Discipline as Prevention: Psychoeducational Strategies in Internet Sexual Offending Group Programs

Abstract

This paper analyzes a UK-based psychoeducational intervention for users of online child sexual exploitation material (CSEM). It is founded on 17 months of anthropological research in group programs with 81 participants and 15 staff. The article argues that group exercises help participants reframe knowledge about their offending, and ultimately reinforce the theoretical concept of discipline (Foucault) toward internal and external surveillance, normalization, and decreased risk. The paper first discusses factors participants believed contributed to offending. It then analyzes the program and participants’ experiences, focusing on exercises about the mind (fantasy), Internet usage (disclosure and relationships), needs met by offending (Good Lives and true needs), and planning for the future (relapse prevention). Critical is that participants are encouraged to reengage offline lives and enact discipline on and to the online world. Thus, the article ends with an anthropologically-minded discussion about digital norms, online morality, and implications for Internet offender psychoeducational practice.

Keywords

Internet sexual offending online child sexual exploitation material anthropology ethnography psychoeducation group programs discipline risk prevention

Introduction

As digital technology becomes more sophisticated and ubiquitous, barriers are broken down, including for the consumption, distribution, and creation of online child sexual exploitation material (Seto, 2013; Taylor & Quayle, 2003), abbreviated in this paper as CSEM. To illustrate, the Internet Watch Foundation (2020) has detected 132,676 URLs that contain CSEM or advertise/link to it, while the Canadian Centre for Child Protection’s Project Arachnid web crawler found more than 5.1 million webpages with CSEM (Wager et al., 2018). The US National Center for Missing and Exploited Children has also reported reviewing over 261 million images and videos of child exploitation (Westlake, 2020).

In studying CSEM users, researchers often utilize three foundations of analysis: crime and case data (e.g., Owens et al., 2016); offenders in post-sentencing penal or treatment environments (e.g., Bourke & Hernandez, 2009); and surveys (e.g., Merdian et al., 2018). Research largely stems from the psychological sciences, and reports on offender assessments, characteristics, demographics, and rates of reoffending and crossover offending (contact abuse along with CSEM). Two anthropologists (Borneman, 2015; Waldram, 2012) and one sociologist (Lacombe, 2008) have undertaken ethnography in therapeutic programs for sexual offenders. However, differing to this study, their works do not focus on CSEM users, and are based in correctional settings. In contrast, this article analyzes a pre-trial community-based UK group program for CSEM users, the participants, and the administering staff. The paper is based on 17 months of ethnographic fieldwork, including participant observation, semi-structured interviews, and focus groups. It seeks to answer: what are the efforts to normalize participants, their actions, and their perceptions about the Internet, sexuality, and children?

The paper employs a Foucauldian and anthropological lens to explore the program’s approach, participants’ understandings of their offending, and questions about intervention in the digital age. It shows that the knowledge stemming from groups helps participants to reframe factors and perceptions that impacted their offending, which are largely related to the digital world. The article ultimately argues that the program reinforces discipline toward surveillance, normalization, and decreased risk, mostly through reengaging offline lives and enacting changes on and to the online world. In light of this, the paper ends with a discussion about digital norms, online morality, and Internet offender intervention in a broader context.

Literature Review

There is no stereotypical CSEM user; to date, the most consistent finding is that they are almost exclusively male and likely white (for reviews see Babchishin et al., 2018; Henshaw et al., 2017; Seto, 2013). Motivations for CSEM usage are multitudinous, overlapping, and can include factors related to sexual arousal, interest, or preference; social, interpersonal, and emotional issues; curiosity; thrill in risk taking; pleasure in collecting; facilitating relationships with other offenders; and/or financial gain (Beech et al., 2008; Merdian et al., 2013a; Seto, 2013; Taylor & Quayle, 2003). There are also specific online features influencing offending such as anonymity, suggesting that some people accessing CSEM may not have done so before the Internet (Krone et al., 2020; Taylor & Quayle, 2008; Wortley, 2012). Many of these factors and motivations are elaborated later in this paper.

A major concern is the link between CSEM use and crossover to contact offending. At present there is inconclusive evidence. In a meta-analysis, Seto et al. (2011) concluded that 12% of CSEM users had a contact sexual offence history at arrest, and that 2% committed a new contact offence during a 1.5 to 6-year follow-up. In examining cases of 14,804 sexual offenders of all types, Howard et al. (2014) similarly found that “indecent image offenders, if reconvicted, tended to be convicted for further indecent image offenses” (p. 246). Other studies can be split by those employing case histories or self-reporting, both briefly reviewed below and citing crossover rates from lowest to highest for each.

Studies using offender case data have sample sizes ranging from 86 (Eke et al., 2019) to 541 (Eke et al., 2011), with average follow-up periods between 4.1 (Eke et al., 2011) and 6 years (Endrass et al., 2009). The percentage of CSEM users with a contact sexual offence history or concurrent charges has been reported as 1% (Endrass et al., 2009), 5.3% (Krone & Smith, 2017), 18% (Eke et al., 2011), 21% (Seto & Eke, 2015), 26% (Eke et al., 2019), and 38% (Owens et al., 2016). The percentage who go on to commit a new contact offence has been 0.8% (Endrass et al., 2009), 3% (Seto & Eke, 2015), and 3.9% (Eke et al., 2011).

In the self-report category, an online survey by Bailey et al. (2016) found that 2.1% of 1,102 men sexually attracted to children claimed to have both CSEM and contact offences. In their survey with 68 respondents, Merdian et al. (2018) report that 25% self-identified as dual offenders. In analyzing survey and interview data from US police regarding 1,034 cases of CSEM possession (429 cases in phase 1 and 605 cases in phase 2), Wolak et al. (2011) found that 55% and 41% had dual offenders in 2000 and 2006, respectively.

