South Korea to chemically castrate rapistBy K.J. Kwon, CNN
updated 4:30 AM EDT, Wed May 23, 2012
Seoul, South Korea (CNN) -- South Korea is set to carry out the chemical castration of a serial rapist later this week, implementing recent legislation for the first time.
The drug treatment is intended to suppress sexual impulses and does not require the convict's consent.
The sex offender, identified only by his surname of Park, has been convicted of four counts of rape or attempted rape on young girls since the 1980s, according to the Ministry of Justice.
"Sex offenders over the age of 19, who have sexually offended against children under the age of 16 and are diagnosed with pedophilia, can be subject to such treatment," a Justice Ministry official said Wednesday, declining to be identified as is customary in South Korea.
A law authorizing this treatment for sex offenders came into effect last year. It followed a public outcry after a number of cases were reported of rapists reoffending following their release.
"There was growing demand for strengthened measures against pedophiles who are likely to repeat their actions," the official said.
Park will be required to undergo the treatment every three months, wear an electronic anklet and remain under scrutiny for three years.
Offenders could be subject to the treatment for as long as 15 years, according to the law.
アメリカの有名な事件
Elizabeth Smart, 10 Years After: Would Fighting Back Have Helped?
By Kayla Webley Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Elizabeth Smart talks to the media outside the Frank E. Moss Federal Courthouse in Salt Lake City on May 25, 2011. Her kidnapper, Brian David Mitchell, was sentenced to life in prison=pic
Updated. Clarification added.
Ten years ago today, Brian David Mitchell came into 14-year-old Elizabeth Smart's room in the middle of the night, held a knife to her neck and told her that if she didn't go with him quietly, he would kill her and her family. Terrified that Mitchell would be true to his word, she went with him to a campsite not far from her home in Salt Lake City, where she was held prisoner and raped daily for nine months.
We know how Smart's captivity ended. Two people who had seen a drawing of Mitchell on the TV show America's Most Wanted tipped off the authorities. But if she had resisted Mitchell that night, if she had fought back, would her story have been different? "The majority of those [kids] who fight back are able to get away — but I didn't know that," Smart tells TIME. "The only thing I was told by my school was, 'Don't get in a car with a stranger,' and that didn't really apply to what happens when someone breaks into your home and has a knife at your neck." Now a poised, tenacious young woman who has testified before Congress on the issue, Smart has started a foundation in her name dedicated to preventing crimes against children. She has concluded, "We're preparing children for the wrong thing."
According to the Department of Justice, nearly 800,000 children are reported missing each year. The vast majority are kids who are momentarily lost and then returned to their parents. But typically about 200,000 cases are victims of family abductions, for example, taken by a parent as part of a dispute; another 60,000 are taken by people the kids knew, often to be abused in a sexual manner. Of the second category, slightly more than 100 involve holding and transporting a child far from home, demanding ransom or even killing the child. In the years since Smart's kidnapping, the U.S. nationalized the Amber Alert system, which is designed to quickly inform the public of abductions, and adopted the Adam Walsh Act, which created a national sex-offender registry and organized sex offenders into three tiers. The law requires the most serious offenders to update their whereabouts every three months.
But even if those systems — which the Smart family advocates — had been in place in 2002, they may have done little to prevent the young woman's abduction. Amber Alerts are most effective when police can give the public specific details, such as a driver's license or a physical description of the abductor, but since Smart was stolen in the middle of the night without anyone seeing Mitchell's face, an alert would likely have been ineffective. Additionally, it's uncertain whether Mitchell would have been listed in the sex-offender registry had it existed then. He was convicted of a sexual offense as a teenager, but the record of that crime may not have followed him into adulthood.
Because even the most well-intentioned laws and the most protective parents have limits, Smart and other advocates are placing more focus on what kids can do themselves. But unlike the fear-mongering, "stranger danger" campaigns of the 1980s — which told kids not to talk to strangers but did little else to help them learn how to escape potentially harmful situations — the focus now is on teaching kids to fight back. "Twenty years ago we would have told kids to do what the [abductor] says and wait for someone to come help you," says Ernie Allen, president and CEO of the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children (NCMEC). "We now say fight, scream, kick, bite, use whatever tools you have to attract attention to yourself."
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The shift has proven effective. Of 7,000 attempted abductions analyzed by NCMEC between 2005 and 2012, 81% escaped either by fighting back or by recognizing the situation and running away. Only 19% of the children who escaped did so because of the intervention of an adult.
