Fr Kevin Dillon: Justice Central to Dignity of Abuse Victims
By Fr Kevin Dillon
“JIMMY” was only eight years old when he was sexually abused by a Catholic priest, soon after he started serving Mass in his local parish. It was 1964, and he had been taught that priests were honourable people doing God’s work. He had no idea of what to do, what to say, whom to tell. He was bewildered, and because of what the priest had told him, even ashamed — sometimes just a little, at other times overwhelmingly guilty. So he did nothing, said nothing, and told no one. He had been a talented student until then — always near the top of his class. Then, inexplicably to family and teachers, his learning ran into a brick wall. Eventually he left school at 14, with a minimum of education. He plodded from job to job. Sometimes he showed up for work, sometimes he went to ground and wouldn’t be seen for days. Even the most patient employers got fed up and moved him on. “Unemployed” was often the word he used, in childish handwriting, on forms requiring his employment status. His marriage failed after three years, and a few subsequent girlfriends refused to stay in his life for long. He didn’t blame them. He knew how irrational, unreliable and downright difficult he could be. Sometimes he broke off the relationship himself — because he didn’t trust the girlfriends. In fact he didn’t, and couldn’t, trust anyone. Even though he was a kid, he knew someone who was very close to God had betrayed him. So he wasn’t going to let anyone betray him again. Not even God. He’d been a prayerful child until “it” happened. And if God’s priest could do that, then why should he trust God? Why even believe in God? So he stopped believing, and still doesn’t. The “faith” that was central to his heritage means nothing to him. And short of miracle, it never will. Because what happened to him carried a life sentence. All of the aforementioned (except for the name) is true. And it’s just one of hundreds, even thousands of stories being heard by the Royal Commission into the Institutional Response to the Sexual Abuse of Children. Reading news reports, or watching the live streaming of the commission hearings, we can be enthralled by the courtroom drama, maybe hoping for a Tom Cruise-like barrister to nail the Jack Nicholson-type star witness — just like in A Few Good Men. Certainly, it is critical to establish the truth. To discover who did what, who did nothing, or who could have done “something”, but didn’t. To unravel the culture in churches and institutions which failed children so dismally. But even as the courtroom drama unfolds, people like Jimmy still have to live a life. If only he could have a job. If only he had someone to treasure him, while knowing how damaged he is. If only he could manage better what little money he has, but which post-traumatic stress can cause him so easily to “blow” it. Writing this, I just received a text — not from Jimmy but from someone whose story is very similar. He has very little of this world’s goods, yet he texted me: “Are you collecting food for Christmas for those in need? I have arranged a carton of food, sweets, Christmas treats etc. I may not have much, but I can share the little I have with those less fortunate.” Unbelievable — that people so hurt, so sinned against still maintain such character and decency — and all too often are not given the respect, compassion and justice they have every right to expect. The drama of the commission is important. But it’s not about witnesses, defendants, or lawyers — or even, as the commission itself would be first to attest, about the commissioners. It’s about Jimmy. And so many others like him. Thank God this royal commission gives every impression of deeply understanding this.
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