Beyond surveys, Beier et al. (2015) gathered histories from 291 self-identified pedophiles and hebephiles in clinical interviews, and found that 35.4% reported dual offending. Bourke and Hernandez (2009) sampled 155 CSEM users in a US prison treatment program, and state that 85% admitted contact offending. However, this study has been the subject of debate and critique around methodology (see Hamilton, 2012; Seto, 2013; Wollert, 2012). While similarly subject to debate, polygraph has also yielded high rates of crossover. Bourke et al. (2015) tested 127 US suspects, with 57.5% disclosing contact abuse. In post-conviction polygraph with 25 CSEM users, Buschman et al. (2010, p. 403) found “all of the participants acknowledged engaging in grooming and hands-on behaviour” after prior denial.

In their review, Houtepen et al. (2014) suggest that particular factors increase risk for crossover: antisocial behavior; loneliness; withdrawal; habituation to and progression of CSEM extremity; reinforcement from like-minded individuals; and access to children. Babchishin et al. (2018) similarly state that factors for crossover are antisociality, access to children, sexual preoccupation, atypical sexual interests, and limited cognitive barriers to acting on these interests. However, conclusiveness about crossover is difficult. Those apprehended cannot be presumed the same as those who go unnoticed (Seto, 2013). Also, much sexual crime goes undetected/undisclosed, and a sexual offence history requires a conviction (Bourke et al., 2015). Wager et al. (2018) further note that conviction data likely under-estimates crossover because of plea bargaining where an offender pleads guilty but for a lesser crime than originally charged, while self-report likely over-estimates crossover as those who partake may look for help due to concern about offending, thus biasing samples.

Interventions for sexual offenders attempt to increase their identification with norms of sexuality and conduct, and to limit future offending (Waldram, 2012). Treatment targets “dynamic” risk factors, which are clinical elements associated with recidivism thought to be changeable, such as empathy, pro-offending attitudes, self-regulation, relationships, social support, and sexual preoccupation (Beech et al., 2003; Hanson, 1998; Mandeville-Norden & Beech, 2006). The main approach in Euro-America is a “risk-needs” model, which proposes that by addressing such factors, risk to reoffend will lower (Ward & Brown, 2004). The cornerstone of this is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). CBT focuses on tangible, proactive strategies to alleviate or manage cognitive and behavioral issues. The assumption is that individuals make conscious decisions yet can have errors in thinking (Waldram, 2012), which distort perceptions, actions, and interactions but can be changed (Thomas, 2000). CBT attempts to create change by increasing social skills, and fostering knowledge about offending and effects on victims (Thomas, 2000). Being in a group program in particular is said to help combat the shame, isolation, and secretive nature of participants’ lives, and to invite support and positive confrontation from others (Dervley et al., 2017; Houston et al., 1995).

A primary CBT method is relapse prevention planning (Seto, 2013). This predicts pathways to reoffending (Ward & Gannon, 2006) by identifying and discussing plausible but hypothetical risky situations, feelings, and moods, which after identification can be responded to, avoided, or altered through planning (Seto, 2013; Thomas, 2000; Waldram, 2012). Another prominent framework is the Good Lives Model, which suggests that people are continually creating “purpose and meaning in their lives” to gain universal human “goods” (Ward & Brown, 2004, p. 246). The model posits 10 “primary goods” said to increase wellbeing (Ward & Gannon, 2006, p. 79): life; knowledge; excellence in work and play; excellence in agency; inner peace; friendship; community; spirituality; happiness; and creativity. “Secondary goods” provide means of obtaining these (Ward & Gannon, 2006, p. 79), for example employment to gain “excellence in work and play.” Sexual offending in this theory “reflects socially unacceptable and often personally frustrating attempts to pursue primary human goods” (Ward & Gannon, 2006, p. 83). The goal is to help offenders identify and work on knowledge, skills, opportunities, and strategies to gain “primary goods,” and lead more fulfilling lives in non-harmful and non-offending ways (Ward & Gannon, 2006).

Recent research has attempted to discern the efficacy of targeted treatment programs. A meta-analysis by Gannon et al. (2019) found that specialized treatment (“specialized” being treatment for sexual offences, domestic violence, or general violence) had intended impacts on recidivism: for sexual offences, recidivism saw an absolute decrease of 4.6% and a relative decrease of 32.6%, with an important factor being steady facilitator input by a psychologist. However, their analysis looked at sexual offences broadly as a specialization. Therefore, even more relevant is research examining efficacy of programs for CSEM users specifically. In 13 interviews from a short-term psychoeducational group program for CSEM users, Dervley et al. (2017) found that it made participants motivated to communicate better; have ambitions for a life without offending; and feel more equipped to confront problems, identify solutions, and self-manage behaviors, feelings, and thoughts that might contribute to offending. Key to this was the self-directed nature, whereby participants reached their own conclusions. In a quantitative evaluation of the same program with 92 participants, Gillespie et al. (2018) found statistically significant effects both post-program and 8 to 12-weeks later for reductions in stress, anxiety, and depression; change in self-esteem, self-efficacy, and locus of control; and change in distorted thinking. Middleton et al. (2009) evaluated the UK’s longer-term Internet Sex Offender Treatment Programme and found similar results: with 264 participants, there were statistically significant changes in pro-offending attitudes (2 of 3 measures) and socio-affective functioning (10 of 12 measures).

