The Worthy Adversary

Author: Joelle Casteix

  • Arizona Child Victims’ Act: Two New Lawsuits Filed

    Arizona Child Victims’ Act: Two New Lawsuits Filed

    The Arizona Child Victims’ Act has not been in the headlines much—Covid and the elections have stolen most of the news airtime in that state.

    Don’t let the quiet fool you: Arizona’s Catholic Bishops have a long and sordid history of enabling and protecting child sex predators.

    Today, victims filed two new child sex abuse and cover-up lawsuits against the Diocese of Phoenix and one its more notorious predators (who came by way of Tucson), Fr. John P. Doran.

    Doran is one of approximately 200 predator clerics who lived and worked across the state.

    Read the news coverage here. Doran’s complete assignment history is here.

    The Arizona Child Victims’ Act closes in December of 2020. After that time, many survivors of child sexual abuse in the state will lose their right to expose predators and protect children right now.

    If you know someone who was sexually abused as a child in Arizona (no matter the predator), support them, listen to them, and let then know that it is safe to come forward and get help.

  • Where does “forgiveness” come from?

    Where does “forgiveness” come from?

    Since I began discussing forgiveness as the topic of my new book project, I have had a number of very smart friends send over great research materials.

    One person pointed out the two Greek words used in the Bible for forgiveness: charizomai, which translates roughly to “grace” or to “bestow a favor unconditionally” and aphiemi, which translates to “set free,” “let go,” or “cast off.”

    Both are good words to use when discussing forgiveness in a general manner. But, unfortunately, neither are useful for a discussion of the etymology (origin) of the word we use (or misuse) everyday: we do not speak Greek and I’m not anchoring my discussion in Christianity. (Instead, Christianity is only one facet of the discussion).

    The bigger the vocabulary, the more precise the language

    English is a very precise language with a huge vocabulary. Experts who study the English language say that there are approximately 350,000 words (although some estimates go up to one million words and the Oxford English Dictionary says that English has 273,000) in our vocabulary (including words that have fallen out of usage and words adopted from other languages). Spanish, on the other hand, has about 150,000.

    Greek, however, is known as one of the world’s richest languages, with dictionaries and experts estimating that the language contains anywhere from 200,000 to 5 million words.

    Obviously, counting vocabulary words is not an exact science. But we can see here that Greek has more words to choose from when we talk about the idea of forgiveness. No wonder they are able to use two, very distinct words.

    What about “pardon” or “reconciliation”

    Yes, these words can be seen as synonyms or similar words to “forgive.” But in English, we seldom say, “Pardon me” (from the French perdonare and the French pardoner) when referring to anything other than accidentally bumping into people or burping in public.

    “Reconciliation” in English, unlike forgivess, is a two-way street. Both parties have to agree.

    Which leads us back to “forgive.”

    Word Origin

    From approximately the 5th to the 12th century, the people of England and southern Scotland spoke what scholars call Anglo Saxon, a Germanic language that was comprised of numerous dialects depending on geography. This is also often referred to “Old English.”

    That all changed with the Norman Invasion of 1066 CE, when William the Conquerer and his armies introduced French to the region. For a number of centuries after the invasion, most “learned” Brits were bilingual and Old English evolved into what we call Middle English.

    “Forgive” is derived from the Anglo Saxon forgiefan, a word from the West Saxon dialect which means “to give,” “allow,” “pardon an offense,” or to “forgive.” The Norman invasion introduced words like pardoner centuries later.

    Not very helpful, huh? I was hoping for something a little more enlightening as well. We don’t have additional words for forgiveness with subtle differences to help with nuance (as we can see, “pardon” and “reconciliation” are poor replacements).

    So how did this word with such humble beginnings become so loaded and so weaponized in the 21st century? How did a language so rich refuse to adopt or create new words to help embrace one of the fundamental concepts of society and community living?

    How did we let forgiveness f*ck us up so much, and what do we do about it?

  • Weaponized Forgiveness: A New Blog Series

    Weaponized Forgiveness: A New Blog Series

    “Forgive me.”

    “Times were different then.”

    “You need to forgive to heal.”

    “Let go of your anger and find healing and peace.”

    Heard these before? What is this is a lot of sociological, historical, and political bunk?

    That’s what I am looking to find out.

    I am working on a new book project. The idea came to me piece by piece during the past few months as a culmination of my observations of how people are systematically manipulated and controlled by one principle: forgiveness.

    My observations began with the place where I spend most of my blogging time: the world of exposing child sexual abuse. I noticed how perpetrators use forgiveness to manipulate victims into keeping silent. I’ve watched how institutions such as the Catholic Church use Christian principles of forgiveness to allow abuse to continue and flourish.

    Then, just as the idea was beginning to solidify, current affairs stepped in to help.

    From the recent protests over racial injustice, to police, to politics, to corporate misdeeds, why is it that wrong-doers always hide behind the need for victims to forgive?

    Then, it got personal.

    Method of control

    In the past couple of weeks, a credibly accused child predator emailed me, asking that I take down a Diocese of Belleville warning about him. The warning states:

    The Diocese of Belleville informs the Conference that it has dismissed Fr. Balili from this position, and has requested his bishop to direct Fr. Balili to return to his home diocese, and that it took this action based on instances of what the Diocese of Belleville viewed as inappropriate conduct regarding certain of his parishioners. The Diocese of Belleville also indicates
    that it has learned of similar inappropriate conduct in Fr. Balili’s
    previous assignments.

