by Graeme Cann
The voice began again. “Alofa, your predecessor and Lana’s mother experienced the same painful circumstance. One had the power to respond in such a way that he and two hundred others were able to avoid many of the consequences of the fall of Sampa. How he responded was a courageous expression of what was the central belief of his life, that the traditional values of Sampa needed to be rediscovered by a new community. Lana’s mother, on the other hand, despite her intentions to go with Alofa, had been disempowered when her husband and she were arrested. This meant that she faced the full consequences of the fall of Sampa. But she also made a response to her circumstance. She refused to become bitter and resentful, nor did she become passive or submissive. Instead she made hope the eternal truth on which she stood, and today she and many others continue to be a Covenant people amidst those who occupy their valley.”
There was silence for a long moment, and then the voice continued. “You are right, Damon, to admire the courage of Lana’s mother and the others, who for whatever reason stayed in Sampa and remained faithful to the Covenant. You see, freedom not only belongs to those who escape the enemy and carve out a new and better existence somewhere else, but freedom also belongs to those who refuse to be bowed or bound by disappointment or fear, and continue to be a light in a darkness that they cannot escape. Today Lana and Randle continue to be lights in the darkness of Moloch, and although the Covenant continues to mean little to most of the people in this valley, in a most unexpected way the people of Moloch and the tigers of the jungle are enjoying its protection because of the faith of the faithful. Go back to Loloma, Damon, and tell your people that the wonder of a covenant with the Great Creator is that the faithful will always be protected by it wherever they are, for as long they seek to abide by it.”
As Damon walked back toward Lana and Randle’s home, he suddenly became aware of a group of soldiers who had stepped out on the road not more than one hundred metres ahead of him. They stood and waited as he approached them.
“Is your name Damon, from Loloma?” their leader demanded.
“I am Damon, the Father-Mother of Loloma,” he said quietly.
“You must come with us,” the soldier said, not unkindly.
Damon noticed that they were headed towards the army barracks, and for a moment he wondered whether he was being detained. However, before they reached the formidable-looking barrack gates, his escort tuned right and led him along a tree-lined pathway toward an imposing residence. More soldiers stood at attention by the steps leading up to the front door, and another waited by the open doorway. As Damon and the soldiers reached him, he waved them into a large, extravagantly furnished room. In the centre of the room was an enormous, highly polished table, and at the head of the table sat a very old and frail man in a high-backed chair. He beckoned Damon to come forward and take the seat on his right.
Damon found himself immediately relaxed in the presence of this grizzled, white-haired man. There was an air of welcome and warmth in the room despite the formality of his entry. But it was the old man’s eyes that captivated him. They were a startling blue and seemed to pierce deeply into Damon’s soul. Though this startled him at first, amazingly it did not disturb Damon, but instead it made him feel that he was about to have a conversation that would be marked by both geniality and transparency.
“Welcome, Damon, Mother-Father of Loloma. I am Lord Harloch,” the man at the head of the table said quietly. “I am the supreme leader of Moloch. I understand that you have already been welcomed to our valley and I must apologise for not being present at the reception. I confess that I was not convinced that your visit to Moloch was a good omen and therefore made the decision not to attend. I must also apologise for the fact that you have been followed and watched carefully since you have been here. What I have heard back from those who have observed you has convinced me that you have not come with any evil intent. So now I also welcome you.” He clapped his hands sharply, and a boy appeared holding a tray with two glasses of wine. Passing one to Damon, Lord Harloch raised the other one in his right hand and said, “Let us drink a toast to the possibility of friendship between our people.”
“My father,” Lord Harloch said after they had both sipped their wine, “was the commander of the Mordecan army that conquered Sampia. Your father was one of the men who led a group of refugees through the rainforest to another valley that you call Loloma. For many generations we Mordecans had been taught that the Sampians were a downtrodden people ruled over by evil wizards. In truth, my father felt that he was doing the world a favour by capturing and occupying this valley. I have since heard that what made you a unique people originally was that your ancestors had made a covenant with someone you call the Great Creator and that as a result of that covenant, no tiger ever entered this valley and no hunter ever entered the rainforest. But when in time leaders rose up among you who rejected the Covenant, tigers began to prey on your stock and on your children again. When we came to the valley the attacks continued. After hearing about the Covenant, I ordered my people to stop hunting and timber-gathering in the rainforest and immediately the tiger attacks ceased. I want you to tell me what manner of spirit is the Great Creator.”
Damon had sat listening to Lord Harloch, mesmerized by those piercing eyes. Now as he prepared to answer him, he knew that nothing but the truth would satisfy the supreme leader of Moloch.
“Our ancestors and the people of Loloma, and indeed some citizens of this valley that you now occupy, have always believed that the beauty and the order of nature is the result of an intricate and meticulous design. Unlike many of the people in the mountains, our ancestors did not worship the creation, or the spirits of thunder or storm or the sun and the moon. Instead, they decided that such a wonderful design must have had a designer who they discovered was the Great Creator.”
