https://designprivacy.io/2024/06/08/considering-risks-public-access-jamaica-sex-offender-registry

From Leanne Levers

About

A political scientist, specialising in strategic advocacy, communications, policy development, and relationship-building. My expertise encompasses justice reform, global health, gender equality, and racial justice. A driving force behind impactful advocacy campaigns and legislative reforms addressing critical issues such as gender-based violence, maternal health, and human rights. The co-founder of the multi-award-winning platform, Dope Black Women CIC, dedicated to empowering and nurturing communities of Black women and non-binary individuals across the diaspora. Currently serving as the Director of Advocacy and Communications at Comotion.

In recent weeks, there’s been a surge in calls for Jamaica to make its sex offender registry public. The argument is simple and compelling: people want to know who lives in their neighborhoods. They want to protect their children. After a string of devastating headlines revealing brutal acts of violence against women and girls, a public registry feels like a step forward — like finally doing something.

Let me be clear: I understand the anger. The fear. The heartbreak of knowing that the people we love, especially our girls, are vulnerable in a society that rarely listens to or believes survivors. I’ve lived it. My friends have lived it. It’s the very reason I became a political scientist — to push for justice systems that actually work for people like us. But emotional responses — especially ones rooted in retribution — are a dangerous foundation for public policy. We’ve learned this the hard way, whether through our long-standing history with the death penalty or the unexamined expansion of state surveillance. Jamaica doesn’t need more symbolic laws that make us feel better but don’t work. We need laws that protect. That prevent. That change things.

Because the truth is, public sex offender registries do not work.

International Evidence, Local Consequences

The United States has had public sex offender registries for decades. It’s the model most often cited. But what does the research actually show?

A 2018 report from the U.S. Department of Justice found that public registries do not reduce sexual reoffending. In fact, multiple studies — including a 2017 Journal of Criminal Justice review — show no difference in recidivism before and after registry implementation. Some data even suggest registries increase risk: public shaming leads to job loss, homelessness, and isolation — all conditions associated with higher rates of reoffending.

Worse, a 2005 meta-analysis indicated that the threat of public exposure may lead some offenders to silence victims permanently to avoid being reported.

If registries don’t work in countries with far more resources, specialized units, and rehabilitative programmes, why would we expect them to work in Jamaica?

A System That Doesn’t Convict

Let’s be honest: the Jamaican justice system is already buckling under the weight of dysfunction. Between 2011 and 2020, there were 6,573 reported rapes in Jamaica. Of those, only 3,254 were “cleared up” — a term that includes dismissals and withdrawn cases, not just convictions.

In 2012, there were 948 reported rapes — the highest in a decade — and yet only 40% were “cleared.” And in the first half of 2021? Just 40 convictions and 20 acquittals for sexual offences in the entire country.

So let’s get this straight: we rarely convict sex offenders in the first place, and yet we’re focused on making their names public?

We are building castles on sand — demanding a registry while turning a blind eye to the legal, political, and cultural rot that keeps victims in the shadows and perpetrators untouched.

Laws That Scream: We Don’t Give a Fuck About Women

The deeper issue here is that we cannot convict sex offenders when our laws are built to protect them.

In Jamaica, the legal definition of rape is so narrow it excludes non-vaginal penetration — denying justice to survivors of many forms of sexual violence. Marital rape is still not fully recognized. A woman can be raped in her own bed by her husband and have no legal protection.

And if that woman becomes pregnant and seeks an abortion? She faces a life sentence. Think about that: the law is more concerned with punishing a woman for her bodily autonomy than with protecting her from sexual violence.

This is not about loopholes or outdated phrasing. This is about a legal system that screams, “I do not give a fuck about women.”

The Rot Starts at the Top

And that apathy isn’t limited to the law. It’s mirrored — loudly — in our politics.

Not long ago, then-Justice Minister Delroy Chuck dismissed the global #MeToo movement with a joke, telling women to “cut it out” if they didn’t report sexual harassment within 12 months. A Justice Minister. Laughing about sexual violence. In public.

That wasn’t just tone-deaf — it was a chilling confirmation of how little our leaders respect survivors. How can we expect meaningful protections when the people who are supposed to create them treat women’s pain as punchlines?

Registries Don’t Stop the Uncle, the Coach, or the Pastor

Even if a registry did work, it wouldn’t address the majority of sexual violence.

According to the 2017 Jamaica Violence Against Children Survey, over 70% of child sexual abuse victims were harmed by someone they knew — often inside the home. The World Health Organization estimates 1 in 3 women globally experience sexual or physical violence, mostly from intimate partners.

A registry does nothing to stop the uncle, the coach, the teacher, the “family friend.” It only offers a false sense of safety — a checklist masquerading as protection.

In a society already gripped by misinformation, mob justice, and high rates of community violence, naming and shaming becomes a spark in a dry field. We’ve already seen the consequences: in Trelawny, a man was killed and his daughter injured due to his alleged link to a sex offence. In Kingston, a child survivor was almost expelled after her school was targeted by an angry mob.

This isn’t protection. It’s provocation.

What Real Safety Looks Like

If we are serious about preventing sexual violence, we need to stop reacting out of fear and start responding with evidence, empathy, and integrity. Here’s what we need instead:

• Redefine rape to include all forms of non-consensual sexual acts.
• Criminalize marital rape without exception.
• Implement individualized, risk-based registry placement, with psychological evaluation and tiered levels of monitoring — not blanket registration.
• Provide alternatives for juvenile offenders, many of whom are themselves victims of abuse.
• Invest in rehabilitation, not retribution.
• Train police and judiciary to handle sexual offences with competence, urgency, and care.
• Launch prevention programmes with men and boys, addressing toxic masculinity at its root. Studies show these can reduce violence by up to 30%.
• Demand leadership that treats survivors with dignity — not derision.
• Fund local research to build Jamaican solutions that actually work.

Conclusion: A Broken System Can’t Be Fixed With a Shortcut

A public sex offender registry won’t protect us. It won’t fix broken laws. It won’t raise conviction rates. It won’t change the minds of leaders who laugh at our pain.

It’s a band-aid on a gunshot wound — a convenient distraction from doing the hard work of fixing what’s actually broken.

Yes, people who cause harm must be held accountable. But accountability is not exile. It’s not vengeance masquerading as justice. And it’s certainly not public punishment in a system that rarely even punishes in the first place.

If we want real change, we must stop performing safety and start building it.

Until we confront the rot — in our laws, our courts, our politics, and our culture — we are not protecting women.

We are pretending.

And pretending has never saved anyone.

END

Original Taken FROM linkedin

See also https://jamaica-gleaner.com/article/lead-stories/20250621/all-eyes-sex-offenders