Reentry in Practice: Sexual Offending,Self-Narratives,and the Implications of Stigma in Norway

Abstract

Reentering society after serving a prison sentence involves many challenges and particularly so for one of the most stigmatized groups in modern society: people who have sexually offended. While most research on their reentry has been conducted in countries with Sex Offender Registration and Notification (SORN) laws, this study used Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA) to qualitatively investigate the accounts and experiences of men released from prison after serving a sex offense conviction in Norway (n = 8). Results showed that despite less restrictive policies and a total absence of SORN laws, the social stigma linked to being convicted of such crimes severely affected the men. To some degree, they all experienced feelings of stress or anxiousness and they withdrew and isolated more. Their narratives highlight a need for increased social support and recognition from others in the reentry process. Subjective and societal consequences as well as practical implications are discussed.

Introduction

The nature of sexual crime evokes potent emotional responses from the public that exceed those of other forms of criminality (Kahn et al., 2017). “Sex offender” is arguably among the most stigmatizing labels in modern societies (Willis, 2018; Willis et al., 2010). When imprisoned, those convicted of sexual offenses experience this designated position at the bottom of the moral hierarchy (Ievins, 2014; Ievins & Crewe, 2015; Ricciardelli & Spencer, 2014; Ugelvik, 2015). Upon reentry, the difficulties inherent in their stigmatized position often intensify through experiencing “othering” and exclusion from their communities (Pratt, 2016).

Most reentry research involving those with sexual convictions stems from the United States and other countries where Sex Offender Registration and Notification (SORN) laws have been implemented to promote public safety. So far, research has not demonstrated any significant positive impact of SORN laws on recidivism rates (Zgoba et al., 2018). Rather, researchers have identified several negative impacts of public exposure and restrictions on housing and employment as structural barriers to successful reintegration (Huebner et al., 2019; Levenson et al., 2007; Schultz, 2014; Tewksbury, 2005). The social exclusion, fear, and shame experienced by those “on the list” negatively affect their psychological well-being and may increase their risk for reoffending (Bailey & Klein, 2018; Harris & Levenson, 2021). The growing body of sexual offense reentry research has thus far largely focused on how social stigma intensifies in the wake of increased structural stigma (Huebner et al., 2019). What we still need to investigate is how social stigma affects the process of returning to society with a sex offense conviction in a context such as Norway that lacks the structural stigma represented by SORN laws.

Background and Theory

Labeling and Stigma

The negative consequences of labeling are well known and involve self-fulfilling prophecy processes whereby individuals eventually internalize the label others have ascribed to them: as Tannenbaum (1938, p. 20) noted, “The person will become the thing he is described as being.” According to Becker (1963), a deviant or stigmatizing label a person is known by can turn into his “master status,” meaning that the label will override all other personal characteristics and lead others to treat him as though he is generally, rather than specifically, deviant. (Because the vast majority of people convicted of sexual offenses are male, male pronouns will be used in this paper for expediency.) Such social “othering” processes whereby the deviant identification becomes the controlling one is arguably the opposite of reintegration (Braithwaite, 1989) and lie at the core of classical labeling theory (Becker, 1963; Lemert, 1951; Tannenbaum, 1938).

Such a deterministic pathway, where labeling produces further deviance, lacks empirical support for those who have committed sexual offenses. International research has repeatedly shown that, despite widespread labeling, recidivism rates are low among those convicted of sexual offenses (Hanson & Bussière, 1998; Hanson et al., 2016; Hanson & Morton-Bourgon, 2004, 2005; Sandbukt et al., 2021). Instead, a modified labeling theory, where people constrain themselves because they fear stigmatization and consequently reduce their own opportunities for reintegration, might be more applicable (Burchfield & Mingus, 2014; Link et al., 1989; Rolfe & Tewksbury, 2018). This perspective suggests that people will presuppose that their sex offense convictions will constitute their “master status” once others learn of it.

Stigma is the basic concept for understanding the negative consequences of labeling and outcasting (Link & Phelan, 1999). According to Goffman (1963), stigma is “the situation of the individual who is disqualified from full social acceptance” (p. 9). The individual’s stigmatized status may further be transferred to those close to him through what Goffman refers to as a “courtesy stigma” because they “are all obliged to share some of the discredit of the stigmatized person to whom they are related” (p. 43). A large body of research on stigma has evolved since Goffman’s work, including theories emphasizing that “stigma exists when elements of labeling, stereotyping, separating, status loss, and discrimination co-occur in a power situation that allows these processes to unfold” (Link & Phelan, 2001, p. 382).

