Three days of real utopia: what remains when we engage with each other?
Three days of the Utopia Conference at Leuphana University Lüneburg are behind me and 1,000 other people. Three days full of encounters, thoughts, moments of unease, questions, resonance, and above all: generosity. "Generosity, a utopia?" was the central question of this year's conference. People came together to reflect on what a society could look like that, even in times of loss, hardening, and retribution, never ceases to create possibilities.
As a real-world utopian, I had the opportunity to lead a workshop on Restorative Justice. And perhaps that was the most wonderful thing about those three days for me: We didn't have to invent a utopia. We were able to explore one that already exists, yet is still far from being a reality everywhere. Restorative Justice poses questions that challenge our conventional understanding of justice and punishment: What happened? Who was affected? Who bears responsibility? What do the victims need? And what is needed so that, after a serious injury, a future becomes possible again? This isn't about relieving guilt or downplaying crime. On the contrary: The act and its consequences must be taken seriously. But perhaps therein lies a societal challenge: Can we hold a person accountable for what they have done without reducing them to their act?
One question in particular preoccupied me, and I included it as a "riddle" in the workshop: Is there a limit to restorative justice?
Is crime itself a societal boundary? Are there acts where we must say: This far and no further? Or does the real challenge begin precisely there? Even in the face of the most heinous crimes, can we uphold the possibility of responsibility, change, and reparation without even beginning to diminish the suffering of the victims? Who or what determines this boundary?
The law? Society? Those affected? Or are we allowed to renegotiate this question again and again?
For me, this isn't a theoretical question. It informs my work in the prison system, where I facilitate restorative justice circle dialogues using my "Survivor-Oriented Work in Prisons (BoAS)" concept. A correctional facility is a world unto itself: a world with clear rules, established procedures, and a strong focus on security. At the same time, it's also a world where people work, learn, laugh, and work toward a life after release. Those who look at the prison system from the outside often see the walls, the doors, the controls, and the crimes first. But those who look more closely discover a far more complex reality. People spend a part of their lives there. They work in workshops, learn, undergo vocational training, participate in therapeutic programs, engage in counseling, maintain relationships with the outside world, and try, sometimes with great difficulty, to find a path to a life without further offenses. The interaction between staff and inmates isn't solely based on control and distance. Professional boundaries and security are essential. At the same time, there is respect, conversation, humor, and everyday human encounters. Humanity doesn't end at the prison wall.
And perhaps that is precisely an important starting point for restorative justice.
Because if we assume that people can change, then we must also create spaces in which change becomes conceivable and tangible.
In our three-day workshop, we didn't just talk about restorative justice. We practiced it. We experienced what happens when people truly listen to one another. When there's no immediate need to argue, judge, or respond. When different experiences are allowed to coexist. When a question doesn't require a quick answer. And once again, I realized the power of a circle. A circle shifts perspectives; no one automatically sits "at the front," and no one is merely a spectator. People are involved. Perhaps that's one of the simplest yet most radical ideas of restorative justice: We sit together and we take each other seriously.
Such a workshop can only succeed if people support it together.
I am therefore especially grateful to Liane, who so supportively guided me through these three days as a workshop facilitator. Her presence, her attentiveness, and her support gave me an important space in which I could fully concentrate on the content and the people. And then there was Jelena, our amazing facilitator. She expertly guided the discussion in the arena, consistently ensuring that individual thoughts coalesced into a shared space for reflection. Sven, who organized the utopia conference with such professionalism, along with a huge team of supporters (Sarah and Marie: you angels!). And of course, the wonderful people who engaged with our workshop (even in the woods—yeah!). People who not only listened but also contributed their thoughts, asked questions, disagreed, developed their own ideas, and ultimately joined us on stage in the arena. That was one of the most beautiful moments of the conference for me. Because for me, a real utopia doesn't mean that a single person presents a finished vision of the future. In my view, a realistic utopia arises where people begin to collectively believe in something that is not yet taken for granted. And that's what happened there over three days.
The conference also gave me a new perspective on the concept of generosity. Generosity isn't simply friendliness. It can mean giving another person space. Listening even when we already have an opinion. Tolerating a perspective that unsettles us. Not immediately "strikeing back," but trusting in someone else, and especially in ourselves, that change is possible.
And perhaps even refrain from retaliation where retribution and punishment are socially expected. Leuphana University describes generosity on its website as an act of accommodation that transcends the logic of retribution and mere exchange and can offer a glimpse into the possibility of something better. At the same time, the question remains: when does generosity tip over into paternalism or stray from justice?
I know this tension all too well from my own work. Restorative justice must not be generous at the expense of the victims. It must not mean that perpetrators are absolved of responsibility. It must not mean that we relativize crimes.
But it can mean that we think more broadly about the possibility of responsibility.
Above all, I take gratitude away from the Utopia Conference. For three days in which I was able to think, listen, and share my thoughts. For the people who opened themselves up to encounters. For the many questions to which we found no easy answers. For the RJ Circles. For Liane. For Sven. For Jelena. For the people who joined us on stage. And for the feeling that utopia perhaps begins precisely when we stop understanding it as a finished blueprint for a better world.
The utopia conference asked: What would a generous society look like?
I'm taking away another question from these three days: How generous can a society be to the possibility of change without relinquishing responsibility for what has happened? And what do people need for that? I don't yet have a definitive answer, but I now know a little more about with whom and how I want to explore this question further!
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