“But wait,” interrupted the white-haired leader of Moloch, “how did they discover that the designer’s name was the Great Creator?”
“For our very first ancestors,” Damon replied, “the greatest symbol of fear was the tiger of the forest. They had good reason to fear because of the frequent attacks on their livestock and their children. One day a massive tiger appeared in the valley in broad daylight. The people were terrified as it approached their leader, Abele, and although the tiger’s mouth did not move, everybody heard a voice like no other that they had heard before. The tiger claimed to be the Great One of the Forest and said that he had been sent by the Great Creator to establish a covenant with the people of the valley. Our ancestors discovered the Great Creator through being faced by their greatest fear. The great one of the Forest said that the Great Creator had also chosen Abele to be the Mother-Father of Sampa. Ever since that day and until the Covenant was broken, Mother-Fathers were appointed in this way. The primary purpose of these wise, compassionate, and good men and women was to reflect through their character and behaviour the nature of the Great Creator.”
The two men sat in silence. Finally it was broken by Lord Harloch.
“Damon, the story you tell is not unlike many of the stories we tell about the many gods and spirits that we worship. But there is one massive difference. Our gods and spirits do nothing to alleviate our fears. Even when we placate them with our sacrifices, our feelings of safety soon disappear. Our priests and witch doctors tell us that the gods and spirits are constantly angry and are demanding more and more from us. Our gods and spirits are portrayed to us as all-knowing and all-powerful, but not compassionate or wise or good.”
Later that day as Damon travelled home to Loloma, he mused on what had happened next. Lord Harloch had risen very slowly and painfully from his ornate chair. He had taken Damon’s hand and with tears in those farseeing blue eyes, he said softly, “Thank you, Damon. Perhaps one day soon I may meet this Great Creator of whom you speak.”
CHAPTER FOUR
DAMON’S GREATEST ACHIEVEMENT
“Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share i
n brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion with the condition of being humble.”
Henri Nouwen
“Crime is a violation of people and relationships. It creates obligations to make things right. Justice involves the victim, the offender, and the community in a search for solutions which promote repair, reconciliation, and reassurance.”
Howard Zehr
What will always be remembered as Damon’s greatest achievement was the reestablishment of a restorative justice approach to criminal behaviour. During the last one hundred years of Sampa’s existence, both Rubin and Kaluba had maintained a harsh punitive system which had included brutal imprisonment and capital punishment. Victims of crime were rarely if ever recompensed for their losses, and perpetrators were almost never repatriated. Lawbreakers were never released from prison, and family and friends were allowed no contact visits at all. The defenders of this system argued that the treatment of all lawbreakers needed to work as a deterrent to criminal behaviour, and therefore needed to be excessively harsh.
Damon argued, as some other Sampian Mother-Fathers had, that criminal justice had to be approached on a number of different fronts all at the same time. First, Damon insisted, there was the primary prevention front. Men and women needed to live in a society where their basic needs for security and significance could be met without having to resort to crime. Programs that strengthened the family, education opportunities that were available to all children, and meaningful employment for all adults were a high priority to the Loloma Council of Elders. Attention was also given to mental health and addictive behaviours, as these issues were frequently found to contribute to violent crimes. Treatment programmes were developed for alcoholics, and doctors and nurses were brought to the valley to care for those who had mental health issues. The second front, he said, was that crime needed to be punished, and that incarceration was, for many lawbreakers, but not all, the best option for the safety and protection of the community. The third front was that victims of crime deserved appropriate compensation for their losses, and the fourth front was that every person deserved the chance to turn their lives around and become contributing and valued members of the community.
With each of these last three fronts in mind, Damon annexed two hundred acres at the end of the valley for what he called the Restoration Centre. The entire area was enclosed within a security fence. In the centre of the two hundred acres was another fenced area that contained the living quarters, some small factories, and some recreation areas. The land between the security fences was a microcosm of the rest of the valley. It was a mass of small farming projects, producing fruit, vegetables and grain, and raising cattle, pigs, goats, and poultry. Some of the small factories inside the second security fence processed butter, cheese, beef, lamb, and poultry products. Others were workshops producing furniture and farming equipment, and others again produced fabric and garments.
Some of the proceeds from the farm and the workshops went toward making the Restoration Centre self-supporting, whilst the rest was divided amongst the inmates as a wage. From this wage each inmate had to pay at least fifty per cent toward the family or person who they had wronged. This compensation was to be paid for as long as they were in the Centre.
Some men and women from the valley were employed at the Centre as farm and factory supervisors and skilled workers. Many others went there regularly as volunteer mentors and life skill tutors. Inmates were trained in farming and trade skills, but they were also expected to participate in all the life skill courses as well.