One way of meaningfully conceptualizing stigma is to differentiate between social stigma and structural stigma. Social stigma, which results from interpersonal interactions and experiences, originates in the social context and is reinforced through social exclusion and “othering” by others (Major & O’Brien, 2005; Pratt, 2016). Structural stigma, in contrast, depends on discrimination by institutions (such as the criminal justice system) that exert power over individuals (Huebner et al., 2019; Link & Phelan, 2001). Structural stigma likely worsens or amplifies social stigma, meaning that the implementation of restrictive policies that limit a group’s opportunities usually lead to more stigmatization and discrimination (Huebner et al., 2019; Link & Phelan, 2001). Both types of stigma can potentially impede the reentry process.

The Complex Relationship Between Successful Reentry and Desistance

In the criminal justice system, reentry refers to one’s transitioning back into society after imprisonment, a complex process that is not yet well understood. Several factors can reduce recidivism and increase the likelihood of successful reintegration, including housing, employment (Skardhamar & Telle, 2012), and social support (Bahr et al., 2010; Berghuis, 2018; Levenson et al., 2007; Schlager, 2013). More recently, scholars have also argued for a new narrative in reentry, namely a strength-based approach where cooperation from the community to empower individuals to change is an important factor (Fox, 2016; Schlager, 2013). While these factors are all secondary outcome measures of reintegration, generally assumed to increase the released individual’s chances of success, recidivism is always the primary outcome in reentry studies. This means that reentry is considered successful only if the returning person goes on to live a productive and law-abiding life: to be more specific, if he manages to desist (Bahr et al., 2010; Berghuis, 2018).

Desistance fundamentally refers to the permanent cessation of offending behavior. Since the early 2000s, however, desistance has increasingly been debated as a dynamic and complex process rather than an event (Laub & Sampson, 2001). Recent theories (Graham & McNeill, 2017; Kazemian, 2015; McAlinden et al., 2017) also emphasize desistance as a multi-determined entity involving “a series of cognitive, social, and behavioral changes leading up to the cessation of criminal behavior” (Kazemian, 2015, p. 1). Maruna and Farrall (2004) differentiate between primary and secondary desistance, where the former simply refers to a behavioral change that could have any explanation, while the latter refers to a more permanent state of desistance where individuals have changed their behavior because of a shift in identity and self-narrative. According to McNeill (2014, 2016), a third level of desistance, particularly relevant for the current study, may also be identified: tertiary desistance. This type, which refers to a more “cemented” state of desistance resulting from being integrated into a prosocial community, points to the fulfillment of development and change where the status degradations of punishment become less pronounced or even reversed (Graham & McNeill, 2017). To achieve this state of desistance, during the reentry process, people need recognition from others as having changed so that they will not be constantly reminded of their past or their label.

Recognition From Others in the Reentry Process

Although not interchangeable concepts, identity shares common conceptual ground with self-narratives (Presser & Sandberg, 2015). McAdams and Bowman (2001) argue that people who believe their lives are meaningful tend to tell stories defined by growth, communion, and agency: stories allowing them to craft a positive identity whereby they control their lives. Similarly, Maruna (2001) argued in his seminal book Making Good that to desist from crime, those with criminal pasts must create a coherent and prosocial identity in story form, meaning a self-narrative or a “future self.” Thus, self-narratives are also important for future action (Presser, 2009). In his study of “desisters” and “persisters,” Maruna (2001) found that while persisters most often told stories that followed condemnation scripts, where bad things seem to happen to them throughout their lives, desisters more often used the narrative of redemption, where an inherent goodness combined with personal agency allowed them to change. In short, the desisters framed their stories whereby they themselves had acted to do something about their offending because they were able to “rewrite a shameful past into a necessary prelude to a productive and worthy life” (Maruna, 2001, p. 88). These life stories, or self-narratives, continually evolve through interaction with others, meaning that they are largely formed by how other people see and treat us (McAdams, 2001).

The factors at play in the re-integration process may be envisioned as concentric circles, where the released person represents the center. The first circle consists of this person’s family and close friends. Their responses are important in the process of self-change and in recognizing one’s self as being detached from one’s criminal behavior (Maruna, 2001; McAlinden et al., 2017). The second circle consists of local community members who can provide the person with a social network and legitimate opportunities for success, such as work opportunities and stable employment (Farmer et al., 2012, 2016; Laub & Sampson, 2001; Willis et al., 2010). Burchfield and Mingus (2014) underline how, once released, those convicted of sexual offenses are in particular need of the community support networks provided by local social capital because their stigma is so pronounced. Finally, the third circle consists of society at large—the public attitudes and labeling that can potentially either help or hinder reintegrative processes (Harper, 2019). These three circles, all agents of informal social control, can either deprive or provide people with opportunities to attain social bonds and the sense of belonging required for tertiary desistance (Harris, 2014; Laub & Sampson, 2001).

