For survivors of priest child sex abuse, what would real justice look like?
| NEW YORK
There are crimes for which justice can seem like a remote concept.
There are crimes, like the sexual abuse of children, from which many turn away 鈥� using language like 鈥渦nspeakable,鈥� 鈥渦nimaginable,鈥� or even 鈥渋nhuman.鈥澛� Even survivors create their mental shields from the crimes they endured.
聽鈥淭his form of abuse is really completely and utterly spiritually annihilating,鈥� says Christa Brown, a survivor of abuse at the hands of a Baptist minister decades ago, and an author who now lives in Colorado. 鈥淚t's been called 鈥榮oul murder,鈥� and I think that's a very apt word for it.鈥�
Why We Wrote This
The question overlays every detailing of the sexual abuse of children by trusted spiritual figures: How can there be justice for such a crime? We asked several of those now-grown children what, exactly, 鈥榡ustice鈥� would mean for them.
How can there be justice for such a crime? And what, exactly, would justice look like to those who, more and more, are finding the will, and perhaps the words, to define it?
鈥淎s a survivor, the biggest, most important part of justice is to be heard, and to be believed,鈥� says Michael Norris, a chemical engineer and manager in Houston, who was abused by a Roman Catholic priest while attending summer camp when he was 10.
鈥淭o me, there鈥檚 healing, and then there鈥檚 justice,鈥� says Becky Ianni, a mother of four who was sexually assaulted by a young parish priest, in her own home and for years, starting when she was 8.聽聽
鈥淭o me justice is being able to file a police report and put your perpetrator in jail,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hat's the ultimate justice.鈥�
Ms. Brown, Mr. Norris, and Ianni were three of a number of survivors who shared their stories with the Monitor. They described the swirl of trauma, self-loathing, and guilt with which they鈥檇 lived. They described how, as adults, each broke their silence and gave voice to the now-speakable wrongs they endured. There are similarities, but each of them began a journey to seek the kind of justice they were longing for, often in very different ways.聽
The nation鈥檚 institutions of criminal justice are grappling anew with the parameters of justice 鈥� and moving in unprecedented ways nearly two decades after the Boston Globe exposed the sexual abuse of children in the Catholic Church, and the lengths its hierarchy went to cover up these crimes.
- In August, a grand jury in Pennsylvania聽detailed more than 1,000 documented victims. It said that there were most likely thousands more. It publicly named more than 300 priests as abusers. But because of existing statutes of limitations, only two could be brought to justice.
- In September, officials in at least seven states, including New York, Florida, and Illinois, announced investigations into Catholic dioceses, seeking what some attorneys general called the church鈥檚 "secret archives."
- Over the past year, evangelical Protestants also have grappled with stories of abusive ministers targeting underage teenage girls, as well as other instances of child abuse. Because of these and other #MeToo stories, the Southern Baptist Convention, the nation鈥檚 largest Protestant denomination, in July 鈥渢o consider how Southern Baptists at every level can take discernable action to respond swiftly and compassionately to incidents of abuse.鈥澛�
鈥淚 guess what finally underlies all forms of justice is truth,鈥� says Brown, who advocates listed as聽 the Southern Baptist Study group should consult. 鈥淭he need for truth within all these processes, within all these systems, within all these faith communities 鈥� and especially the need for truth within our very souls and our hearts 鈥� certainly that's what survivors need and yearn for to a large degree.鈥�
Survivors and their advocates, in fact, have begun to coalesce around a number of concrete institutional reforms to reshape the structures of justice. These include: Eliminate statutes of limitations for accusations of child abuse; establish free-standing grand juries throughout the states, each with the power to subpoena documents from church archives; and require that all credible accusations of abuse are reported to the police.
Not every victim finds a voice. But for many who have chosen to share their childhood abuse, justice has become more than the difficult journey through human bureaucracies in both the church and law enforcement.
Part of the idea of justice is recompense for what has been lost. But how do you begin to restore lost community and even lost faith?
鈥淲hen you are abused and you lose your faith community, it鈥檚 another loss,鈥� says Ianni, still struggling to recover her faith, and especially her trust in God. 鈥淲hen people are abused outside of religious settings, they might be able to turn to that. So then, when you're abused in that religious setting, what do you do?鈥�
It is a question that most survivors, often in very different ways, are still struggling to answer.聽Brown describes justice as an ever-moving process.
