Conclusion : A Criminological Paradigm Shift

Chapter 10

Conclusion: A Criminological Paradigm Shift

We have argued that by framing sex offenders as monsters and sex crimes as monstrous we dehumanize and exclude them, thereby putting them outside the scope of preventive strategies. We have recommended a public health framework, and we have distinguished the two frameworks as “hot” and “cold” approaches to sex offending. However, we must conclude on a cautionary note. If we knit together the chapters of this book, they may constitute an argument for what Eric Janus calls the “preventive state,” in which the paradigm of governmental control is shifted from solving and punishing crimes to identifying ‘dangerous’ people and depriving them of their liberty before they can do harm (Janus 2006, 93–94). By adding to criminal justice policy instruments of psychiatric diagnosis and categories of mental disorder – and a public health framework for deploying health care resources to criminal conduct reinterpreted as mental disorder – attention is inevitably directed toward a preventive approach to crime. If we, in addition, frame sex offenders as monsters and predators, we have a recipe for a civil commitment approach to at least one category of crime: sexual violence. We have, in short, proposed that our responses to sex offending undergo what historian of science Thomas Kuhn called a “paradigm shift” (Kuhn 1970). In his analysis of scientific development, Kuhn argued that mature sciences develop disciplinary matrices, including theories, data structures, and basic conceptual tools, that structure scientific explanations and experimental methods. Scientific development proceeds by resolving experimental and observed anomalies in a field through the mechanism of “puzzle-solving,” but at some point scientific puzzles overwhelm the disciplinary resources available for the puzzle-solving practices. The puzzle-solving practices are what Kuhn called “normal science.” When the anomalies are so overwhelming that scientists have to create new concepts and tools for piercing nature’s veil, the science undergoes a period of revolution. The development of new theories and tools is what Kuhn calls a “paradigm shift” (Kuhn 1970). A paradigm shift is occurring in criminology because traditional strategies for dealing with crime – prison and other forms of control over the conduct of offenders – has produced a number of belligerent problems that are analogous to conceptual 179 J. Douard and P.D. Schultz, Monstrous Crimes and the Failure of Forensic Psychiatry, International Library of Ethics, Law, and the New Medicine 53, DOI 10.1007/978-94-007-5279-5_10, © Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2013

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puzzles. In a nutshell, the problems arise from the increase in a prison-industrial complex with little decrease in crime (Schlosser 1998); from a public that is inclined to favor highly punitive criminal laws, media and entertainment aimed at appealing to the public’s desire to punish; and from politicians who see votes in designing and supporting punitive statutes. New classes of crimes have been created by various state and federal criminal codes, with corresponding punishments. Yet punishment itself may not decrease crime to any significant extent. The significant increase in numbers and types of crime, the growth of a privatized prison-industrial complex, and the moral panic fed by media and politicians have been subjects of a growing literature in the sociology of crime as well as in the philosophy of law. To take just one example, drug offenses have increased considerably since the advent of the “war on drugs” in the early 1980s. Statutes that impose enhanced penalties for distributing controlled dangerous substances in certain urban areas such as school zones are the target of separate statutes, presumably on the ground that drug dealers who place children at risk should be treated differently from drug dealers who only transact business with adults. One problem with this reasoning, however, is that few people arrested for distributing drugs in school zones are in fact distributing to children. Moreover, those caught in the net of school zone statutes are inevitably people of color, because most of the cases stem from arrests in urban areas densely populated by both schools and people of color. It is virtually impossible for a drug transaction in Newark, New Jersey, to take place outside a school zone because a school zone is defined in New Jersey as within 1,000 ft of a school, and in Newark there is very little space that is not within a school zone. This impact of school zone drug laws on people of color has been called the “new Jim Crow,” (Alexander 2010) because, while the statutes are race neutral, their application is not. These drug laws punish geography, or where certain groups of people live (Husak 2008; Hunter et al. 2012). Closer to the sex offender statutes we are examining here are hate or bias crime statutes. These relatively recent statutes criminalize certain motivations or attitudes that aggravate traditional crimes such as assault. If an assault can be linked to bias against a certain class of people, bias-crime statutes elevate the assault to a higher degree for purposes of punishment. Several states have such laws, and in 2009, President Barack Obama signed into law a federal version of bias crime laws. The Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr., Hate Crimes Prevention Act expanded the 1969 Federal Hate Crimes Law to include crimes motivated by a victim’s actual or perceived gender, sexual orientation, gender identity or disability (Husak 2008; Shively and Mulford 2007). Bias crime laws are intended to ameliorate the psychological and physical impact on victims of assaults or homicides, including on the victims’ families, that seem an added degree of harm caused by biased motivations. Bias crimes are also intended to discourage bias motivations because the underling crimes might not have been committed absent the bias. These crimes punish offenders’ attitudes in addition to conduct. Finally, in the wake of 9/11, fear of terrorism has weakened even the most sacred of our constitutional rights: the right to freedom of expression. Thoughtcrimes are now being punished rather than protected by the First Amendment to

