Rapist wants a fair go
How does a man who committed an horrific rape 20 years ago move on with his life when the crime dogs him wherever he goes? Blair Ensor reports.
It starts with an anonymous tip to the newsroom. Apparently a rapist using a new identity is going door-todoor in Christchurch as part of his job. The man, aged in his 50s, could be putting himself in a potentially dangerous situation, alone with a woman or child.
The first phone call to the suspected rapist is short-lived. He refers questions to his lawyer and the line goes dead.
The second call lasts a little longer. The man denies he is the ex-convict in question. His birth certificate and driver’s licence can prove it, he says.
A day later, after discussions with his lawyer, the man comes clean about his past, which includes the kidnap and rape of a teenage girl.
‘‘What I did was atrocious, but I can’t change that,’’ he says, pausing a moment as his voice cracks with emotion.
‘‘All I can do is try to live a good life … and for the main part I’ve been successful, but I’ve always been dragged down by [my past].’’
Those working with ex-convicts say there are hundreds, if not thousands, of people like this man whose work takes them into homes across New Zealand.
Do the public have the right to know their backgrounds?
Victims’ rights group the Sensible Sentencing Trust is clear about its position on ‘‘name and shame’’.
In the absence of a public register of criminals, which exists in some countries, the trust has set up its own.
‘‘Our opinion is that the public’s safety has to be the priority. Rights to privacy [for an offender] are part of the problem,’’ the trust’s founder, Garth McVicar, says.
‘‘I’m a big believer in New Zealanders being able to forgive and move on, but the more we … allow offenders to hide their identities then the worse the problem becomes. Put your history on the table and let people judge you on the facts.’’
Criminologist Greg Newbold, who many years ago was jailed for selling heroin, has a different perspective.
‘‘Everybody is entitled to a second chance,’’ Newbold says.
‘‘People can change their ways and should be given the opportunity to prove themselves trustworthy when they get out of jail.’’
Only those applying for certain jobs, such as policing, medicine, law and childcare, should be required to disclose any criminal past, Newbold says.
He has no problem with exconvicts changing names if it allows them to get on with their lives and become better people.
The sex offender in this case attacked a woman two decades ago and then, while on bail, kidnapped and raped a 15-year-old girl.
He was the subject of a 10-year extended supervision order after being released from prison. It was cancelled six years early, in 2012, after he was reassessed as no longer posing a risk to children. At that time, the man was still regarded as a medium to high risk of sexual offending against adult women.
In 2012, an extended supervision order, a strict monitoring regime designed to protect the public, could only be imposed where there was a risk of reoffending against children under the age of 16. That was later broadened to include all high-risk adult sex offenders and very violent offenders.
The man in question does not want sympathy from the public. He just wants a fair go.
He doesn’t want to minimise his offending, but says the crimes were committed at a time in his life when he was suffering from depression. He reacted badly when medication prescribed to him was mixed with alcohol. He did not defend the charges and was sentenced to a lengthy jail term.
‘‘I spent many years wondering how I could have committed such an horrific act. It’s something that haunts me.’’
The man has not reoffended since his release from prison. He was recalled on occasion because of technical breaches of his release conditions, but argues some of that was motivated by people who were out to get him.
Life outside the wire has not been easy, the man says. Every time he’s secured employment it has been sabotaged by someone who has learned about his past. On one occasion a woman mail-dropped residents living near a farm where he worked, forcing him to quit.
The man believes the person who called in the tip was someone associated with a disgruntled former business partner trying to derail his latest attempt at getting on with life.
Naming and shaming him would have dire consequences for his business, his family and possibly even his victims, he says.
‘‘If I’m not going to be allowed to fit back into society why the hell am I out in the first place?’’ he says.
‘‘I want to be able to get on with my life and fly beneath the radar. Not because that allows me to commit more offending … but not everybody has to know everything about me.’’
The man has changed his name twice. Why?
‘‘Every time it comes up in the media it has an horrific effect on my family. I’ve actually had a daughter who was stupefied and raped over a period of days and the person that did that to her had a newspaper article that he kept rubbing in her face saying ‘... you f...ing deserve this’. She then killed herself.’’
The man says he was ‘‘devastated’’ when we first contacted him. If his name hit the headlines he would contemplate changing it again or moving town.
‘‘Ironically, it would be easier for me to be a criminal. If I went out there and became a drug dealer no one would be ringing the press saying, ‘by the way, my drug dealer has a criminal history’.
‘‘I just want to be able to live a normal life. The job I’m doing I’m very, very good at. My customers really, really like me.’’
The man says he does not believe he’s a risk to society. He has good support networks in places and continues to liaise with the police and the Salvation Army, agencies he could have cut ties with years ago. He does not drink, take drugs or gamble.
Senior Sergeant Roy Appley, 52, a 32-year veteran of the police, has been involved with the man since his release from prison about eight years ago.
‘‘When I first met him he was described as the worst of the worst who would never reintegrate,’’ Appley says.
‘‘If that was true it’s certainly been a remarkable turnaround.’’
Appley was awarded the New Zealand Order of Merit several years ago, in part for his work helping to reintegrate high-risk sex offenders.
He maintains contact with several of them, but the man in question is the one he’s dealt with most.
Appley receives regular calls from the man, who voluntarily briefs him on how he is doing and where he is going on holiday.
‘‘He’s done very well. By no means is he a perfect citizen, but the key thing is that he’s not offending,’’ Appley says.
‘‘I see a man who’s got some hope in the future who is completely determined not to reoffend, who’s completely remorseful for the offending that happened many years ago and would do anything to alter that if he could.’’
Appley accepts the man’s reasoning for changing his name.
‘‘I believe he deserves a fair go.
I see a man who’s got some hope in the future who is completely determined not to reoffend. Senior Sergeant Roy Appley
There’s so much work going on behind the scenes to keep him, his family and the people whose homes he’s going into, safe.’’
Naming the man would likely ‘‘completely destroy’’ his business, Appley says, and would affect his family, who rely on the income.
It could also re-victimise the women he attacked, who are also trying to get on with their lives.
Salvation Army reintegration services national manager Glen Buckner says there was ‘‘a lot of fear’’ when the man was first released from prison, but he now poses no threat to the public.
The Salvation Army helps hundreds of criminals reintegrate into the community each year, Buckner says. About 75 per cent of them don’t go on to reoffend during their first two years of freedom. Those who do are often recalled to prison for minor breaches of their release conditions rather than criminal offending.
If society continues to treat exconvicts as though they are ‘‘no good’’, it runs the risk of pushing them back to a life of crime, Buckner says.
‘‘We need to help support these people in the community rather than continuously kicking them.’’
Newbold says he’s aware of a recent case where a woman, who had committed a murder many years ago, attended university, got an honours degree and applied for a government job.
‘‘That person was so excited when they got the job. I recently found out that person was fired for not disclosing their criminal record. That person is back in jail.
‘‘That’s the dilemma and that’s the tragedy. It’s a delicate balance. You’ve got to balance the public’s right to know against the often very honest intentions of people who have been in prison.’’