鈥淏ut as abuse survivors, we can still work within our very selves to bring about a form of justice, a justice within our own bodies, a justice over the portion that we ourselves have any possibility of exercising some control over,鈥� says Brown, who has embraced the meditative solace of yoga and hiking the Rocky Mountains that surround her.聽
鈥淎nd that's not whole justice, that鈥檚 not complete justice 鈥� it doesn鈥檛 do anything about the perpetrators and the enablers and the community that would rather look away,鈥� she continues. 鈥淏ut working within ourselves, we can arrive at some place of peace and wholeness and go on and have a good life 鈥� and that really is the ultimate form of justice.鈥澛�
***
Norris was able to experience two facets of justice that many survivors say they long to see.聽
Norris confronted his abuser, first face to face, then in a court of law 鈥� a court that found the priest guilty and sentenced him to prison.
As the grand jury lamented, existing statutes of limitations have prevented law enforcement officials from pursuing criminal charges against most priests. In states like New York, victims of many forms of childhood sexual abuse have only until they turn 23 to make an accusation, and until 21 to file for civil damages, according to of statutes of limitations by the advocacy group .
By contrast, states such as Alabama, Colorado, Illinois, South Carolina, and West Virginia have no statutes of limitations for sex abuse crimes聽鈥� a reform that survivors and their advocates have begun to demand from other state legislatures.聽Kentucky, the jurisdiction that sentenced Norris鈥檚 abuser, eliminated statutes of limitations for all forms of child sex abuse in 1974.聽聽聽 聽
In recounting his story again and again 鈥� to church officials, to the police, to prosecutors, to defense attorneys, on the witness stand, at appeals hearings, and now at parole board hearings 鈥� Norris says the criminal justice system became yet another ordeal.聽 聽
He has been subjected to attacks on his character: 鈥淗e was starved for attention,鈥� his abuser鈥檚 defense attorney said . 鈥淗e鈥檚 gotten plenty out of this.鈥�
鈥淭hat鈥檚 not necessarily justice,鈥� Norris says of his experiences in criminal court. 鈥淏ut justice is knowing that this man can鈥檛 hurt anybody. He's in a place now where he's not going to hurt anyone. And so that鈥檚 been justice for me.鈥�
Norris was abused at a summer camp in Kentucky in 1973, after he got poison ivy during a hike. He was sent to the first aid cabin, and one of the camp administrators, Father Joseph Hemmerle, was supposed to give him treatment and care.聽
He never forgot the episode. In fact, in the years to come, his life seemed to constantly orbit the priest, a beloved religious leader in the Louisville community 鈥� which included his parents, who would often gush about him, he says. When Norris enrolled in his local Catholic high school, Hemmerle was his religion teacher.聽
He began to drink heavily, and 鈥淚 was also getting high on pot every day,鈥� he says.聽And then one day in class, when Norris and another boy were talking during a lecture, his abuser mocked him. 鈥淗e says, 鈥楴orris, you鈥檙e trouble. You鈥檙e just going to end up in prison someday,鈥欌�� he says.
Norris dropped out. Later, he attempted suicide. He enrolled in another high school, but dropped out again. His parents finally told him he had to get a job, go to school, or leave the house.
Instead he joined the Navy, Norris says. He聽attended the University of Louisville and got a degree in chemical engineering and got married. After they moved to Houston, his wife was the first person he ever told about his abuse.
It wasn鈥檛 easy going back to Kentucky to visit his family. 鈥淓very time I would go home, my mother would talk about him. 鈥極h, I saw Father Hemmerle. He鈥檚 such a good guy. He remembers you, too!鈥� 鈥� Norris says. 鈥淢y wife would say, 鈥榊ou need to say something to her.鈥� But I didn鈥檛 know how to do it.鈥�
In 1996, after his mother again starting gushing, Norris finally just blurted out, 鈥淢om, he鈥檚 a pedophile.鈥�
鈥淪he didn鈥檛 know what to say, she was so taken aback,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hen she asked me what happened, and I told her. And she said she loved me. My mother at that point said, you need to do something about it, but I just wasn鈥檛 ready. I didn鈥檛 know how to handle it. I was still abusing alcohol heavily, my career wasn鈥檛 really where I thought it should be.鈥�
But his mother鈥檚 support meant the world, he says. He began to see a therapist. 鈥淭hat little boy was still hurting down there, and I never really dealt with it." It took years, 鈥渂ut I finally reached a point, I can actually tell the story of what happened to me, without getting emotional,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 did nothing wrong. I learned how to deal with it in a constructive manner.鈥�
This included a momentous decision. He would report his abuse, nearly 25 years after the fact, to church officials. He wrote a letter in 2001 to the diocese in Louisville, formally accusing Father Hemmerle and requesting that he be removed from ministry. He met with the local bishop, but in the end, no action was taken.
