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Accusations of Abuse in Institutions

 

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The Press
June 29, 2002

A cross to bear
by Geoff Collett

The nightmare of sexual abuse scandals is unfolding in the Catholic Church in New Zealand. Geoff Collett asks how the Church is going to confront it.

Mere weeks ago, the demons of the New Zealand Catholic Church's past slumbered in its deeper recesses.

Even as the Catholic parishes of America and Australia watched in despair while their nightmares unfolded, in New Zealand the Church hierarchy tiptoed around the edges of the darkness, disturbing it only as much as was necessary to assure anxious onlookers that all was well.

But now, a legacy of sexual abuse of children by the Catholic clergy has emerged. And the courage of the New Zealand Church and its hierarchy to confront the monster is facing its most severe test yet.

Revelations are mounting of significant and previously unreported abuse within at least one New Zealand branch of the Church, the Order of St John of God. Past talk of a limited abuse problem does not neatly stack up beside what is now emerging, particularly from the St John of God order. And pinning down firm details is tricky.

Last weekend was something of a mini-watershed for the Church. In the wake of news of newly emerging sexual abuse complaints, priests devoted their Sunday sermons to the topic, parishioners debated it, bishops turned their minds to formally opining on it to their flocks, and Church officialdom took the unusual step of opening its books of abuse complaints. Or at least partly.

The Church's spokeswoman, Catholic Communications director Lyndsay Freer, revealed that over the past decade 38 claims of abuse had been substantiated, dating back to the 1950s, against priests, brothers, and lay people.

But scrutiny of the figure -- which Freer said was being made public because the Church "has come to understand the need for openness and transparency" -- raised questions.

How many cases involved children? The Church did not say, except that it was not all of them. How many abusers were responsible for the 38 complaints, and how many were paedophiles? Again, it did not say. Freer indicated it would be troublesome to find out. Nor was it clear whether the nine members of the clergy who have ended up in court over the past decade on sex charges were responsible for any of the 38 complaints, or whether theirs were additional offences. It was reported that three orders of the Church had paid out $550,000 in compensation to an unspecified number of complainants. But was that a comprehensive figure? Most importantly, did anyone have any idea of what might lie in wait?

Alongside the troublesome lack of answers to such questions is the confusion for outsiders about the Church's arcane systems and structures, and its welter of autonomous dioceses, orders, and societies. A bishop cannot be expected to know how an order is running its affairs, nor will one order be informed of another's business.

It must raise the question though, at least for outsiders looking in, as to how prepared the Church really is for dealing with such a crisis.

The hierarchy obviously wants to be seen to be in control of the mounting concern within the Church -- this weekend, the bishops are writing to all parishioners setting out their views -- but so far it does not intend to call any kind of special inquiry.

Indications from ordinary practising Catholics are that they want to see their Church's problems aired and debated, at least among themselves.

At Sumner's Star of the Sea Parish last weekend, Father Jim Consedine (who was visiting from his normal Lyttelton parish) made an impact with a particularly resonant sermon about the issue.

Parishioners contacted by The Press
 were enthused. They agreed the problem needed to be out in the open, even if as one, Margaret O'Connor, said, some of the newspaper's coverage had been "over the top".

O'Connor was concerned the Church hierarchy needed to stay in tune with the lay people, to talk to them and respond to their feelings.

Joan Collins highlighted the seriousness of what Catholics were now learning had gone on in such places as the St John of God. "The Church has simply got to acknowledge that these things have happened. It's very shameful, but we've got to stand up to that." And Heather Josland said the controversy might be difficult for Catholics to endure, but it was best out in the open. "We have to remain supportive of the Church at this time."

But Consedine himself considers what he told the Star of the Sea faithful to be a matter between him and them. He flatly refuses to discuss his sermon, or the wider issue. Other priests contacted for their views are also circumspect about talking, but the public silence of Jim Consedine -- long outspoken and voluble in his opinions on the abuse of power -- underscores the sensitivities at stake.

* * *

The Catholic Church in New Zealand recognised it had to start overhauling its system of confronting sex abuse a decade ago, when it set up committees in each of its six dioceses to deal with sexual abuse complaints. In 1998, it strengthened its stance with a formal document called A Path to Healing, setting out how such complaints were to be handled.

The diocesan committees are hand-picked by the bishop and report to him. It is, essentially, a judge, jury, and executioner arrangement. A committee will not reveal details about its hearings. It is over to a complainant to determine how they want their case handled, including whether there is to be any publicity or outside authority involved. The inescapable conclusion is that many of the secrets of sex offending by the New Zealand Catholic clergy have the potential to remain locked away inside the Church.

Rumblings from across the Tasman just this week have highlighted the potential for wider weaknesses in this system.

The Australian Catholics use a similar approach. They also have a protocol document, Towards Healing, which includes more than a few parallels with the New Zealand version. And the bishops there, says a prominent lay member of the Australian Church, lawyer Geoff Cahill, hide behind it, pay lip service to the true problem.

"The (Towards Healing) protocol has been waved incessantly as if it is the answer to every new complaint; as if it washes the hands of moral culpability, and of remorseless inaction," Cahill wrote in an open letter to the Australian bishops. "It is just not believable any more."

* * *

Whatever criticisms are levelled at the Catholic hierarchy in New Zealand, it is, if nothing else, taking a consistent and clear line in talking about the abuse problem.

Its message includes contrition; deep sorrow and regret for all caught up in the scandal; dismay and sadness; confidence that the Church is going about things the right way; insistence that it is a tiny minority of its number implicated in the scandals; and staunchness that the roots of the problem are societal ones, rather than of its own making.

Church leaders say it is a difficult time for all Catholics, as their faith is condemned and ridiculed by outsiders on the basis of the sins of a few. Some commentators see it all as an excuse for Catholic bashing.

But the most vehement denials are reserved for the suggestion that Catholicism has an unusually serious problem of sexual offending by its clergy, and that its requirement that its clergy remain celibate may be a factor.

From the highest levels, the Church has insisted that its experience simply reflects the wider ugliness of society.

As the Pope told America's cardinals as they struggled to contain their Church's worsening scandals in April: "The abuse of the young is a grave symptom of a crisis affecting not only the Church but society as a whole. It is a deep-seated crisis of sexual morality."

Cardinal Tom Williams echoes the message and says that the abuse by a few has not "shaken my very firm conviction that the vast, vast majority of those committed to serving the Church are doing so well, are observing their vows of chastity or celibacy. That's something I not only stand by, I take pride in."

The Church hierarchy refuses to budge on its tenet of an all-male, celibate priesthood, and refuses to accept that the celibate lifestyle may hold some appeal for men who want to disguise their troubled sexuality. Paedophiles, for example. It insists that there is no known connection between celibacy and sex abuse.

But there is certainly a suspicion and some strong theories.

Muriel Porter, a Melbourne journalism lecturer and a senior laywoman in the Australian Anglican Church, has a doctorate in the study of clerical marriage and celibacy. She is convinced that celibacy and its inherent assumption that sex is impure must be a factor in the sexual abuse crises.

Porter does not buy a simple celibacy causes abuse argument, but sees it as part of a much deeper, ancient and dangerous attitude towards sexuality generally, afflicting society at large.

A problem for the Catholics, she suspects, is that the Church hierarchy is simply not prepared for the inevitable consequences of its stance.

She looks at the current Catholic leadership in her own country and sees a group which has never had to face up to understanding a complex sex abuse crisis, and "they don't know how to cope with it. They are only beginning to understand the dimensions and I don't think they have any concept of the damage it is doing."