I enjoy reading about eusocial animals. These are the ones who live in intricate societies like hives and nests where social cooperation is necessary for survival. Did you know that if a worker bee becomes unproductive due to injury, illness, or age, healthy bees will detect this? (Scientists aren’t really sure how, maybe behavioral cues, like sluggish movement, or perhaps via chemical signals.) Healthy bees aggressively drive each non-contributor out by physically pushing her from the nest. Once exiled, she faces a grim fate. Cast out from the humming sanctuary of her hive, she is doomed to wither in the cold or perhaps simply starve, her wings useless against the sharp beaks of predators.
Like bees, people are social animals, too, driven by a deep need for social acceptance. My last blog post focused on some of the grim dangers faced by people on the sex offender registry — our society’s outcasts. My blog post did not end with any call to action. Instead, I mused that probably every social society needs pariahs in order to function. Friends called it “a bit bleak.” To counter that darkness, I’d like to offer a more hopeful perspective – a sunnier vision.
The registry’s broad brush may paint everyone it touches as an inhuman monster, but at least sex offenders face a stigma that is theoretically tied to their own actions, not their birth, or advanced age, or disease. This distinction matters. There is no redemption for people who are cast out due to their birth. There is no “redemption” for untouchables like the Paraiyar, which is the Tamil name of the Indian undercaste that is the source of the English word “pariah”. There is no reintegration for elderly Chukchi who, if they reached old age, were said to be subject to ritual killing. But in a society that casts people out because of something they’ve done, or are believed to have done, there is psychological space for the outcasts to reinvent themselves through further action. Imagine a bee that can say “You know what, screw you, I’m building my own hive.” And then does. And then new bees move in. But what does it take to start over?
The Paradox of Total Affliction
The anguish of social exclusion, and humanity’s longing for redemption and reintegration amid that pain, is evident in our most ancient texts. Last month, synagogues worldwide read Leviticus 13:12-13, which describes tzara’at, a skin condition often mistranslated as leprosy. Tsara’at are said to render the afflicted “impure” and require their isolation from the broader community. Yet, a paradox emerges. Total affliction makes the person pure again: “if the tzara’at breaks out all over the skin… and it is all turned white, he is clean.” The complete leper, so to speak, is welcome back. The Talmud opined that the uniform whiteness signaled the disease’s end, a non-contagious state. Mystical readings (e.g., Zohar) linked tzara’at to spiritual flaws—a visible mark of inner brokenness rather than a disease. When inner brokenness became fully visible, with no possibility of concealment, it was understood to invite divine mercy.
The paradoxical idea that total affliction can purify and heal extends beyond religion. Modern psychologists, like Brené Brown, celebrate failure’s redemptive arc. “Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change,” she writes in Daring Greatly (2012). Adversity, but especially profound adversity, reveals what truly matters. The idea that there is value in “hitting rock bottom” distinctly shapes American culture. We honor survivors of every imaginable calamity who manage to rebuild their lives. We revere college dropouts and people who get fired from their jobs when they manage to bounce back. This grace has limits, and it doesn’t always extend to registrants. Anthony Weiner’s failed political comeback post-sex scandal is a case in point. Public backlash and media scrutiny derailed his political campaigns. Still, hope persists. The possibility of reinvention remains our cultural promise.
The Fearlessness of the Condemned
The photographer Diane Arbus was captivated by society’s outcasts—dwarfs, giants, transgender individuals. In a 1960 lecture, she said, “Most people go through life dreading they’ll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They’ve already passed their test in life. They’re aristocrats.” Her words are illuminating for registrants, too. Their criminal records and release into society as “registered sex offenders” are their survived calamity. Fear loses its power. The worst has happened, yet they’re still here. They are caring for parents, working, raising children, or simply putting one foot in front of the other. Their defiance lies in existing despite society’s attempt to erase them.
Limits and Possibilities
Insistence on living manifests in seemingly mundane ways. In the face of brutal job discrimination, for example, many sex offender registrants start businesses. One of my former clients started a carpentry shop crafting handmade furniture. Others have started landscaping and hardscaping firms, a dog-walking service, and a car-detailing operation. Some have chosen quieter paths, working remotely as freelance programmers or graphic designers. Like small business owners everywhere, they appreciate and enjoy self-employment. It offers control over time and goals, and they like seeing measurable results that correlate with personal effort.
Like everyone else, registrants fall in love, get married, and raise families. Being on the sex offender registry often bars individuals from dating sites, since many popular platforms like Tinder or Match.com exclude registrants. Despite such obstacles, I’ve seen many registrants meet new partners and form what appear to be unusually deep relationships. Perhaps this stems from the openness their status sometimes demands—when forced to disclose their past early on, they bypass superficial courtship, forming bonds with partners who value candor over pretense. Honesty builds strength and promotes trust, as both parties confront vulnerabilities head-on.
Let me temper my claims. I certainly do not mean to suggest that all people, or even most people, are able to forge meaning from social exclusion. Suffering is not romantic. It is not a greater good or a noble end in and of itself. It’s just a stark fact, like gravity causing objects to fall toward the Earth’s surface. Some people on the registry face overwhelming burdens they never overcome. The stigma of registration can be especially harmful to those with intellectual disabilities, mental health conditions, or autism, since it tends to amplify already existing challenges to social integration. Yet human resilience is a stubborn fact. There are countless people, including some with serious disabilities, who are able to endure and persevere. They find clarity. They accept what can’t be undone and press onward. The ongoing pain of social ostracism does not disappear. But for some, there is a path forward toward an enviable life unencumbered by fear—a life of purpose, connection, and even triumph.