Minimising Crimes: How the Church Is Playing with Words
By Chris Goddard
There are 80 lights in the five chandeliers in the Committee Room of the Parliament of Victoria. The windows, ornate mirrors and high ceiling give a sense of light and space. The darkness created by the rape of children, however, is inescapable. This is where the Inquiry into the Handling of Child Abuse by Religious and Other Organisations has been sitting. The committee and its members have grown in stature. They have attempted to illuminate the shadowy world of criminal priests and their accomplices, and to give hope to surviving victims. It was in this room that Cardinal George Pell spent all last Monday afternoon, for the first time subject to the glare of accountability. Pell was greeted by the committee chairwoman, Georgie Crozier: ''I welcome your eminence.'' A survivor muttered: ''I have waited 30 years for this.'' Pell introduced his support team, the business manager, lawyer, secretary and media adviser: ''All of them married people with children'', he adds, as if this was central to their job descriptions. Crozier stressed at the very start that ''the evidence is quite clear, the criminal sexual abuse of children occurred under the watch of the Catholic Church and it was covered up … these facts are not in dispute''. The battle over words such as ''power'' and their meanings, over actions and inaction and their consequences, started immediately. Pell acknowledged that he is one of the better known public faces of the Catholic Church in Australia, but stressed that he had ''very, very limited'' powers. Pell attempted to underline the limitations of his authority: ''I am not the Catholic Prime Minister of Australia'', he insisted, although no one had suggested he was. The cardinal explained that, in spite of all his titles, the Catholic Church is ''an interesting example of a flat organisation''. The chairwoman disagreed, stating that ''many witnesses'' had described the church as ''a structure of convenience''. It was nearly 70 years ago that another George, Orwell, wrote his essay ''Politics and the English Language''. He described how political language ''is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable''. The proceedings of the inquiry clearly demonstrated that words can be used to obscure the truth, confuse the vulnerable, protect criminals. In Orwell's words, make child rape respectable. There were many words and phrases considered closely throughout the inquiry. The title of the Catholic Church's ''Independent Commissioner'' was subjected to particular scrutiny. Peter O'Callaghan, the incumbent, claimed that being paid by the church, the organisation responsible for the offenders, did not ''destroy'' his independence. To suggest that it does, he said, was ''a grave allegation''. The independence of O'Callaghan was earlier called into question by Victoria Police Deputy Commissioner Graham Ashton. He stated that O'Callaghan had ''alerted alleged offenders to police investigations and discouraged victims from reporting to police''. O'Callaghan, he stated, had also advised one victim that if the abuse was reported to the police, it ''would be unlikely to be held by a court as criminal conduct''. O'Callaghan described himself as ''surprised'' by Ashton's ''volley of criticisms''. But he made an admission: ''I still have not worked out how paedophiles get gratification from fiddling with prepubescent children.'' Carelessness over the words used to describe crimes contrasts starkly with the considered and precise language used when describing the church. Melbourne Archbishop Denis Hart gave the church a gender and admitted that she was ''too keen to look after herself and her good name''. There is a pattern of repeat offending in those who would excuse the church. The minimisation of crimes is evident among even self-confessed ''lapsed'' Catholics. In an essay entitled ''Father Scapegoat'', in Quadrant magazine earlier this year, the poet and songwriter Joe Dolce wrote that he was raised a Catholic but was ''never touched up by any of the priests''. Again, the contrast is extraordinary. Dolce described children being ''touched up'' by Catholic priests but ''sexually abused'' by Protestants, teachers and family members. ''Someone once remarked,'' Dolce continued, ''that if the age of consent for boys was lowered to 16, most of the charges against Catholic priests would vanish.'' He clearly had not read the Victoria Police evidence. There are other Orwellian themes. In 1984, Orwell wrote that ''who controls the past … controls the future''. Pell and his colleagues' versions of the past are attempts to protect their futures. Archbishop Hart certainly demonstrated extraordinary attempts to control the past. He admitted that sex-offender priests were moved from parish to parish but said that his predecessor, Frank Little, dealt with the complaints secretly and kept no records. The Archbishop's willingness to blame Little contrasted strongly with his description of him just five years earlier at his funeral mass. Then, Hart lauded Little as a ''dedicated priest'' who was ''a lover of humanity''. There were, however, ''serious challenges'' including IVF, education, the ''casino culture'' and abortion. All challenges from outside the church, while a terrible evil dwelt within. Orwell described how a ''mass of … words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details''. In spite of the efforts of expensive lawyers and public relations consultants, there were occasional glimpses of the damning truth. Pell was forced to admit that the date had been changed on a document making child rapist Desmond Gannon pastor emeritus. Pell also admitted that another offender was paid by the church even when he fled to Britain to avoid arrest, and that files had been destroyed in Ballarat by Bishop Mulkearns. It was Denis Hart who demonstrated that it was not always possible to adhere to the PR consultants' lines. When asked why the church had been so slow to take action against serial offender Desmond Gannon (it took about 18 years), Hart replied: ''Better late than never.'' The gasps of shock from the public gallery were clearly audible. The carefully prepared positions on what words to use, the dead people to blame, the claims that no one talked about the problem, and all the other shifty shades of grey were suddenly, starkly illuminated by that throwaway line: better late than never. For so many victims of priests it is already too late, it is already never: childhoods destroyed, families torn asunder, lives lost.
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