To help children escape her fate, Smart works with an educational nonprofit called radKIDS, which was founded by former police officer Steve Daley. "I was tired of showing up [after the fact of an abduction]," Daley says. "I knew we needed a different way to protect kids." Daley's method is a five-day training program that teaches three key principles: no one has the right to hurt you; you don't have the right to hurt anyone else (unless someone is hurting you and you can stop them); and if someone does hurt you, it's not your fault. "What radKIDS does is take the fate of the child out of the parents' hands and give control to the child so they know when something is O.K. and when something is not O.K.," Smart says. "It gives them the skills and ability to take care of themselves."
The idea that a 5-year-old should take on an armed adult may sound absurd — but NCMEC has a rationale. "There are still some in law enforcement who teach children that if the offender has a weapon, they should comply in order to avoid being shot, stabbed, etc.," says Allen. "We understand, and that is not unreasonable." But, he adds, "the purpose of the offender is not to shoot the child. Otherwise, they would just do it. The purpose is to use the threat of force in order to get the child into the car and to whatever location the offender has in mind so that the offender can victimize the child in some way." So, Allen says, "the child is most often better off if he or she resists and does whatever is necessary to stay out of that car. Obviously, this is not going to work in every situation, and there is no 100% solution, but we believe that children are far better off if they fight back."
Beyond offering self-defense lessons and role-playing, radKIDS, which has trained some 250,000 children since 2001, works to change a child's mind-set. "Children need to have permission to act," Daley says. "They have instinct, but they often ignore it because their whole lives they are taught to obey adults." Fear causes children to freeze, he says. It's likely what made Smart quietly follow Mitchell out the door, rather than scream and kick, and why many other children walk off, seemingly without protest, with the person who will later kill them. "We want to empower the child with an attitude and skill set that says, How dare you touch me, vs. the traditional mind-set of, Help me, help me," Daley says. "It's about teaching them they have a choice — if they meet the bad guy, they have the ability to respond with power instead of fear."
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It's a lesson Smart says might have helped her. "In the moment I was kidnapped I didn't think I had a choice — I thought either I go with this man, or I will be killed," she says. "Had I been trained with radKIDS, I would have known that I had more than just the choice of being killed in my bed or going with him. I could have made a plan in that moment. I could have realized that, No, this man is not all-powerful. I would have known I had a chance — that I had power. I may have been confident enough in my skills to fight back. I can't say for sure whether this training would have prevented me from being kidnapped or having everything that happened to me happen, but I know it would have made a difference."
While we'll never know what might have been, the silver lining of Smart's experience is that she lived to tell the tale to future generations. "The legacy of Elizabeth Smart is a very powerful and important one," says Allen. "Because of Elizabeth, millions of kids are smarter, savvier and have greater self-esteem and self-confidence. Kids today are more able to recognize situations and deal with them in a positive and effective way — and she deserves enormous credit for that."
Clarification: The original version of the story said nearly 800,000 children go missing each year — an average of 2,185 per day. The current version breaks down the types of missing reports into categories.
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アメリカ社会の性犯罪と被害者
Kayla Harrison’s Winning Spirit: Takes First U.S. Gold in Judo, Speaks Out on Sexual Abuse
Kayla Harrison won the first judo gold in U.S. history. But she has a much bigger mission
By Sean Gregory | August 2, 2012 | TIME
Kayla Harrison of the U.S. celebrates after defeating Britain's Gemma Gibbons in their women's -78kg final judo match at the London 2012 Olympic Games on August 2, 2012.
As Kayla Harrison, who won America’s first-ever gold medal in judo on Thursday afternoon, watched the Jerry Sandusky case unfold back in early November, she’d get in arguments with her friends. Some were saying that Joe Paterno got a raw deal. “It was personal,” Harrison, 22, told TIME during a New York City breakfast discussion in early July before heading to London. “I was very disappointed with my peers. I was like, ‘really? You really think that? Knowing what I’ve been through?’”
When Harrison was in her early teens, a male judo coach had sexually abused her. And she had just publicly discussed her abuse for the first time, in an interview with USA Today. The infamous Penn State student rioting really got to her. “I couldn’t believe that,” Harrison says. “I mean, there are multiple victims whose lives had been changed forever — forever — and they’re rioting about a football coach who lost his job? I couldn’t fathom that.”