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the U.S. Constitution. In 2011, an American citizen, pharmacist Tarek Mehanna, was convicted of material support for terrorism, conspiring to provide material support to terrorists and conspiring to kill in a foreign country. He was sentenced to 17½ years in prison. According to Yale political scientist Andrew March, Mehanna was convicted of conduct in which March engages every day: As a political scientist specializing in Islamic law and war, I frequently read, store, share and translate texts and videos by jihadi groups. As a political philosopher I debate the ethics of killing. As a citizen, I express these views, thoughts and emotions about killing to other citizens. As a human being, I sometimes feel joy (I am ashamed to admit) at the suffering of some humans and anger at the suffering at others. (March 2012)

As March points out, Mehanna engaged in conduct that was in no important respect any different from his, from a free-speech point of view. While he travelled to Yemen in an unsuccessful search for a jhadi training camp, and returned home to Pittsburgh, the government’s case was based on his purportedly watching jihadi videos, discussing efforts to create “like-minded youth,” and discussing the religious justification for certain violent crimes such as suicide bombings, creating and/or translating, or accepting credit for writing and distributing offensive texts, and so on (March 2012). For our purposes, what is important about this case is that it is not simply punishment for conduct, but a warning shot to others who might entertain similar thoughts or engage in similar speech that they will be punished if brought to trial. The conviction of Mehanna represents another brick in the wall of prevention of crime or lowering of risk that is already part of our criminal justice system. The risk of re-offense, or the risk of other would-be offenders, is an aggravating factor in state and federal criminal codes, and the severity of punishment is the method adopted by the criminal justice system to reduce those risks. One can be found guilty of so-called inchoate crimes, including attempts and conspiracy, even when the underlying substantive crimes are not accomplished. (Husak 2008, 159ff.) Such expansions of criminal law, in addition to adding new elements to old crimes to create new crimes and punishments, also point in the direction of a preventive approach to criminal justice: the preventive state. The preventive state begins with preventive detention. In Chap. 2, we briefly discussed the concern of Steiker (1998) and Janus (2006) that a preventive approach to crime threatens to weaken the constitutional rights of offenders because the process due people accused of committing crimes includes rights to a jury trial, legal representation, proportionate punishment, freedom from double jeopardy and ex post facto laws, and exclusion of improperly obtained evidence. While recent drug and bias crime laws are still embedded within the traditional framework of criminal justice, they also present problems of due process. It is entirely unclear how the geographical element of drug laws and the motivational mental states of bias crime laws comport with a robust conception of due process, because these elements are difficult to prove beyond a reasonable doubt. But they lend themselves to a preventive conception of the law, because these elements may be beyond the reach of the beyond-a-reasonable-doubt standard of proof and the control of the accused. I may choose to distribute a controlled dangerous substance,

