Level 3 sex offender hopes public registry will end for the rehabilitated
From MyNorthwest.com: A Level 3 registered sex offender hopes that one day the law will change, and he doesn’t have to be a publicly registered sex offender for the rest of his life.
When you force a person to be registered as a sex offender is the reaction of the offender, ‘what do I have to lose?’ Erik Mart tells 97.3 KIRO that while he hasn’t had a problem re-offending, he has heard some have that reaction of desperation.
Mart says that the public registry makes it difficult for offenders who have been rehabilitated to carry on with a normal life. “It’s extremely difficult to find a job and housing and to have a good relationship, all the things that make stability for a person.”
He said he’s been judged by the community he lives in, but wishes people would put the shoe on the other foot. “A person is more than the mistakes they make. If we were all judged by our mistakes we’d all be in trouble […] People perceive that sex offenders are not human,” he says, “I’m as human as anyone else […] I would like to live a good life.”
According to Mart, the registry is an ongoing punishment. “My registry is for my lifetime, but I’m hoping that one day it will be removed.” He says that if he’s demonstrated he’s rehabilitated that he’d like to no longer be forced to publicly register since he’s not a risk to the community.
Mart said he went through sex offender treatment that included group therapy and polygraph testing. Additionally, Mart said he believes that those at risk to re-offend, usually aren’t a risk to the community, because they’re still locked up. “People that are very severe usually stay in prison.”
This article failed to mention what offense Erik committed so had to look it up. From an article in The Stranger in 2007:
Erik Mart is writing a novel about his life as a sex offender. The young man in the novel starts drinking heavily after the women reject him, heading to seedier bars that will serve a man who’s drunk on arrival. He begins introducing himself to “any woman available, any woman that seemed the least bit attractive.” A bartender finally cuts him off.
He stumbles home, to an apartment he’s sharing with a woman he met through an ad in the LA Weekly. The young man—the fictional Mart—grabs a beer from the refrigerator. “I don’t know how the thoughts began exactly,” the young man in the novel narrates. “I was thinking about my beautiful roommate. I was looking at her bedroom door. I was thinking there was still a chance for some action after all.” He sets the beer down and heads for her bedroom.
“Warm light fell over her bed as I opened her door quietly. The sheets were tangled, bunched up around her. Her smooth, tanned legs were protruding from the covers.
“Had I been forthright, things might have worked out. Had I been brave enough to simply knock on her door and tell her the truth—that I was profoundly lonely, profoundly drunk, and profoundly hopeful of sleeping with her that evening—everything could have turned out different.
“Instead, I went to the foot of her bed, dropped to my knees in erotic worship, and began gently kissing her thigh. It was a moronic way to ask for attention. No more than a heartbeat passed before she woke, bolted upright, and screamed loud enough to wake the whole building.”
Mart was charged with sexual battery, pleaded guilty on the advice of his public defender, and was sentenced to a year in the Los Angeles County jail. With that, Mart became a convicted sex offender, a broad designation whose meanings, and attendant consequences, have been in considerable flux in America over the last few decades.
When Mart was found guilty of sexual battery in California, he received a punishment typical of the era before laws named after abducted and murdered children. He served his time in the Los Angeles County jail and then left, without a label attached to him or an announcement by the government, and without a duty to register his future addresses with the authorities. He wasn’t given a classification level—1, 2, or 3—based on his perceived risk of reoffending. He was a free man. He headed to Colorado.
In May of 1997, Mart started to become friendly with a woman in the apartment building he managed. She had him over for dinner one evening, and after dinner, he says, he gave her a brief back massage. Nothing overtly sexual happened, and the woman made it clear to Mart that she had a boyfriend. Nevertheless, he became “a bit obsessive” about her. He would look in her window to see if she was home. One day, drunk, he stood under an open stairway, positioned so that he could look up her skirt as she walked above him. “I probably seemed pretty creepy to her,” he says.
Not long after that, Mart let himself into the woman’s apartment late at night, using his manager’s key. He says he was drunk, and thought she would respond positively. “I was turned on by the boldness of it,” he told me. “The passion that would ensue by taking a big chance, and maybe getting a big payoff.” The woman called the police.
Mart was charged with attempted sexual assault, and again pleaded guilty on the advice of his defense attorney. When Mart admitted guilt in a sex crime for his second time, he did so in a new era, the era of stricter federal laws. Thus he ended up, based on his two convictions, with a lifetime duty to register as a sex offender wherever he lived.
Mart claims he never intended to hurt the woman in Denver, whose name has been redacted from public records. “If I’d wanted to do harm,” he told me, “I would have done it.”
But the incident in Denver makes it hard for most people to see Mart in the way he would like to be seen—as a guy with a rough past who just made two bad decisions under the influence of alcohol.
I say too bad for this creep. You got no sympathies from me. How “brave” he was to go, uninvited, into a woman’s home while drunk hoping for the “big payoff”. There’s your “payoff” now Erik – a permanently registered sex offender. Actions have consequences.