Survivors' Voices: Justice
The more time I have spent listening to abuse survivors, the more I have come to realize that justice - at least earthly justice - is out of reach for most survivors. Even in the rare cases where perpetrators are held accountable by criminal, civil, or canonical courts, this process often does little to restore what has been lost.
The reflections below reveal the complicated relationship many survivors have with the concept of justice. I hope their words give all of us something to think about.
Honestly, one of the teachings of the Church that have kept me in the Church has been the doctrine of Hell. Not because I'm afraid of it or because I necessarily want anyone to go there (I've prayed for my abuser to repent), but because it gives me assurance that there's real consequences at stake for what's been done to me and to others. It matters, God takes it seriously, and there will be an accounting. I don't expect justice or full recognition of evil in this life (though I think it's a noble thing to strive for) but I have hope it will be laid bare in the next.
I honestly don't know what justice would look like in my case. What was taken from me feels so intangible ... it's hard to envision how anything could ever make it right. I do wish I could get my therapy bills paid for, but because the abuse I experienced wasn't strictly sexual abuse and because my abusers belong to an order of pontifical right and the leaders were complicit, the chances of that are close to zero. I'm not willing to come forward and subject myself to that kind of scrutiny for the sake of money I probably wouldn't get anyway. It doesn't feel like justice is possible.
My knee jerk reaction: THERE IS NO JUSTICE! If there was justice, the Catholic church would have a zero-tolerance policy for clergy perpetrators. They would turn these rapists over to the criminal justice system instead of protecting them through any means necessary. They would not file for bankruptcies in dozens of dioceses, but instead would use the Vatican’s massive wealth to do the right thing to assist the survivors. They would not spew out promises and platitudes, but would instead openly admit to their longstanding pattern of protecting their own, and voluntarily pay for counseling and other assistance for survivors whose lives have been decimated. They would exorcise the rot within, and focus on changing the institution. They would spend their money on survivors’ healing rather than on high priced defense lawyers who pummel survivors in court, PR firms who spin the rhetoric to create an illusion of concern and holiness, and lobbyists who water down proposed laws to protect the church on statutes, evidence thresholds and punishments. The pope should go inward and ask, “What would Jesus do, to make things right?” If Jesus was visible to the population, they’d see Him crying buckets of tears over the failure of the institution, and the decimated lives of so many harmed innocents.
My healing journey from childhood spiritual and sexual abuses led me to education, advocacy work, and deeper into my catholic faith tradition. I longed for connection, to restore relationships with church people, for relationship with a good god, and longed to be part of the process to build a better church. I longed to be part of restorative justice efforts for myself and for others. I naively believed the church already understood and practiced the attributes I learned through catholic teaching and preaching. I perceived the intentions and words spoken to me by catholic leaders to be something different than they actually were. I tried to manufacture restoration in myself through relationships within the church. I felt everything was my fault and if I could just get better that everything, including relationships, would work out. I thought it was me until I began to get healthy and see reality more clearly. Viewing the institution and my experiences with the people of the institution from outside its walls, after leaving the church, really opened my eyes. Today I see restorative justice as a tool only available for people and/or institutions fully invested, vulnerable, and transparent. I would never participate if the church had any part in development, facilitation, or any control in the restorative justice process or outcome. And honestly, I hope better relations happen in the future, but a restorative justice option, if it came available, might not be for me.
Grappling with the absence of justice has been one of the biggest challenges of my continuing to practice my faith. The main reason I am still practicing is probably because I have a husband and children who practice. If I was alone, I think I would have left the Church… I see my perpetrator and his enablers still living lives of privilege, authority, and respect years after my exposing abuse. If phenomenology has any glimmer of truth in it, then there are some natural consequences in life, but there are people who are sheltered from experiencing consequences proportional to the evil they commit. The Church is the shelter.
The idea of divine justice isn't much of a consolation because - as much as my abusers hurt me - I still make excuses for them and still feel unsure that anyone (God included) will see the situation the way I do. It's difficult for me to imagine God wanting to punish someone else on my behalf. I'm honestly not sure I'm worth that. And I'm not sure I want that, anyway. I cling to the idea of divine mercy for myself because that's the only thing that gives me any hope of salvation ... wouldn't it be hypocritical of me to deny that same mercy to my abusers? I think this is an area of continued brokenness for me. I don't feel worthy of justice.
I will have more reflections on this topic next week. If you have experienced any form of abuse by a Catholic leader and would like to share your own thoughts on this or future topics, I would be grateful to include your perspective. You can find information about joining the Survivors’ Voices Panel here: An Invitation for Survivors.
Thank you,
Sara