Saturday, March 7, 2020

Isolation kills even years and years later,

Even after you've been "on the registry" with your "significant other" for as long as I have been.
I guess I just forgot how many others are coming up, having to deal with the labeling and the shunning, the prejudice that ignites lynch mobs and makes even family members turn against each other. Today I got an email from a woman whose husband is just starting the (endless) legal process from arrest to conviction to the Registry. I tried to reach out and offer some comfort. I try to provide some help to frightened people just experiencing the "knock on the door." and frightened of what comes next. I try not to be too blunt about the "system." They need encouragement to face what comes next. To face the education they are about to receive about how the "system" really works.

I've (and my husband) have been "on the registry" for years now. My husband was convicted in 1976 just after her returned from Vietnam. When he got out of prison there wasn't even a "Registry." just the usual parole supervision which worked pretty well to protect children and help people change.

But, after all these years of "social isolation" it's still lonely. Oh, I have good friends, some of whom "know" but most I met at work  or in other situations where I was living a sort of  compartmentalized life. "On the registry" friends in  one segment of your life know only your public "self." I have other friends who only know my husband has been in prison (a shaming enough admission for some to decide they didn't want to know me/us)

People you like and trust in one setting may turn against you if they know about  the other "compartment" of your life (most have no idea what it means to "be on the registry." They rely on the prejudices they learned in the middle class society to "judge" people like us.) Even people whom I thought weren't prejudiced look at me differently when they learn my husband's on parole. Taking a chance on losing the few friends you have by "telling" your husband's not just a parolee but a Registrant is pretty scary and often a risk I don't want to take.

My husband is still on the Registry at 76. We still have monthly "visits" from Parole Officers and monthly visits to the Office of Parole and Probation. (He says he's tired of training newby parole officers) He's required to renew his drivers license every year.This year he had to get a "Real ID" / driver's license because the deadline to get a "Real ID "is Oct. 2020.  Luckily, we already had certified copies of most of the paperwork (birth certificates, etc.)  I dread to think what other registrants will go through if they are homeless/ just out of prison etc. or if they have to contact another state for their documents and must do that before some date set by P&P or risk being violated and sent back to prison ( in this state any violation is a felony carrying a 6 year sentence)

Because NV went from a risk based tier system to a system (the Adam Walsh Act) a system that assigns tiers based solely upon original conviction 2 years ago, my 76 year old husband suddenly went from tier 2 up to tier 3. This means he must go to the Sheriffs Dept and check in and give his fingerprints every 90 day (counting from his DOB)

Now that we're both "retired" we manage to get by but our financial situation would be a lot better if he had been allowed to work and earn without all the restrictions imposed  by the Registry.
We manage but we still must live in a parole and probation "approved" location and the rents here, as in most places around the country, are going up and up. If we can't live here, not only will we have to find a place we can afford, but a place they will allow us to live (and  HUD will not allow "offenders" or those with any felony conviction in any senior citizens housing. God help the homeless "registrant" )

You say, So What? He (and YOU) deserve what you get.
You say children's safety matters.
 I agree. No child's safety is expendable.

 But  there has got to be a better way than this endless piling on,  this endless punishing isolation.