Experiences in Reconciling Risk Management and Restorative Justice

Perspective and Method

This article provides a critical theoretical analysis of the philosophical and social roots of the COSA initiative from the perspective of an “insider” to the program and is the culmination of 10 years of involvement with COSA in Canada, as a researcher, a volunteer, and an organiser. My perspective is informed by my ethnographic immersion in the COSA model, first as part of a master’s-level research project (involving participant observation and semistructured interviews) and then over 6 years as a COSA volunteer in a Canadian city. I have participated in 2 circles, have attended more than 200 circle meetings and individual meetings with core members, have been involved in the creation of local COSA procedures and policies, and have interviewed key players in the formation and oversight of COSA in Canada. I have also conducted interviews with 22 COSA volunteers from across Ontario, Canada. ² I kept field notes of meetings that I participated in, written after I left the setting, and derived analytic insights about the COSA model from these observations and experiences (see also Hannem & Petrunik, 2007).

When conducting participant observation in sensitive and confidential settings, ethical considerations are always important. The other volunteers and core members with whom I worked were made aware at the outset of my role as a university researcher studying the COSA model and were willing to allow my participation in the circle(s). As a full participant of the circle(s), I agreed to maintain the confidentiality of the circle and to protect the identities of the core members and other volunteers whom I have observed and worked with. The ethic of the field researcher is to “do no harm”; the likely benefits of the research must always outweigh the potential for harm. The incidents that I have chosen to discuss in this article provide valuable insight into the COSA model and how it operates; their revelation poses no harm to anyone involved in these situations. All names provided are pseudonyms, all accounts have been decontextualized, and all nonrelevant identifying information has been altered to protect the identities of those involved.

It is my opinion that true insight into such a complex social phenomenon as COSA can only be gained by delving into the “messy realities” of everyday interaction and praxis. This cannot be accomplished through the use of outsider observation nor through interviews alone, which may gloss over the very real and practical issues of how best to respond to the needs and problems of an individual who has been classified as a high-risk sex offender. Here, I have endeavoured to present some of these everyday realities and challenges, drawing on my own experiences and on accounts related to me by the COSA volunteers whom I interviewed. In the next section, I will provide a brief overview of the practicalities of the COSA model as it operates in Ontario, Canada, to provide the reader with a context to understand the discussion that follows.

Overview of the COSA Model

Prior to his ³ release from prison, an individual who has offended sexually may indicate that he wishes to participate in a COSA. Four to six community volunteers are trained and assigned to each released offender, the “core member” of the circle. The precise nature and scope of training varies, depending on the local COSA organisation, but generally requires potential volunteers to attend sessions dealing with various aspects of sexual offending, restorative justice, the COSA model of practice, sexual victimisation, relapse prevention, boundaries, and self-care (Heise et al., 2000).

Upon his release from prison, the volunteers meet with the core member and create a “covenant” agreement that outlines the support and confidentiality that the core member can expect from his circle, and the expectations that the volunteers have of their core member in terms of his behaviour in the community and with the circle (Heise et al., 2000). The circle meets weekly as a group, and the volunteer members take turns to meet with the core member individually on a daily basis. The volunteers offer assistance with practical life issues, such as learning to cook meals or do laundry, or in dealing with government agencies, such as the police, sex offender registry, or social assistance agents, and they act as a sounding board and problem-solving team for the core member’s frustrations and concerns. The core member receives support from his circle and, in turn, is accountable to them for his actions and decisions. Over time, as the core member is successfully reinserted into the community, contact with the circle will become less frequent and the core member, it is hoped, will become less dependent on the circle. However, the network of support that was created artificially for the core member often remains stable as a natural function of relationship development. ⁴

The Restorative Roots of COSA

Restorative justice was conceived as a countermovement to existing modes of criminal justice. One of the earliest and the most often cited definitions of restorative justice is Zehr’s (1985) presentation of restorative justice as an alternative and opposing paradigm to retributive justice systems. ⁵ The retributive criminal justice system is intent on determining who is responsible for the crime and what punishment is appropriate, whereas responding to crime restoratively requires asking different questions: what are the harms that have been done and to whom? What can we do to repair the harm to all concerned? Restorative justice prioritizes restoring the victim, the offender, and the community (Umbreit, 1995; Zehr, 1985).

