Let’s Talk About Sex Offenders
by
K. Michael Williams
There is good reason to object to sexual violence. It’s an irreversible invasion that impacts communities, relationships, health, and more, in the worst ways. And this nonconsensual sexual activity occurs anywhere and everywhere, under varying circumstances, such as online or at the workplace.
Not surprisingly, perpetrators of these crimes are seen as worse than repulsive. In 2005, a Gallup poll revealed that Americans had a greater fear of sex offenders than terrorists. They’re not in the same category as violent criminals, drug traffickers, or murderers. The status subjects SOs to dramatic, often unfair practices. Landlords discover a loyal tenant on the Registry and immediately plot to get rid of them (if they can’t do it outright). Organizations might have a sex offender on staff — knowing or not knowing that employee’s history — and upon public discovery, dismiss that individual, regardless of how valuable they are to the company. A restful community suddenly becomes a whispering firepit upon learning there’s a sex offender in the hood.
In many cases, the reaction isn’t prompted by a fear of public safety or outrage. We do it because it’s what society expects of us. We do it because we fear the perception that if we don’t take action we promote a stance that these individuals belong in our communities.
When asked about life as an SO, a convicted and registered offender made the following statement:
“I committed a sex crime when I was 22. I’m 41 now. Did 5 years in prison. Served 10 years probation. Never reoffended, nor do I have any desire to do so. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I also know the consequences of my actions and truly despise the idea of ever going through that again. But regardless of the fact I'm the lowest threat level and have been cleared through therapy to live my life and be deemed no threat to society, my life is terrible. Doesn't matter that I don’t have the restrictions most people do. I can live wherever I want, work wherever I want ... and only have to register once a year. But I can’t find love. Can't have that life. Maybe if I could get off the registry, it would be possible. But every lawyer I talk to says it would take $7500 minimum for a ‘maybe’ that they could get me off. But no one will ever fully trust me. No one will ever look at me and see me without the label attached. Not when it really comes down to committing their lives to mine. I don’t want to live this life alone. I don’t want to end up alone and unwanted, dying alone with no one to even show up for my funeral. At least if I take my life now, there will be some family around who would care. I would still mean something to someone in this world. Day in and day out I try to hold on to some kind of hope that my life can have meaning. That I can share it with someone. But that hope is fading fast.”
Persons convicted of sex offenses are statistically less likely to re-offend than other perpetrators. And, ironically, you can find professionals in law enforcement — prosecutors, police officers, law professors, criminal justice reformers — who believe painting offenders in a broad swath leaves an irreparable and unfair stigma. That’s because sex-related criminal acts provoke emotional responses unlike any other form of criminality and the pressure’s on to be proactive when it comes to punishment. In prison, offenders in this category are at the bottom of the hierarchy. Upon release, the experiences only get worse. Finding a place to live or getting a decent job becomes a road paved with hate, fear, and resentment. Falling in love and growing a family is ripe with obstacles.
Offenders are victimized by this stigma their entire lives.(1) The aftermath of their actions and convictions creates intolerable pain for hundreds of thousands of people. To that end, there appears to be no room for forgiveness. Burdens placed on offenders are traumatic and severe. And — unlike other forms of criminality — those penalizations are not based on the degree of the act. Sex offenders are all painted with the same brush of morality.
I know of an SO who committed his crime at the age of 19. The man served his time and was released. As he approached 70, he was ready to retire and move into a senior facility. But parole would not let him because his victim was an 84-year-old woman.
While we cannot deny the disturbing nature of his actions, consider this man, five decades after his conviction, still being kept behind the Wall emotionally. Still treated as if he hadn’t served his sentence and lacked the capacity to change. He hadn’t gotten into trouble since his original crime. The man had managed to live what we’ll call a reputable life if he was retiring and could afford to do so. But society, despite the turnaround, still labeled the man a threat.
This isn’t an unusual circumstance. Many individuals on the registry long-term were convicted of offenses committed when they were young. And many of those crimes were minor infractions. If you happen to visit the Registry of Sex Offenders in New York on any given day, you’d see many old men — half blind, using canes, wheelchairs, etc. — being held to the same restrictions, many convicted of crimes committed decades in the past. It seems even the crippled sex offender remains dangerous forever.
The vast majority of the populace thinks they know about sex offenders. That’s because we have access to two important and misinformed resources: the news and the internet. Media and technology have spawned an ever-flowing stream of information about sex offenders that unfairly escalates resentment and fear. At the public’s disposal are gobs of stories and images, all framed to fuel our conceptualizations. These portals are comfortable encouraging both panic and prejudice.
Law enforcement and courts take into account the pressure sex crimes put on society and how the public expects them to act. Defenders of the law must consider the venues and platforms that create images highlighting only the worst qualities of predators, especially when the victims are minors or subjects of violent attacks. The law takes that outrage and shows perpetrators in the worst possible light. Law enforcement then goes for the jugular. Ultimately, the whole rigmarole only adds to the belief that sex crimes are solely a world of pedophiles and rapists.
I am neither. But I am a sex offender, and I am on the Registry.
Like many sex offenders, I hide in the shadows. I work. I say “hi” to my neighbors. I enjoy my family. I live a decent life. But that’s mostly because my secret is kept in a vault. It’s wrapped in all my other secrets because it’s the last one I want anyone to see. I keep it locked away knowing that it can’t stay there forever.
In my determination to leave my past behind me, I have promised to reverse my future. I had to decide if I wanted to be a positive contributor to my community or a burden. I chose the former. But, ironically, it’s a task that may require I keep my secrets. Yet, that’s counterproductive. If no one knows, how do I prove I’m not the threat the world’s so leery of when they only see the idea of the predator?
On the other hand, if the vault’s opened, I risk my past superseding everything I’ve done to atone for my actions!
I accept that I’ll always be an SO. No matter what I do with the rest of my life that will be a significant footnote. But I’d rather it not be the only thing the world remembers.
I have begun to build. To create something that makes me more than my past. However, the idea of exposure always gnaws at the corners of my fears. Between you, me, and anyone reading this, what I worry most about is that day the vault’s opened and how the revelations will impact everyone around me. My family has suffered enough. I’m afraid for my friends and associates, many of whom know about my past. Loved ones who have supported and pushed me forward to new beginnings. I fear the collateral damage to my surroundings. That the people who care about me will be viewed differently simply because of our association.
Sometimes, it just seems safer to go deeper into the shadows. To pretend.
But, that shouldn’t be my only option.
I have to move forward. To show that, despite the risks, I can be a positive member of society. It may have taken going through my worst to realize I can do better, but I know now the path I want to take. And, regardless of the risks, I need to keep stepping.
I must.
(1) Many find the very idea of sex offenders being “victims” horrendous. That’s a hard pill to swallow when your goal is to never commit another offense, to stay out of jail, and not be an outcast. Regardless of the desire to change and better themselves, SOs remain victimized by the system that prosecuted them and by society. However, let’s put it on record that I do not believe you can betray society and dictate how society reacts. You made your bed now lay in it.
K. Michael Williams is in many ways a founding member of the Re/Creation experience which began on Rikers Island in 2017. He is a freelance writer, an advocate for social justice reform, and Re/Creation’s editor. He enjoys his privacy while striving to be an engaging member of his community. He's a grandfather and lover of movies of the undead. He’s also a couch potato and likes to spend his time reading, listening to music, and basking in all things pop culture as long as the subject’s the 1970s or earlier.