Unfortunately, authorities, the media, or others who provide the public with information rarely (or never) tell stories where someone who has committed a sexual crime changes, “makes good” (Maruna, 2001), and never commits a crime again. The heterogeneity among individuals who have sexually offended are missed by focusing largely on a few sensational cases, meaning that those responsible for the offenses often are portrayed as a homogenous group of extraordinarily deviant, incurable, monstrous predators (Farmer et al., 2016; Mancini, 2018; McCartan, 2010; Willis et al., 2010). These unvarnished portrayals can shape public opinion and lead to more public concern (Galeste et al., 2012; Harper, 2019; Harper & Hogue, 2017; Zatkin et al., 2021). Being recognized as someone who is able to change might therefore be a greater challenge for those who have sexually offended than for those who have committed other crimes, perhaps because society lacks “redemption scripts” (Maruna, 2001) or a language for desistance regarding sexual offending. Hence, people find it difficult (if not impossible) to picture scenarios where those who have committed such crimes do change and actually stop sexually offending. Contrary to popular belief, however, desistance is the rule rather than the exception, which also goes for sexual offending. Studies have found that many people who have been convicted of sexual crimes often desist despite the absence of employment, a prosocial network, and general community reintegration and that the majority of people who commit sexual offenses eventually stop (Harris et al., 2019; Lussier & Healey, 2009; Lussier & McCuish, 2016).

The Norwegian Context

Norway may be placed at the opposite end of the penal scale compared to the US. The country has a prison population rate of only 54 per 100,000 (World Prison Brief, 2021), relatively short sentences, and is said to have “exceptional” prison conditions and penal practice compared to countries outside Scandinavia (Dullum & Ugelvik, 2012; Pratt, 2008). Punishment is defined solely as the restriction of liberty while in prison; no other rights are denied by the sentencing court (Kriminalomsorgen, 2021). Norway’s general recidivism rates are among the lowest in Western countries, at approximately 20% (Graunbøl et al., 2010), and recidivism numbers for those released from prison after serving a sex crime sentence are even lower. Sandbukt et al. (2021) found that only 3.4% of those released after serving a sexual offense conviction recidivated with a new sex offense conviction after a mean observation period of 6 years. While several countries globally have introduced SORN-like laws (Rolfe & Tewksbury, 2018), Norwegian legislation does not allow registration or the notification of authorities or the general public. Rather, the formal structures inherently aim to reinforce membership in the community after release (McAlinden, 2005).

Instead of publicly labeling people as “sex offenders” upon release, thereby preventing their anonymous return to society (Levenson et al., 2007), Norwegian law ensures that people’s criminal history is strictly confidential and inaccessible to the public, including potential employers. Only for jobs where one is responsible for law and order, security, or the safety of vulnerable people (e.g., in the police, military, health, or social services) is a clean or limited record required. It is the applicant himself who has to provide the employer with this information by obtaining the necessary police documentation, which may not be provided by the police upon an employer’s request. Such privacy protections have been introduced to ensure that those with a criminal record have the same rights and opportunities as everyone else who lives in Norway upon release, no matter the seriousness of the crimes they have committed. The 300 to 350 people annually released from Norwegian prisons to reenter the community after serving a sexual offense sentence (Statistics Norway, 2018) should thus have every possibility to do so successfully.

Even though the Norwegian penal system is more reintegrative in nature (Braithwaite, 1989) than most countries, public attitudes and contemporary media coverage in Norway sometimes reveal a less reintegration-oriented side. In 2018, the then minister of justice appeared in the media stating that all child molesters were monsters: “In my opinion, if you rape a child, you are a monster” (NRK, 2018). This statement from a top-level representative of Norway’s penal policy created much discussion, and social media exploded with comments, many supporting her frankness and confirming the fact that people generally hold more negative attitudes toward those who have committed sexual offenses than other serious crimes (Kjelsberg & Loos, 2008; Rogers & Ferguson, 2011). Further, the comments served as examples of how those convicted of sexual offenses are a marginalized and stigmatized group that most people would hate having as neighbors, including in Norway.

The Current Study

Successful community reentry and desistance most likely occurs in the presence of protective factors such as social supports, a sense of belonging, and living a purposeful and productive life (Harris & Levenson, 2021). These factors develop through social recognition and a willingness from other community members to give convicted individuals a fresh start: exactly the reintegrative values that Norwegian penal policy builds upon. Considering the low sex offense recidivism numbers, however, if desistance in its simplest sense is used as a measure of success, then reentry is (at least on paper) almost always successful for this group.

Beyond exploring system characteristics and recidivism numbers, the aim of the current study was to fill a knowledge gap in the reentry literature by scrutinizing the process of returning to society with a sex offense conviction in Norway, a country without structural stigma after release. Eight newly released men were interviewed to offer insights into whether they were affected by stigma and labeling and, if so, whether such elements had deprived them of the factors found to facilitate tertiary desistance. I have investigated the following questions for the current study:

• How are the responses from family and close friends, the local community, and society at large experienced by those returning from prison in Norway after serving a sexual offense conviction?

