The problem with chemically castrating sex offenders

The UK government’s decision to expand the use of chemical suppressants for sex offenders is horrifying. What is being dressed up as modern reform is, in truth, a deeply troubling step towards cruelty and control.

Chemical suppressants, currently used in four British prisons, will now be offered to a further 20 prisons in northern England, justice secretary David Lammy confirmed this week. The medication, which purports to reduce ‘problematic sexual arousal’ in convicted sex offenders, will be used along with therapy as part of the government’s bid to reduce the prison population in England and Wales. ‘Evidence shows this medication helps suppress urges, which is why we’re expanding access to it’, Lammy said.

As someone who has witnessed firsthand how fragile and fallible our justice system is, I can assure you this is a dangerous idea. In 2015, I was falsely accused of appalling crimes as a result of the discredited Operation Midland – a police investigation into a non-existent paedophile ring operating in Westminster, instigated by the lies of a convicted fabulist and paedophile, Carl Beech. I was never charged (for there was no evidence), but my life and reputation were nonetheless shattered. The experience taught me that justice in Britain is far from flawless. It makes mistakes, sometimes catastrophic ones.

And I am not alone. Andrew Malkinson lost 17 years of his life to a wrongful rape conviction before DNA evidence finally proved his innocence. Peter Sullivan spent 38 years in prison for a murder he did not commit. These are not rare anomalies. They are reminders of a justice system that errs – often gravely. Against this backdrop, the idea that the state should be permitted to chemically castrate offenders is chilling.

In May, then justice secretary Shabana Mahmood expressed interest in making chemical suppression mandatory. Yet even if labelled ‘voluntary’, such treatment cannot truly be so in the coercive environment of prisons. When you are not free, consent is not freely given. The state has no moral right to intrude upon the inner chemistry of its citizens, least of all those who may be wrongly convicted. Once a body is altered in this way, the physical and mental harm cannot be undone.

Chemical castration rests on the crude assumption that sexual offending is a biological problem, a matter of ‘urges’ to be suppressed with medication. This is a dangerous simplification. Many sexual crimes are not about lust but about power, control or violence.

Moreover, if the state is entitled to alter body chemistry in this context, what stops it from extending this logic to others? Could similar drugs be imposed to dull aggression, or even suppress political radicalism and dissenting thought? History teaches us that once governments claim the right to tamper with human biology, the limits quickly blur.

Chemical suppression promises an easy solution. But it risks being a shortcut, a way of avoiding the harder, more expensive work of genuine rehabilitation, therapy and reform. To mask behaviour with medication is not to confront its roots. Justice must be more than the efficient management of dangerous bodies.

True justice appeals to the moral agency of individuals. It insists that even those who have done wrong remain capable of growth and responsibility. Chemical castration is the opposite. It bypasses conscience and free will, turning people into passive objects to be managed. In Kant’s terms, it treats human beings as means to an end – in this case, public safety – rather than ends in themselves.

The government may insist the policy is measured and evidence-based. Yet even Lammy admitted the evidence is ‘limited’. To impose such a punishment on the basis of incomplete knowledge is reckless in the extreme. When a miscarriage of justice occurs, as it inevitably will, no compensation can restore the integrity of a body once altered by the state.

When I was young, I supported the death penalty. I thought it was a just response to heinous crimes. Life’s vicissitudes have since taught me otherwise. The danger of irreversible punishments in a fallible system is simply too great.

We must not let the abhorrence of any given crime blind us to the possibility of error. The more horrified we are by the offence, the more careful we must be in our response. In our zeal to punish the guilty, we risk visiting cruelty on the innocent, and that is a stain no civilised society should accept.

Justice must be tempered with restraint, aware of its own fallibility, and rooted in respect for human dignity. Chemical castration fails every one of these tests.

Harvey Proctor is a former Conservative MP and president of Facing Allegations in Contexts of Trust (FACT).