Then came the Globe鈥檚 bombshell reports. Norris decided to report his abuse to the police. Again, not enough evidence could be found to charge the priest.
鈥淔inally, I reached a point 鈥� you know, I鈥檝e done what I can do,鈥� Norris says. 鈥淢y hands are clean. There鈥檚 nothing I can really say.鈥�
But the death of his father prompted Norris to confront Hemmerle face to face. On his father鈥檚 death bed, 鈥淚 sat down and I鈥檓 by myself with him, and he says to me, 鈥業 want to tell you I'm sorry. I鈥檓 sorry that I allowed you to be put in that situation.鈥� 鈥�
鈥淎nd you know, I had no idea that my father was feeling guilty about this,鈥� Norris says, choking back his tears. 鈥淪o, that was the last conversation I had with my father, a conversation about this priest.鈥�
A year later, he drove to the rectory where Hemmerle lived.
鈥淚 walk up to the door and knock on it,鈥� Norris says. 鈥淗e comes out, opens the door, and he says hello. He has a smile on his face. And I said, 鈥業鈥檓 Michael Norris.鈥� 鈥�
Hemmerle鈥檚 smile quickly turned to fear. 鈥淗e was scared. But he looked at me and he could tell I wasn't there to do anything violent. And he looked at me, and said, 鈥業, I know who you are.鈥� He let me walk in, saying, 鈥業 didn鈥檛 do this, I didn鈥檛 do this.鈥� I told him, 鈥業 know what happened, and you know what happened. But that鈥檚 not why I鈥檓 here.鈥欌��
鈥淚 just wanted him to know that I persevered. I persevered,鈥� Norris says. 鈥淵ou know, he abused me, and I felt the impact of that for 40 years, but I鈥檓 OK now. I鈥檓 a productive member of society. And I wanted him to know that. It was part of a healing process.鈥�
鈥淚 told him the story of my father, and the impact of what he had done to me, how it impacted my whole family, and that he needed to understand that,鈥� he says.
鈥淚 felt so relieved when I walked out of there. That you know, I felt like I had unloaded all the pain that I had, and that he knew about what had happened to me,鈥� Norris continues.
Almost a decade later, their orbits crossed again. Another person accused Hemmerle of abuse, and the police re-opened their investigation into Norris鈥檚 accusations.
This time, prosecutors subpoenaed church documents 鈥� an effort other states are beginning to take. These documents included the Catholic diocese's own psychiatric evaluation of Hemmerle. The evaluation corroborated Norris鈥檚 accusations. Armed with this report, prosecutors convinced a jury to convict the priest and send him to prison.
Advocates say that this is the reason states like New York have begun to subpoena such documents in church archives.聽
Norris has refused any monetary damages. And he says that he forgave Hemmerle years ago.
Yet he cannot bring himself to step foot again in a Catholic Church, he says, or sit through a liturgy.聽鈥淚 told my mother I won鈥檛 go to her funeral, I refuse,鈥� Norris says, remembering icy stares he received during his father's funeral liturgy. 鈥淚鈥檓 sorry, I鈥檓 not going to put myself in that place again.鈥�
***
Unlike Norris, Becky Ianni, the mother of four in Virginia, was never able to confront the priest who abused her when she was a girl, or see him brought to justice in a court of law.聽
It鈥檚 been more than 12 years, since she first stepped forward to break decades of silence. She had forgotten the abuse she endured as a child until a moment in 2006, when a photo of the priest opened a hidden place and memories flooded over her.
By this time, her diocese in Arlington, Va., had already instituted reforms, and she didn't wait long to contact the diocese鈥檚 victim assistance coordinator. She told her she was asking for three simple things.
鈥淚 need the church to say they鈥檙e sorry, and I need them to tell me I鈥檓 not going to hell 鈥� because I still felt like, if I'm going to tell on the priest, then I鈥檓 going to hell,鈥� Ianni says. 鈥淎nd then I need them to do something about it, and acknowledge what happened to me.鈥�
For the next 18 months, there were bureaucratic disputes about which diocese had jurisdiction over her case. Church leaders ignored her numerous letters and phone calls, and seemed indifferent when she recounted her story again and again. 鈥淵ou know, I just poured out my heart to you, and that鈥檚 how you treat me?鈥� Ianni says.