    And, of course, I am not the only outlet that has reported on the allegations.

    In his email to me, he asks to be “reconciled with me” because much time has passed since he was removed from Belleville. He wants to get on with his life, he says. He opened the email with “Pax Christi” (Latin for Peace of Christ).

    I told him that if the Diocese of Belleville chooses to retract the statement, I will issue a correction.

    But what do his language and tone tell us? If I don’t reconcile (actually a step beyond forgiveness), am I a bad person? Do I defy Christian values? Am I not following the example of Christ (turn the other cheek, love the prodigal son, find the lost sheep)?

    Has this kind of control mechanism been used on an individual, institutional, and systematic basis for as long as man has lived communally?

    That is what I hope to find out.

    Weaponized Forgiveness will not be a “how to” or “self-help” book. Instead, I plan to create a historical lesson and sociological study. I want to examine the roles that institutions and families—faith and government—individuals and mobs—peaceful protests and riots—play in creating the social norms and emotional health of individuals in the modern world.

    In other words: why does forgiveness f*ck us up so much?

  • Statute of limitations reform: A bittersweet, overwhelming success

    Statute of limitations reform: A bittersweet, overwhelming success

    This week, the US Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) reported that allegations of child sexual abuse in the Catholic Church TRIPLED in the past year.

    There is only one reason for this huge increase in reports: Statute of Limitation Reform. Survivors in many states (California, New Jersey, New York, Arizona) now have the right to come forward in the courts to expose the men and women who abused them and the institutional actors who covered it up.

    Let’s talk about the major questions this report raises:

    Why didn’t these survivors come forward sooner?

    They may have come forward years ago … but the church would never tell us.

    We don’t know whether or not many of these survivors had previously come forward to church officials. The church was not under any legal scrutiny to come clean about reports until legal reforms forced the issue.

    In other words, Catholic Church officials could have known about every single one of these reports. But it wasn’t until this year that survivors could force public disclosure through the justice system. Bishops have no choice now but to report the cases that have been filed in the courts.

    The problem? We still don’t know how many other predators are still hidden because the survivors were abused in states with predator-friendly laws.

    But these reports are “decades old.” Are they still relevant for child safety?

    YES.

    First, we know that it can take survivors of child sexual abuse (CSA) decades to come forward about the crime. CSA is a crime of shame and secrecy, and predators use every weapon in their arsenal (many times through predatory grooming) to ensure that victims stay silent just long enough for the predator to escape the law.

    But here is what we also know: child sex predators do not retire. If it takes a survivor 20 years to come forward about the abuse, and the predator was 35 at the time of the crime, that means that the predator is only 55 years old now. Not only that, but the predator will most likely have a trail of dozens of other victims and 30 years of abuse ahead of him/her.

    “Decades old” allegations are the ones that expose predators hiding in plain sight in YOUR neighborhood. Plus, the men and women who covered up the crime are still conducting “business as usual,” continuing to protect predators working with kids RIGHT NOW.

    What about church-run compensation programs? Aren’t these exposing predators?

    No. The church wrote these programs in a way that they have no obligation to publicly expose any of the credibly accused. They punted that responsibility to the victims.

    Since most victims in the program are not represented by independent attorneys, they have little to no platform or support to have a press event and warn communities of the danger.

    Why “Bittersweet?”

    For every survivor who is brave enough to come forward and report, other children are made safer from abuse. The shame is that the church continues to refuse to come clean on its own and that predators and those who cover up the abuse are continuing to prey on the most vulnerable: our children.

  • When your father is Father

    When your father is Father

    In honor of Father’s Day, the LA Times published an essay by author Mimi Bull. The catch? Her father was a practicing Catholic priest.

    No one reading the essay will be satisfied.

    Mimi’s mother was forced into a life of secrecy and shame, unable to acknowledge the daughter she loved until Mimi was well into adulthood. Mimi was deprived of a father—only told that he was a priest well after his death, as well as the death of her mother.

    And the priest? Well, we don’t know how old Mimi’s mother was from the essay (I have yet to read Mimi’s book). But regardless, whether Mimi’s mother was a minor or an adult, a priest is a man of ultimate power who, in the Catholic tradition, holds the keys to heaven. That’s an exploitive relationship. Mimi’s mother didn’t stand a chance.

    The church certainly won’t be satisfied with the publication of this essay. Sure, Mimi’s mother and father kept their secret to the grave. But Mimi is living, breathing evidence of how children are sacrificed to keep up the appearances of the church.

    I wish I could say that Mimi’s is an isolated experience. Unfortunately, I know numerous children of priests. Many of these men and women struggle with identity; are rejected, re-victimized, and marginalized by the church; and, often, are the product of child sexual abuse. Some children go on to discover that their priest father had numerous “families” and multiple children with many women.

    When you very identity is wrapped in shame, how do you find wholeness and healing?

    Bull’s essay is over-edited and simplified for publication. I believe that there was much more that she wanted to say—but this was a Father’s Day piece. There is a lot of love and forgiveness in her text. I am not so forgiving.

    Here is my point: When a priest fathers a child, there are no winners. Everyone—especially the innocent child—is hurt. No one escapes damage.

    There are support groups globally for children of priests. Even the Vatican has “secret guidelines” on how to address the issue.

    If you are the child of a priest, you are not alone. You are not shameful. You are a perfect, beautiful human being. There is help and there are people available who want to listen.