However, efficacy is called into question when programs and participants are less homogenous. In their evaluation of Project Dunkelfeld, Beier et al. (2015) compared 53 help-seeking pedophiles and hebephiles who undertook 1 year of group CBT with 22 controls (sample included non-offenders, CSEM users, contact offenders, and mixed). While overall the treatment group benefitted, 29 of 32 CSEM and dual offenders (91%) continued to view CSEM (Beier et al., 2015), and CSEM-only offenders were “relatively resistant to change across all measures” (Gillespie et al., 2018, p. 172). Mews et al. (2017) evaluated the UK’s group CBT Core Sex Offender Treatment Programme by comparing 2,562 treatment takers with 13,219 non-takers (again all offender types). They found the CSEM reoffending rate to be higher for treated than untreated individuals in an average 8.2-year follow-up (4.4% vs. 2.9%). Overall, with a dearth of evidence, Internet offender treatment decisions are often based on educated guesswork (Seto, 2013). The effects of sexual offender treatment on the whole remain disputed and inconclusive (Bilby et al., 2006; Schmucker & Lösel, 2015).

Theoretical Framework

Evaluating the program’s effectiveness was not the purpose of my research: there were no assessments, nor did I follow-up with participants. Thus, I am not equipped to determine if the program sparked lasting change, if reoffending occurred, or if the content transferred to other settings (e.g., when in states of mind that could precede offending). However, it is possible to analyze participants’ experiences, and the strategies and approaches used in groups. With this in mind, the perspective for this article stems from Foucauldian theory, in particular the concept of discipline. To outline this, Foucault (1991a) utilized the image of a Panopticon, a prison with a central guard tower and cells around it whereby inmates may be watched at all times by guards who can see them, but prisoners never know if surveillance is occurring because they cannot see the guards. He used this as a metaphor to argue that individuals internalize power and subject themselves to norms without repression (known as discipline). This is a form of surveillance Foucault (1991a, p. 216) says is “indefinitely generalizable.” Thus, it is suggested that changes in actions, and compliance with social norms, stem from internalized surveillance as well as the potential of being watched.

Also important is normalization, which centres on changing actions toward norms. Internalization is vital, so people change on their own. People are not passive receptacles of normalization (Foucault, 1991b); rather, they govern themselves in relation to both others and perceptions of themselves (Dean, 1994). This is not only about control, but also ways people attempt to improve, such as through therapy (Rose, 1996). Importantly, such efforts rely on expert knowledge and people who facilitate conceptions of the self that encourage change (Miller & Rose, 2008). A disciplinary framework is invoked because rejection can be inward (Foucault, 1988) and people can discipline themselves in striving for change (Dean, 2010). The group program activities are therefore seen as ways through which participants come to understand themselves, act upon this toward self-improvement, and attempt to normalize within certain frameworks of knowledge (Foucault, 1988). The exercises encourage participants to evaluate themselves “in relation to what is true or false, good or bad, permitted or forbidden” (Rose, 1992, p. 363), and enact change without force or repression (Rose, 1996).

Methodology

Fieldwork for this project entailed 17 months of participant observation in group programs with 81 people arrested for CSEM, 31 semi-structured interviews with volunteers from the 81-person sample, 15 semi-structured interviews with staff, and 2 staff focus groups with 3 and 6 members. Separate and distinct parts of the data have been used for different papers on other topics including perceptions of online spaces (Rimer, 2017) and constructions of children and victim empathy (Rimer, 2019).

Participant Observation, Interviews, and Focus Groups

Participant observation encompassed close to 100 sessions with 10 different groups, covering 10 full programs. Recruitment was confined to the administering agency’s process for admission. Participating in the research was voluntary, and ability to stay in the program was not contingent on taking part. Every person gave independent written informed consent for me to join groups and again to be interviewed. I would only take part in groups if every member consented individually, which they decided about at home away from potential pressures. Participants were promised confidentiality aligned with agency policy (information would be confidential unless it signaled danger for a child or undisclosed abuse of a child), as much anonymity as possible during fieldwork (e.g., first names only), and that I would not contact them outside the agency, including after the program. They were also guaranteed anonymity in all fieldwork material and outputs, so identifiers are excluded, and participants are referred to using the general terms of “participants,” “group members,” and “the men.”

Groups took place at two sites, and had six to nine participants with two facilitators. Groups were pre-trial for most, not mandated by authorities, and had one weekly 3-hour session. My researcher role was known by all. I did not alter the program, but watched, took notes, and spoke as I pleased. Information was gathered in sessions through fieldnotes. Interviews and focus groups were 1 to 2 hours, recorded, and transcribed. Interviews were semi-structured so that participants could share important details of their lives, and so that I could probe for clarification and elaboration. However, I also followed a 25-question guide so that interviews could be compared with some uniformity. This had 5 sections:

■ Background (e.g., “Could you please tell me a bit about your life?”).

■ Internet and pornography (e.g., “Do you think the Internet has changed the way people Interact?”).

■ Children and childhood (e.g., “Are children different from adults?”).

■ Insights into offending (e.g., “What role do you think the Internet played in your offending?”).

■ Current circumstances (e.g., “What is your experience of the justice system?”).

Staff questions were similar but modified slightly to reflect their roles, while focus groups centred on aims, goals, and evaluation of the program. All aspects of the research underwent rigorous university ethical review, and the project was approved before fieldwork began.

Regarding presentation of data in this paper, when words, sentences, or terms are in quotation marks or block quotes this signifies verbatim direct quotes from participants, while information that is not quoted represents researcher language from fieldnotes. Both of these forms are considered “data” in an anthropological study and are used as such here. In quotes, ellipses signify when a word/words have been removed but the meaning has not changed.