Perhaps because of its early estrangement from mainstream criminal justice theory, many supporters of restorative justice distance themselves from anything that appears remotely retributive or unduly punitive (Johnstone, 2002). However, in so doing, they overlook the links that exist between the restorative justice paradigm and other perspectives, perceived as less “altruistic.” Pavlich (2005) has argued that restorative justice assumes many of the key concepts of mainstream criminal justice, despite its claim to be an alternative, and Zehr (2002) has since altered his standpoint on the dichotomous relationship between restorative and retributive paradigms to highlight their fundamental similarities. Both philosophies acknowledge that wrongdoing has upset a basic moral balance and that proportional action must be taken to right the wrong; they differ in their determinations of what is needed to make amends (Brunk, 2001; Zehr, 2002).

Retributive theory believes that pain will vindicate . . . . Restorative justice theory, on the other hand, argues that what truly vindicates is acknowledgement of victims’ harms and needs, combined with an active effort to encourage offenders to take responsibility, make right the wrongs, and address the causes of their behaviour. (Zehr, 2002, p. 59)

Due to the dominance of retributive justice, practitioners and advocates of restorative justice have had to find a place within established criminal justice systems and hope to create change from within, in order to have any relevance whatsoever to criminal justice policy. Restorative justice–based programs are positioned as “alternative” or “niche” programs for offender rehabilitation and addressing victim needs. Some support this filtration of restorative principles into the mainstream (see Zehr, 2002), whereas others feel that restorative justice must establish itself as a viable alternative and parallel mode of dealing with crime, separate from the traditional, retributive system (Bazemore, 1998; Johnstone, 2002). In either case, there is evidence that restorative justice is not in fact theoretically incompatible with risk management and exclusionary “community protection” philosophies. I argue here that these philosophies converge in COSA: a unique product of the application of restorative principles in the midst of a retributive society. Admittedly, COSA does not directly address the issue of making redress to victims of sexual violence; in this sense, it cannot be said to be a “true” restorative justice program. However, COSA does attend to victims’ need for safety and its focus on returning the offender safely to the community, encouraging him to live a healthy, non-victimising lifestyle, and to take responsibility for his crimes is certainly rooted in the restorative justice paradigm. For this reason, I refer to COSA as a restorative justice–based initiative. In order to understand why the COSA initiative has been so successful in Canada despite increasingly punitive public sentiment, I will first examine the broader neo-liberal trends and historical context that provide a backdrop to its emergence and growth.

COSA as Risk Management

For much of the 20th century, the state was dominant in the regulation of criminal risk and public protection. During the period between the end of the Second World War and the 1980s, protection from harm and victimisation was viewed as a right of citizenship in the welfare state, which was expected to identify and nullify risk on behalf of its citizens (Pratt, 1998). However, in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, a neo-liberal philosophy of reduced state care and intervention in the everyday lives of citizens has emerged (O’Malley, 2000; Rose, 1996b, 1996a), emphasising increased individual responsibility for the management of risk (Rose, 1996b, 1996a). Increasingly, we find that citizens are expected to take responsibility for minimising their risk of victimisation and harm. This movement has not replaced but is complementary to the continued expansion of state risk management and punishment in the area of criminal justice. The increased prevalence of home security companies, antitheft vehicle systems, closed circuit surveillance, and gated communities over the past two decades is a visible manifestation of the trend toward increased individualised risk management (Garland, 2002). Citizens no longer depend solely on criminal justice agencies to deal with the problem of criminal victimisation, and although violent crime rates in Canada are relatively low, and declining, individuals are no longer content to rely only on the criminal justice system for protection.

Victims’ rights advocates and community activists have embraced the challenge of risk management, particularly in the areas of violent and sexual victimisation (Petrunik, 2002; Simon, 1998). According to Petrunik (2002),

Such populist groups take as their starting point that the civil rights of offenders and their rehabilitation through treatment must take a back seat to the rights of victims and the rights of the community in general to freedom of movement, freedom from fear, and safety and quality of life. (p. 502)

Community risk management is often based on a community protection model that is exclusionary in nature and emphasises symbolic and literal demarcations between “dangerous” individuals and “innocent” citizens. Measures include the following: community vigilance (i.e., neighbourhood watch, citizen patrols, self-defence courses), lobbying public officials for reforms to increase public safety and for community notification of the presence of known sexual or violent offenders, vigilante acts of violence or intimidation directed at these individuals (Petrunik, 2002), gated communities, and screening policies for volunteers and professionals who work with vulnerable populations.

