Every time a major criminal case captures public attention, the death penalty debate resurfaces in full force. We hear familiar arguments such as: “Public opinion supports the death penalty,” “Victims’ families remain in pain,” “What if the justice system makes a mistake?” and “Can offenders be rehabilitated?” The divide between supporters and opponents seems unbridgeable. However, is this really a matter of choosing the right side of justice? Or does it reflect an overly narrow understanding of what justice actually means?
To truly understand and respond to the death penalty debate, we must move beyond a singular view of justice and toward a more layered, nuanced justice map. We often say that society needs justice, but what is justice? How can it be achieved? In practice, different forms of justice focus on different concerns.
Legal justice emphasizes proportionality between crime and punishment, with attention to whether judicial discretion is exercised properly. Death penalty supporters often say that severe crimes deserve severe penalties, and that clear legal punishment upholds social order.
Moral justice has to do with the offender’s remorse and efforts to express sincerity to the victim and their family. Some abolitionists say that even those who have committed heinous acts remain moral agents with potential for transformation.
Social justice asks whether crime is rooted in systemic issues such as poverty, education and exclusion. Does the death penalty further marginalize the disadvantaged? Who has fewer legal resources for defense?
When justice is seen as multifaceted, new possibilities for dialogue emerge. Expanding our justice lens reveals hidden dimensions of the death penalty debate.
Identity justice reveals how the grief of victims’ families and society’s empathy are often flattened into polarized rhetoric. Can we create space for their pain to be acknowledged without resorting to extreme punishment?
Emotional justice asks whether we have made room for grief, remorse and anger in our public discourse or whether emotions are being flattened into “what the law should do.” Do we offer victims and offenders alike spaces to process emotion in meaningful ways?
Relational justice asks whether we can repair the relationship between the offender and society. Is there a deeper form of accountability and connection that we have overlooked?
Historical justice reminds us that if a state has abused capital punishment — such as during the White Terror era — then the death penalty carries a legacy of oppression. Should a democracy continue to wield such a historically tainted instrument?
Lastly, we must consider distributive justice: Studies show that people from disadvantaged backgrounds are disproportionately sentenced to death. Is the death penalty really applied fairly?
Abolitionists are often met with the question: “What about the victims? How does society respond to pain?” This question is not just skepticism — it is a cry for justice beyond the legal realm.
Restorative justice offers one such pathway. It does not deny responsibility — it calls for it to be acknowledged, taken up and understood. It allows victims to speak and offenders to confront their actions. It shifts the focus from punishment alone to healing and transformation. Restorative justice is not about compromise — it is about reorientation.
Perhaps we must learn to ask different questions — not: “Are you for or against the death penalty?” but: “What kind of justice do you seek?” Justice need not be a binary choice; it can be a conversation. If you want your anger to be heard, that is emotional justice. If you want systems to change and prevent harm, that is social justice. If you want the offender to face the harm they caused, that is moral justice.
Reducing justice to “death sentence” or “life imprisonment” shrinks the space for social dialogue. Let us talk more, not choose less. If we recognize that justice is layered and diverse, then the question of abolition is no longer a moral litmus test — it becomes a process of reconfiguring public values. Justice is not singular, and society should not settle for a single answer.
Jou-juo is a professor in the Department of Labor Relations at National Chung-cheng University.
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