Time served
Law imposes unfair punishment on sex criminals after prison sentence
There is a knock on the door, which
Ted goes to and opens. There stands a
normal-looking man in jqans, a T-sfiirf
and a denim jacket.
“Hi,” says the man at the door.
“My name is James, and I’ve just
moved in next door. I’m required by
law to tell you that I served a six-year
prison sentence for various §ex crimes.
I’ve been rehabilitated now, 'though,
and I’m looking forward to kving next
to you. Have a good afternoon, neigh
bor!”
Luckily, this scene doesn’t have to
happen in Nebraska. But in other
states across the country, ex-convicts
are being required to go door-to-door
to inform neighbors about their prison
sentences. The federal mandate,
known as Megan’s Law, is in effect in
every state in some form.
After sex offenders are released
from prison, they are evaluated on how
high a threat they are. If they fall into a
high-risk category, they are forced into
the notification program. In some
states, the list is at a police station
where citizens are forced to go get the
information. In others, the ex-convict
is forced to go door-to-door and notify
both the neighborhood as well as all
schools and day cares in the area.
Nebraska’slaw is less malicious
than those of many other states - the
list is available on die Web for anyone
concerned. If a citizen is concerned
about the Level HI (high-risk) offend
ers in the Lincoln area, they have to go
look on the Web, although churches,
schools and day cares are notified of
Level D (medium-ride) and Level HI
offenders in the area.
Nebraska’s law generally relies on
die media to do its dirty work, which
apparently we did virtually unques
tioningly. In a cover story on Friday,
the Daily Nebraskan informed some
ex-convicts’ neighbors of their new
neighbor’s presence on the sex offend- *
er list, a move with which I whole
heartedly disagree.
One neighbor of each of the three
• ex-convicts was interviewed for die
story, most of them having been, until
that moment, unaware of their neigh
bor’s history. Some of the neighbors
were accepting of their neighbor’s
past; one wasn’t Beyond this, we pub
lished all three of the ex-convicts’
names, as well as the names of their
neighbors. Not only do the neighbors
now know who these people are; thou
sands of people who read the Daily
Nebraskan know their identities as
well.
In reporting on the law, I believe
this newspaper showed an incredible
lack of news judgment. According to
the news desk, very little discussion
went on about whether or not we
should have printed the names. The
editors stand behind their decision.
Instead of saying, “We’re not
going to print these names,” we did. It
was our call - no law requires us to
print the names - and instead of using
our voice to protest the law, we bought
into it hook, line and sinker. Instead of
speaking out against a law that encour
ages citizens to take the law into their
own hands, we simply printed the
names and gave the matter little
thought.
Journalists have an obligation as
the source of information of a commu
nity to make decisions on when not to
run information. There are times when
journalists should simply say “No.”
But we didn’t. And it was given hardly
more than a moment’s consideration.
And, even more than just printing
the names, we contacted the neighbors
to fmd out what they thought about it,
which had the practical effect of
informing them of their ex-convict
neighbors. As a result of our efforts,
those three neighbors will inform oth
ers almost definitely.
Perhaps the ex-convicts will be
harassed and perhaps not. But instead
of just a few concerned individuals
knowing the past of their neighbors,
thousands more now know.
I can offer only my most sincere
apologies to these ex-convicts for what
fhrther harm we may have caused
them. You should notice that I have
referred to these people as ex-convicts
often, because that’s what they are -
former convicts. These people have
served their time and been released
from prison.
I am sure some people are filming,
thinking that I am insensitive to the SO
SO percent recidivism rate of these
offenders, but I assure you, I am not.
My solution is very simple: If crimi
nals are not rehabilitated, then they
should not be let out of jail.
Some may claim the idea of
imprisoning these people is worse that
letting them out under the microscope
of the public. But which is worse - the
imprisonment of someone for twenty
years or the public lynching of a non
threatening person? I’ll give you a hint
- you can ask both people and only
one can give you an answer. The
other’s dead.
Megan’s Law was a knee-jerk
reaction to a problem. Rather than
address the failings of our legal sys
tem, the government employed a
quick-fix remedy, and people’s rights
were trampled on.
Is it really fair to prisoners who
have served their time and have been
released to endure harassment every
minute of every day, to be haunted by
their mistakes until their lives become
a living hell, regardless of whether
they will ever commit another crime?
If you said yes, what kind of per
son are you? In your thirst to see what
you think is justice served, you have
overlooked the rights of every citizen
to a fair trial and to avoid cruel and
unusual punishment.
When Megan’s law was passed,
one of its supporters said: “You can
take your child by the hand, point that
person out and say, “This man hurts
children.’”
Tell me again the law is for justice,
not vengeance, and I somehow don’t
think you’ll be able to convince me.
Tell me that you need it to feel safe.
But which is more important - your
safety or someone else’s rights.
Cliff Hicks is a senior news-editorial and English major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist
48 hours in Hollywood (OK, 41. Sort of.)
In the sunny City of Angels, rails, Retardo and whipped cream rule the day
WESTWOOD, Calif -You want an
idea of how Los Angeles works?
Five blocks from the UCLA cam
pus is an arcade. Outside it, a couple
of cars: Mercedes, Lexus, Audi.
Leather interiors. All owned by 16
year-olds.
The money standards are different.