Analysis

Transcripts and fieldnotes were inductively analyzed based on participants’ common and uncommon statements, actions, and perceptions, as informed by thematic analysis (Braun & Clarke, 2006). Corresponding to the anthropological tradition, analysis was not inflexible: reflexivity was central (Davies, 2008), and themes were changed and updated as analysis evolved. Transcripts and fieldnotes were coded and clustered for themes, without a predetermined framework or hypothesis. Themes were based on consistency, frequency, and outliers, and by conclusion, 18 were identified. Having both fieldnotes and interviews allowed these to be compared across participants, sessions, groups, and field sites, which increased confidence in findings across people and settings that were unconnected.

Participants

All CSEM user participants were men, and 79 of 81 were white. They ranged in age from early-20s to late-70s, with a notable cluster in middle age. Their jobs included civil servants, healthcare workers, educators, IT professionals, industry professionals, servicemen, tradesmen, drivers, and unemployed. Other demographics/characteristics of note included:

■ Fifty-eight had current or ex-partners, while 19 did not, and 4 were unknown.

■ Thirty-six had children, while 39 did not, and 6 were unknown.

■ Eight discussed their own abuse as children.

■ Seventy-one were arrested for CSEM only and sexual offences for the first time.

■ All were apprehended for viewing and possessing CSEM. Fewer were arrested for distributing or copying it (e.g., to USBs). None were known to be CSEM producers.

In terms of time in the justice system, some men were recently arrested, some were charged during groups, while others were awaiting trial for 18 months. On occasion, members received a sentence during groups, most often in the community. Two did receive prison sentences and left, while two others withdrew. The remaining 77 completed their programs.

It is difficult to assess participants’ motivations for doing the program. Although voluntary, it is still possible that some felt they had to partake, perhaps to convey that they wanted to change or repent. Another possibility is that some did want to change whether this was known publicly or not, while it is also conceivable that some wanted to look favorable for court. However, the program did not have a formal connection to court, and there were no staff evaluations, reports, or testifying. Upon conclusion and by request, participants could obtain a letter outlining the program foci and their attendance record.

Regarding staff, half were former probation officers, while most others had training in psychology. I worked with 14 facilitators, 9 women and 5 men ranging from their 20s to 60s, whose combinations changed with each distinct group.

The Program

The group program strove to teach participants about acceptable conduct in an effort to limit reoffending or crossover; however, staff uniformly agreed that it could not be labeled “treatment” or “therapy” because outcomes were not measured, and 10 weeks was too short. Rather, groups were about “information,” “support,” and “education,” which could have “therapeutic effects” that help to manage risk: “It’s about education, information, and support, and advice. . .we hope that the outcome of that is it’s gonna reduce their risk.”

Staff agreed that the approach was derived from CBT: “You’re asking people who’ve done CBT with sex offenders for a decade-and-a-half what their assumptions are?” However, the program did have aspects of all the frameworks discussed earlier; it was a mixing and matching of CBT approaches and perspectives, from which participants could use ideas most useful to them. Groups were discussion-based, with earlier sessions focusing on coming to an understanding of offending, and later ones moving to using this knowledge for the future. Between meetings, participants were given work, which was discussed the following week. The session themes were (those with asterisks are subjects of their own papers and not in this article): processes and cycles of offending; fantasy; addiction, compulsion, and collecting*; disclosure; relationships; victim empathy*; the justice system; and relapse prevention.

Analysis and Results

I now argue that the program reinforces discipline toward normalization, which hopes to decrease risk of online reoffending or contact offending. I demonstrate that the program has the men reframe knowledge about themselves, offending factors, and perceptions of offending. Crucial is that it encourages discipline related to the online world, and I therefore end with an anthropologically-minded discussion about intervention in the digital age.

Offending Factors

Factors that participants believed contributed to their offending have been reported elsewhere (Rimer, 2017, 2019), so will be summarized here. They spoke about a plethora of social and emotional problems, with offending being an attempt to feel better, largely through masturbation. They said offending could be an escape from issues, or that issues could have led to offending. These included loneliness, depression, stress, low self-esteem, a lack of agency, difficulty processing past abuse, and problems fostering or maintaining interpersonal relationships and intimacy. Such findings are echoed by other researchers (Marshall et al., 2012; Merdian et al., 2013b; Quayle et al., 2006; Seto, 2013). For some, collecting was important, through which they experienced happiness, secrecy, and control in a life they saw as otherwise insignificant. Again, other researchers have reported similar results (Taylor & Quayle, 2003). Also common was a narrative of progression, starting with “normal” pornography and gradually leading to CSEM through a process of desensitization. This sometimes started with “boredom,” “curiosity,” or thrill seeking. Such a process has again been described by others (Merdian et al., 2013b; Seto, 2013; Wortley, 2012).

Specific to the Internet, many participants perceived online spaces as socially safe. They created boundaries between offline/online spaces by offending at certain times, when alone, on certain devices, and in specific places. Coupled with anonymity, distancing, and detachment, this rendered online offending spaces and children in CSEM to be less or not “real” (Rimer, 2017, 2019). Most important for this “reality,” participants perceived online spaces to be lacking social interaction and devoid of social surveillance. Many believed the potential of being watched was far less likely than offline, meaning that fear of social penalty for breaking norms was absent. In Foucauldian terms, online spaces were less disciplined than offline spaces. Participants then felt free to be flexible with their morals (Rimer, 2017).

What, then, were the exercises undertaken in groups? And how did they reframe the above factors to then become the basis for discipline and risk management? To answer, I separate analyses on the mind, Internet usage, underlying needs, and planning for the future.