Conversely, COSA can be understood as a community risk-management strategy that prioritizes inclusion and that, while protecting the public from victimisation, also works to reintegrate and “restore” the former sex offender to the community. In the absence of COSA, these individuals would otherwise be highly marginalised. For example, two offenders with similar sexual offence histories and risk levels were released to the same community in eastern Ontario within 6 months of one another. One became involved in COSA and the police determined that it was not necessary to issue a community notification in relation to this individual. The other man (who did not have a circle) had his name and photograph released to the community, resulting in public outcry, harassment, and demands for him to leave the community. Participation in COSA can clearly affect police and public perceptions of risk and enable the offender to live in the community with less fear that he will be “outed” and ostracised.

The recognition of risk and the classification of high-risk populations are implicit in the policies of COSA; the mandate of the program recognises that individuals who have been held to warrant expiry are among the most potentially dangerous in Canada, in terms of likelihood of recidivism (Heise et al., 2000). Believing that volunteers need to be aware of the core member’s offence cycle, triggers or risk factors, and any known mental disorder or paraphilia, it is COSA’s policy to access and use the core member’s clinical and criminal records. Similarly, requisite volunteer training directly acknowledges the risk inherent in the program and is a proactive measure toward increasing the safety of volunteers and the community. The reference to “accountability” in the title of the program indicates that the core member is required to be accountable for his actions in the community and that he is subject to the scrutiny of his circle.

The circle model explicitly recognises that the core member has engaged in behaviour that is unacceptable to the majority of Canadians and he may not be able or willing to avoid risky and harmful behaviours without assistance, support, and surveillance. The role of the circle, then, is also partly that of a governing body to assist the core member in making decisions about potentially risky behaviours and in regulating his conduct, until such time as he and the circle feel that he has grown enough to be able to make responsible choices that will not be harmful to himself or others. For example, core members frequently discuss everyday dilemmas with their circle—such questions as “Should I get a membership to a local pool that offers swimming lessons for children, even if I only go for adult swims?” “What do I do if a child sits in the empty seat next to me on the bus?” “There is a day care next door to the government office where I have to go to get my disability/welfare cheque. What do I do?” All of these situations, and others, represent temptation to an individual who is sexually attracted to children and present a potential for fantasising or victimisation. By discussing these issues with the circle, the core member is able to rationalise and receive support for a course of action that reduces the risk of reoffence.

Given the reported 60% to 70% reduction from projected recidivism rates to actual reoffending among COSA core members in Canada (Wilson, Picheca, & Prinzo, 2007; Wilson & Prinzo, 2001), the investment of volunteers’ time and energy into circles can be considered an example of effective risk management. While Zehr (2002) argued that reducing recidivism is not the primary aim of restorative justice, the incorporation of this community protection concern in COSA arguably addresses the fears of victims in a way that is more tangible than previous restorative justice initiatives.

Working Restoratively in the “Risk Society”

In the COSA model, offenders who have served their full prison sentences voluntarily consent to be held accountable for their actions in the community by a group of volunteers who, while acting as individuals, are members of an initiative that is funded by the Correctional Service of Canada (CSC) and responsible to the police and community. While participation in COSA is voluntary, the benefits of participation for the offender have already been illustrated in this paper: police and community surveillance are reduced for offenders who participate in COSA, resulting in less media scrutiny and less chance of vigilante action. Cesaroni (2001) found that core members’ motivations for participating in the COSA program were generally self-serving: the availability of support, protection from media and police harassment, and the belief that having a circle would improve their chances of staying in the community. All core members interviewed also stated that they would not join a circle if they were run by CSC, rather than a community or faith-based organisation (Cesaroni 2001). This suggests that a COSA model rooted solely in community protection and directly overseen by an arm of government ⁶ would be less likely to recruit potential core members, who are attracted to the model for its supportive, assistive aspects.