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but I hardly can choose, in cities like Newark or New York, not to distribute within a school zone as that is defined in school zone drug statutes. I may choose to commit assault, but it is unclear how I can choose the motivation for the assault. A similar problem is apparent in the case of sex offenders. Conduct that was once not criminalized – such as, in New Jersey, endangering the welfare of a child by a party who had no legal duty for care of the child and sexual conduct that would impair or debauch the morals of a child – was not incorporated into the criminal code until 1979. In itself, that kind of expansion of criminal law may seem appropriate. However, new statutes have been created in both criminal and civil law that greatly expand the reach of the State to control conduct that once fell between the cracks of both civil and criminal law, such as Megan’s Laws and sexually violent predator acts. These statutes carve out a space between general civil commitment statutes and criminal statutes. There is evidence that preventive statutes like Megan’s Laws and SVPAs are effective in reducing rates of sex offending only in limited kinds of cases. Registration and notification statutes seem to have reduced recidivism rates by sex offenders who are members of victims’ families or friends, but such statutes do not noticeably decrease recidivism rates of sex abuse by strangers (Prescott and Rockoff 2008). While SVPAs obviously have a degree of specific deterrence because the offenders are institutionalized, they have little general deterrent effect. Indeed, the treatment a sex offender may receive while civilly committed may have little or no effect on the offender’s behavior when he is released, so it may not have much specific deterrence (Zgoba and Simon 2005). Using the criminal law to enforce social norms of acceptable sexuality may be necessary, but when post-incarceration mechanisms of control significantly increase the population under the direct control of the state, without significantly decreasing the amount of sexual misconduct by strangers, something has gone wrong with the received view of how society ought to deal with such misconduct. More importantly, there has yet to be proposed a principled way to cabin the new class of preventive techniques of social control to ensure that they are not incorporated into the criminal justice system more generally. Problems such as these have produced the sort of anomaly that begs for a paradigm shift in criminology. The problems are not simply a result of a system that needs tweaking, but is otherwise efficient. The problems signal that a deep conceptual change is required. A paradigm shift seems to be taking place, at least in scholarly work, in support of preventive detention as a morally and legally defensible approach to sentencing. We cannot examine this new approach in much detail, but we must situate our public health approach in relation to the powerful defense of preventive detention proposed by Christopher Slobogin. Slobogin has long argued that, if indeterminate preventive sentencing is used, it must satisfy certain principles of retributive justice (2003, 2006, 2011a, b, c). Those principles would reduce the distance between the constitutional protections of criminal defendants and the far less protective civil commitment legislation. The principles are: (1) proof of a crime; (2) proportionality between risk magnitude and probability of future crimes and the duration and nature of the contemplated intervention;

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(3) the intervention must use the least invasive means for accomplishing preventive goals; (4) preventive detention measures must be limited to those who are unlikely to be deterred by threat of criminal punishments; (5) the government may only use actuarial risk assessment instruments as the evidentiary basis for preventive detention, while (6) subjects of preventive detention proceedings may use clinical assessment instruments; and (7) periodic review of subjects’ risk and risk management to prevent executive branch domination of decision-making. Clearly, Slobogin has presented a serious set of justice-based constraints on preventive detention in sentencing, and his analysis goes some distance in protecting subjects of preventive detention who do not have the same level of constitutional rights available to them. Slobogin considers SVPA involuntary civil commitment, while currently violative of several or all of his conditions, as a paradigm of the sort of indeterminate sentencing that could be justly imposed if it were restructured to meet conditions (1) through (7) (Slobogin 2011a, c). Presumably, his conditions would stand in for the protections of criminal defendants, in part because civil commitment would be limited only to persons who would likely not be deterred by criminal sentences. If implemented, his program for preventive detention would go some distance toward protecting the rights of its subjects. And Slobogin apparently declines to distinguish sharply between punitive and regulatory sentences; he is well aware that loss of liberty is punishment that continues after criminal sentences have been served. Nonetheless, we believe that his analysis suffers from the same problem we have surveyed in this book: that the emotional content of our legal responses to crimes which trigger moral panic and a sense of disgust focuses attention on offenders and distracts attention from the social forces at work in our criminal justice system. Slobogin’s aim is to construct a system of constraints on government action that parallels the constitutional constraints on the punitive deontic and utilitarian criminal justice system. Our view is that Slobogin, like others who try to construct systems of preventive detention that run parallel with criminal sentencing, fails to focus attention on the way in which sex offenders are dehumanized and the nature of sex offending as a public problem. While both public health and preventive detention share the emphasis on prevention, only public health strategies require allocation of resources across all of the social structures that affect health and well being, while respecting the legal and human rights of offenders. Our analysis cuts across the distinction between criminal sentencing and preventive detention. The advantage of our approach is that it enables us to critically examine the institutions currently deployed to control offenders, and incorporates institutions currently deployed to protect the health of the Republic. Slobogin’s analysis fails to recognize the need for a paradigm shift. While the term “paradigm shift” has been the source of controversy, and Kuhn has attempted to change the conversation to the notion of a change in scientific “exemplars,” or prototypical conceptual structures, the phrase “paradigm shift” conveys a sufficiently precise notion of what we have argued should happen in the