Disciplining the Mind: Fantasy

The first set of exercises revolved around fantasy. Here, knowledge came via increased awareness of thoughts, when they occurred, and which were appropriate. Discipline could then follow by avoiding, changing, or resisting certain thoughts, thus constantly keeping the mind under surveillance. First, the men were to keep a fantasy diary. For example, one participant told his group his diary included fantasies about winning the lottery and being royalty. He identified a pattern where he had “appropriate” thoughts during the day, but before bed had “inappropriate sexual fantasies.” With these came guilt and anger after “letting inappropriate sexual fantasies happen,” because he believed he could “control his thoughts.”

After this, facilitators would draw a continuum/cycle from “stimulus,” to “sexual thought,” “fantasy,” “masturbation,” and “orgasm.” The men were asked, “How do you know when you’re aroused?” Common answers were physiological including “heart flutter,” “pulse is increasing,” “adrenaline flow,” “a dry mouth,” or “heavy breathing.” They then discussed where on the continuum control was possible. One group suggested there is no control in stimuli, however there is some with sexual thoughts, and total control after this. Two other groups thought there was a difference between what was “thrown at you” such as people on the street, versus what you “go and seek” such as a strip club, and one could also limit stimuli by not having a computer. The important point was that knowledge of stimuli, arousal, and when one can control thoughts and actions helps with self-surveillance. In claiming there was control at certain points, there was no excuse to travel the continuum; as noted by one man, “Until biology takes over, you can stop. It just depends whether you want to.” If the men did not “want to” stop, the next exercise increased knowledge of what was appropriate or not.

For this, participants were asked to identify “legal,” “illegal,” “appropriate,” and “inappropriate” fantasies. “Illegal” referred to those that, as one facilitator put it, would be “illegal if carried out in reality.” Common “legal” and “appropriate” fantasies included sex with someone over the age of consent, over-18 images, and sex with an adult where both were enjoying it. “Illegal” included anyone underage, a dead person, or non-consent, and “inappropriate” were similar: non-consent; a young person; non-enjoyment; power imbalance; incest; brainwashing; rape; violence; or humiliation. The men were then asked for examples. There were non-abusive/non-sexual fantasies, most common of which included winning the lottery, going on holiday, and being famous. There were non-sexual/abusive, such as beating someone up, bullying, or revenge. Most relevant were sexual/non-abusive: consenting adults; mutual pleasure; one’s wife; or previous partners. Finally were sexual/abusive: a child; rape; violence; pressure; blackmail; or voyeurism.

With this knowledge, the men then discussed how to avoid “inappropriate” or “illegal” fantasies. One common suggestion was to gradually raise the age of a person in one’s sexual fantasy, so over time, it involved someone of legal age. In some groups, controlling fantasy was also said to be possible by noticing it, then not indulging, or distracting one’s thoughts: as one participant told his group, “You can’t control a bird landing on your head, but you can control it building a nest.” To get the benefits of fantasizing without actually doing it, some suggested “will power,” getting a job, making friends, and “putting the fantasy out in the open” by talking about it. Strategies to manage thoughts included “working,” “actually talking to people,” “finding more intelligent programs on TV,” “reading Shakespeare,” “crosswords,” meditating, or not going near children. Notice how most of these encourage disengagement from the Internet and reengagement of offline activities and relationships.

These exercises suggested that increasing knowledge of thoughts could lead to strategies to normalize or manage fantasies and arousal. Inappropriate thoughts could be stopped, potentially inhibiting offending. However, it was not only minds that were locations for fantasy. As described, online spaces were perceived by many participants as less “real,” devoid of interaction and surveillance, and arenas in which to be flexible with morals.

Disciplining Internet Usage: Disclosure and Relationships

CSEM use was related to opportunities (including offending at particular times, when alone, and in certain areas of the home), and perceptions of online spaces connected to these. In discussing how to avoid risky situations and perceptions, many men suggested removing such opportunities: put the computer in a public place; do not bring a device into the bedroom; only go online in a library; use a computer with a partner home; use a shared computer; do not stay awake at night; give a partner control of passwords; or keep family photos near as a reminder of what is at stake. However, even with these in place, offending is still an option. Thus, other people had to be involved. Disclosure was the main intended outcome here, encouraging and assisting participants to tell others their secrets.

The disclosure exercise began by reviewing people close to the men and if they knew about the offending. Participants would then discuss people to disclose to, and the best ways to do so. Most were trying to work out who exactly needed to know, and if they did, which details (also described by Victor & Waldram, 2015). It was often thought important to decide “before you start speaking, what exactly you want to tell them.” One man noted disclosure should be “face-to-face, telephones are shit” and “if you respect somebody, they at least deserve to look you in the eye.” Others suggested face-to-face so that one can “see their reaction.” Some cited the “need to prepare them,” prefacing a disclosure by saying something like, “I’ve gotten myself in a lot of trouble.” Ultimately, as noted by one man, “You have to know the people,” and one must choose those with whom one wants to keep in touch. This is key to discipline, as these people will be around the men and aware of their offending.

When asked the worst things to say, inadvisable statements included “I didn’t mean to do it,” and using the term “kiddie porn.” Some suggested giving “bare bones details,” like saying you were arrested for “an Internet crime.” Others thought to “choose an appropriate level of detail,” for example by describing the crime but not the content. Most often, however, participants suggested, “Tell the truth. If you start lying, you have to keep lying.”

Reinforcing the positive elements of disclosure, participants who had told others about their crimes sometimes described profound relief: “I liken it to, and I’m not a religious person, a confessional. It might be a bad discussion, but you feel better afterward.” To this, another responded that disclosure was “cleansing” because “rightly or wrongly in some aspects of my life, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.” Another told me how with hindsight after arrest, “I realized actually, I like myself because, I no longer had anything to hide. And I knew that this had stopped. And it was such a relief, it still is!”