Circles uphold a responsibility to the community by committing to hold core members accountable for meeting the conditions of any legal orders, such as peace bonds or long-term supervision orders (Heise et al., 2000). Furthermore, it is made clear that the circle has discretion to report any breach of release conditions (which may include use of alcohol or drugs, or spending time in places where children are likely to be present, that is, parks and swimming pools) or “risky” behaviour that they may discover. If the core member engages in victimising behaviour, or indicates an intention to harm another individual, that information must be reported to local authorities, in accordance with COSA policy (Heise et al., 2000). As a postrelease restorative justice program, COSA appears to shift control of the offender from the criminal justice system to the community. The fact that these interventions occur after the offender’s obligation to the state has expired means that, in effect, control over the offender has informally been extended beyond the legal mandate (albeit with the offender’s consent). This may be viewed as “widening the net” of formal social control through informal means (Cohen, 1985; Pavlich, 1996, 1998; Silverstein, 2001). For some critics, the increase in control that is created by postrelease programs like COSA is insidious because it is disguised by the rhetoric of reintegration and restoration.

The COSA model also implicitly supports the need for rehabilitation in its concern to reduce future victimisation. While theorists of penology have postulated the demise of the rehabilitative ethos in favour of punishment (Pratt, 2000; Pratt, Brown, Brown, Hallworth, & Morrison, 2005) and risk management (Feeley & Simon, 1992, 1994), arguably these shifts have not completely erased the spectre of rehabilitation, which has reemerged, transformed, as part of late-modern penal practice (Robinson, 2008). The late-modern rehabilitation philosophy is viewed as utilitarian in nature, understood as contributing to crime prevention, and relies on an actuarial, risk management approach to target intervention at those who pose the greatest danger (Robinson, 2008). By contrast, in advocating for what they call the “Good Lives Model” (GLM) of offender rehabilitation, Ward and Brown (2004) stated,

We propose that the best way to lower offending recidivism rates is to equip individuals with the tools to live more fulfilling lives rather than to simply develop increasingly sophisticated risk management measures and strategies. At the end of the day, most offenders have more in common with us than not, and like the rest of humanity have needs to be loved, valued, to function competently, and to be part of a community. (p. 244)

More precisely, according to Petrunik and Ilea (2010),

the GLM propose that assessment and treatment services be developed not only to deal with the criminogenic needs, risk of re-offence, and responsivity to cognitive behavioural interventions but also meet the offender’s “personal goals and needs” in the quest to live a fulfilling prosocial life. (p. 89)

While focusing on providing former offenders with the “knowledge, skills, opportunities and resources to live a ‘good’ life” (Ward & Maruna, 2007, p. 111), GLM is believed to be successful in reducing recidivism because it motivates offenders to actively strive for positive outcomes in their lives, thereby reducing engagement with risky behaviours, rather than posing its intervention in a negative, prohibitive frame (Ward & Maruna, 2007). COSA volunteers support core members’ involvement in a variety of activities and endeavours that draw them into community life and meet their needs for such things as companionship, leisure, and educational and occupational achievement—from joining bowling leagues, to providing dating advice, to assisting with postsecondary educational aspirations. Though they would not necessarily articulate their actions in the language of GLM, in practice, COSA volunteers encourage the core member to strive for a “good life” that is free from offending, but that also meets his human needs and goals, believing that these pursuits will improve his chances of success in the community. These efforts are, for most volunteers, not merely about reducing risk but stem from a desire to see the core member fulfilled and happy.

Similarly, the techniques of risk management that recognise and respond to the core member’s criminogenic needs are engaged by the circle in ways that also acknowledge the core member’s needs for companionship, compassion, and community. The caring and “family-like” relationships that are created by the circle provide a sense of belonging and acceptance to the core member that he would not otherwise have in the community. Many core members have no contact with their families at all; some have been the victims of the core member’s abuse, and others have cut ties due to shame and the fear of stigma contamination. ⁷ One of the key interactional components of a circle is a sense of “family” that allows the core member to feel comfortable enough to be willing to disclose his concerns and failings and to ask for advice. In evaluating his circle, a core member said of one of his volunteers, “I found your life experience and the fact that you are a mother to be very helpful. You have given me some really good advice, but you have also been there when I just needed someone to talk to.” Some COSA supporters even attribute the reduction of recidivism to the core member’s reluctance to disappoint his “family”:

The majority of these men have been abused as well as abusers and they are usually isolated and alone. The idea of community is therefore very different for them. Sometimes I get the feeling that they are like children, and that we are their family and that they’d disappoint us if they reoffended. That’s it, I think—they don’t want to disappoint us. (Eileen Henderson, COSA local initiative coordinator for Hamilton-Windsor, quoted in Silverman & Wilson, 2002, p.173)

Inclusion and “family-like” relationships are accomplished through such symbolic and concrete gestures as volunteers inviting core members to their homes to share a meal, presenting the core member with Christmas gifts, or celebrating his birthday with a cake and presents. In many circles, volunteers share everyday news and personal milestones at their weekly meetings to foster a sense of reciprocity and the open exchange of information and feelings with their core member. Meetings that are particularly difficult or intense for the core member as he struggles to share feelings or concerns have been known to end with a “group hug,” positive affirmations, and other rituals of inclusion. Although volunteers may at times be forced to challenge or even reprimand their core member, the underlying sentiment is one of “tough love” and the core member continues to be supported and respected as a valuable human being, even in these difficult moments.