• How does stigma influence their self-narratives, and what are the consequences for their reentry process/experience?

Methods

Sample

The sample in the current study consisted of eight men sentenced to prison for at least one sexual offense. Their ages ranged from 25 to 80 years, and all were ethnic Norwegians. Two of the men had served preventive detention sentences and were on parole at the time of the interview. One had been released 5 years earlier, and one had been out for about a year. Five of the men had been released from regular prison sentences, ranging from 8 months to 5.5 years. The most recent release was 2 weeks prior to the interview, while the rest had all been exposed to regular society within the past year. The last man interviewed had received a short prison sentence, in addition to 420 hours of community service. He was released from prison approximately a year prior to the interview and had recently finished his community sentence and his mandatory post-release supervision period. The other seven were still subject to regular post-release supervision at the probation office when the interviews took place.

The men were recruited to the study by their primary probation contact, based solely on the fact that they had recently been imprisoned for a sexual offense. Other than having the executive officers’ confirmation of each participant’s prison sentence for a sexual offense, I did not access any information on the details of their convictions. Two of the men stated that they had previous sexual convictions on their records as well.

Qualitative Interviews

The study was approved by the Norwegian Centre for Research Data (NSD, from Norsk senter for forskningsdata) and the relevant correctional agencies. As in other studies using narrative methodology, the eight men’s stories were the primary data source. Data were collected through personal interviews with each participant, conducted at their local probation office, where they usually met with their probation officer. Interviews were conducted between July and December 2018 and lasted from 37 to 102 minutes (68 minutes on average). A semi-structured interview guide was used flexibly to give the men an important stake in what was covered (Smith et al., 2009), but also to allow follow-up on interesting themes and details.

The main topic of investigation was what it was like to return to society after serving a sentence for a sex offense conviction. To explore this topic, questions were categorized into themes covering the following: prison experiences (e.g., “Did other prisoners know about your sexual offense conviction, and how did they treat you?”); self-image (“How would you describe your self-image?” and “In what ways has your self-image changed after your conviction?”); stigma and perceived attitudes from others (“What do you believe that others think about you?”, “Have you experienced any challenging situations since your release?” and “Do you adapt to other people’s [perceived] attitudes toward you in any way?”); labeling of those convicted of sexual offenses (“Have you ever been called a ‘sex offender’?” and “How does being labeled a ‘sex offender’ make you feel?”); social bonds (“How would you describe your relationship with family, friends, and the community?” and “What are their reactions toward you and your conviction?”); and future hopes (“What are your thoughts about your future?” and “What do you hope to achieve?”). Because the goal was to gain a broad understanding of how stigma and lack of social bonds during the reentry process might influence self-narratives and behavior, probing questions frequently followed the more open questions (e.g., “How did that make you feel?” and “Can you provide examples?”).

Data Analysis

The data analysis was conducted using interpretative phenomenological analysis (IPA), a qualitative research approach common in studies with relatively few cases (Smith et al., 2009). The aim of this approach is to interpret how people make sense of their major life experiences by examining the detailed experience of each case in turn, prior to a move to more general claims (Smith & Osborn, 2015). NVivo 11, a software program used for qualitative and mixed-methods research, was used to organize and code the interview data after transcription.

As this was an exploratory study, initial coding involved extracting all data appearing as relevant to understand if and how the men’s past sexual offense convictions had affected them in their daily lives after release as a result of stigma and attitudes from others. I went through the transcribed interviews one by one and divided the text into several nodes or topics reflecting the interview guide, such as “self-image,” “family,” “labeling,” “isolation,” “future,” and so on. I had to do this more than once as new interesting nodes emerged while taking notes. I further divided several nodes into sub-topics to distinguish between, for example, positive and negative attitudes or experiences on a specific topic, preparing for the deeper analysis. This process also involved reflections on what the different topics seemed to mean to the men on a single case-level, how they talked and felt about the different experiences they had had, and what stood out as particularly significant to them.

I further clustered recurring themes and searched for connections and similarities between cases. Through this process, I tried to move from a micro-level to a macro-level and identify the superordinate themes that stood out as significant across the eight men’s stories to create patterns of meaning. These patterns (e.g., common responses from friends and family, being prone to suspicion, and strategies used to deal with stigma/labeling) then created a structure for the final presentation of results. A few subthemes considered highly relevant to illuminate the main topic (e.g., episodes of informal notification) were included, even if they did not consistently appear across narratives. By applying this methodology, I intended to present rich data reflecting these men’s experiences upon reentry, without omitting important nuances. The quotes in this paper have been edited for brevity and clarity in English.

