Teaching for the future – transformative curricula

One difference between criminology and (certain approaches to the study of) law is that the former is (typically) empirical, critical and social scientific, and the latter is doctrinal. That is, as well as describing the existing system and its ‘rules’, criminological education requires a detailed exploration of the problems and implications. In contrast, legal education, as Mannozzi describes it, is often relatively more descriptive by comparison: learning statutes, codes and, in common law jurisdictions, cases, will take priority as the examinations which one must pass to qualify as a legal professional require their rote learning. Of course, many law programmes (or law lecturers’ approaches) are more socio-legal and critical than this generalisation implies.
Despite our tendency to emphasise and analyse the problematic nature of the status quo, criminological education too often fails to foreground alternatives: how to build what will make the existing system obsolete. Restorative justice and penal abolition are among the concepts in which most criminologists are reasonably well-versed, but which are seldom entire modules in undergraduate criminology programmes, much less forming a compulsory part of our curricula, like policing, prisons, punishment and criminological theory. The centrality of prisons and police in teaching reflects their centrality in existing systems. But herein lies my criticism. We remain too system (or perhaps, past and present) focused in curricula. Even topics that are progressive, if not radical, but that are marginalised in existing criminal justice systems – such as probation and community justice (Tidmarsh, 2023) and victimology – are seldom compulsory.
If we are not even in a situation where all students of criminology (and, by implication, law) learn directly about victims – who are literally one of the two main parties (to draw on the legal system’s binary for a moment) to crime – then how far are we from compulsory modules, or even master’s degrees, in restorative justice, penal abolition, transformative justice and other ‘new’ ideas? In other words, how are we contributing to the change we want to see in the world, if we fail to give the next generation the tools and knowledge to bring about that change?
We must not, as Mannozzi implores, imitate the education we were given. Even within restorative justice education itself, this occurs. For example, as we comprehend the mythology in foundational restorative justice ‘stories’, such as the (colonial and problematic) relationships constructed between indigenous and modern restorative practices, we must not propagate these myths in our teaching and textbooks. It is our responsibility as legal and criminological scholars to recognise that teaching is playing the ‘long game’ in system change. Our curricula must thus reflect the systems we want to see in a generation. Or, as hip-hop artist Lowkey says at the start of Dreamers – a song on the ‘LW687 Restorative Justice’ Spotify playlist, co-created with my master’s students – most people see things that are there and ask ‘Why?’ Dreamers see things that aren’t there and ask ‘Why not?’ Restorative justice students can be dreamers, but we must give them the tools and the information with which to turn those dreams into a reality.