In addition to including the core member in the community of the circle, many COSA volunteers also work very actively to incorporate the core member into the wider community. Some circles have advocated to allow core members to be included in church congregations, sometimes having to negotiate with parole officers over the legal restriction that many core members have against being “in a place where children are likely to be present” and making significant commitments to accompany him to religious services and community events. As one volunteer related:

Sam [the core member] would so like to try the church, go to church, but of course he couldn’t go [because of his legal prohibition against being in a place where children are likely to be present]. Finally, the probation officer agreed he could go provided, you know, his circle member would be there and would kind of, you know, be aware that he was there. (Patricia, COSA Volunteer)

In other cases, volunteers have provided support and acted as mediators for core members who wished to reconcile with members of their own families. For example, a core member was reluctant to spend Christmas with his family of origin because his sister, who was one of his victims, would be present. Circle volunteers assisted the core member to compose a letter to his sister in which he offered an apology, asked her permission to visit for Christmas, and reassured her that he would respect her personal boundaries or any requests that she might make. She, in turn, replied that he would be welcome to spend Christmas, but asked that he not stay overnight in the same house with her. A volunteer assisted the core member to make arrangements that enabled him to spend the holiday with his family, while respecting his sister’s wishes. The circle continued to support the core member in his conciliatory gestures toward his sister, helping him to approach her in a way that respected her boundaries and allowed the redevelopment of a nonexploitative relationship.

The role of COSA in the lives of core members and in communities is complex and multifaceted. In a society that demands accountability and harsh consequences for crime, COSA’s restorative response to the “worst of the worst” is exceptional. To the eye of the uninitiated, however, COSA may appear to be primarily a type of surveillance and risk management that works to protect the community. The restorative philosophy is, in some ways, obscured by the instrumental function of community protection, allowing COSA to operate without attracting opposition from the community, victims’ rights groups, and media. Given the current sociopolitical climate, this public emphasis on accountability may be viewed, not as counterproductive to the restorative roots of the program but as an adaptive strategy that allows the initiative to survive.

Representations of COSA in Canadian media support the idea that emphasising risk management and accountability has been a useful strategy. Following a high-profile incident of abduction and sexual assault of two young boys in western Canada by recidivist offender Peter Whitmore, a popular Canadian radio program, The Current, aired a discussion of paedophilia and strategies for reducing sex offending, including the COSA model. On the program Harry Nigh, a Mennonite Chaplain with CSC and one of the originators of the COSA model, described the creation of COSA as “trying to ensure that there would be no more victims—that was the point” (The Current, 2006). The second COSA motto, “no one is disposable,” is never mentioned. Nigh further presented COSA as an opportunity for educated, empowering risk management, saying, “it’s a program which allows the community, rather than being paralysed with fear, to get their hands dirty” (The Current, 2006) and emphasised a study that showed an impressive 70% reduction in recidivism (Wilson et al., 2007; Wilson, Picheca, & Prinzo, 2005). In the wake of intense public emotion surrounding a story like the Whitmore abduction case, an argument in favour of support and assistance for paedophiles would likely be met with emphatic resistance and criticism. Nigh’s presentation of the COSA initiative did not discuss the more radical aspects of its philosophy, and study of subsequent listener comments submitted to the radio program revealed no negative feedback on the COSA segment. Similarly, a Canadian Press article from October, 2009 announcing the provision of US$7.4 million in federal funding for COSA emphasises the program’s track record in reducing recidivism and protecting the community, including an endorsement by the National Crime Prevention Centre (Canadian Press, 2009). The article provides no mention of COSA’s restorative or reintegrative philosophy.