CSEM offending prevention requires “making the activity less rewarding, more difficult and riskier” (Wortley, 2012, p. 188). Telling people close to participants does this by giving others knowledge of them, and facilitates surveillance by making the men aware of the potential for or actual reality of being watched (Victor & Waldram, 2015). However, simply telling others does not ensure that they will be able to monitor. Maintaining relationships was necessary to keep the men from separating online and offline “realities” as they had before.

Many participants cited intimacy and relationship difficulties as factors contributing to offending. In exercises addressing this, the men brainstormed vital components for successful relationships. Suggested qualities included elements related to disclosure such as honesty, openness, trust, support, communication, and lack of secrets. They included mutually beneficial emotional support such as “constant consideration of what other people may be thinking” and empathy. There were also qualities for long-term attention, such as sharing and taking interest, common beliefs, planning a shared future, making time, like-mindedness, and not taking each other for granted. There were aspects that fit best with a romantic relationship, including attraction, being aware of sexual needs, and faithfulness. There were also elements that facilitated comfort, such as love, respect, humor, “you can just be who you are,” giving each other space, security, and reliability. Finally, some qualities seemed best for a relationship with an offender: acceptance; forgiveness; understanding; non-judgment; sacrifice; loyalty; care; patience; generosity; and compassion.

Facilitators then wrote down each member’s self-identified strengths and weaknesses, and asked everyone to return the next week with strategies to improve. As an example, one man wanted to work on intimacy. To do so, he would rearrange the furniture to make it easier to sit with his wife. He would make more time for his wife, and allow himself to be touched. Necessary was also “just talking about my feelings and asking about my wife’s feelings.”

Online offending was previously separate from the “real” world, and was said to cause or be partially caused by withdrawal from relationships. In fostering relationships, honesty, and disclosure, a result could be a reconnection to the disciplined offline world, decreased isolation, and less opportunity to offend. Reflecting this, in one session a man recalled a home visit by police, during which they said, “We won’t be keeping too close an eye on you, we’ll leave that for your wife to do.” By strengthening connections, these exercises prioritized morally acceptable offline relationships over inappropriate online ones with CSEM:

. . .the very fact that you’re there, using the Internet to look at pornography to satisfy your cravings or what, you know, it’s such a negative in my respect because you should be out there finding a real partner. Or, having proper relationships with proper people. Not sit in front of the screen insular.

Needs Met by Offending: The Good Lives Model

Toward the end of the program, sessions dug deeper into participants’ search for meaning. The men were first asked to identify “needs” met by offending. Through guided discussions using the Good Lives Model, these were then reframed as representing real needs underlying “primary goods.” The truth of offending was in the underlying needs. Once aware of “goods” for which they were striving, they could work toward fulfilling them in prosocial ways: they could engage in discipline to avoid future perils and increase positive change.

When asked the “needs” met by offending, most answers reflected factors already discussed. There was the “need” to escape from stress and loneliness, or “getting away from reality.” Reframed in Good Lives language, this represented a lack of inner peace, or a coping mechanism for a lack of community, intimacy, or relationships. The “need” for power and control could be caused by the need for agency, and inadequate feelings over life and health. Another related “need” was coping with depression. Like escape, needs were said to really be a lack of inner peace and sense of place/purpose, ultimately striving for happiness. Participants also described the “need” to quash curiosity, collect, and feel satisfaction. Reframed, curiosity was actually a thirst for knowledge, while collecting was a misdirected attempt at excellence in work and play. Others cited “needs” of alleviating boredom and excitement. Again, boredom was reframed as the need for knowledge and purpose, while the “need” for excitement was because excellence in work and play and creativity were missing. Some of those abused as children described a “need” to “make sense of the past,” and again here the underlying need could be a lack of inner peace stemming from abuse.

The important conclusion was finding non-offending ways to obtain “goods.” Facilitators asked for ways to meet needs, and the group would discuss. Ultimately, establishing inner peace was most important for many of the men. To do this, suggestions included being more open, making new friends, admitting to problems and seeking solutions, lifestyle changes (e.g., diet), and doing for others without seeking recognition. For knowledge, suggestions included learning a language or instrument, adult education, woodworking, or astronomy. To create friendship and intimacy, ideas included meeting new people, being part of a club, opening-up to friends/family with honesty, and looking for “real” and not superficial relationships. For example, one participant suggested going for long walks with his wife. A few men suggested building confidence through family and friends, so eventually they could meet potential partners. Another suggested, “Establish trust and intimacy will follow.” However, others were less positive, and could not envision a future where a partner would accept them given their crimes.

To obtain agency and combat low self-esteem, participants suggested increasing social interaction, setting attainable goals to get a “feel good factor,” finding things to look forward to, and “forgiving yourself.” Some suggested that eating and sleeping properly, getting a new job, and breaking old habits could increase self-determination and power. There was also communicating better with friends/family, confiding in someone, undertaking counselling, and being better at acceptance. Creating a sense of purpose was thought attainable by getting out of the house and finding interests to share with others, which included activities that created a sense of excitement once sought online such as cycling, hiking, writing, comedy, living on a houseboat, learning guitar, scuba diving classes, or flying lessons.

In this exercise, whether through jobs, hobbies, or relationships, most suggestions for achieving “goods” took the men away from the undisciplined Internet back into disciplined society. By reframing offending, the exercises led to the conclusion that meeting needs was best done offline. The result, and accumulation of all knowledge, was then planning to use it.

