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\n\t\tMarlee Liss speaks at Berkeley School of Law \u2013 photo by David Greenwald\t\t<\/p>\n
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\n\t\tMarlee Liss speaks at Berkeley School of Law \u2013 photo by David Greenwald\t\t<\/p>\n
BERKELEY, Calif. \u2014 At Berkeley Law School, survivor advocate Marlee Liss delivered a searing indictment of a criminal legal system she said too often fails survivors of sexual violence, using her own experience to show how processes intended to deliver justice can instead deepen trauma.\u00a0<\/p>\n
But her story fortunately did not end there, through a restorative justice process centered on accountability, healing and survivor agency, Liss offered a different vision of what justice can look like when survivors\u2019 needs, rather than institutional routines, come first.<\/p>\n
Liss, a speaker, author and founder of Survivors for Justice Reform, was introduced as someone whose work has challenged conventional assumptions about justice and accountability.\u00a0<\/p>\n
In 2016, at age 21, she survived a sexual assault by a stranger. What followed, she told the audience, was three years inside a legal process that \u201crecreated the very powerlessness\u201d she had experienced during the assault itself.<\/p>\n
Standing before an audience of lawyers, advocates and reform-minded prosecutors, Liss urged attendees to think beyond what she described as a narrow, punishment-centered model of justice.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo many of us are taught this concrete box version of justice that was shaped by colonialism and it equates justice to punishment and nothing else,\u201d Liss said. \u201cAnd to reimagine justice means to move that box aside and to think of something different that\u2019s actually synonymous with healing.\u201d<\/p>\n
She continued: \u201cWe don\u2019t just want justice that\u2019s compatible with healing, but something that actually catalyzes our healing and our safety.\u201d<\/p>\n
Liss said the need for new approaches is urgent because traditional responses to sexual violence have not adequately reduced harm or met survivors\u2019 needs.<\/p>\n
\u201cOur current approach hasn\u2019t necessarily reduced rates of sexual violence,\u201d she said, citing a study she said found rates of sexual assault had not declined since the Me Too movement went viral. She emphasized that this was \u201cnot to denounce Me Too,\u201d calling it \u201can incredible movement that has done so much to challenge stigma, break silence.\u201d But she added, \u201cif rates aren\u2019t reducing, what can be done differently?\u201d<\/p>\n
Liss then recounted the night of her assault in stark detail. She said she met a man at a club who initially appeared kind and helpful, but once they were alone, his behavior changed. She said she verbally refused him, but her refusal had no effect.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said, \u2018No, I don\u2019t want this,\u2019\u201d Liss recalled. \u201cAnd I had this realization that my no wasn\u2019t doing anything to change what was happening to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
She said that in that moment, \u201cI felt like my voice had absolutely no power.\u201d<\/p>\n
After escaping and returning home, Liss said she faced a choice: tell someone or remain silent. She knocked on her roommate\u2019s door and disclosed what had happened.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m immensely grateful that the first person I told was someone who believed me,\u201d she said. \u201cShe didn\u2019t ask those classic victim blaming questions \u2026 She just believed me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Following internet search results about what to do after rape, Liss said she underwent a forensic exam at a hospital and then reported the assault to police. But she said the process quickly became alienating.<\/p>\n
At the hospital, Liss said one of the most meaningful moments came not from procedure, but from simple human compassion.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Unable to speak, she handed the nurse a written account of the assault. After reading it, the nurse teared up and offered to hug her.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Some might view that as crossing a professional boundary, Liss told the audience, but for her it was exactly what she needed.<\/p>\n
In a moment defined by shock and disorientation, the gesture communicated belief, care and dignity. It stood in sharp contrast to the impersonal systems she would later encounter and became an early example of what happens when humanity is allowed to matter as much as protocol.<\/p>\n
At the police station, she said she handed officers a written account because she could not verbally recount the assault. An officer briefly accepted it, then returned and told her the paper had been taken as evidence.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said, \u2018That\u2019s now being held as evidence. It\u2019s time for you to tell me what happened,\u2019\u201d Liss said.<\/p>\n
She described that moment as the beginning of a yearslong process in which officials told her the system was for her benefit, while she increasingly felt it was not.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis process is for you, but it didn\u2019t feel like it was for me,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
The trauma, she said, affected nearly every aspect of her life. She described panic attacks, hair loss, leaving school, losing the ability to work and moving back in with her mother. She recalled one day trying to return to class when her body broke out in hives.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was like, \u2018I\u2019m having an allergic reaction,\u2019\u201d she said of her visit to a nurse. \u201cAnd she was like, \u2018I think you\u2019re having a panic attack.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
For more than a year, she said, she received no update on the case.\u00a0<\/p>\n
