Circles of Support and Accountability - Interim report [PDF ... - Quakers

counts – this is his ‘Index offence‘) and ‘failure to register’.
For now I remind myself that nothing terrible can happen to me, or to anyone else, here in this
room. That we are in this together – with full support and backup from the police, probation
service, sex offender treatment programme, social services as well as the staff of the Circles
programme. We have been given all their numbers on a small card.
Practical concerns absorb us. What will we ’disclose’ to Andrew about ourselves at this first
meeting? Will we lay down ground rules or play it by ear? Is it appropriate to shake his hand? My
panic remains. It seems almost impossible that we will be able to find a handhold between the real
– the outrage of sexual abuse, and the ideal – the possibility of redemption for one man. I can’t
shake the fear that I am betraying the victims.
Week One
Surprise, and no surprise. I first catch sight of Andrew a moment before the allotted time, as he is
on his way upstairs with the facilitator. He is, of course, a very ordinary looking man, dressed in
jeans and a t-shirt, somewhere in his mid-thirties. And no, you would never know to look at him
that he has a history as a sex offender.
When we are finally introduced, I am struck by the soft look about his face and body. He is a
nervous talker, and fills the available space with details of his journey and his excitement at
meeting us. His neediness is the most shocking thing about him. The meeting passes in a blur as
my mind rapidly re-sets the co-ordinates of ‘sex-offender’ to match this new experience.
Each of us is asked to sign the ‘Circle Agreement’ in which Andrew commits himself to living a
new, offence-free life, and we commit ourselves to helping him do this. I find this strangely
moving. Whatever else happens, hope is here. The official business over, we all relax a little.
Like all other sex offenders in prison, and even in the probation hostel where he now lives,
Andrew has to keep up his ‘cover story’ – and may not talk about the nature of his offence. He has
lost contact with all friends and family, and other than his probation officer, has no one to talk to
on personal matters. Used to violence in any situation where people know of his crime, Andrew
tells us he finds it hard to trust people. Does he see the irony in this? We wonder, but none of us
wants to go there, yet.
‘Trust is an issue for us, too,’ I find myself saying. ‘To be here, we have to have believe that you
really want an offence-free life. ‘ I hesitate, and then shake his hand as I leave.
Week Two
I am momentarily confused. The notice board giving the room allocations for meetings makes no
mention of our group. Eventually, by a process of elimination, I work it out. ‘Just in case ‘ someone
passing in this semi-public venue should recognise it, the name has had to be changed. A
reminder, in case we needed one, that coffee room chats with other centre-users aren’t a good idea.
Upstairs, Andrew, who has been turned down for work during the week, is nursing a bruised
hand. He lost his temper and later, hit a wall. Nonetheless, he seems mighty cheerful that we have
all turned up.
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