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currently dominant approach to sex offending. In other areas of criminological investigation, such as drug crimes and violence, a paradigm shift is taking place: to epidemiological criminology from the status quo criminological approach that emphasizes prison and parole. In this book, we have argued that that shift should also take place in the approach to sex crimes. The proper framework for sex offending is public health, with prison and civil commitment as strategies that should either be phased out or used only at the margins. A public health approach to sex offending, however, should not be regarded as a step toward a preventive state that undermines the rights of individuals to due process and fair adjudication and substitutes punishment-as-treatment for other forms of punishment. We return to this point below. Our reasons for arriving at the conclusion that a shift to a public health framework is needed were provided in detail in the first seven chapters of this book. At the heart of a scientific paradigm shift is a change in the metaphors used to characterize the basic objects and processes that constitute the subject of a science. The same is true in the case of paradigm shifts in the conceptual frameworks that the general public uses to think about the social phenomena that touch our lives, including crimes. Crime is of interest not only to criminologists, but also to wider culture affected by crime. We all think about crimes and criminals in terms that render them comprehensible. Our book has attempted to adopt a critical attitude to one framework we use in the wider culture to make sense of, and protect ourselves from, sex offenders. The ways in which sex offenders and their crimes are framed have had a powerful impact on policies, because our sex offender laws are responses to the culture’s anxieties about the behavior those laws punish and regulate. The monster metaphor, and its companion the predator, is central to the moral panic over sex offending. The theory of moral panic is the sociological explanation of the disproportionate fear of certain sorts of criminal or immoral behavior, blown up even more by the media, and pandered to by politicians. While the victims of moral panic are often people with whom we might sympathize, such as gays or racial minorities, sex offenders are outside the scope of even the most reasonable people’s capacity for sympathy. Sex offenders are stigmatized, but unlike other groups that have been stigmatized in the past, most of us cannot – or refuse to – identify with sex offenders. Part of our argument, however, is that even if we cannot explicitly and consciously empathize with sex offenders, the moral panic is connected to the psychological mechanisms that lie behind scapegoating outsiders. There is, we have suggested, an element of projection in our drive to scapegoat: others must pay for our sins. Even people who cannot fathom committing a sex offense, especially against children, may have deviant desires that are usually dormant on the dark side of our natures. During periods in which sexual deviance was not criminalized to the extent that it is now, it could be the subject of art, e.g., in the writings of the Marquis de Sade and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch. Moreover, adult men typically are attracted to postpubescent adolescents, even when social norms provide disincentives to act on such desires (Fabian 2011). In the face of this knowledge—that we might have more in common with sex offenders than not – we must be vigilant in defining the boundary that separates “Us” from “Them.”