John Braithwaite and Stephen Mugford (1994) argued that a successful reintegration process requires a politically resonant discourse. While the motto “no one is disposable” is an admirable philosophy, it does not reflect current public and political thought in the area of sex offending. The public wants to be assured that they will be protected from sex offending, that individuals who violate sexual boundaries will be punished and incapacitated. The slogan “no more victims” is perhaps the key that allows COSA to find community acceptance, willing volunteers, and support among criminal justice agencies. Moreover, recognising the needs and concerns of victims and communities is an integral component of restorative justice philosophy; thus, believers in restorative justice who become COSA volunteers are also concerned with preventing victimisation. The “no more victims” motto is not merely a politically useful discourse to mask the radically inclusive nature of the model but a very real priority for COSA.

Balancing Risk Management and Restoration

While the prevention of victimisation is equal in importance to the reintegrative aspect of COSA, there are some dangers in promoting the initiative primarily on its community protection merits. Emphasis of the community protection philosophy may attract volunteers who do not wholly subscribe to the restorative justice philosophy and will approach the circle’s work as a form of surveillance and vigilantism.

The following account reveals how the priorities of circle members surface in moments of crisis. “Jimmy” ⁸ had more than 10 convictions for sexual offences against children over a period of two decades and multiple convictions for violating probation conditions. He had been declared a long-term offender (LTO), which in Canada means that upon his release from prison at warrant expiry, he would be subjected to a 7-year postdetention “long-term supervision order” (LTSO) and required to comply with release conditions and report to a parole officer in the community. Jimmy’s circle met regularly and provided him with practical and emotional support to aid his return to the community. However, about 6 months after his release from prison, Jimmy violated the conditions of his LTSO by consuming alcohol, using pornography, and being in a place where children might reasonably be expected to be present. Jimmy did not commit a new sexual offence. He called several of his circle members and his parole officer to report his own breaches and the circle held an emergency meeting (which included the parole officer) to discuss the events. The parole officer had the opportunity to exercise her discretion in determining if Jimmy would be returned to prison as a result of these breaches and a warrant was not immediately issued for his arrest.

In light of Jimmy’s actions, some volunteers felt strongly that the circle had overemphasised support for Jimmy, rather than accountability; they believed that warning signs that may have foreshadowed Jimmy’s breaches had been overlooked. These volunteers argued that other members of the circle were not harsh enough with Jimmy in their response to the breached conditions. One member, “Tom,” was so upset by the outcome of the meeting that he broke the circle covenant of confidentiality and consensus to discuss his concerns with the parole officer, without the knowledge of the rest of the circle. Tom told the parole officer that he believed that the circle was ineffective at detecting warning signs of risky behaviour and engaging in relapse prevention strategies. Tom also suggested to the parole officer and to the local COSA coordinator that he might go to the media and report that the public was put at risk by the circle’s lack of vigilance. After Tom spoke to the parole officer, Jimmy was charged with breaching his LTSO and detained in a provincial jail to await trial. While in custody, Jimmy was killed by his cellmate, who had a history of mental illness and was upset at being placed in a cell with a paedophile.

In contrast with Tom’s contention that Jimmy’s breach of his conditions was a failure of the circle model, one can argue that the circle did work effectively in that Jimmy did not reoffend sexually and took steps, of his own initiative, to contact his circle—the people he believed would help and support him, despite his having breached both the legal conditions and their trust. Nonetheless, Tom’s breach of trust and confidentiality and his emphasis on the authority of the parole officer had a serious fracturing effect on the circle and broke down the relationships that had been developed. If Jimmy had remained in the community or returned following his incarceration, this particular circle would no longer have been an effective entity; we cannot know if Jimmy would have been able to rebuild his trust in another group of people following what he certainly perceived as a betrayal by this volunteer.

To remove the caring, community aspect of COSA and subject sex offenders only to a regimented, surveillance-type intervention would likely be counterproductive in many instances—Cesaroni’s (2001) research emphasised the importance of keeping COSA separate from more formal legal structures (such as parole). In addition, there is a sense in which COSA volunteers’ commitment to the underlying restorative philosophy creates the conditions of possibility for core members to trust their circle members when they encounter difficulties; surveillance and accountability measures, then, are tempered with caring support. For example, a core member was challenged at length during a circle meeting about his minimization of the harm of child pornography; this resulted in the core member withdrawing into himself and refusing to speak for the remainder of the meeting. The situation was managed with extreme care by volunteers who emphasised their concern for the potential legal consequences of using child pornography and the detrimental effect that the use of child pornography could have on the core member’s life and ability to remain in the community. It was a precarious moment that could easily have deteriorated into a form of group shaming had the volunteers not been sensitive to the need to balance their desire for accountability with support. Instead, the volunteers persisted in emphasising how much they valued the core member and wanted him to live a good life in the community, while clearly expressing the harm of child pornography to its victims and the community. The meeting ended with the core member apologizing for his sullen behaviour and finding himself enveloped in a “group hug.”

