ENGLAND
Christian Today
November 6, 2017
By Jayne Ozanne
It’s one of the first lessons in life – bad things happen. Bad things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people. They can happen in ‘dark and dangerous places’, but they can also happen in places that are supposed to be ‘safe’ and full of light. Sadly, this often makes the impact of what has happened even more wounding, with devastating consequences on an individual’s ability to trust.
The critical thing of course is – what happens afterwards? How do we respond? What should we do – Keep Calm and Carry On as ‘normal’ (or as near to it as we can pretend to be), or allow ourselves to be changed and altered by the experience, learning from it so that we ensure it doesn’t happen again?
The Church of England appears to be extremely good at adopting the former – wartime – strategy. It just carries on carrying on. However, in doing so it becomes more and more like a Carry On film – a farcical comedy that stretches reality to breaking point and risks becoming the butt of too many jokes.
So, here’s my bad thing: I was raped – by a priest. No matter that it happened over 25 years ago. It happened. I finally told someone – a bishop – last year, and was advised discreetly to drop the allegations. I’m sure it was with the best of intentions, but it was like a kick in the stomach, adding quite literally insult to injury.
It has caused me to reflect – not only on my reasons for staying quiet for so many years, but also on my experience in finally coming forward. Most importantly, however, it has made me consider what I would have ideally liked to have happened – how I would have liked to have been treated, and what might have helped me to speak out sooner. For that is the point of my disclosure – to help us reflect and change.
Obviously, the first thing I would have dearly loved would have been to have been taught – from an early age – that this sort of behaviour is completely unacceptable, out of order, and absolutely not my fault. The years of self-blame and shame were arguably the most damaging. These were the years where I carried this awful truth on my own, too ashamed to speak out, and too guilty about what I saw as my own complicity to call it for what it was – rape.
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