Since the Sandusky scandal broke, Harrison has repeatedly shared her harrowing story, offering herself up as an example of someone who overcame abuse to reach the Olympic stage. And that candor helped her win a gold medal. “It was definitely therapeutic for me,” Harrison said after she dispatched Great Britain‘s Gemma Gibbons, in front of a charged crowd that included British prime minister David Cameron and Vladimir Putin. “I’m at peace. I’m the Olympic champion.”
Harrison won the 2010 world title in the 154-170 pound weight class, achieving one of her two career goals — the other being an Olympic gold medal. After that championship, Harrison says it was easier for her to cope with her memories. Now, she thought, it was time to help other victims. “I saw a lot of things that really pissed me off,” says Harrison. “I decided I wasn’t going to sit around and take it anymore.”
Her coach, Daniel Doyle, started abusing Harrison when she was 13. “I mean, it was definitely grooming,” said Harrison, who grew up in Middletown, Ohio. “I moved to the club when I was eight years old. From a young age, I had a very keen drive to please people. I wanted everyone to love me. I wanted to be the center of attention. You know, Daniel definitely fed off that.”
Harrison’s mother eventually found out about the abuse, through one of her daughter’s friends, and reported Doyle to the police. In November 2007, Doyle plead guilty to a count of “engaging in illicit sexual conduct in a foreign place.” Some of the abuse took place while Doyle and Harrison traveled overseas for judo tournaments. He’s serving a 10-year federal prison sentence. “It was just years and years of me being in the same environment, and wanting to please him,” says Harrison. “I thought I loved him. I thought that it was OK. I didn’t think it was OK – but I thought it would be all right, I guess. I was very, very confused. I was extremely depressed – those are turbulent years, and I was going through this at the same time. So, it sucked.” She lets out a laugh.
After all Harrison had been through, the family knew she needed a change of scenery. They connected with the Pedros, a father-son judo coaching tandem who trained athletes in Wakefield, Mass., north of Boston. (Jimmy Pedro Jr., the son, won a pair of Olympic bronze medals, in 1996 and 2000). Their pupils lived together in an apartment, and Harrison moved to Massachusetts, at 16.
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But moving didn’t mean Harrison could escape her demons. “She was not in a good state of mind,” says Jimmy Pedro Jr., who received Harrison in his arms after she won the gold. “She was somebody who had no self-esteem. She didn’t know, really, right from wrong. She was somebody who didn’t know if she wanted to go on with life or not.” One time, Pedro says, he found Harrison on the roof of a two-story apartment, contemplating whether or not to jump. “It was just a very, very, very low point.”
Her sport provided no comfort. “I hated judo,” Harrison says. “I hated the Pedros. I didn’t want to be the strong girl. I didn’t want to be the golden girl, I didn’t want to be the one who overcame everything.” But eventually, the Pedros, and her fellow judo trainees, convinced her to turn things around. “That’s why I owe all of this to the Pedros, to my teammates,” Harrison says on Thursday, after her victory. “They’re the ones who got me out of bed in the morning and said, ‘we’re going to lift.’ They’re the ones who picked me off the mat when I was crying and wanted to quit. I’m forever grateful to them for that.”
Over the past year, Harrison has stuck to a ritual. “Every night before we go down to sleep,” says Aaron Handy, Harrison’s fiance, who was waiting for her in a venue corridor after the victory ceremony, “she closes her eyes, and visualizes this moment.” On Thursday, she repeated a mantra in her head. This is my day. This is my purpose. This is my day. This is my purpose. Kayla Harrison, Olympic champion. And from the start, she fought with aggression. “I wanted to brawl,” she says.
Now that Harrison has achieved her other career goal, she wants to use her Olympic platform to fight against sexual abuse. “This is proof that you’re only a victim if you allow yourself to be,” said Harrison after her win. “Nothing can stop you.” Even before the Olympics, Harrison was reaching people. “I have had a lot of young people, girls even, come up to me, and you know, tell me certain things,” Harrison said in New York City. “It’s scary. It’s really scary to be someone they trust you with that. But I want to be the one that they come to. I want to be someone who can change their life, and fix it, and make it better. I want to be what the Pedros were for me, and show somebody that there are good people in the world, who do the right thing no matter what, and prosper in the end. We’ll see. We’ll see after London.”
