Shortly after Tommy Koonce arrived at Walpole state prison in 1992, at the age of 25—still reeling from the shock of a life sentence and trying to adjust to the rules of prison survival—he signed up for college courses, determined to pursue a liberal arts degree. “I was preparing for reentry from the moment I got there,” he said.
Growing up in Brockton in the 1980s, Koonce could never have imagined that he would spend the bulk of his adult life behind bars. The son of middle-class professionals, he knew early on he wanted to attend college and joined the marines after high school as a route to a free education. But in 1987, while home on leave, Koonce and some Brockton friends drove to a New Bedford night club for a night of partying. An altercation broke out with a local group of young people, many of whom, wielding bats, surrounded the Brockton vehicle. Koonce fired a gun out of the car window as a warning. Tragically, the bullet hit and killed 24-year-old Mark Santos.
Koonce’s initial trial ended in mistrial, with 10 jurors voting for acquittal and 2 for manslaughter. But a subsequent trial, held in New Bedford a few years later, resulted in the harshest possible sentence: life without the possibility of parole—a verdict that surprised even the prosecutor.
Maintaining faith that “justice would prevail” and that he would eventually get a chance at freedom, Koonce took advantage of every positive opportunity that prison had to offer. After nine months in Walpole, he was transferred for good behavior, to MCI Norfolk, a medium security “community prison,” where he continued his college studies and began serving as a counselor for at-risk youth through the “Second Thoughts” program, eventually becoming the program’s chairman.
In 2010, Koonce applied for a commutation, which if approved would reduce his sentence from first- to second-degree murder, making him eligible for parole. But despite his near perfect prison record and testimony from many friends and supporters (including the DA who prosecuted his case) the parole board denied his request, stating that he needed to complete “more programming.”
Today, Koonce sees this setback—though devastating at the time—as a critical turning point in his life. Shortly after the hearing, a riot broke out at MCI Norfolk, spurring Koonce along with fellow prison leaders, to initiate a restorative justice program to help heal their community. The initiative (which became the seed for TPP) provided a way for men to explore the traumas that had shaped their lives and criminal choices; through circles held with surrogate victims, they could begin to understand--and finally be truly accountable for—the harms they’d caused.
“Before participating in restorative justice, I didn’t have a clue, despite my college degree, about my causative factors,” Koonce said. He learned that despite growing up in a seemingly stable household, his experiences with racism (after moving to a predominantly white, working-class neighborhood) and the emotional absence of his parents, especially his stepfather, set him up to seek love and respect from “the fellas down the street.” Carrying a gun brought him a sense of belonging and admiration he couldn’t find at home.
At his second commutation hearing, in 2014, Koonce was finally able to explain why he was out late that night with a gun. “I now saw that even after joining the military, I was still loyal to those friends to a fault,” he said. “I still needed their approval.” This time, the parole board approved his request, though it would take another 8 years for the Governor to sign off on it.
As he waited for freedom, Koonce continued to focus on “helping guys.” “I wanted everybody to have the chance at insight that I had through restorative justice,” he said. In addition to leading the prison’s restorative justice program, and mentoring those who were coming up behind him, he began thinking about how restorative principles could improve the reentry process, reducing the chances of recidivism.
For nearly 22 years, Koonce worked in the Booking Department at MCI Norfolk, a job that made him acutely aware of the high reentry failure rate. “I was seeing guys, some of them second-degree lifers, who were heading out unprepared and coming back less than a year later,” he said. “As I was fighting for my freedom, to see other guys squander theirs was really disappointing.”
Koonce saw the need for men to start preparing for reentry well before they exited the prison doors. And, once on the outside, they needed a safe and supportive place to land.
In conversation with the Restorative Justice Group at MCI Norfolk, Koonce envisioned a special unit in the prison where men would live for a year before release, working on their issues that, if left unaddressed, would likely land them back behind bars. “We wanted to provide a space where they could get away from their friends and their usual routines and look at their own traumas and begin to heal through the circle process. They would have the opportunity to meet surrogate victims and survivors and come to understand the impact of their crimes,” he said. “Wherever they go, once they leave, they need to have insight on the crime and their culpability.”
At the same time, too many men, were returning to community settings, such as homeless shelters, sober houses, or veteran facilities, that didn’t meet their needs and, in many cases, undermined the healing process. Koonce envisioned a Restorative Justice Center, based in the community, where returning citizens could reside as they went through the adjustment process, receiving support from restorative justice mentors, while participating in “reentry circles.” The circles would also include family members of currently and formerly incarcerated men (and women) whose experience is too often overlooked.
“Our vision was to get a restorative justice center, where people could walk in, families of those currently incarcerated could also have a place to come in and sit in circles with ‘surrogates’ for their loved ones,” he said. “They could use us as a vehicle to talk about how their loved ones’ crimes affected them. The same way we used surrogates behind the wall for our victims.” Eventually, the Center could begin facilitating circles in the visiting room at the prison. “This would be a way to start bridging the gap, uniting families,” he said. “All of this would help to reduce the recidivism rate among men as they return to society.”
Earlier this year, Governor Baker finally granted a commutation of Koonce’s life sentence, and in March the Parole Board approved his plan for release. After 30 years in prison, Koonce is now building a life in the community based on the foundation he built behind bars.
As a fellow at TPP—surrounded by many of the partners and mentees who helped build the Restorative Justice Program inside—he has benefitted from the kind of support he wants other returning men and women to receive. In addition to leading restorative circles and organizing events to bring people together in the community, Koonce is continuing to work with others, on both sides of the wall, to build the elements of a new, restorative approach to reentry.
