As two people, one armed with a knife, got into the parked car where Pauline Hanson sat waiting for her sister in Portland, she said she almost wanted to ask what their mothers would think.

Afterward, she learned they were teenagers. Months later, after they were arrested and charged, she met with one of the teens and found out he had also thought, in the same moment, that his mother would be disappointed in him.

“He said he realized, sitting in the back of the car, that his mom would be heartbroken by what he was doing,” Hanson said.

She had met with him last year for a restorative justice session, after his mother asked and the request was relayed through a victim witness advocate for the Cumberland County District Attorney’s office. Hanson was able to tell the teen how his actions had impacted her, hear what led him to that day, and what he would do to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

Cumberland County District Attorney Jacqueline Sartoris said her office is trying to expand its restorative justice offerings for victims and defendants, under an agreement the county signed in March with a community nonprofit, Cumberland County Friends of Restorative Justice.

Restorative justice refers to the idea that harm can be addressed through a dialogue between an offender and those they’ve hurt, to discuss what happened, their backgrounds and potential amends. Proponents say it offers an effective alternative to more traditional, punishment-focused outcomes.

“I was nervous,” Hanson said in an interview Friday, “but I think it’s a good program.”

Sartoris is running for reelection. Her opponents include former district attorney Stephanie Anderson, who said on Thursday that she also had experience using restorative justice principles when she was in office. Valerie Adams, a former prosecutor under Sartoris, is running against her in the Democratic primary.

Under the new program, anyone charged for the first time with a low-level offense can pay $150 for a restorative justice Zoom session, meeting with either the consenting victim or a community surrogate. If the session goes well, their charge could be dismissed.

People charged with serious felonies will also have the option to sit for an in-person session after pleading guilty and before sentencing. Those would cost defendants about $1,000 a session.

Sartoris said some fees will be reduced for low-income defendants. She told county commissioners earlier this year that this would help ensure the program is self-sustaining without adding a burden to taxpayers, and that these fees are less than what defendants spend in the traditional court setting.

She estimated that the county will spend $35,000 a year on the program, replacing previous contracts with two providers that had cost about $40,000 annually.

“This is not a pat on the head, ‘You poor person, bad things happened in your life, you did a bad thing and now go on,'” Sartoris said at the time. “This gives them the opportunity to put that down, to not go forward thinking of themselves as a bad person. They can think of themselves instead as someone who did a stupid thing, which we all do.”

A TOOL FOR VICTIMS

Data on the impact of restorative justice in Cumberland County is limited.

Under previous contracts, the highest number of restorative justice participants was 144 people in 2020, under former District Attorney Jonathan Sahrbeck, according to information Sartoris shared with the county this year.

There is no data in Cumberland County on whether participants were later accused in new crimes, information that could be used to determine whether restorative justice can help reduce recidivism. Sartoris said she’s planning to collect data starting in July.

In a statement Thursday, Adams said Sartoris hasn’t shown how her initiatives differ from Sahrbeck’s, other than by introducing fees for the defendants.

Victims, offenders and volunteers who serve as community surrogates told the Portland Press Herald they believe restorative justice isn’t about systemic change — it’s about offering a new resource to people ensnared in the criminal justice system, particularly those who have been harmed.

“People always want to know, ‘Well, how is this process impacting recidivism?’ and I say that’s not the point,” said Fred Van Liew, who leads Cumberland County Friends of Restorative Justice and oversees restorative justice sessions. “The question ought to be, ‘How is the victim afterward?’ In comparison with how they were, before. … This is a process for the victim.”

‘NIGHT AND DAY’ DIFFERENCE

For Hanson, it gave her reassurance. She got to ask the teen if she had been targeted; he let her know it had nothing to do with her. She also let him know how the incident impacted her, in ways that sometimes still make her feel unsafe in public settings.

Hanson said on Friday that she is still dealing with the trauma, but that her meeting made a “night and day” difference.

“I’m not afraid that I’m going to get murdered,” Hanson said. “I’m back to feeling confident again. … A lot of it was also knowing that I was just in the right place at the wrong time.”

Van Liew has been working on restorative justice in Cumberland County for almost a decade. He was was one of the two contracted providers the county worked with before Sartoris said she “overhauled” the previous system. Van Liew is a former prosecutor from Iowa, who still lives there but splits his time between the Midwest and Maine.

Under the new program, he’s helped train dozens of Maine volunteers to serve as community surrogates in cases where there is no direct victim, or those where victims have not agreed to participate. Sartoris said that, previously, Van Liew was working with some surrogates who lived in Iowa and participated in restorative justice sessions via Zoom. Through the new agreement, surrogates are Cumberland County residents.

Zoom sessions will still be an option for low-level misdemeanor cases, Van Liew said, but he will continue presiding over serious, felony-level cases in person. All sessions are confidential. Prosecutors do not attend. Van Liew said he shares his thoughts afterward.

“There’s always a story, and a logic to how they got there, and that’s worthy of exploring,” Van Liew said. “When they realize this is a safe place … they want to share their story, because nobody ever asks them about their story.”