Several weeks later, the same core member called an emergency meeting of his circle, inviting the COSA coordinator to reveal that he had been viewing child pornography on the Internet—in Canada, possession of child pornography and accessing child pornography are criminal offences, and at the time carried a maximum sentence of 5 years in prison and a minimum sentence of 14 days in jail. The core member told the volunteers that he was no longer in possession of the images and was determined to stop accessing them, placing his circle in the difficult position of deciding whether to report his actions to the police. The circle members thanked the core member for his honesty in coming to them, and reaffirmed how much they cared about him and his well-being; they expressed how deeply concerned they were about the potential consequences of his actions, for himself and for the community, and discussed the impact of child pornography on its victims—the children who were exploited and harmed in its creation. The core member, in turn, apologized for what he felt to be his “failure” and for having let down his circle members; he related that he had not thought about the implications of his use of child pornography and that he had always considered it to be “victimless,” since he was not directly harming a child, but that the circle’s previous discussion of the harms had caused him to reconsider this position. The circle decided not to report the core member provided that he would surrender his computer to be searched for inappropriate material, cancel his Internet service, and agree that the circle could request to inspect his computer at any time, without notice. Any failure to comply with this agreement or the discovery of further use of child pornography would be grounds to contact the police.

In the absence of a statutory requirement to report, the volunteers felt that since the core member was voluntarily “confessing” to them and expressing his desire to desist in accessing this material, he deserved a second chance. However, the volunteers felt that the core member also needed to be held accountable in a tangible way. The circle’s attempt to manage risk while acting restoratively appears to have been a success. Since this event, now several years past, the core member continues to live successfully in the community and has not committed another offence.

Exporting COSA as Restorative Practice

COSA in Canada was initially built on a strong foundation of restorative justice and continues to involve many individuals who are dedicated to these ideals. Despite increased emphasis on risk management and community protection in Canadian society, interviews with COSA volunteers in Ontario, Canada, suggest that a belief in restorative justice continues to drive the participation of many COSA volunteers in Canada. Of the 22 volunteers interviewed, all but 2 mentioned the importance of restorative justice motivating their participation; the majority of these (18) also cited their religious beliefs. However, the circles model has also spread internationally, with projects in the United Kingdom and in the American states of Colorado, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Minnesota. In England and Wales, three COSA projects, based on the Canadian model, were developed with funding from the British Home Office Public Protection Unit in 2002.

While the project appears to have retained its supportive and reintegrative philosophy, it would be very easy for COSA to lose its restorative ideals in the conservative climate of Great Britain, where warrant-expired paedophiles sometimes voluntarily return to live in a secure hostel on the grounds of Her Majesty’s Prison Nottingham for their own protection from vigilantism (Nellis, 2009; Silverman & Wilson, 2002). COSA was “imported” to the United Kingdom and introduced to the Home Office by the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) who, like the Mennonites, have a long tradition of involvement with social justice issues and correctional reforms. ⁹ While the Quaker-run COSA pilot in the Thames Valley was grounded in restorative justice ideals, from the outset it was far more closely tied to correctional agencies than the Canadian Circles had been (Nellis, 2009). The founders of U.K. Circles were concerned that their oversight would come from the Home Office Public Protection Unit, which supplied the funding for the COSA pilot. The first coordinator of the Thames Valley COSA program stated, “Unlike Canadian Circles, here they have been started ‘top down,’ and [that] produces tensions with our funders. Restorative Justice in the UK is seen more as just an extension of the existing [criminal justice] system, with no distinctive philosophical basis, though we argue for it” (Dick Foot, personal communication with the author, 2002). As Nellis (2009) puts it, “the Quakers, whilst preferring to articulate Circles in the language of ‘restorative justice’ and ‘community empowerment’, acknowledged that official agencies were thinking of it more in terms of ‘public protection’” (p. 28). Thus, the Thames Valley project is an excellent example of the precarious balance between restorative justice ideals and risk management in the implementation of COSA, and demonstrates that a rhetoric of risk management may mask restorative practice.

