Rapists Get Treatment, Not Freedom

LARNED, Kan. — Paul Blumenshine, convicted rapist, has been talking for two hours. But there is still something he must say.

He’s worried about victims of sexual abuse who blame themselves. Tell them it’s not their fault, he asks a reporter over and over, following her as she walks to the door. Tell them to report abuse to police, tell them to get help, he says, tell them in your article.

Blumenshine, a tall, tattooed man who can’t read or write, says he now understands the pain he caused. It’s hard to take.

Blumenshine, 55, has served his 20-year prison sentence. But he and eight other men who would have been eligible for release have been forced to participate in a program to help them take responsibility for what they did--and not do it again.

Legislators designed the law to keep sex offenders off the streets indefinitely. The men can’t be released until mental health and court officials agree that they won’t commit another sex crime.

But Blumenshine and the others may be released soon. The U.S. Supreme Court is expected to rule by July whether it is unconstitutional for Kansas to lock up sex offenders after they have served their sentences.

Although the residents credit the program with turning their lives around, they still want to be free. They say they should have received this treatment while they were serving their sentences--not after they were done with their punishment.

“We’re not here because of what we did in the past,” said Donald Hunt, 57. “We’re here because of what they think we’ll do in the future.”

Although they are under the supervision of the state Department of Social and Rehabilitation Services, the men are locked inside a wing of the Larned Correctional Mental Health Facility, a new building surrounded by high fences and barbed wire.

The program costs about $1 million a year. It can accommodate 30 people, and staff members are preparing for several more residents--if the program passes constitutional muster.

Each resident participates in about 30 hours of therapy a week. Offenders are led to understand exactly what they did, whom they hurt and how much pain they caused. Then they work on avoiding situations that could lead to the same type of behavior.

The residents are tested by a poethysmograph, a machine that is like a blood pressure gauge. A small band is placed on the end of a man’s penis to measure his reaction to two kinds of pictures: those that are deemed appropriate and those that are labeled inappropriate.

The residents undergo the same test throughout their stay to help determine if they are improving.

It’s not clear what causes sexually deviant behavior, but statistics show that offenders from troubled backgrounds are more likely to respond to treatment, said Austin DesLauriers, a program psychologist.

Blumenshine is a case in point: He was found as a baby with his toddler sister in an abandoned farmhouse. He was abandoned again seven years later by his adoptive parents. He struggled with a drug problem and spent most of his life in and out of prison.

The six sex offenders who agreed to talk with a reporter soberly admitted to past offenses.

But now they want a chance to prove that they can change. Hunt said it has been 12 years since he was unable to control his urges to fondle children: “I’m sorry--we’re sorry--for the pain we’ve caused others. We made a bad judgment and we had bad behavior, but we ourselves are not bad.”

Jerry Inman, 48, a former pornographic photographer, now says all pornography is bad. He plans to use his Christian faith to stay away from sexual abuse.

“I had a great family, a wonderful wife, four kids,” he said. “I’ve lost it all.”

Kimberly Wilson, the program coordinator, understands the public’s fear and intolerance of deviants. Some should be locked up forever, she said, but many just need help.

Wilson decided to begin working with sex offenders after a friend was raped and killed.

“I got into the field, honestly, to hang them all,” she said.

But then one day, during a group therapy session, a man told of committing a crime that was almost identical to the one that killed Wilson’s friend.

He wasn’t her friend’s killer, but his words resonated. Hating the offenders, she realized, accomplished nothing, but helping them might save others from becoming victims.

Wilson doesn’t believe the residents are ready for release, although she said many have made progress. And if she has her way, they will be released gradually. That could include a trial period at a group home, reports to parole officers and continued therapy.

“They will die being monitored,” she said.