Planning Discipline: Relapse Prevention

The final step was looking to the future. In a powerful moment, one man told his group that, “You have to take it as a war, a war with yourself.” The best weapon in this “war” was relapse prevention. This involved identifying possible and hypothetical risk factors for offending, and planning how to avoid, respond to, or make changes to them (Waldram, 2012). Using this exercise, factors for offending, perceptions of the Internet, and arousal became triggers for the men to recognize, avoid, or keep at bay through discipline. Narratives around this reinforced the idea that change required motivation and lifelong vigilance (also described by Victor & Waldram, 2015), reflected best by one participant in our interview:

I’m very worried when people say things like, “I’ll never do this again”. . .this isn’t about 10 weeks, because, what we’re on week 6 now. What do they think’s gonna happen? On week 10 they walk out cured? “[Gasp], breathe the air! We’ll never do this again!” That’s bullshit. You know, this is a lifelong commitment to getting better, and, and we’re all stuck with this sadly. . .unless we’re honest about it, then 10 weeks is gonna be fuck-all good. Because, you know, you’ll go back to that flat and in a year’s time you’ll be with your computer again, and the same feelings will come over you, and you’ll do the fucking thing again.

When asked what feelings, thoughts, and moods may be triggers, the men’s answers emulated factors they said led to offending. These included depression, loneliness, anxiety, being suicidal, having a “fuck it mindset,” or believing you “have to” orgasm. There was also restlessness, boredom, anger, being unemotional, stress, and a want for excitement. Risky situations and activities again mirrored former factors: being “on your own with nothing to do,” having a “bad day,” or using substances. Reflecting relationships, some also described “loss of your support network,” “secrets,” and “avoiding feelings” as risky. Strategies to avoid these, or prosocial ways to respond, reflected previous sessions. For isolation, loneliness, depression, and excitement, ideas included “fill up your time with other things” and “literally having something else to do.” Suggestions included joining a film club, joining a gym, spending time outdoors, collecting music, reading, learning an instrument, or going to a pub. For stress and anger, some suggested self-talk or writing down feelings, while to avoid relationship breakdown, one man was planning family events, and others thought to “get up at a reasonable time so I can have breakfast with the wife” or to do more activities together. To combat isolation, some suggested talking with partners, having a support person, and phoning friends. Notice again that most of these take the men away from the Internet.

Relapse prevention also engaged notions of the Internet. Said to be risky were former actions online: “aimless, irresponsible Internet use”; being alone with a computer; using any imagery for gratification; or “porn surfing.” Furthermore, in discussing risky thoughts, participants pointed to perceptions of the Internet as undisciplined: there was believing “I won’t get caught,” feeling “invincible,” and thinking “I can control this.” To address these, some suggested monitoring software, only doing focused activities online, or never engaging online pornography. Those who wanted to continue using legal pornography were urged to view magazines or television, which cannot lead to illegal links. As the ultimate testimony to disciplining online space, one participant said it would be beneficial to fear getting caught.

Lastly, there were risks regarding children. Risky actions included “watching Britney Spears videos,” going for walks where children will be, or going to leisure centres and public pools. Risky thoughts included believing there is no harm in looking at CSEM or “letting the thoughts and fantasies build.” As strategies, some wanted to listen to podcasts by sex addicts, or again, never look at pornography. Finally was the importance of not indulging fantasies: “Although I’ll never be able to stop inappropriate thoughts from happening, I’d like to take what I learned in this course so I don’t have to reoffend.”

In the context of relapse prevention, participants also expressed normalized hopes for the future. When asked what kind of people they wanted to be, responses included “a trusted member of the community,” “free from offending,” and “law abiding.” One man said he wished to be “more self-disciplined,” while another wanted “to be a normal person, having regained the trust of the people I’ve hurt and being in the community without fear.” Summed up by a different participant, “I just put normal. That’s what I’d like to be.”

Relapse prevention thus provided tools for normalization and discipline, which, as one participant put it, is “about self-policing.” If undertaken with intended consequences, this will have the men engage in surveillance of their thoughts, actions, perceptions, and relationships. Most of this brings them away from the Internet back into offline space, raising questions about intervention in the digital age.

Discussion

Programs like this one ultimately attempt to “instil a different moral sensibility” aligned with social norms (Waldram, 2012, p. 58) by having participants try to become “fit” to be in society (Victor & Waldram, 2015, p. 98). Crucially, the men committed a crime online, and thus, normalization and discipline were focused on their online actions and perceptions, in an effort to stop both reoffending and crossover offline. This seemingly required bridging offline and online norms and morals, and reinforcing offline lives over online ones. If the mind was a site for fantasy, the solution was awareness and surveillance of thoughts that would not then be acted upon online, and could be redirected with offline activities and relationships. If the Internet was an undisciplined space, the solution was to reinforce disclosure, offline relationships, and surveillance. If participants’ lives were missing meaning, the answer was to uncover this, search for ways to fulfill it, and do so mostly off the Internet. Finally, relapse prevention encouraged participants to find offline strategies to mitigate future risk.

However, online and offline are not always the same. Stemming from ethnography in Second Life, Boellstorff (2016) argues that online spaces have distinctive and emerging social realities, which should be viewed as unique in both context and substance. Other digital anthropologists similarly suggest that “the Internet” is not one thing but rather many spaces constructed and interpreted by users in a host of different ways (Miller & Horst, 2013), and that “technological use is not ‘one-size-fits-all’” (Sutton, 2020, p. 18). While not anthropological, Hunn et al. (2020) align with these ideas when arguing that average Internet users’ perceptions should be considered in prevention strategies for CSEM consumption. In stronger terms, Krone et al. (2020, p. 91) argue that CSEM offending “is markedly shaped by the situation in which it occurs.” Scholars have similarly questioned if some CSEM users would have offended pre-Internet, given the lack of affordances such as anonymity, availability, and relative low chance of detection (Taylor & Quayle, 2008; Wortley, 2012).

