Crime & Law
Restorative Justice Programs in Chicago Aim to Break Cycles of Recidivism
by Jacqueline Marika Emerson, Taylor Hancock and Aria Wozniak
To reduce the number of formerly incarcerated citizens returning to prison, some communities are turning to restorative justice — a practice promoting accountability and healing for all parties affected by crime. Restorative justice programs aim to prevent future offenses while addressing the root causes of criminal behavior.
University studies show participation in restorative justice programs accounted for a 34% decrease in juvenile recidivism.
Restorative justice emphasizes repairing harm after a crime rather than imposing severe punitive measures.
Cliff Nellis is the founder of Lawndale Christian Legal Center.
Based in North Lawndale — a Chicago neighborhood where 12% of all Illinois prisoners are from — the center provides reentry support to formerly incarcerated individuals, as well as free social and legal services for juvenile offenders.
“What better way to pay your debt to society than to actually heal the harm that you caused to the community and the relationships that you have in your own community?” Nellis said.
He said he hopes to counter the idea that restorative justice is soft on crime.
“This idea that it’s like, oh this, you know, slap on the wrist and you’re out … it’s quite the opposite actually,” Nellis said.
Sixteen years ago, Nellis found the idea of restorative justice “ridiculous.” Now, he is one of its strongest advocates.
The Lawndale Christian Legal Center is set to expand its efforts this year through a new restorative justice hub. The center will offer housing, mental health services, dining options and structured social programs — key support systems to prevent reincarceration. In 2022, 69% of the 380 clients served by the center did not reoffend while working with the organization.
The Deer Center, named after former Cook County Commissioner Dennis Deer, is estimated to cost around $21 million. Construction is expected to be completed in early 2025.
Nellis said the impact of restorative justice cannot be reduced to just one outcome.
“Restorative justice is much more nuanced and gray,” Nellis said. “Relationships have been broken and damaged. People have been hurt. And restorative justice would say that the path towards true justice is to bring the people (together) who are impacted by that crime, who are harmed by that crime, and the person who commissioned that crime.”
In Englewood, the Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation is dedicated to creating spaces for survivors and offenders alike.
The nonprofit’s prevention programs, such as cooking classes for children and teens, are designed to help build self-esteem and teach fundamental life skills to young people in the area.
Curtis Dixon, 22, was arrested twice at the ages of 19 and 21. Today, he is working to prevent other young people from following a similar path.
Dixon, who grew up in Back of the Yards, first learned about the Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation through a basketball tournament when he was 15.
He said the organization kept him away from a life of crime by addressing trauma and providing a support system.
“It was just so special,” Dixon said. “We knew we could walk in and go in the kitchen and make some food if we wanted to, or just sit down and play some board games, whatever, or just sit down and talk and somebody gonna listen. And that’s what kept us coming.”
Dixon now works as a paid mentor at the organization.
“I was still bumping my head along the way, getting locked up and stuff like that, but Precious Blood never gave up on me,” Dixon said. “And I started to change over time.”
Peace circles offer former offenders the opportunity to share openly about themselves — both the good and the bad.
Some circle groups at Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation also bring together mothers who have lost their sons to gun violence or prison. Each circle uses talking sticks, a symbolic agreement to listen and show respect.
Peace circles were also part of Lisa Daniels’ healing journey.
Daniels lost her 25-year-old son Darren to gun violence over a decade ago.
During the trial of her son’s killer, Michael Reed, Daniels pleaded for leniency. Reed ultimately served seven years of his 15-year sentence.
“When Michael was leaving the courtroom, shackled, … he looked at me as he was turning away to leave the room and he said, ‘Thank you,’” Daniels said, recalling the day of the trial. “And I said, ‘You’re welcome.’”
Daniels founded the Darren B. Easterling Center of Restorative Practices to help those impacted by violent crime and mass incarceration.
“I didn’t want to be committed to grief, I wanted to be committed to healing and living,” Daniels said.
The center offers tailored support for those who served time in prison and those who have lost loved ones to violence or incarceration.
“I still believe that there is room to bring people who have caused harm and people who have been harmed together to allow each and the other to be heard and to promote healing,” Daniels said.
She also said she hopes to one day connect with Reed: “And for no other reason for me except to just say, just to check in and see if he’s OK.”
Reed could not be reached for an interview.