The notion of supporting those who have sexually offended has not been publically popular in Britain, as evidenced by many tabloid news and op-ed articles that hailed the U.K. introduction to COSA as “pals for perverts” and “buddies for child molesters” (see, for example, Butler, 2002; Churchill, 2004; Daily Express, 2002; Slack & Laycock, 2002). More recent press releases seeking volunteers for COSA in the United Kingdom read as follows: “Volunteers wanted to help protect children from abuse” (Foster, 2009) and “Volunteers needed to monitor sex offenders in the community” (“Volunteers Needed to Monitor,” 2008). The work that is done by COSA in the United Kingdom is often presented as a form of child protection and offender surveillance, which is strongly supported by the Home Office and citizens. COSA has been operating in the United Kingdom since 2002 and reports having operated more than 150 circles, with 50 currently ongoing (Naysmith, 2010). A qualitative evaluation was conducted of the first 4 years of the Thames Valley COSA program, showing that of the initial 16 core members, none had committed a new sexual offence in that time period (2002-2006) (Bates, Saunders, & Wilson, 2007).

In Scotland, the government was reticent to introduce COSA; a 2008 feasibility study for a national pilot was rejected on the grounds that the government had concerns about volunteers working with sexual offenders and felt that circles would not fit well with the Multi-Agency Public Protection Arrangements that had just been introduced (Kirkwood & Richley, 2008; Naysmith, 2010). At the time, the government of Scotland stated that they would like to see more conclusive evidence of a reduction in recidivism before they would support a COSA pilot initiative (Leask, 2008; Seith, 2006), suggesting that their primary concern was not with reintegration but with reducing victimisation. The organisation Safeguarding Communities–Reducing Reoffending (SACRO) in Scotland continued to lobby and to make the case for a COSA pilot initiative and were successful in gaining the support of the government to fund a pilot to commence in early 2011 in Fife (Bugler, 2010; Naysmith, 2010). However, in making their case for the development of a COSA pilot, representatives of SACRO focused exclusively on the aspect of risk management and COSA’s track record for reducing recidivism (Kirkwood & Richley, 2008). Kirkwood and Richley (2008), of SACRO, stated in their article that “the fundamental aim of a Circle is to reduce the risk of further offending by the ‘core member’” (p. 236). News articles announcing the provision of government funding for the Circles pilot in Scotland also focus solely on the more pragmatic aspects of the program; restorative justice and its ideals are not mentioned (Naysmith, 2010). The only allusion to the possibility of restorative ideals among COSA volunteers is a statement by Richley that “all volunteers . . . will share a belief in the potential for people to change” (Naysmith, 2010, n.p.). The motto of “no one is disposable” is once again conspicuously absent, leading to questions of how circles will operate in practice in Scotland and if they will have the positive outcomes of the Canadian experience.

At the political level in England and Wales and in Scotland, COSA has already been seemingly stripped of its restorative justice philosophy and advocated as a form of community surveillance. In the United States, given the rapid spread of community protection legislation since the early 1990s, it would not be unreasonable to assume that similar alterations have been made in applying the circle model to the American context. The Minnesota COSA project is overseen by the Minnesota Department of Corrections; the description of the program on their website emphasises COSA’s international success in reducing recidivism among sex offenders and does not even mention the model’s basis in restorative justice (Minnesota Department of Corrections, 2009). In Colorado, a short-lived circles-type reentry program funded by the Department of Corrections was named “Circles of Accountability and Support,” to emphasise the public safety function (Brian Smith, personal communication, 2011). As Canadian organisers of COSA and representatives of CSC continue to share the Canadian Circles experience with their international counterparts, they should emphasise that adoption of the model must be undertaken with the restorative philosophy intact, or risk failure, as the outcomes and potential of a purely surveillance-based model are unknown.

The circle model is a precarious balance of reintegrative and risk management concerns that must be maintained with the utmost care; a balance achieved is a worthwhile thing indeed. The success of COSA in Canada attests to the merits of the initiative and demonstrates that the concerns of the risk society can be addressed in a restorative way that builds communities, rather than fracturing them, and embraces offenders, rather than shaming and isolating them. The COSA initiative is a positive move toward responding to sexual offending in a way that addresses the concerns of victims and citizens in a very real way, while recognising the essential humanity of the offender and creating a community for him.