Furthermore, researchers have questioned the applicability of existing tools designed with contact offenders when applied to CSEM users for assessments of risk (Eke & Seto, 2012), recidivism (Eke et al., 2019), cognitive distortions (Steel et al., 2020), and treatment needs (Henshaw et al., 2017). Though sparse, existing literature also suggests that tailored CSEM-specific psychoeducational content that is delivered in distinct groups, like the program in this paper did, shows promise (Dervley et al., 2017; Gillespie et al., 2018; Middleton et al., 2009). In contrast, CSEM users undertaking programs delivered to multiple types of offenders have been shown to continue engaging with CSEM (Beier et al., 2015), and even reoffend at higher rates compared to non-treatment takers (Mews et al., 2017). This is coupled with inconclusiveness about crossover, some CSEM users’ tendency to specialize (Howard et al., 2014), and emerging evidence that at least some have a distinct risk profile (Henshaw et al., 2017; Seto, 2013; Seto et al., 2011). Given the above, it is warranted to scrutinize and dig deeper into strategies that aim to align offline/online spaces.

The following questions then become relevant: is the solution to cybercrime applying offline morals and norms to online spaces, and emphasizing the superiority of the offline? Or, should focus be on what is unique and different online? I have proposed before that in order to address factors for offending inextricably tied to digital media, efforts to curtail CSEM usage could concentrate more on users’ perceptions and constructions of online spaces and children in such spaces, as well as users’ perceptions and constructions of social norms and moral sentiments unique to/in these contexts (Rimer, 2017, 2019). Does this mean that psychoeducational content should focus only on the online world? No: there is inevitable convergence between the online and offline (Wilson & Peterson, 2002). For example, issues surrounding relationships, intimacy, agency, and loneliness can be important contributing factors for CSEM offending (Marshall et al., 2012; Merdian et al., 2013b; Quayle et al., 2006; Seto, 2013). Antisocial behavior, loneliness, and withdrawal are also thought to be particular risk factors for crossover (Houtepen et al., 2014). Addressing these could be undertaken by, at least in part, reinforcing the importance of offline relationships and friendships (as the program in this study did).

On the other hand, also important for CSEM users are anonymity (Wortley, 2012), perceptions of online spaces as exempt from observation and social sanction (Rimer, 2017), ideas of children in CSEM as not “real” (Rimer, 2019), and desensitization to online pornography (Merdian et al., 2013b; Seto, 2013). Furthermore, habituation to and progression of CSEM extremity (Houtepen et al., 2014) and sexual preoccupation (Babchishin et al., 2018) are thought to be risk factors for crossover. All of these are (or in the case of sexual preoccupation, could be) rooted in online elements that did not exist pre-Internet, which may play a unique role. We should therefore interrogate the notion that the online world must become more like the offline; instead, it is worth considering the online realm as multiple spaces with unique realities, which, if attempting to alter, necessitate bespoke interventions.

In their meta-analysis, Gannon et al. (2019) suggest that “specialized psychological programs that target various offending behaviors are effective” (p. 14). Although not about CSEM, this sentiment of specificity is worth channeling. While the present study was not an evaluation, the findings combined with the current state of research do provide considerations for future treatment, assessment, and subsequent prevention: development or modification of assessment and treatment tools could focus on teasing apart the offline from the online. For example, in considering the previous two paragraphs, tools could include information about offline relationships, social networks, and interactions, as well as details about the same foci online, along with perceptions of online anonymity, visibility, “realness,” social norms, and morals. This might provide insight or guidance for intervention into these specific environments and a person’s engagement with/in them, which can be distinct or overlapping to varying degrees. This could also possibly illuminate similarities and differences between online and offline factors contributing to offending, and relative importance of each, which can vary between people. These ideas require further examination; however, they provide suggestions for deciphering the unique aspects of CSEM offending in the digital age.

Limitations

There were limitations to this research. In groups, my scope was limited by program content. Second, fieldwork was post-arrest, and participants had time to reflect. It is therefore appropriate to consider their statements with this in mind, as opposed to assuming it is what they perceived and did while offending. Third, the sample was self-selected and potentially skewed toward those who seek help, and so generalizing is not possible (nor the goal). Fourth, I did not have access to case files, so what was said could not be verified by comparison. Finally, as groups were pre-trial, it is possible that participants changed what they said (e.g., to look favorable). However, gauging truthfulness was not the purpose of this research.

Conclusion

This article analyzed a CSEM user group intervention, and argued that the program and its exercises attempted to increase discipline to manage risk. Groupwork reframed knowledge about offending to then be acted upon. This came in the form of disciplining the mind through monitoring fantasy, and disciplining Internet usage by disclosing to others and increasing surveillance through relationships. This was further developed in assessing needs met by offending, which once known could be strived for in acceptable ways. The culmination was relapse prevention, which had participants plan to mitigate and respond to future risky offending triggers. The program exercises largely involved strategies to reengage offline life, be away from the Internet, and challenge beliefs about the online world. Ultimately, this attempted to bridge online and offline spaces, raising questions about how to approach a crime like CSEM offending, which is uniquely tied to digital media.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

Thank you to the anonymous reviewers who provided excellent feedback; to Sarah-Ann Burger, Pearl Rimer, and Danielle Harris for their comments on previous drafts of this paper; to Karen Holt for her advice; and to Jo Boyden and Caroline Potter for their support during the research. Thank you to the Commonwealth Scholarship Commission in the UK, the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, and the Royal Anthropological Institute for funding the research. Finally, thank you to all participants and fieldwork staff for taking part and trusting me.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was supported by a Commonwealth Scholarship from the Commonwealth Scholarship Commission in the UK, a Doctoral Fellowship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, and a Sutasoma Award from the Royal Anthropological Institute.

ORCID iD

Jonah R. Rimer

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