CALIFORNIA
Orange County Weekly
by Gustavo Arellano
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve written a few stories about the Diocese of Orange sex-abuse scandal this year—31, actually. Most of them were well-researched, hard-hitting exposés critical of a church leadership that for decades refused to acknowledge the priestly pedophilia problem in Catholic Orange County. Some stories drew national attention, such as my piece about Orange Bishop Tod D. Brown’s purchase of a $1.1 million manse for himself near South Coast Plaza. Others ran under the headlines "All Aboard the Pedo-Train!" and "Hide the Buggering Priests!" or examined a mural at St. Joseph’s in Santa Ana I lovingly refer to as "Boner Jesus."
It’s a living.
Anyways, it’s been tough covering an imploding Church, and not just because of the barrage of angry Catholic e-mails and phone messages. Shortly after I began the series, my parents took me aside. They’re barely English-literate, but someone had apparently translated my "King of County Pedophiles" story for them, the article in which I excerpted a police report detailing how Father Eleuterio Ramos allowed three strangers in a San Diego motel room to blindfold a 14-year-old boy, then watched as they savagely gang-raped the teenager.
My parents have never been the most devout of Catholics—papi rarely attends Mass, and I can’t remember the last time mami took the Eucharist. Nevertheless, they ordered me to sit one night and yelled at me for a good hour. Orthodox or not, they’re Mexican Catholics, and insulting the Church in our culture is as serious a sin as saluting the American flag. Why write badly about the Church? they demanded. Why bash God?