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In Strangers, Gods, and Monsters: Interpreting Otherness, Richard Kearney (2003) refers to Rene Girard’s discussion of the scapegoat, whose ultimate function is purification. In Girard’s view, driving out or punishing a scapegoat is a way for a community to purify itself. The scapegoat assumes the guilt of whatever evil must be punished; it is a means of absolving one’s own sense of guilt by placing it onto an Other. Identifying the strangeness of an Other is a way to reject the strangeness in ourselves. But moral panic not only drives sex offenders underground, but it also drives underground the deviant sexual interests of people who regard themselves as “normal”, where those deviant interests can become twisted, and twisted sexual interests nourish sex offending. Hence, the distinction between “Us” and “Them” must be redrawn and enforced periodically to ensure the “persistence of the normal” (Douard 1995). Accordingly, new representations of deviance and sexual disorders emerge from the new sciences of the brain: broadly, cognitive neuroscience. If sex offenders are virtually indistinguishable on the surface from the rest of us, then perhaps we can discover differences in what lies beneath. Functional magnetic resonance imaging is producing a new source of monstrousness: the monstrous brain. People who are labeled psychopathic on the basis of the Hare PCL-R often appear to have disordered processing of information necessary to pro-social emotions like sympathy, love, sadness at others’ pain, and so on. Images of brain processing of psychopathic individuals suggest to some experts in the field that violent criminal behaviors, including sex crimes, are caused by neural dysfunctions in the empathy circuit (Baron-Cohen 2011). To the general public, however, these dysfunctions may be viewed as the source of monstrousness rather than a physiological anomaly to be medically treated. We have argued that the new sciences of the brain raise special ethical issues for forensic psychiatrists, because they must increasingly take into account neural processing of information related to cognitive and affective disorders as diagnosed under the DSM-IV-TR. When the DSM-V is published it will not yet have incorporated neuroscience discoveries in its categories. The forensic psychiatry community has been addressing ethical issues for decades because forensic psychiatry is primarily a legal and not a medical discipline. Nonetheless, the authority of forensic psychiatry derives from its claim to be a science-based medical practice. But forensic psychiatrists do not officially have any duty of care to defendants in criminal cases, including sex offender suspects, because they are generally hired by one side or the other to support its legal theory. Both defendants and the government use forensic psychiatrists to achieve their legal goals. Medical goals are irrelevant. However, the ethical tradition in psychiatry generally is that psychiatrists should do no harm to patients. To the extent that forensic psychiatrists are psychiatrists, they would seem to share that patient-centered goal. Thus, they have two, sometimes conflicting moral masters: the players in a legal case and people with medical psychiatric needs. The moral duties of forensic psychiatrists are complex and often self-contradictory. More recently, the moral risk of forensic psychiatrists has been amplified by the emotional tenor of the moral panic over sex offending, and the increasingly technological modes of representation of mental illness in the brain. Forensic psychiatrists

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must confront new dilemmas with new technologies of representation. But forensic psychiatric ethics has not to a great extent taken into account these recent developments in social attitude and scientific technologies. We have argued that forensic psychiatrists must develop a canon of principles that take such phenomena into consideration. They must, we suggest, help to humanize sex offenders, even as technologies such as fMRI may be used to further dehumanize them. Our alternative to the “hot” framework for sex offending currently in use is the “cold” public health framework. We have argued that public health has as its goals both the security and safety of society and the rights of the accused. Public health is a burgeoning new way to look at crime generally, and certainly can point in the right direction with respect to sex offending. But public health requires the deployment of treatment, institutional and research resources that may take a considerable amount of time and money to create and implement. Something must be done now to relieve the criminal justice system of the pressure on its resources and to prevent the institutionalization of people convicted of sex offenses who are treatable. One possible intermediate step toward a cold public health approach to sex offending is a “cool” analogue to drug court (Hunter et al. 2012). A sex offender court would provide a way to manage sex offenders who have served prison terms if necessary, or probationary release where possible, by treating them in their communities. Treatment can be a form of punishment when combined with institutions typically reserved for state punishment, such as criminal courts and probation or parole. Distinguishing between punishment and civil sanctions may be “so inconsistent that it borders on the unintelligible” (Logan 1998, 1280; Husak 2008, 81) However, in light of how deeply embedded in our culture are the “hot” responses to sex offending, a sex offender court would at least be a step in the right – cooler – direction. To be sure, communities to which sex offenders return must be prepared to revise their views of sex offenders. No offender re-entry program can work unless the offenders are regarded by members of the community as fully human beings. We must refuse to frame sex offenders as monsters that trigger fear and loathing, and regard them as human beings who, because of psychological problems, have violated deeply held social norms of sexuality. But this requires understanding the way in which we have dehumanized sex offenders, and why. In pagan ceremonies, the sacrificial animal symbolized the human participants’ sins. Using the sacrifice as a scapegoat was a conscious means of expiating those sins, providing relief from guilt and a sense of purification by dissociation. We have been unable or unwilling to recognize the way in which we frame sex offenders as scapegoats for social sins. In part, at least, this is due to the effectiveness of the rhetorical devices used in creating and feeding the moral panic that surrounds the crime. As discussed in Chap. 3, Burke’s analysis of “Hitler’s Battle” (1966) presents rhetorical devices that apply as well to the moral panic over sexual abuse and sex offending. First is the belief in a common enemy. Next is simplification, which reduces complex social issues into a simplistic cause and effect pattern of reasoning. This pattern finds expression in a religious context and sexual symbolism. Since survivors of sexual abuse tentatively began to break the stigma surrounding it by speaking out about their experiences, it was possible to identify the perpetrators via