Results

Responses From Close Friends, Family, and Significant Others

All the men in this study had experienced a loss of support from friends or family due to their conviction and label as a “sex offender,” but some to a larger degree than others. Several men repeated statements such as, “You know which friends you have when you’re sent to prison” (Finn), and that after their conviction, they “found out who their real friends were” (Felix). Two men explained how they had only lost peripheral friends, while family and close friends still supported them:

My mom, dad, and siblings look at me as the same person I used to be. Like, they don’t look down at me for things that have happened. They’ve kind of been there to support me the whole time. I’m pretty grateful for that. (Felix)

Statements such as these were not the norm, however. One man who had been convicted of a sexual offense toward a child in his close family explained that because of what had happened, he now had very little contact with family members. When asked how he felt about that, he responded, “Well, I think it’s sad that it’s like that, but . . . all the resources in the world won’t change that, if they absolutely don’t want any contact” (Rune). He said that he had talked to them a couple of times since his conviction but that the contact now was very limited. Others had similar experiences:

Well, I am married, and I have family, but there’s not a lot of contact, to put it that way . . . I know what they’re thinking and what lies behind what they’re saying and what they’ve done, but . . . Nevertheless, they’ve broken the bonds with me. (Karl)

It’s my brother’s girlfriend, you know. She doesn’t want me to come and visit. He wants me to come visit, but she’s making trouble . . . Well, she’s said, “That pig, I don’t dare to have my grandchildren over if he’s here”. . . She’s scared for her grandchildren – she has two little girls, you know. (Erik)

Three wives had chosen to stay with their partners and support them despite their conviction. Two of the men who had wives who stayed shared that, after the sex offense conviction had surfaced, their wives heard comments from others such as, “You can’t be married to him anymore” (Finn). As one of these men shared, “Her closest family members have told her that she needs to make a choice” (Karl). Another man had decided to keep his conviction secret even from members of his close family because he feared the effect it could have on his wife:

“Is that what he is? Is that how he is? Why don’t you get a divorce?” Yeah, that’s how it would be. It would affect her nerves. (Tom)

This man expressed concern about the impact his offending and the following stigma could have on his wife and thus tried to protect her. Others had experienced shame linked to the suffering that family members went through because of their actions:

My partner has kind of had to deal with this the whole time. And her parents and everyone else – everyone’s had to deal with this. And it hasn’t been easy. On the contrary, it’s been bloody awful. For my stupidity. So . . . It’s no fun and of course it’s . . . terrible. There are no winners here. All I’ve created is a bunch of people who’ve lost something. (Steinar)

These stories show how some family members experienced that they had been put in difficult situations where they needed to choose between their loved ones and other important social contacts. Choosing to stay meant dealing with the stigma inflicted upon them because of this choice, a fact the men in this study found painful.

Local Community Responses and the Effects of General Labeling

One man shared stories of both employers and neighbors being informally notified after his first sex offense conviction about 20 years earlier and of the very direct stigmatization he experienced related to that notification:

And that went on for a few years, and I had to change jobs a few times and make sure I didn’t appear in the newspaper or elsewhere in the context of work or something else . . . If they found out that I’d started working somewhere, my employer would immediately be notified. I was called in and told that they’d gotten an inquiry about my background and that they didn’t want a further employment engagement. On two or three occasions, I had to leave at once. (Karl)

This man further explained that his employers did not want to tell him who had contacted them. He was still unemployed when the interview was conducted. He did volunteer work to avoid isolating himself completely, but his experiences of losing jobs because of informal notification had somewhat discouraged him. The same man had also experienced an episode where someone had distributed written notes about him in his neighborhood:

Well, the first time [referring to his conviction 20 years earlier], there was a situation with police cars and everything, and many neighbors noticed. And after that, I know that someone wrote something and put it in mailboxes around the neighborhood. I don’t know the full content, but it was about . . . sexual crime and all that. I don’t know the exact wording; I’ve just been told that by neighbors. I don’t even know if I was mentioned by name, for that matter. (Karl)

Although unsure about the details about why, how, and what had happened, he was sure that someone had actively tried to make life more difficult for him because he had been convicted of a sexual crime.

None of the other men in this study had experienced such direct efforts by the local community to prevent them from engaging in community life. Finding housing and a job did not appear to be a challenge. Still, several of them expressed an underlying and constant feeling of stress that influenced their behavior:

I think I might be avoiding people more now, on an everyday basis. (Rune)

I’ve become a really good “scanner.” When I go down the street, I . . . There’s probably not a single head or face that passes by without me noticing it. Instead of just walking and looking down and just keep on walking, you’re so afraid to run into someone you know and just pass them . . . It’s very exhausting. (Christian)

This last quotation was from a man who, after release from prison, had moved to a different city where he did not know anyone and where he tried to live incognito. He elaborated on how, for the first time in his life, he experienced what he interpreted as anxiety:

I don’t like big crowds. I’ve never had problems with them before. Not that I’ve ever been the life of the party, but I’ve never had problems getting to know new people or when I’m with friends, or . . . I’ve always taken part. And even if I don’t like to be the life of the party, it’s far from that to the feeling I have now. I’ve never felt anxious about anything, so I feel that in a way I don’t know what anxiety is, but I think that’s what I’m experiencing now when I’m out among people. (Christian)

Another man explained the feeling of always being prone to suspicion or allegations because he had been convicted of a sexual offense against a child. Behavior that would otherwise be considered unsuspicious could easily be misinterpreted if people knew that it was he who had engaged in the behavior:

I isolate myself more. Definitely. I’m scared to death to . . . Outside where we live, a bunch of kids are running around and everything. I don’t even dare to get near them . . . I’ve had a lot of fun with kids over the years, but that’s definitely gone. I make sure that I don’t . . . I don’t dare go to a public beach. I don’t. The risk is that I’ll be accused of things. (Finn)

Such experiences were not uncommon among the men in this study. Even the most self-confident of the men—someone who initially described his family’s and local community’s welcoming him back after prison as “unique”—described similar thoughts that sometimes limited his social life:

I don’t think a lot about it, but I wouldn’t put myself in a situation that could throw suspicion on me . . . I don’t go to [a local] forest, and I don’t go to the big waterpark to swim with my child. I don’t bother. (Steinar)

Although few men said they felt directly stigmatized because of their conviction, it became clear through these narratives that most of them felt that their “sex offender” status implied grave consequences for them. All shared stories about how they felt stressed or filled with anxiety after release from prison, some even though so far they had successfully hidden their conviction from the people they engaged with on a daily basis.

Self-Narratives, Explanations, and Future Hopes

Most of the men expressed that they wanted to live their lives without fear of being exposed and without others creating barriers to reintegration or cutting them off because of their previous offense. They seemed tired of being constantly on guard; they had served their sentences and wanted to live as normal citizens. What the men appreciated most were friends and family who saw them for the people they were, and not only as people who had committed sexual offenses. Although rare, some conveyed redemptive experiences:

[My two best friends] came and visited me in prison, and they dared to . . . ask those difficult questions. And if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have stayed in contact with them, because I need to know that they dare deal with the things they have to cope with, or with the choice they’ve made . . . I’ve asked them, and of course they have to defend themselves when it comes to why they bother to stay in contact with me . . . Hopefully, they see a little more, or at least that’s what they say, that they see more than . . . the case, you know. They see, they try to see the person behind, and . . . Of course, I’m very thankful for that. (Christian)

[Without them] I wouldn’t be able to picture my future as positively. I wouldn’t . . . If family and good friends were to distance themselves from me, and you stand there all alone, there’s really not much left . . . Because of them, I’m still here, and I’m very grateful. (Felix)

These men expressed the importance of having someone who would see beyond the actions that had sent them to prison years ago and instead look at them as a person. They did not present this scenario as necessary for their ability to desist, at least not in a direct manner, but some believed that there were connections between self-image and offending:

I would say that . . . nine out of ten, at least, of the ones you’re going to interview will answer that somehow they’ve always had a poor self-image . . . A person with the best self-image will probably not become a sex . . . or commit sexual offenses, you know . . . It’s not likely that you’ll commit these offenses if you have a good self-image. It’s an essential part of it. (Rune)

This man described how people can feel as if they have less to lose when they feel like outsiders who do not belong and are not wanted in society. Although a few other men also stated that their self-image had always been negative and had not changed significantly after their convictions, others’ self-images were clearly influenced by how they felt perceived by others:

Of course, [a conviction] affects you a lot. Especially in terms of lost work opportunities and loss of family, social network, house, and so on. It makes it really hard, you know. Of course it’s affected my self-image, and that’s . . . that’s really what I consider the greatest obstacle. (Karl)

One man repeated several times that he wished that he could come forward with his offending history and still be accepted. Both in prison and after release, he felt forced to keep his conviction a secret, although he struggled with the moral aspects of lying:

There’s one thing I know, and that’s what it feels like to live a lie. And rarely anything good comes out of that. My wish is that I could’ve been honest about it, get through it . . . But not necessarily get beat up for it. So, if I could’ve been, in a way . . . on some level accepted . . . It would’ve been good to be able to be upfront about it. (Christian)

This man said that he had known about the lowly status of those who are sexually interested in children long before he had committed the offense he was convicted of but that, at that time, he did not dare to talk to anyone about the thoughts he struggled with. He advocated the importance of being able to seek help before one’s thoughts about offending escalate and without risking negative reactions. He continued by saying, “Because one day, no matter what we’ve done, we’re going back into society, and we’ll become someone’s neighbor, whether they like it or not.”

