What is liberty? Why New Zealand's approach to youth justice is worth emulating

Patrick Henry's famous declaration to "Give me liberty or give me death" has long served as a rallying cry for U.S. freedom and self-determination. The less celebrated reality is that Henry's notion of liberty meant the exact opposite - displacement, marginalization and even death - for many others, particularly Black and Native Americans.

Today, Black and Brown communities, particularly youth, continue to bear the scars of this brutal history of "liberty for me, but not for thee," evidenced by continued oversurveillance, overpunishment and oppression. For youth of color, systemic inequities continue to limit their opportunities, undermine their well-being and deny them the very liberty that the U.S. has prided itself on for more than two centuries. Fortunately, that hopeful vision of liberty that Henry described for his fellow white men is still, in fact, achievable for all. It will just take collective understanding, respect and a willingness to try a new way.

How do I know? Because I've seen it - though about as far away from the U.S. as possible.

I recently spent three weeks in New Zealand, where I met with government officials and youth advocates to learn about the inner workings of the island nation's youth justice system. While the New Zealand system still deals with many of the same issues that plague the U.S. justice systems - young people are still jailed, for instance, and racial and economic inequities persist - the New Zealand approach to cultural recognition and acceptance is a far cry from what I've experienced and seen back home.

Even with its imperfections, New Zealand offers a glimpse of what could be if the Patrick Henrys of the world - those who propagated genocide on Native nations and continue to deem Native people and cultures as part of an "Indian Problem" that must be fixed - viewed everyone as worthy of the liberty to which they feel entitled.

In New Zealand, I was struck by the widespread acceptance of the culture, wisdom and practices of the Māori, the nation's indigenous people. It was immediately apparent that Māori inclusion was not widely viewed as a threat to the white establishment. In fact, it was enriching.

Throughout my stops in New Zealand, whether in community organizations, courthouses, detention facilities, or government offices, local Native customs and traditions were honored - a stark contrast to the erasure and forced assimilation that still defines the relationship between the U.S. and its Native populations.

An example: During a morning in Māori youth court in Rotorua, I was blown away by an opening ceremony in a marae meeting house that honored local Māori practices. The ceremony's existence was profound on its own, but it was even more impressive that the Māori culture was respectfully observed by all court staff. As someone who went through the juvenile court system in California and has spent the past two decades working to transform youth justice systems in the U.S., I couldn't imagine a white prosecutor removing his shoes in court to recognize a Native tradition. And this was before court even started for the day.

This respectful approach - guided by care, compassion, cultural recognition and appreciation - extended into many interactions. I watched as state court officers held conversations with the young people who found themselves in court, offering avenues for support rather than trips to jail.

It also extended beyond the justice system. There were rivers with Native names and statutes celebrating Native leaders. Tributes to Māori culture in many public places were accepted and honored. A Māori tour guide expressed this sentiment to a crowd of mostly white tourists, that "accepting our culture and being bicultural shouldn't threaten white people or what they have. Being both doesn't take anything away."

Unfortunately, liberty in the U.S. is still often viewed as a you vs. me proposition. We still refuse to have open, honest conversations around the treatment of Native cultures and the present-day policies that continue to harm Black and Brown communities. We can't begin to talk about liberty without also talking about oppression.

In New Zealand, Māori people still experience the impacts of racism. But there is also a widespread embrace of revitalizing Māori culture, through Māori immersion schools and other efforts. Today, Māoris make up 17% of the population, and they're growing. In the U.S., which has largely taken the opposite approach, Native populations continue to shrink alongside the influence of their cultures and histories.

New Zealand stands as a powerful example of what liberty can look like when it is rooted in cultural understanding and community healing. By prioritizing healing and support over punishment, New Zealand's efforts align with Indigenous values of interconnectedness and collective well-being - values that resonate deeply with Native communities across the U.S.

Imagine what it would mean to apply these principles here at home. A justice system that honors cultural identity, strengthens family and community ties and addresses the systemic factors that contribute to youth involvement in the justice system could break cycles of trauma and marginalization - and achieve liberty for the Indigenous people of the U.S. Restorative practices grounded in Native traditions - such as talking circles, peacemaking and community accountability - have already shown success in reducing recidivism and promoting healing. Building on these approaches could transform countless young lives.

As we reflect on Henry's cry for liberty, we must ask ourselves: Whose freedom are we fighting for? Liberty can't be built on the oppression of others. By reimagining our justice systems to center the dignity, culture and rights of all youth, we can begin to repair the harms of the past and build a future where every young person has the opportunity to thrive. The lessons from New Zealand prove that liberation is not only possible, but is within our reach. The well-being of so many young people, and our collective futures, demand that we pursue it.

Frankie Guzman is the senior director of Youth Justice at the National Center for Youth Law, where he leads a team of attorneys, policy advocates and community organizers to transform youth justice systems.