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the victims’ narratives. Yet this process of identification was superficial; we grabbed onto the most titillating, sensationalized aspects of the behavior and created a stereotyped, monstrous image for the offenders. Naming these offenders is a means of putting a face on the darker side of sex and sexuality. But by labeling them as monstrous, we have effectively confounded the ability to understand, and hence combat, the crime because we’ve made it the stuff of gothic horror stories. Fear has become a potent rhetorical force in the United States in the early twentyfirst century. SPVAs and Megan’s Laws have been a means of putting a face on one source of terror, the metaphoric bogeyman that threatens our children. By stigmatizing and isolating sex offenders by defining them as Other, we have distanced ourselves from them, but in doing so, we have hamstrung our ability to effectively understand the roots and dynamics of the crime. SPVAs and Megan’s Laws rest on the premise that sexual abuse cannot be stopped because the monsters who commit the crime cannot be reintegrated into society; they can only be punished or banished. For example, a New York Times on-line article Lovett (2012), May 29, 2012, “Public-Place Laws Tighten Rein on Sex Offenders,” discusses this proliferating approach in what we feel is the wrong direction. In Orange County, California, the county government and a dozen cities voted to ban convicted sex offenders from a host of places in which children congregate, including public parks, on beaches, and at harbors. As the Orange County district attorney had told the Mission Viejo City Council, “We need to protect our kids…. The danger is very real”: From North Carolina to Washington State, communities have designated swimming pools, parks and school bus stops as “child safety zones,” off limits to some sex offenders. They are barred from libraries in half a dozen Massachusetts cities, and from all public facilities in tiny Huachuca City, Arizona…. The proliferation of such restrictions reflects the continued concerns of parents and lawmakers about potential recidivism among sex offenders. (http://www. nytimes.com/2012/05/30/us/sex-offenders-face-growing-restrictions-on-public-places. html?pagewanted=all)

Even though experts quoted in the article warn that “child safety zones” are essentially unenforceable, aimed at making parents feel safer and politicians look tougher on crime, this has not stopped communities from passing these laws: Irene Pai, a lawyer with the Orange County public defender’s office, said “child safety zones” give parents a false sense of security, punishing many offenders who are not dangerous without actually stopping predators from entering parks. Ms. Pai said she had a stack of cases involving people who were arrested for urinating in public in the 1970s and pleaded guilty to indecent exposure without realizing they would have to register as sex offenders. “The very notion that a park ordinance could in any way protect children, more than an attentive caregiver’s presence or any other way we protect our children, is absurd,” she said. (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/30/us/sex-offenders-face-growing-restrictions-on-public-places.html?pagewanted=all)

Although the parks ban had led to just three convictions across the county to that point, the expectation was that the laws would serve as a deterrent. As Tony Rackauckas, the Orange County district attorney, claimed, “We’re not going to know how many kids were not molested or groomed for later sexual contact as a result of this law” (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/30/us/sex-offenders-facegrowing-restrictions-on-public-places.html?pagewanted=all).

