byHeidiOlmack
I read every piece of junk mail I get, including the flyers stuck in my screen door.
Usually it's only a quick glance and toss, but this one really grabbed my attention. It looked like all the rest — advertising landscape services or announcing a church's pancake breakfast — but instead, it came from the police department, the local precinct right around the corner.
"Level 3 Sex Offender Notification Meeting" scrolled across the top. The more detailed text announced that such a convicted criminal was moving into the neighborhood, and that this flyer was being distributed to everyone who lived within the three-block radius of his new home. There was going to be a neighborhood meeting in a couple weeks in the high school auditorium down the street.
A million questions raced through my mind. What did he do? Was he a serial rapist? Did he mutilate or kill his victims? Did he prefer skinny blondes or big-boned brunettes? The flyer didn't answer any of those questions. Those issues would be addressed at the meeting. But that was two weeks away. In the meantime, my imagination ran wild and my paranoia followed it.
I felt like a sitting duck in my own home. I'm a perfect target: single female, living alone (considering how much time my roommate spends at his girlfriend's apartment) in a ground-floor apartment next to an empty parking lot. I'd walk from my car about 15 feet to my house, looking over both shoulders with my biggest, sharpest key wedged between my index and middle fingers as a make-shift dagger. I planned to call my landlord to have more deadbolts installed. I realized how easy it was to look into my apartment from the street. My only comfort was to fall asleep on the couch with cable keeping me company all night.
Finally came time for the meeting. My friend Janet, who lives in the neighborhood, attended with me. We made top secret arrangements to cover our trail in case the sex offender was watching. What if he followed us home and attacked us after the meeting? Worse yet, what if he followed us and made note of where we lived for future crimes? We figured our best chance of losing him was to drive to the meeting, even though the high school was two blocks away. Janet would pick me up, then we would drive around a bit and park as close to the high school as possible. I hated being trapped by my paranoia, but I figured "better safe than sorry."
As it turned out, people were parking all the way up by my house anyway, streams of them turning out to tar and feather this guy. Janet and I walked, feeling safety in numbers.
|
I imagined this whole scene as part of a movie, the offender hiding in the bushes, watching people migrate to a meeting about him and getting off on all the attention. Either that, or maybe it's a poor, pitiful offender, just trying to get a fresh start. As he watches the angry crowd grow, he's mentally crippled, and it triggers a relapse into his old ways. Oh Lord, I've got an imagination.
The auditorium was full of police officers, city council members, congressmen, and concerned citizens. Everyone received a package of information, which included mug shots and a description of the offender. I compared the faces at the meeting with the one on the flyer and didn't spot him anywhere, which was probably better for all involved. This crowd was certainly no welcome wagon, and the sex offender's presence probably would have incited a riot. And while I truly believed he was scum for whatever it was he did, I supposed he should at least get a chance to redeem himself for his sins instead of getting lynched by this motley mob.
The police department's presentation started after the chatter toned down. We were not here to discuss this particular offender, the police chief explained. All the information they could provide on him was included with the mug shots. Instead, we would discuss the process and better ways to protect ourselves.
First they reviewed the law which allowed them to share this information with the public. "Sex offense is a crime of secrecy. Now there are no secrets. The intent of this law is to remove [the criminal's] ability to act secretly," the first officer informed us. He also reminded us that "sex offenders have always lived in our communities, but it was not until the passage of the Community Notification Bill and Sex Offender Registration Act that the law enforcement knew where they were living. Due to the passage of these laws, law enforcement can now share that information with the public."
We were warned not to jeopardize this law. Knowledge of the offender's residence does not give citizens the right to harass him. "He has completed his sentence. It is every person's responsibility to see to it that this person succeeds," the cop stated over the grumbling crowd. "If this person gets stressed out, that's when he is most likely to re-offend."
|
The police went on to explain why the community was being informed of this particular offender. Level 1 offenders are considered "low risk," and only victims and witnesses are allowed to be notified of their release. Those deemed Level 2 are "moderate risk," and law enforcement may notify individuals "likely to be victimized based on the offender's victim preference or pattern of offending," as well as staff members of organizations that serve those individuals. The offender moving into our neighborhood was assessed as most likely to re-offend, a Level 3. This gives the police the right to notify the community at-large, anyone "whom the offender is likely to encounter." A 20-year-old African American male, this offender had several convictions for sexually assaulting juvenile females. As this information was announced, I could feel the tension rise in the auditorium, but still the people kept their cool.
Another cop reviewed safety tips for children and the basics of self-defense. I felt a sense of security now; some of this stuff I already knew and some of it was interesting to learn, like Look ahead when you're walking alone. Have an appearance of confidence. Carry a screech alarm. Scream or yell if you feel threatened — people who want to commit crimes do not want attention drawn to them.
After the presentation, the floor was opened for a heated question-and-answer period. The police asked that questions be focused and limited to one per person. People were not allowed to use the mic as a soap box or to spout on about personal experiences.
People were outraged and emotional. "Why are you allowing him to move within three blocks of a high school?" one infuriated mother demanded to know.
Because he has served his term, the officer explained, and now this person has a right to choose where he lives. He still has the freedom of choice. However, because of the sex offense he committed, he is required to register his residence with the local police station.
"The flyer indicated that he lives in the 900 block of Lowry. Is he going to reside in the absentee-landlord duplex that is always filled with problem tenants?" asked a man who lives in the next block.
"We cannot provide you with that information," stated the cop. And again, he warned us not to abuse the information we were fortunate enough to have. "If this person is threatened, intimidated or harassed, we could lose the ability to share this information with the community."
|
Another concerned mother inquired: "What is his pattern of attack?" The police explained that his victims had all been acquainted with him; he had been a friend of the family. They went on to explain that 7.9 percent of sex crimes are committed by strangers, 45.7 percent by family members, and 46.4 percent by acquaintances.
The questions continued on, and I listened intently. But by this time, I was no longer worried. My paranoid mind was at ease because, as sick as it sounds, I'm not a juvenile female and this bad guy doesn't care about me. That's not to say I don't keep an eye out for him, or worry about the little girl next door. But I no longer feel like a victim, so I feel safe again.
I have to be careful with that false sense of security, though, because as the cops told us from the beginning: There always has been and always will be sex offenders living nearby. What I don't know can hurt me. |
© 1998 Tripod, All Rights Reserved.
|