Car standards, different Beauty stan
dards, different. L.A. is just like you,
all right, just more full of everything.
* * *
Press junkets for movies; produc
tion companies do them all die time.
And nearly everyone there is from a
college, like me, getting put up in a
hotel, like me, getting fed and watered,
like me, getting thousands of dollars
spent on them, like me. All for a new
teen comedy called “Road Trip.”
The money Dreamworks,
the film’s production compa
ny, spent on us is likely
near $100,000.
* * *
It’s a two-day deal: in
and out, up and
down. None of us
college folk are v f\
pros at this; nei
ther are the people
who are running it
they’re our age, too.
Lackeys on die
ground floor of the
film industry.
“Did you like
the movie? Did
you like the ,
music? How’s the
party? Think it’s
cool? Die DJs-no
I .
one is out mere danc
ing, so at the end of the night,
will you go tell him he’s doing a
great job? Because he really is,
and I just want people to appre
ciate all die work he’s doing and
(«
Breathe, sister.
* * *
She’s been to L.A. so many times
- like vacations, you know - but she’s
a tourist nonetheless, holding out her
voucher tike she’s at Grand Central.
She’s BU, you know - Boston
University - and she’s got her cell, her
glasses, her four outfits, her formal
dress (just in case), her smudged lip
stick, her crusted mascara that makes
her look like she’s crying.
Brianne has interviews Monday in
New York, you know, with MTV you
know, and she does these movie things
all the time, and she has to call her
roomie Emily at BU and tell her that
Some guy named Retard© is
downstairs an<j he’s trying to get into
the room and - April Fools! - not real
ly because she did the joke last year
when her roomie Emily really fell for
it, and Emily will think it’s hilarious
this year because, you
know,
tt'sa .
running joke now.
There were still 15 minutes of car
ride to go.
* * *
I saw not one lick of North
Carolina vs. Florida in the Final Four.
OK, one lick - the tipoff. And then the
Dreamworks man turned it off.
“Gonna watch some trailers,” he
said. /
After trailers, there was talk of
catch-phrase films in all the catch
phrase language - a medley of hyper
boles and movie aphorisms, at which
all in attendance would nod their
heads up and down.
Vince, aspiring director from
Buffalo, you’re on: “And so I was sit
ting in the theater during ‘Fight Club,’
and I look around and suddenly I’m
alone, and it’s just me and the screen,
andT was like ‘’Thankyou, David
Fincher. Thank you for giving this gift
to me.’ And that’s what I want to give -
a religious expen
After trailers, there was talk of catch
phrase films in all the catch-phrase
language - a medley of hyperboles and
movie aphorisms, at which all in
attendance would nod their heads up
and down.
ence.’”
* * *
It’s the after-movie party that never
ends.
There’s chicken on sticks. New
age buffalo wings. Cubes of cheese.
The kind of quality celery you find
once a year in the supermarket. The
Dreamworks lackeys float about, and
it’s hard to tell them apart The second
rate stars of the movie mingle outside.
I’m outta here and into the Westwood
world.
* * *
I get the L. A. standard 45 minutes
into my Westwood walking tour. At
Tower Records, no less, while I’m on
the can in the bathroom.
"V Somebody else enters. And
then, the trademark long sniff.
Then a short one. Long again,
then short. And then, the trade
- mark tiny groan. Just like the
movies! Just like I envisioned
hearing it!
l... As former DN
Columnist Todd
Munson used to
say: Somebody’s
snortin’rails.
* * *
" Her name is
Amy Smart, an actress
who takes her clothes off
,, in the movie. She’s been
in a few movies, you know,
and she does these, you
know, press junkets all
the time.
She, like the other stars,
are refreshing, for they
contain none of the catch
pnrase language ana mey
speak of no catch-phrase
movies. They are on the inside
looking out, expounding on die
horrors of waiting for a job in the
movie business, about “their art.” Self
absorption was never this appealing.
Amy is tall and rail thin (the other
rail), and the inevitable question
arrives about her nude scene.
“I mean, you do it,” she says, her.
face naturally scrunching itself into a
perpetual smirk. I guess that’s glow
ing. People glow out here, even when
they aren’t happy.
“People take their clothes off when
they’re intimate,” Amy goes on. “It’s
what they do.”
I wondered how far she’d go. I
thought of bringing up Maria
Schneider and the butter scene in
“Last Tango in Paris,” but I found a
more relevant example.
Amy was in “Varsity Blues” ^vith
Ali Larter, who was forever stamped
as the “whipped cream girl” because
she portrayed a high school girl who
got naked and smeared whipped
cream on her breasts and crotch, an
entirely pointless and humiliating
scene done for video sales and the
expectant masturbation of males.
We have pom for that.
Would Amy have done it?
“Oh yeah,” she says. “Of course.”
And suddenly I felt, I don’t know,
sort of ashamed - for Amy, for Ali, for
Retaido, for the $ 15 million they spent
on the movie, for the rails, for aU of the
junk that Vince said just to get one step
closer to his dream, which very well
might end up in a makeshift studio
directing some girl to touch herself or
smoosh chocolate creme in her mouth.
And I love movies.
“Because everybody remembers
that,” Amy says. “Ali is the whipped
cream girt. Everybody will remember
ha* as foe whipped cream girl.
“And who doesn’t want that?”
Samuel McKewon is a junior political science major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist.
