Peer-led class at Vermont women's prison teaches restorative justice principles

Vermont's only women's prison has had restorative justice classes for the past three years. It's a process that focuses on the offender repairing the harm caused by their actions, and uses dialogue and empathy rather than punishment.

Last year, a retired University of Vermont professor got incarcerated women set up to run the class themselves.

Vermont Department of Corrections officials say the class is an effort to give incarcerated women tools to navigate conflicts — and hopefully stay out of prison when they eventually leave.

Mae Nagusky: I'm at Chittenden Regional Correctional Facility sitting in a well-lit, pretty big room, in a metal and plastic chair, surrounded by about 15 incarcerated people. Most of the people have a drink — water, soda, chocolate milk — and about five of them have their notebook with them.

Each class starts with a question.

Mae Nagusky: The class meets every Monday for an hour. The curriculum includes readings and group discussions surrounding hypothetical situations. One example was, "Let's say your cellmate was smoking cigarettes. How are you going to respond?"

Through these conversations, the women learn new restorative justice concepts and navigate nuanced problems together.

I love that. "Hurt people hurt people." I really like that.

Mae Nagusky: One aspect of restorative justice is about people examining how their actions caused harm, and taking responsibility for what they did.

Mae Nagusky: This is Amanda Conant, the incarcerated woman leading the class.

Mae Nagusky: Conant is in her 30s, has big blue eyes and a gentle nature to her. She's been incarcerated at Chittenden Regional Correctional Facility for about a year. She's a bit tentative when she speaks — perhaps that's just the softness of her voice — but it's clear she believes in the things she says and cares a lot about the class.

Mae Nagusky: Conant is a leader. She constantly held the space for other people to speak and continuously refocused the class when they got off track — and did it all with comfort, ease and respect. Before she was incarcerated, she was homeless and an addict. She says leading these classes has given her purpose.

It makes me reflect a lot on myself, because I don't want to say the wrong thing, I don't want to guide them in the wrong direction. But it also makes me have that extra bit of integrity, like, do what's right when no one's watching. Because I am a leader. ... I never really wanted to be a teacher, but now that I'm doing it, I love it, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Mae Nagusky: This is one of the students in the class, Kassandra Medellin-Oliver.

Mae Nagusky: Medellin-Oliver has three children, a husband and a dog. She's outgoing, talkative and always funny. She's also passionate and faces conflict head on.

Medellin-Oliver says she initially signed up for the class because she thought it might make her look good at an upcoming court date. But it's become much more than that.

Mae Nagusky: On the day I visited, the last thing they did in their class was write an apology letter.

Mae Nagusky: There's a lot of pressure that comes with leading a class, but Conant prefers it that way.