Their release time was predicated on three questions, the first of which, was, “Had the victim been appropriately recompensed?” This was an important question, as a primary purpose of incarceration was to ensure that the victim received whatever financial compensation they were entitled to. The second question was, “Had the perpetrator submitted to all the disciplines and opportunities his or her time in the Centre had exposed them to?” Again this was an important way of assessing whether the prisoner had cooperated in a process of rehabilitation that had resulted in attitudinal and behavioural change. The third question was, “Were they now considered able to live as good and contributing citizens in the community?” When the answer to these three questions were in the affirmative, the prisoner was released and began a period of probation in which they were cared for and supervised by a trained mentor.
In the case of those who had committed robbery or fraud, most of the compensation required would be used to cover the cost of what was stolen, though the Elders almost always put a monetary value on emotional and family trauma. Some of the amount allotted for these reasons would sometimes be used to provide counselling and support. In the case of violent crimes, most of the money was allotted to assist persons and families to cope with the trauma that they had experienced, while the rest would be used for medical care or lost income Where murder was committed, the Elders took the view that the monetary compensation would need to be paid for at least twenty years and the length of sentence would reflect that. A similar view was taken of child sexual abuse.
When someone was charged with having committed a crime, the judge would be the Mother-Father, and the Elders would comprise the jury. The evidence would be given, witnesses would appear, and a verdict would be reached. If a sentence was to be handed down, this would only happen after the wounded party or person had participated in the process and the level of compensation agreed on. The decision to release a prisoner would also be presided over by the Elders. When a man or a woman “graduated” from the Restoration Centre, their release was celebrated by their family and friends at a party that they would organise for them. It was generally accepted that such a person should be fully embraced into the community because justice had been served, compensation had been made, and their restoration had been completed.
The evidence indicated that Damon’s restorative justice process had significantly reduced the incidence of crime, had greatly contributed to the recovery and rehabilitation of the victims of crime, and had radically reduced the incidence of reoffending. There were many stories that demonstrated the success of the restoration process.
On one occasion when Damon was meeting with his men’s group, Corma, a man in his late thirties, shared one such “success” story. “I was arrested after beating my wife, not once but many, many times,” the young man with dark curly hair and deep brown eyes said. “On my arrest, I was charged and tried for attempted murder and for intentionally causing physical harm to another. I was deeply ashamed and although I expressed my remorse, I was sentenced to life in the Restoration Centre, until full retribution had been made and until I had undergone a process of change. The Elders also indicated that given the seriousness of my crime, my wife was free to end her marriage to me if she wished and to marry again, should she decide to do so. ‘Retribution,’ meant that all of what I earned in the Centre would go to my wife and little son for their support, and in the event of her remarrying it would be reduced to fifty percent of my wages.
“In the Centre I was assigned to a small factory where we were manufacturing farm equipment. This was all new to me, as the only work I had done up till then was farm work. Whilst I enjoyed learning new work skills, I was angry that I was being punished for doing exactly what my grandfather and my father had done to their wives, and also for what I knew other men in my community frequently did. My belief was that I owned my house and my wife and my son, and what I did in my home to my own family was my business. I railed at the injustice that I had suffered, and I refused to cooperate with those who sought to help me with my rehabilitation. I was forced, against my will, to meet with an Elder every week. He was kind and nonjudgmental, but because I blamed him and the other Elders, as well as my wife for my predica
ment, I simply verbally attacked him from the beginning to the end of each session.
“Three months after entering the Centre, I fronted up for my weekly session, still so angry that I was breathing fire, and to my amazement I found that the Elder I met with was not alone. Sitting beside him was my wife. She was clearly frightened and for the first time in my life I felt ashamed for causing her so much fear. Despite her discomfort, however, she spoke firmly and with more confidence than I had ever seen before. ‘Corma,’ she said quietly, ‘I have come to tell you three things. First, I am glad that you are here. Not only because this is where you can get help, but because our little boy and I feel safe for the very first time. We do not live every day fearful of your return from work. We do not have to be careful that we do not upset you by what we say. We do not have to listen to the terrible things you called us, and I do not have to put up with the terrible beatings.
“‘The second thing I want to say to you is that I am no longer prepared to take responsibility for your anger and your violence. In the past I have believed that somehow I was to blame for making you angry and that I was a failure as a mother and as a wife. I now know that that is not the truth. The violence in our home was driven by your need to control and dominate me. I am now sure that the responsibility for the violence is yours not mine.
“‘The third thing I want to say to you, Corma, is that I love you. You are a good man in so many ways and you are the father of our child. I love you and I want to visit you while you are here. I have decided that I do not want to grow bitter and resentful so I have chosen to forgive you, but I cannot live with you again, unless you change and cease to be controlling and violent.’All the time that she was speaking I could not look at her, so great was my feeling of shame. I sat with my head in my hands. Then she said, ‘Corma, I do not want you to answer me now, but when you have thought about what I have said, send for me and I will visit again.’ The expression on her face was of both serenity and compassion, and without another word she rose, and with the Elder by her side, she left the room.