Collateral Damage in America’s War on Sex Crimes: Why Reporters Should Stop Using “Predator”

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Collateral Damage in America’s War On Sex Crimes: Why Reporters Should Stop Using “Predator”

This blog covers the experiences of family members of people whose names, photos, and home addresses appear on state sex offender registries.

In 2008, researchers surveyed nearly 600 immediate family members who live with registrants. The resulting article, in a 2009 issue of the American Journal of Criminal Justice, reported that 86 percent didn’t believe that their family member was a risk to reoffend. They had good reason–only 11 percent of them had a family member who was classed as a high-risk offender.

Even so, nearly all of the family members surveyed reported that the registry tore apart their lives in some way. Fifty-nine percent said that they’d experienced ridicule, 44 percent that they’d been threatened or harassed by neighbors because of their family member’s status, 27 percent that their property had been damaged, and 7 percent that they’d been physically assaulted or injured. Almost 80 percent experienced depression, and 13 percent had suicidal tendencies.

To understand these family members’ experiences, you have to travel back in time to the early nineties.

On July 29 1994, Megan Kanka, a blond 7-year-old from the Hamilton Township suburb in New Jersey, was lured into the house of an ex-prisoner named Jesse Timmendequas who lived across the street. Timmendequas then raped and murdered her, dumping her body in a nearby park. Before their daughter’s killing, Megan’s parents had no idea of Timmendequas’ history–six years in prison for aggravated assault and attempted sexual assault on another child.
The Kankas lobbied the New Jersey legislature for changes. They got 425,000 names on a petition for a new law to require law enforcement to release information about convicted sex offenders to the public. Within a month of Megan’s murder, the New Jersey Assembly, without holding any committee hearings, passed a package of bills collectively known as Megan’s Law.
It mandated police to notify communities when a released sex offender was planning to move into their neighborhood and to put information about high-risk offenders on the Internet. Two months later, the New Jersey legislature unanimously voted in favor and Governor Christine Todd Whitman signed it into law.
New Jersey’s law soon went national. In May 1996, Megan’s Law passed Congress and was signed by President Clinton.
The law mandated that states create public websites–known as sex offender registries–where they post the names, addresses, and photos of sex offenders who have served their time. The 2006 Adam Walsh Act went further and linked those state websites into a single, national website. Many states and towns around the country have passed additional rules. Some, for example, prohibit sex offenders from living near places where large numbers of children congregate, like parks, daycare centers, and schools.

The anonymity of the Internet has allowed predators to easily hide or misrepresent themselves.” ABC News, August 2017

“Concerns about sexual predators have led communities in 30 U.S. states to adopt laws limiting where registered sex offenders can live.” Reuters, November 2015

“Convicted Sexual Predator Allowed to Stay in Hotel During Cancer Treatments” WFTV 9, May 2017

In May, the AP Stylebook changed its guidelines for how reporters should refer to people with substance abuse problems. “Avoid words like alcoholic, addict, user and abuser unless they are in quotations or names of organizations,” says the 2017 version.

For those with addictions, that change won’t just shift how they’re portrayed but how they’re treated. A piece by Zachary Siegel in Slate last month noted that even veteran clinicians were more likely to recommend punitive measures for people described as “substance abusers” and rehab-oriented treatments for those referred to as “people with substance abuse disorders.” Even when people’s conditions are the result of personal choices, reporters avoid charged labels—that’s why those with diabetes aren’t described as “sugar abusers,” Siegel says.

So it’s time for editors to stop letting reporters use “predator” in describing those who’ve committed sexual offenses.

“Sexual predator” isn’t a clinical term that means anything to criminologists or sex-crime researchers. Instead, it’s a media construction created after horrific cases of rape and murder in Washington State in the early nineties, as criminologist Jacqueline Helfgott points out in her 2008 book Criminal Behavior: Theories, Typologies and Criminal Justice. Helfgott notes that the term doesn’t describe a “homogeneous group of offenders who are predictably dangerous with an identifiable (and treatable) mental illness.”

Instead, “predator” is a stick of dynamite used by partisans in crusades for ever-more ruthless penalties for people whose sexual offenses run the gamut. In reporting a story a few years ago, I talked to one source who was arguing for an even tougher crackdown on where offenders are allowed to live. “It’s common

Why Reporters Should Stop Using “Predator”