When proceedings resumed, she learned she would testify as a witness in a crime against the state, not as the harmed party at the center of the process. She said she was told she could face consequences if she did not answer questions on the stand.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn this process where we\u2019re supposedly fighting for victims\u2019 right to consent and boundaries, we don\u2019t have a right to consent and boundaries,\u201d Liss said.<\/p>\n
By the time she was subpoenaed again for trial, she said she no longer wanted to continue.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want to do this,\u201d she recalled thinking.<\/p>\n
Yet abandoning the case entirely also felt intolerable. A friend then asked the question Liss said changed everything: \u201cIf anything was possible, what would meaningful justice look like to you?\u201d<\/p>\n
For Liss, the answer was immediate. She wanted to ask questions that had haunted her for years. She wanted to describe the impact in an uncensored way. She wanted the person who harmed her to take responsibility, undergo deep therapeutic work and ensure it would not happen again.<\/p>\n
Her friend\u2019s reply was simple: \u201cSo make it happen.\u201d<\/p>\n
That search led Liss to restorative justice, an approach that centers repair, accountability and healing rather than punishment alone.<\/p>\n
Where the conventional system asks \u201cwhat law was broken, who broke it, what punishment is warranted,\u201d she said restorative justice asks \u201cwhat happened, who was harmed and what can be done to help them heal and make things as right as possible.\u201d<\/p>\n
She also emphasized that restorative justice is not new, describing it as a longstanding practice rooted in many Indigenous, African, Mennonite and other traditions that predate modern court systems.<\/p>\n
Eventually, with the help of an advocate and a supportive prosecutor, Liss said she secured permission to pursue a restorative process instead of trial. She described resistance from another prosecutor, who she referred to as \u201cbottle,\u201d who argued the case should remain in court.<\/p>\n
Liss said she responded by asserting her own expertise as the person who had lived the harm.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think of all the people in this room, I know this rape was really bad because I lived it,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Another prosecutor, whom Liss identified as Sarah, supported her request.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been a prosecutor for almost 20 years and I constantly see victims re-traumatized, rapists acquitted, and in the rare case that conviction happens, they often end up re-offending,\u201d Liss quoted her as saying. \u201cSo I agree, we need to try something different.\u201d<\/p>\n
When Liss learned the restorative process had been approved, she said it marked the first time since the assault that her voice had meaningfully been heard.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis was the first time that I said my boundary and what I needed and someone listened,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
The restorative process, she explained, was extensive and carefully prepared. Facilitators spent roughly 50 hours preparing participants. Her mother and sister were invited because trauma affects families as well as individuals. The offender\u2019s close friend also attended, ensuring accountability would be witnessed by someone important in his life.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere was so much care in every single detail,\u201d Liss said.<\/p>\n
The circle itself lasted eight hours. Participants were asked one central question: \u201cWhat brought you here today?\u201d<\/p>\n
Liss said she was able to express anger, grief, sadness and empowerment in ways the courtroom never allowed. She said the man who assaulted her acknowledged responsibility, described how legal advice had initially encouraged denial, and later apologized directly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry, I sexually assaulted you and there\u2019s nothing I can do to take it back, but I hope that being here today can help,\u201d she quoted him as saying.<\/p>\n
For Liss, the moment was transformative.<\/p>\n
\u201cI felt like this knot untied in my stomach and I started bawling these tears of relief,\u201d she said. \u201cIt was something I didn\u2019t realize I needed to hear as much as I did.\u201d<\/p>\n
The conversation then shifted to the future: how he would not only avoid causing harm again, but actively work against rape culture. Liss said that mattered deeply.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if that is possible for the people who cause harm as well?\u201d she asked, referring to the possibility of transformation.<\/p>\n
When the process ended, she said she left with a feeling she never thought possible after a justice proceeding.<\/p>\n
\u201cI felt happy,\u201d she said. \u201cI felt like I had let go of like a hundred pounds of trauma.\u201d<\/p>\n
After sharing her story publicly, Liss said she feared backlash from other survivors. Instead, she received messages from thousands around the world, many repeating the same phrase: \u201cI wish I knew about this.\u201d<\/p>\n
Some had endured acquittals. Others said court proceedings tore families apart. Some never felt safe contacting law enforcement at all. Even some who secured convictions still lived in fear of retaliation after release. The common thread, Liss said, was the desire for options.<\/p>\n
Closing her talk, Liss argued restorative justice should not be treated as a niche experiment or a response reserved for minor harms.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt absolutely can be done,\u201d she said of serious sexual violence cases.<\/p>\n
She cited research linking restorative practices to reduced recidivism, higher participant satisfaction, racial justice benefits and broader community healing. Most of all, she said, it offers survivors what many systems still do not: meaningful choice.<\/p>\n
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