In the late 1960s, when she was 8, a charismatic young priest, Father William Reinecke, came to her family鈥檚 parish in Alexandria, Va. He played football on the streets with the neighborhood boys. 鈥淎nd he sort of adopted our family,鈥� Ianni says. He ate dinner at their house two to three times a week. He drove her older brother, an altar boy, back and forth from liturgies. The priest even helped the family buy a new color TV, she says.
鈥淎s an 8-year-old, I wanted his attention, too,鈥� Ianni says. 鈥淏ut he took that adoration and began.鈥︹�� Her voice trails off. 鈥淗e would abuse me, literally abuse me in the basement of my house, and then go up and have dinner with my family.鈥�
鈥淚 thought I had done something wrong, or that I had more 鈥榦riginal sin鈥� than other people, and though I didn鈥檛 know why, I knew it was my fault. I thought I was being punished by God because I was a bad little girl,鈥� Ianni says.
As she grew up, Ianni says she pushed these memories to the outer peripheries of her conscious self.聽聽
Reineke climbed the ranks, becoming a monsignor and the chancellor of the Diocese of Arlington, Va.聽One of his duties during his 13-year tenure: investigating claims of child abuse.
Ianni got a degree in elementary education from the College of William and Mary. She met her husband Dan, and they had four children. They attended mass regularly and they raised their children in the faith.聽鈥淏ut I never felt I was lovable, really, and saying no was just not part of my vocabulary,鈥� she says.聽
In 1992,聽 to accuse Monsignor Reinecke of abusing them. That September, after a former altar boy confronted Reinecke face to face, he used a shotgun to take his own life.
Neither her abuser鈥檚 suicide nor the explosive revelations by the Boston Globe in 2002 sparked Ianni's memories.聽In 2006, however, one of her sons was struggling with alcoholism and she entered family counseling. The therapist asked the mother of four, then 48, to explore her own formative years.
That included looking through photos 鈥� including one of a little girl, standing with a young, handsome priest. Suddenly, and with a force that nearly took her breath away, moments started flooding back into her mind. A malaise of guilt and fear and confusion 鈥� it was like becoming that 8-year-old girl again, she says 鈥� took hold of her.
鈥淚 was in a state, not knowing what to do,鈥� Ianni says. "But I wanted to find other victims, other survivors, I knew that.鈥�
After nearly two years of delays, a church panel finally judged Ianni鈥檚 accusations credible. But in their first letter of apology, they used vague and euphemistic language, she says.
鈥淭he first letter of apology I got 鈥� I still have it 鈥� what it said was, 鈥榃e're sorry for the experience you had with a priest in our diocese,鈥欌�� she says. She immediately sent it back.聽
鈥淚 think the church has failed in this, because they鈥檒l say, oh this happened to you, and they use the term 'inappropriate behavior鈥� or other euphemisms,鈥� she says. 鈥淎nd someone actually said to me, the priest was just 鈥榦verly affectionate.鈥� These are sexual crimes. And so I think that, to give victims justice, you first need to acknowledge what happened to them.鈥�
In their second letter, the church officially apologized for the sexual abuse she experienced, and at the hands of Reinecke. They also published an announcement in the Arlington Herald. Even more gratifying, the church announced its findings of the former chancellor's abuse in every Sunday bulletin in churches throughout the diocese.
鈥淭hat鈥檚 what I wanted, and so for me, that was my justice,鈥� says Ianni, who also received a small cash settlement. 鈥淎nd quite honestly, if they had simply done those three things right away, I鈥檇 probably still be Catholic.鈥�
鈥淚鈥檓 not sure how much I trust God yet, if that makes sense,鈥� she says. 鈥淏ut I would like to.鈥� Church officials never addressed her anxieties about hell, however. 鈥淚 definitely miss God, and I鈥檓 trying to figure out a way to get back there.鈥�
But the journey she鈥檚 taken since those memories of her abuse came flooding back 12 years ago has changed her pretty profoundly, she says.
She鈥檚 no longer so meek, and she鈥檚 become an active leader in a different community, the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests, an organization Norris also joined.
Ianni has been on the front lines of pressuring church officials to be more transparent. And she has found a sense of meaning as she shares her own story of survival, within a new community that embraces her, without conditions or judgments.
鈥淚t鈥檚 almost like the Catholic Church created what I am right now,鈥� says Ianni. 鈥淎nd in a way, I鈥檓 not sorry for that.鈥�
Correction: Christa Brown was one of 14 people advocates say the Southern Baptist Study group should consult.
