates in others' shoes.

"Usually, as an inmate, it's always been about instant gratification, doing this right at the moment to satisfy ourselves," said Severns, who is serving six years for burglary.

"You never look at the consequences down the line. It's hard to see."

Hendrickson takes her daughter's picture down from the white board.

"If they close their eyes tonight and see that picture, then I've done some good," she said.

"This is the truth and the reality of it, and they need to see it."
 

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