Meet Paloma Martinez. She is 12 years old, a sensitive Hispanic girl whose weird facial expressions and awkward social mannerisms make her a bully-magnet. For too long--years--she had been the victim, suicidal at an early age, and lonely. Then she was the victim fighting back. Because of this she was sent to the office with her classmate Joe Stephens.

Meet Joe Stephens. Joe is a small, sensitive black kid classified “special education” so he can survive the system that may in fact be victimizing him. Later in the year, Joe attempts to steal several box juice drinks from the staff fridge while waiting in the office with another student. The student secretly snitches, and, in the process of emptying the pockets of a too-large winter jacket, Joe pulls out a 4-inch buck knife. I believe him when he says he carries it for protection on the way to and from school (I myself have contemplated similar measures), but Joe is no longer a student with us.

On the two year anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, Joe was terrorizing Paloma in class, making it look like she was in trouble. Paloma got mad and was finally pushed past her limit. She started hitting him. This caused no physical harm to Joe except that he got in her face, and they squared up to fight. They were broken up by the teacher, and ended up in my office with a prescription by the assistant principal for mediation.

The mediation is going well. They’re actually willing to talk, and have a lot to say. Special ed kids often have a wonderful way of cutting straight through the crap that regular ed kids throw in each other’s faces. It’s clear there’s a history of conflict and bullying since the previous year (involving other students as well), and Joe is a bit player in the larger oppression of Paloma. As the dialogue continues, they begin discussing deeper experiences of pain. Paloma tells the story of her younger brother who had a potentially fatal birth defect. But he survived, and they named him D’angelo, which means Angel, because “he is dear to me.”

Angel she says that whenever she feels sad, she writes things down in a journal. Joe tells about his older brother who was shot to death, and of his other brothers still banging with the gangs. Paloma suggests that when he feels sad about his brother, or misses him, he should try writing his feelings down. Incredibly, a door has opened between them, and they are no longer victim and bully. For a moment, they have become roommates together in the house of suffering, one long-term resident showing another how to make it out alive. In a little while, Joe offers to apologize for the bullying, but Paloma is reluctant to accept it. My co-mediator advises Paloma (the victim) that she should accept it; it is a big deal for Joe (the bully) to offer an apology.

“Lady, you don’t know what it’s like to come to school every day with your mask on,” Paloma cries back, the mask slipping to the side, a tear of fear and frustration escaping down her cheek. She tells more of what it’s like as the chronic victim--sometimes skipping school for fear and anger. She has too much to lose if she lets the protective shield down, even to accept a genuine apology. I suggest that she could accept it at a later time, to have time to see if there is a real change between her and Joe, and we end with this.

A week or so later I check in with Joe and Paloma, separately this time, to see how things have been going. Joe tells me that things have improved between them, and in fact he’s even tried to stick up for her when other kids tease her. I’m pleasantly surprised to hear this, and curious to know if Paloma thinks things are going just as well. When I call her in to talk she confirms what Joe has told me. Joe is no longer her bully, but her advocate. But there’s even more, she adds, not only has he told other kids to stop teasing, he’s even told them to tease him instead of her. I conceal my stunned response and send her back to class.

Going by sheer numbers, it sometimes feels that the task of helping kids and improving schools is beyond human effort. Feel-good stories like this can even obscure the need for fundamental systemic change to prevent the staggering numbers of students pushed and dropped out of our public school systems. Christian do-gooders are notorious for missing the forest of injustice for the saplings of small-scale “charity.” It will take more hard work advocating for systems that treat our children in the image of their maker--restoratively--viewing misbehavior as an opportunity to repair harm, build community and learn about relationships. Though I’m an employee of a cumbersome, often mistrusted public bureaucracy, it’s nice to catch a glimpse on the worksite of the one who has called us all to “do justice, love mercy.”

Rocky Mountain News Photo

Jeremy Simons
is a restorative justice facilitator
helped start Denver Community Court
hoops it in the 'hood Tuesday and Friday mornings
will move (back) to the Philippines soon