Discussion

A key finding in this study was that, although systemic hindrances in acquiring local social capital and reentering society are less present in Norway than elsewhere because those with convictions are not “publicly named and shamed” and put on a registry, the social stigma linked to having a sex offense conviction did affect the men in this sample. To some degree, they all experienced daily stress or anxiety and were slightly on guard. Some clearly struggled with their self-image because of how they believed others would see them if their offending history was to be disclosed. In line with prior research, the men in this study also shared experiences of “courtesy stigma,” and expressed concern about the impact of their offending and the stigma and suffering associated with it on their family, principally on their wives or partners (McAlinden et al., 2017; Tewksbury, 2012). Such concerns can enhance the feeling of shame or negative thoughts toward oneself and can potentially damage existing relations.

In agreement with a modified labeling theory perspective, the men in this study chose to avoid social situations where they anticipated detection or negative reprisals. Due to the attitudes they had learned that others often hold against those with the same history as themselves, they felt threatened by interacting with others. Thus, they perceived that some degree of self-imposed isolation was necessary to minimize risks of disclosure (Link et al., 1989; Rolfe & Tewksbury, 2018). Such “individual barriers” to gaining local social capital, where people purposefully and voluntarily limit their interactions with others and distance themselves from friends, family, and neighbors, are quite common in the US, where the risk of detection more likely occurs because of registry usage (Burchfield & Mingus, 2008). However, I was surprised to see this scenario so clearly in this study, conducted in a country without public registries. Norway is a small country, and moving to a different city (as some of the men in this study did) does not necessarily mean that people will be safe from meeting others they know peripherally. Other mechanisms could also be at play, however, such as the effect of a semi-structural stigma, not formally embedded in policies or laws but instead found among general societal attitudes.

Although the study was not originally designed as one of desistance, its findings also support the results of prior desistance studies, where responses from others were important in terms of changes in self-identity and building of prosocial identities or “future selves” (Maruna, 2001; McAlinden et al., 2017). The men who had experienced support and acceptance from family and friends implied that this was an important experience; in the eyes of their loved ones, their master status was no longer solely defined by their “blemishes of individual character” (Goffman, 1963, p. 14), meaning their past convictions. Focusing on the person they were now (or could become in the future) thus became a more accessible option. Those without such experiences described how social support would have been helpful in the process of establishing a more positive self-image. In other words, what some men lacked (and hoped for) were the same factors that McNeill (2014, 2016) argues are necessary to experience tertiary desistance: acceptance and recognition from others that one is a changed person.

Despite differing experiences with their closest loved ones, few of the men seemed to believe they would experience acceptance from anyone else. From a constitutive view of narrative (Presser, 2009), how can the process of “making good” or experiencing tertiary desistance be realized for someone who constantly feels like a suspect? Doing so seems difficult when they always need to be slightly on guard and remind themselves that, despite having served their sentence, they are “sex offenders” first and humans second. The two do not harmonize and seemingly cannot coexist. An essential characteristic of what Maruna (2001) refers to as a “redemption script” is the narrator’s strong sense that he has agency and controls his destiny. The men I interviewed did not feel this way.

Maruna (2001) has described how people who frequently (or at least more than once) relapse into new crimes eventually will lose credibility. Because they have failed before, others tend not to believe them when they say that they will get it right this time. A difference between those convicted of less stigmatized forms of crimes and the men in this study became clear: the men I interviewed experienced that they had already lost their credibility and had no real chance of proving that they would not offend again. In other words, they did not believe that others would be able to redeem them. This sentiment became obvious through conversations in which they underscored that they would have to live with their convictions for the rest of their lives. The sexual offense might never become irrelevant to how they would be perceived as people, as would likely have occurred if they had robbed a store or even committed another type of violent offense. This fact represents the true power of stigma: severe moral transgressions are not easily overcome but continue to serve as justifications for “othering.” These men’s greatest challenge was arguably feeling “normal” and reaching a state of tertiary desistance where they would experience that their offending history no longer defined them. For the men in this study, living with their offenses involved several practical adaptations in their everyday lives: maintaining their distance from children playing outside their block, avoiding public beaches, and looking over their shoulders while walking down the street. Some described feeling exhausted by always having to keep in mind that they had done something that might lead others to reject them.

Norway’s low recidivism rates for those convicted of sexual offenses could be used as an argument that this study’s findings are not problematic. Although the men in this study experienced exclusion, we know that desistance still is the most likely outcome. According to Graham and McNeill (2017), many people with convictions will never be allowed to realize tertiary desistance, but “their primary and secondary desistance can sometimes survive in spite of ongoing discrimination and social-structural exclusion, even decades later” (p. 4; italics in the original). Similarly, Lussier and McCuish (2016) found that desistance might occur despite the absence of community reintegration. Norway’s low recidivism rates may at least partly be explained by the fact that stigmatization is less present in Norway than in countries with SORN laws. As mentioned, structural stigma arguably worsens or amplifies the social stigma. This study has shown that stigmatization is present enough to deny individuals a true sense of belonging. Hence, there is reason to believe that Norwegian society could benefit from these people’s potential as more productive members of society, and perhaps prevent recidivism even more effectively, if they were actively helped in reaching tertiary desistance upon reentry. They cannot create a sense of belonging alone.