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Clearly, Rackauckas’s comment reflects the rather casual attitude to statistical proof that has contributed to the misunderstanding surrounding occurrences of sexual offenses and recidivism in the United States. Yet a preventive approach could be a positive step to dealing with sex crimes in this country, provided it is based on fact rather than the fantasy reflected in Rackauckas’s statement. We recognize the potential injustices of a preventive approach to socially undesirable behavior, given the lowered due process and equal protection standards in civil mental health law (Janus 2006). However, we believe that the public health framework has a long history of protecting the rights of the vulnerable individuals who are sick while also protecting the health of the community. This book is a contribution to the new paradigm for understanding sex offenses and sex offenders. Our hope is that it will stimulate research within the new paradigm, and change the criminal justice landscape. Sex offenders exemplify the paradox of the enlightenment political vision that promotes a liberal and tolerant form of governance, but recognizes the role of government in protecting its citizens from harm, which requires evaluation of conduct (Alexander 2005). In a liberal constitutional democracy, criminal laws are deemed necessary evils that express fear of the harms we can cause each other. Criminal punishment is violence committed by the state against individuals who threaten the safety and well-being of citizens. But to the extent that crime is also a public health problem, there are medical responses that fit within the police power of the state because they compel obedience to the discipline of mental health care. One significant outcome of reinterpreting sex offenses as public health threats is that the public health system can deploy epidemiological techniques that map prevalence and incidence of sex offender behavior. Our hope, in this book, is that a compendium and analysis of the “hot” issues in the sex offending literature can provide a baseline for moving beyond these issues to a terrain of “cold” analyses of these issues. It is time for a paradigm shift.

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Janus, E. 2006. Failure to protect: America’s sexual predator laws and the rise of the preventive state. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Kearney, R. 2003. Strangers, gods and monsters: Interpreting otherness. London/New York: Routledge. Kuhn, T. 1970. The structure of scientific revolutions, 2nd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Logan, W. 1998. The ex-post facto clause and the jurisprudence of punishment. American Criminal Law Review 35: 1261. Lovett, I. 2012, May 29. Public-place laws Tighten Rein on sex offenders. New York Times. http:// www.nytimes.com/2012/05/30/us/sex-offenders-face-growing-restrictions-on-public-places. html?pagewanted=all. March, A.F. 2012. A dangerous mind? New York Times. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/22/ opinion/sunday/a-dangerous-mind.html?pagewanted=all&_moc.semityn.www. Prescott, J.J., and J.E. Rockoff. 2008. Do sex offender registration and notification laws affect criminal behavior? The National Bureau of Economic Research. NBER Working Paper No. 13803. http://www.nber.org/papers/w13803. Schlosser, E. 1998. The prison industrial complex. Atlantic Monthly, December, 51–77. Shively, M., and C.F. Mulford. 2007, June 257. Hate crime in America: The debate continues. National Institute of Justice. http://www.nij.gov/journals/257/hate-crime.html. Slobogin, C. 2003. A jurisprudence of dangerousnous. 98 Nw. U.L. Review 1–62. Slobogin, C. 2006. Minding justice: Laws that deprive people with mental disability of life and liberty. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Slobogin, C. 2011a. Prevention of sexual violence by those who have been sexually violent. International Journal Law and Psychiatry 34(3): 210–216. Slobogin, C. 2011b. Legal limitations on the scope of preventive detention. In Dangerous people: Policy, prediction, and practice 37, ed. M.S. Bernadette and K. Patrick. New York: Routledge. Slobogin, C. 2011c. Prevention as the primary goal of sentencing: The modern case for indeterminate dispositions in criminal cases. Vanderbilt University Law School Working Papers. http://ssrn.com/ abstract=1959489. Steiker, C. 1998. Forward: The limits of the preventive state. The Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology 88(3): 771–808. Zgoba, K.M., and L.M.J. Simon. 2005. Recidivism rates of sexual offenders up to 7 years later does treatment matter? Criminal Justice Review 30(2): 155–173.