Barbara Blaine, Founder of Priest-abuse Victims Group Snap, Dies at 61
By Manya Brachear
Immersed from a young age in the Roman Catholic tradition of social activism, Barbara Blaine knew early on that she wanted to commit her life to serving the poor and promoting justice. But it was a childhood memory of being abused by a priest that gave clarity to that sense of mission, leading her to turn her focus on the church itself and found the nation's oldest and largest self-help organization for victims of clergy sexual abuse. Blaine, 61, died Sunday while on vacation in Utah. The cause of death was a condition resulting from a sudden tear in a blood vessel in her heart, her family said in a statement Monday. "She really was a pioneer in championing the universal deceit among the Roman Catholic bishops," said Jeff Anderson, a prominent victims attorney in St. Paul. "She was the first survivor that didn't just speak out, but organized a movement behind it. She single-handedly inspired and forced people not only to open their eyes to painful truths but to bring about change." Blaine's group — the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests, which she founded in 1988 — would bring to light the Catholic Church's clergy-abuse crisis more than a decade before the Boston Globe exposed the church's cover-up. "Her relentless advocacy enabled millions to eventually accept a long unbelievable reality: that tens of thousands of priests raped and fondled hundreds of thousands of kids while bishops hid these heinous crimes," said Barbara Dorris, the managing director of the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests, the group Blaine helped start. "Her contributions to a safer society would be hard to overstate." Born and raised in Toledo, Ohio, Blaine graduated from Notre Dame Academy in 1974. She earned a bachelor's degree from St. Louis University and a master's degree in social work from Washington University in St. Louis. After moving to Chicago, she served as the director of the Catholic Worker House on Chicago's South Side, helping then-Cardinal Joseph Bernardin's administration to house and feed the homeless. While working in the North Side's Uptown neighborhood, she made sure the indigent received a proper burial. Alongside a Catholic priest, she was arrested for trespassing during an anti-nuclear demonstration at the west suburban Argonne National Laboratory. But in 1985, her mission took a new, and unexpected, direction. A newspaper article about clergy abuse triggered a realization that she had been abused by her family's priest in Toledo. Church officials there questioned whether she had misinterpreted the priest's affection. They also instructed her not to tell law enforcement. Feeling, as she said, "raked over the coals," Blaine rounded up other victims to figure out how to heal. For the first meeting, in 1988 at a Holiday Inn in Orland Park, she invited professional counselors and lawyers to offer expertise. She didn't expect the group to stay together for longer than a year. It now totals more than 21,000 members. "Now I understand it's a lifelong process," she told the Tribune. "I thought it was something you heal from, like a broken leg. I never realized it would take so long." Blaine eventually earned a master of divinity degree from Catholic Theological Union in Chicago and a law degree from DePaul University School of Law, after which she worked for the Cook County public guardian. She married Howard Rubin, a former law professor, in May 2002. A month later, bishops invited victims, including Blaine, to join them at a landmark meeting in Dallas. It was the first and last time she would be asked to address the Catholic hierarchy regarding the scandal. Bishops eventually adopted a zero-tolerance policy, including a pledge to remove priests from ministry immediately upon their being credibly accused of abuse. Blaine continued to stand on sidewalks outside parishes and diocesan offices, and even in the middle of St. Peter's Square, brandishing a picture of herself at age 12. She lobbied Illinois legislators to extend the civil statute of limitations so victims of decadesold clergy sexual abuse could seek financial recourse, which the archdiocese opposed. Blaine never envisioned a combative relationship with the Catholic Church, she told the Tribune in a 2012 interview. But she always rebuffed suggestions from the church to collaborate, insisting that the church's policies and procedures elevated the reputation of the church and its priests above the safety of children. The Chicago Archdiocese issued a one-sentence statement Monday offering condolences to Blaine's family. Joelle Casteix, a SNAP volunteer in California, said Blaine's critics could not grasp her ability to be both a tough and passionate advocate who would not back down as well as a compassionate listener who, when confronted by a victim, became that 12-year-old girl all over again. "She could easily connect to people who were in a great deal of pain," Casteix said. "Her critics had a hard time understanding that because she also could stand up in front of cameras or someone confronting her and be very much in their face." In addition to her husband, Blaine is survived by three brothers, Greg, Jim and John; four sisters, Joanne Feyes, Nancy Russell, Marcia Holtz and Marian Blaine, her twin; two stepsons, Brett and Joshua; and two grandchildren. Dorris said she would remember Blaine's tenacity. She also recalls her meticulous appearance and how both her perseverance and polish went hand in hand. "I knew she wasn't fearless, but she acted fearless," Dorris said. "When you work with someone continually you pick up on silly things. ... If we were going to do something and Barbara was nervous, she began putting on makeup. It was like armor." Even with the success she had with SNAP, her final days with the organization ended in turmoil. In recent years, lawyers for priests accused SNAP of coaching victims to fabricate claims of repressed memories. Blaine stepped down as president this year after a lawsuit filed by a former employee claimed that SNAP exploited victims of sexual abuse by clergy in return for financial kickbacks from attorneys, an allegation Blaine vehemently disputed. The lawsuit is still pending. Recently, Blaine traveled to Poland and Africa to lay the groundwork for The Accountability Project, an organization designed to pressure Vatican officials to stop priest sex crimes internationally. The new organization builds upon work she did with the United Nations' Committee on the Rights of the Child to hold the Vatican responsible. Barbara Meyer, 72, a survivor of clergy sexual abuse, said she will always be grateful to Blaine for listening. "She had the ability to speak to each person as if it was the first time she had ever heard these stories," Meyer said. "That was key to her ability to raise up such an army. She believed what you were saying. Not only was there no judgment in what she was hearing, but she believed." Contact: mbrachear@chicagotribune.com
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