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<br />22 Planning January 2007 <br /> <br />Yes in your backyard <br />'.; oi <br />It's difficult to feel sympathy for people like <br />Hill, who have hurt children or sexually as- <br />saulted adults. Highly publicized cases like that <br />ofJessica Lunsford, a Florida girl who in 2005 <br />was abducted, assaulted, and buried alive by a <br />convicted sex offender, keep violent sex crimes <br />in the news. <br />While sexual abuse has dropped 40 percent <br />in the last two decades, according to the U.S. <br />Department of Justice, few jurisdictions are pre- <br />pared when convicted sex offenders are released <br />from prison and reenter the community. <br />Twenty-one states and hundreds of munici- <br />palities have passed laws restricting where sex <br />offenders can live. Do they work? Do they make <br />communities safer? Many places think so and <br />are passing residency laws at a steady clip, in <br />many cases competing to craft more restrictive <br />laws than the next town over. <br />Still, residency restrictions have their crit- <br />ics. Making sections of a city uninhabitable to <br />sex offenders greatly reduces offenders' access <br />to housing, employment, transportation, and <br /> <br />services. Those who treat sex offenders say that <br />situation creates more problems: Without sup- <br />port, stable housing, jobs, and access to treat- <br />ment, sex offenders-and all criminals-are <br />statistically more likely to commit new crimes. <br />They are also more likely to go underground, <br />making it impossible to monitor them. <br />Released sex offenders live in every state. "We <br />want to believe they are the few, the perverted, <br />and the far away," says David D'Amora, a <br />therapist who works with sex offenders in Con- <br />necticut and chairs the public policy committee <br />of the Association for the Treatment of Sexual <br />Abusers, based in Beaverton, Oregon. In fact, <br />there are more than half a million registered sex <br />offenders nationwide, with more than 100,000 <br />in California alor;.e. <br /> <br />How the laws have evolved <br />Since 1994, sex offenders have been required <br />to register with local authorities on a regular <br />basis. The federal law passed that year, the Ja- <br />cob Wetterling Crimes Against Children and <br />Sexually Violent Offender Registration Act, <br /> <br />'-"'1 <br /> <br />is named after an l1-year-old Minnesota boy <br />who was abducted and never found. While U.S. <br />law compels sex offenders to register, state laws <br />dictate how often and for how long; 11 states <br />require lifetime registration. <br />A 1996 amendment to the Jacob Wetterling <br />Act, Megan's Law, added a community notifi- <br />cation requirement, which also varies by state. <br />Most states publish an online database of sex <br />offenders' names, addresses, and convictions, <br />whereas others leave it to local authorities to <br />circulate information to nearby neighbors or <br />schools. The law is named after the high-profile <br />case of Megan Kanka, a seven-year-old New <br />Jersey girl who was raped and killed by a known <br />sex offender who had moved in across the street <br />from her family. <br />With Megan's Law, "we created an opportu- <br />nityfor the public to know where sex offenders <br />live," says Suzanne Brown-McBride, a victims <br />advocate and executive director of CALCASA, <br />the California Coalition Against Sexual Assault. <br />She notes that no otherdassofcriminals, includ- <br />ing murderers, is similarly monitored. <br /> <br />Group Homes Still Struggle to Fit In <br /> <br />The family that lives at 61 st Street and San Pablo <br />Avenue in Oakland, California, is unusually <br />large. Its household members occupy some 21 <br />beds in a two-story Victorian house across from <br />a school. The family is disciplined-breakfast <br />is at 7:30 sharp, lunch at 1 :30-and it's also <br />friendly, with someone almost always on the <br />front stoop to greet passersby. <br />But under many city codes this household <br />would not qualify as a family. After all, its <br />members are not related by blood, but rather <br />by a common goal: to overcome the obstacles <br />created by mental illness and substance abuse <br />so that they can function in society. <br />The house is a group home called Morning <br />Star Villa. Group homes, ranging from a few beds <br />to a couple dozen, house those who, because of <br />an addiction or a disability, can't otherwise live <br />independently. Over the past few decades, more <br />and more disabled people have left institutions <br />and moved into small group living situations. <br />Like most group homes, Morning Star Villa <br />does share aspects ofa family, including mutual <br />support, many long-term residents, and life <br />skills education-"stuff to get them familiar <br />with society," says administrator Anthony <br />Piano. But group homes are a different animal: <br />Drug dealers target them. Most residents need <br />caseworkers. And the homes have unique real <br />estate needs such as latge buildings and inex- <br />pensive property. <br />That's the dilemma for planners used to cut- <br /> <br />and-dried land-use categories. The 1988 federal <br />Fair HousingAmenclments Act classified people <br />with disabilities as a protected class for which <br />cities must make "a reasonable accommodation" <br />in their zoning codes. A 1995 U.S. Supreme <br />Court case upheld the FHAA's application to <br />zoning. But nearly two decades after the FHM <br />became law, local governments are still struggling <br />with how to regulate group homes. <br />"A lot more cities are allowing community <br />residences as residential uses, but many are <br />getting it wrong," says Daniel Lauber, AICP, a <br />planner and attorney who specializes in com- <br />munity residence regulation. "The FHAA left <br />people very confused." <br /> <br />Community integration <br />Group homes are part of a larger category known <br />as community residences, which also includes <br />halfway houses, a more temporary type of group <br />living situation. Community residences have <br />existed in the U.S. since the 1880s, says Lauber, <br />but until the 1960s most policies leaned toward <br />institutionalization for people with disabilities. <br />In the 1960s and 70s that changed, as parenrs <br />of people wirh disabilities filed lawsuits seeking <br />alternatives to institutions. <br />"The key to all of this is community iutegra- <br />tion," Lauber says, helping to "make people <br />all they can be." However, local governments <br />lagged in regulating the growing number of <br />community residences. <br /> <br />~ <br /> <br />I' <br />I <br /> <br />I <br /> <br />"Group homes wete an anathema," says <br />Martin Jaffe, an associate professor of urban <br />planning and policy at the University of Illi- <br />nois-Chicago. Generally, he says, group homes <br />were regulated with conditional use permits. "It <br />practically guaranteed everyone would show up <br />to oppose them." <br />Case law generally upheld those trying to <br />keep group living situations out of single-fanlily <br />residential areas. In 1974, in Belle Terre v. Boraas, <br />the Supreme Court upheld a city's ordinance <br />defining a family. The opinion stated that equal <br />protection did not apply and that the courtS had <br />no reason to interfere with a local jurisdiction's <br />police power. In 1985's City of Cleburne v. <br />Cleburne Living Center decision, the Supreme <br />Court acknowledged that the disabled received <br />no special review. <br /> <br />