Strengths and Limitations

The small sample in this study implies certain limitations. The findings may not reflect the experiences of all released people with a sex offense conviction. Generalizability was not the main aim of this study, however. Rather, given the Norwegian context, the rich data constitute a unique knowledge contribution to the existing body of reentry research among those convicted of sexual offenses. The men in this study were released from prison fairly recently, and some were still subject to mandatory reporting. For future research, follow-up studies and the inclusion of people exposed to society for longer periods after release would be useful. Such an approach would enable investigation of whether negative attitudes and stigmatization become less pronounced with time. However, the fact that the men in this study were interviewed shortly after release can also be considered an important strength, because their experiences and narratives were fresh and had not yet been subject to much processing or interpretation.

Conclusion and Practical Implications

While the Norwegian penal system is built for inclusion and equal opportunities for those convicted of sexual offenses after prison, the results from this study question the reality of those aims. In prison, the men in this study had learned that their status was the lowest among their fellow prisoners. Through broken social bonds, they had learned that acceptance was not the norm. In addition, through the media and the voices of authorities representing the country’s policies, their stigmatized societal position was reinforced. Although the men had not been “publicly named and shamed” and put on a registry, the social withdrawal and constant alertness they expressed significantly hindered a sense of belonging and the experience of tertiary desistance. From their perspective, they have hardly attained “successful reentry,” since the experienced social stigma had a major impact on how they felt they could live their lives, or how they would have to limit their lives. A more beneficial approach might be to establish the level of reentry success based on society’s efforts to help released people achieve tertiary desistance and to focus on how such efforts might best be encouraged and put into practice.

Clinically speaking, an important task for correctional services and treatment providers might be to prepare people for the struggles they will likely face upon release. They should discuss different strategies for addressing stigma and should dare to discuss the implications of their clients’ offending history. By having conversations about the offense while simultaneously focusing on the client’s resources and his “future self,” treatment providers can help to strike a balance between motivation and realism. Reestablishing trust takes time, and hence achieving acceptance, positive recognition, and a true sense of belonging cannot be expected immediately.

To return to the concentric circles described earlier, family and friends, the local community, and society at large can influence a released person’s opportunities upon reentry. What seems crucial is to facilitate a shift in how ordinary members of society view those who have been released after serving sex offense sentences so that redemption scripts can become available. If such scripts do become available to ordinary members of society, they might open up for a willingness to provide released people with the social recognition they need to form their redemption scripts, and hence allow achievement of a state of tertiary desistance. A first step in this direction might be to communicate about sexual crime in more sensible and effective ways (Harper, 2019). By educating the public about sexual offending, true recidivism rates, and the fact that it is indeed possible, even normative, not to re-offend, the chances of truly successful reentry might improve. According to Zatkin et al. (2021), changing conversations, narratives, and media portrayals about sexual offending would likely result in a paradigm shift that “could open up new opportunities for more effective prevention of sexual violence” (p. 15).

An important task for the Norwegian authorities and Norwegian society at large is to avoid the obvious mistake of adopting restrictive registration and notification laws and enhancing structural stigma, and rather facilitate successful reentry in practice, not just on paper. A useful measure might be the establishment of formal structures for reintegrating those who have previously been convicted of sexual offenses and are thought to pose a risk of reoffending. Groups of volunteers known as Circles of Support and Accountability (CoSA) emphasize community reintegration and are known to assist with desistance-based narratives through relational aspects (Blagden et al., 2018). Thus, CoSA embody the principles of tertiary desistance by promoting agency and offering social support and recognition (Fox, 2015). Volunteers in these circles are encouraged to discuss the power of stigmatizing labels with the “Core Member” (the person who has sexually offended) which might help to moderate the impact of stereotypes and misperceptions about those who have previously sexually offended. Existing research on CoSA has demonstrated improved psychological well-being for Core Members, reduced social isolation and loneliness, and positive effects on recidivism rates (Fox, 2015; Wilson et al., 2007). Introducing CoSA thus might be a step in the right direction if we are to change attitudes, decrease social stigma, and have a better chance of actually preventing sexual offending by helping released people achieve tertiary desistance. If we could ease or remove the stress they experience and instead show them that their history does not define their futures, then they might be able to change the stories they create about themselves. The self-narratives that people create when they feel forced to constantly remind themselves that they are different from the rest and will likely experience rejection will probably not influence future action in a favorable way.