Growing up in Brockton in the 1980s, Koonce could never have imagined that he would spend the bulk of his adult life behind bars. The son of middle-class professionals, he knew early on he wanted to attend college and joined the marines after high school as a route to a free education. But in 1987, while home on leave, Koonce and some Brockton friends drove to a New Bedford night club for a night of partying. An altercation broke out with a local group of young people, many of whom, wielding bats, surrounded the Brockton vehicle. Koonce fired a gun out of the car window as a warning. Tragically, the bullet hit and killed 24-year-old Mark Santos.
Koonce’s initial trial ended in mistrial, with 10 jurors voting for acquittal and 2 for manslaughter. But a subsequent trial, held in New Bedford a few years later, resulted in the harshest possible sentence: life without the possibility of parole—a verdict that surprised even the prosecutor.
Maintaining faith that “justice would prevail” and that he would eventually get a chance at freedom, Koonce took advantage of every positive opportunity that prison had to offer. After nine months in Walpole, he was transferred for good behavior, to MCI Norfolk, a medium security “community prison,” where he continued his college studies and began serving as a counselor for at-risk youth through the “Second Thoughts” program, eventually becoming the program’s chairman.
In 2010, Koonce applied for a commutation, which if approved would reduce his sentence from first- to second-degree murder, making him eligible for parole. But despite his near perfect prison record and testimony from many friends and supporters (including the DA who prosecuted his case) the parole board denied his request, stating that he needed to complete “more programming.”
Today, Koonce sees this setback—though devastating at the time—as a critical turning point in his life. Shortly after the hearing, a riot broke out at MCI Norfolk, spurring Koonce along with fellow prison leaders, to initiate a restorative justice program to help heal their community. The initiative (which became the seed for TPP) provided a way for men to explore the traumas that had shaped their lives and criminal choices; through circles held with surrogate victims, they could begin to understand--and finally be truly accountable for—the harms they’d caused.
“Before participating in restorative justice, I didn’t have a clue, despite my college degree, about my causative factors,” Koonce said. He learned that despite growing up in a seemingly stable household, his experiences with racism (after moving to a predominantly white, working-class neighborhood) and the emotional absence of his parents, especially his stepfather, set him up to seek love and respect from “the fellas down the street.” Carrying a gun brought him a sense of belonging and admiration he couldn’t find at home.
At his second commutation hearing, in 2014, Koonce was finally able to explain why he was out late that night with a gun. “I now saw that even after joining the military, I was still loyal to those friends to a fault,” he said. “I still needed their approval.” This time, the parole board approved his request, though it would take another 8 years for the Governor to sign off on it.
As he waited for freedom, Koonce continued to focus on “helping guys.” “I wanted everybody to have the chance at insight that I had through restorative justice,” he said. In addition to leading the prison’s restorative justice program, and mentoring those who were coming up behind him, he began thinking about how restorative principles could improve the reentry process, reducing the chances of recidivism.
For nearly 22 years, Koonce worked in the Booking Department at MCI Norfolk, a job that made him acutely aware of the high reentry failure rate. “I was seeing guys, some of them second-degree lifers, who were heading out unprepared and coming back less than a year later,” he said. “As I was fighting for my freedom, to see other guys squander theirs was really disappointing.”
Koonce saw the need for men to start preparing for reentry well before they exited the prison doors. And, once on the outside, they needed a safe and supportive place to land.
In conversation with the Restorative Justice Group at MCI Norfolk, Koonce envisioned a special unit in the prison where men would live for a year before release, working on their issues that, if left unaddressed, would likely land them back behind bars. “We wanted to provide a space where they could get away from their friends and their usual routines and look at their own traumas and begin to heal through the circle process. They would have the opportunity to meet surrogate victims and survivors and come to understand the impact of their crimes,” he said. “Wherever they go, once they leave, they need to have insight on the crime and their culpability.”
At the same time, too many men, were returning to community settings, such as homeless shelters, sober houses, or veteran facilities, that didn’t meet their needs and, in many cases, undermined the healing process. Koonce envisioned a Restorative Justice Center, based in the community, where returning citizens could reside as they went through the adjustment process, receiving support from restorative justice mentors, while participating in “reentry circles.” The circles would also include family members of currently and formerly incarcerated men (and women) whose experience is too often overlooked.
“Our vision was to get a restorative justice center, where people could walk in, families of those currently incarcerated could also have a place to come in and sit in circles with ‘surrogates’ for their loved ones,” he said. “They could use us as a vehicle to talk about how their loved ones’ crimes affected them. The same way we used surrogates behind the wall for our victims.” Eventually, the Center could begin facilitating circles in the visiting room at the prison. “This would be a way to start bridging the gap, uniting families,” he said. “All of this would help to reduce the recidivism rate among men as they return to society.”
Earlier this year, Governor Baker finally granted a commutation of Koonce’s life sentence, and in March the Parole Board approved his plan for release. After 30 years in prison, Koonce is now building a life in the community based on the foundation he built behind bars.
As a fellow at TPP—surrounded by many of the partners and mentees who helped build the Restorative Justice Program inside—he has benefitted from the kind of support he wants other returning men and women to receive. In addition to leading restorative circles and organizing events to bring people together in the community, Koonce is continuing to work with others, on both sides of the wall, to build the elements of a new, restorative approach to reentry.