Teaching for the future – restorative pedagogy

Beyond questions of course content, I want to address questions of pedagogy. Mannozzi observes the need for ‘a balanced investment in both hard and soft skills’ and an integration of ‘the “humanistic” component of restorative justice’ into legal education. This is to some extent a matter of course content: education must be accompanied by interpersonal skills training and followed by ongoing mechanisms of workplace reflective practice that encourage professionals to reflect on their values and practices so that the two remain congruent. As professionals across the justice procedure gain greater responsibilities towards victims and the recognition of trauma grows, it is important that students educated in the law are also trained to treat people humanely and therapeutically (Marder & Wexler, 2021).
At the same time, what ‘restorative pedagogies’ afford us is the recognition that higher education learning has both didactic and experiential qualities. In other words, we must not just tell students how to treat others, but show them. There is a certain irony in the fact that we, as restorative justice scholars, seek to disrupt and demolish one hierarchical system from our base in another. The structure of lectures and lecture theatres, the foregrounding of academic titles, and the (at least, perceived) consequences of grades combine with many other factors to shape our power dynamics with students and to affect how students experience us and our institutions (and, by extension, how they experience the state during their formative years).
Those of us who research the criminal justice professions will be well-versed in notions of occupational culture. The structures in which practitioners act combine with the ‘knowledge’ that is passed through generations as ‘stories’ and ‘scripts’ to structure professional discretion, manifesting in patterns of behaviour. These patterns represent our cultural ‘norms’ or ‘working rules’, to which the formal rules are not entirely irrelevant, but which are unwritten, and which emerge from the discretion we enjoy as we allocate benefits and sanctions on behalf of the state (e.g. Chan, 1997; Lipsky, 2010; McConville, Sanders & Leng, 1991).
To the extent that we have control over our practices – we each accommodate or resist those features of occupational culture which do not align with our values – our own ‘subculture’ of restorative justice academics can adopt restorative values and processes as the underpinning guidelines for our day-to-day work. In other words, we can teach restorative justice not simply by taking an interdisciplinary approach to its content but by teaching restoratively. Notions of ‘restorative lecturing’ require elaboration. When I first mentioned this as a concept of possible utility to another lecturer, their response was as hearty a laugh as I ever receive when I expect to be funny. But there is something insightful about the absurdity of that concept, much as there is in the apparent contractions in notions of ‘restorative policing’ (Clamp & Paterson, 2017). How might we take an occupational culture which is fundamentally about power and control and transform it into one in which we – systematically and intentionally – devolve our power to the citizens for whose welfare we are responsible and over whom we have authority, at every opportunity? How might we treat students in ways that model how we want them to treat others when they gain positions of authority later in life? Consider, for a moment, your most inspiring teachers or lecturers. Are you thinking about the statutes, theories or studies that they implored you to memorise for your assessments? Or, are you remembering how their words and actions made you feel about yourself and your place in the world around you? If occupational cultures give professionals as much room to reject toxic attributes by treating people in accordance with their values as by using pre-learned skills, then how might we use our language and behaviour to demonstrate and transmit restorative values in ways that echo through the generations?
One aspect of this, as Mannozzi mentions, is through the structure of the classroom: in circles, we apply the logic and values of restorative justice to reduce the appearance, experience and influence of hierarchies. This requires us as lecturers to be trained in circle facilitation (see, for example, Marder, Pointer & Ojibway, 2022), which would give us stronger skills to operate restoratively in a group setting. More than this, however, lecturers require skills to treat people restoratively in one-to-one settings. This is where, to my mind, the future of our discipline lies in restorative practices: a practical field that combines values and skills to help professionals treat others around them in a restorative way. Mannozzi argues that ‘it is not possible to educate about restorative justice without allowing oneself to be shaped by restorative justice’ (this issue). Restorative practice is what it can look like if this were accompanied by the skills to maximise the chances that one is experienced as restorative: proactively or reactively, systematically and intentionally, building, maintaining and repairing relationships; ‘a restorative language’, as Mannozzi continues,

not only in the classroom but also in the design, organisation, and management of the course. Welcoming students, ensuring that no one is left behind, being flexible regarding their educational demands, understanding their needs, and co-designing solutions are some of the genuinely restorative aspects that make what is taught consistent with how it is taught. (This issue)

So far, restorative practitioners seem to have had greater success in proposing the incorporation of social and emotional learning in primary and secondary education, than in tertiary education. In Maynooth University, this manifests in teacher training – our two-year master’s in education programme incorporates two courses (i.e. 48 hours of instruction) in restorative practices. The potential of this to equip the next generation of Ireland’s schoolteachers to practice restoratively is substantial. Yet, educators in tertiary systems seldom receive formal pedagogical training of any kind, much less specific training in restorative practices.
Beyond my restorative justice teaching at undergraduate level mentioned already, I teach restorative justice on the Master’s in Comparative Criminology and Criminal Justice, and my colleagues deliver a master’s level, standalone module in restorative practices. This is more practice-oriented than my more academic equivalent, although both are delivered using restorative circles and values in various ways (such as enabling students to co-design assessments). However, a broader impact might emerge from the fact that we organised two days’ restorative practices training for law and criminology colleagues: full-time academics, doctoral students who teach, and administrators. Alongside this, I have drafted a restorative practices policy for our School, which I recently presented to colleagues. Whether this will affect our School’s culture is unclear: already, our colleagues operate in an (unusually) relational, participatory way with students and each other. Still, if we can spread the restorative principles and skillset to academics who do not research and teach restorative justice, and build restorative cultures across whole academic law units, then we might be able to make even more progress towards a future in which legal professionals are themselves more restorative.