Penn State University Administration officials on Tuesday abruptly cancelled the scheduled press conference by legendary football coach Joe Paterno, where he was scheduled to discuss his role in the unfolding sex abuse scandal engulfing Penn State.  Speculation is all over the media that Paterno will be forced to resign over allegations that he knew about, and failed to report, instances of child abuse at Penn State facilities by long time Assistant Coach, Jerry Sandusky.  Sandusky has now been charged with multiple counts of child abuse involving multiple boys, and two administrators at Penn State the  former athletic director and the former vice president have been indicted for perjury and failing to report child abuse.

Joe Paterno, affectionately called "JoePa" by his admirers–is, by all accounts, a good and decent man.  He has faithfully coached the Penn State University football team for 46 years and created a clean program in the midst of the cesspool of college football. To my knowledge, no one has ever questioned his integrity. Now, however, it appears he has made a terrible mistake, and it looks as if he will be rightly held accountable for it.

As an advocate for survivors of child abuse for two decades now–as well as a long time fan of Coach Paterno’s–here is what I wish JoePa would say:

"I come before you to admit that I have made a terrible mistake. I acknowledge that mistake and I apologize unconditionally to the boys abused by Jerry Sandusky as well as to my players and to Penn State fans. I humbly ask forgiveness from all these people.  I will do whatever I can do to try to account for my misconduct.  When I leave this press conference, I will tender my resignation as head coach of the Penn State football program and then I will walk over to the Police Department in State College, PA and turn myself in to the police for failing to report child abuse. Now, I have heard some pundits say that I had no legal obligation to report; but I will let law enforcement make that determination.  Certainly I had a moral obligation, and I failed miserably.  Once I do those two things, I will then make arrangements to pay for the counseling needs of every boy harmed by Jerry Sandusky for as long as each boy needs it.

For 46 years, I have tried to instill in my student-athletes a sense of integrity and morality.  That integrity includes acknowledging wrongdoing and accepting the consequences of one’s actions.  Consequences in a situation like this first and foremost mean making an unconditional apology, without excuse or explanation, and taking steps to right the wrong.  That is what I am trying to do now. I reiterate that I apologize unconditionally to the young men involved and to the community and I will do whatever I can to make this right. I offer no explanation or excuses.

Because I care about kids, however, and because I do not want other kids to be abused in other institutions of trust, I want the world to understand how something like this happens, with hope that other institutions like Penn State, respected by society and given its trust, might learn from and not repeat my mistakes.

I love Penn State University.  I love our football program.  I have poured 46 years of my life in trying to create a place where young men are well-formed, with high integrity and deep convictions about right and wrong, compassion and love.  I take great pride in the program that we have built here.  I believe in our mission, and I would do anything to protect it.  And that, my friends, is the problem.

I did not think about and I did not reflect upon what my failure to act could mean for youngsters who were under Coach Sandusky’s spell.  I instinctively reacted with the most short-sighted and narrowest of visons, to protect Penn State and our football program.  In this sense, I am no different than Cardinal Bernard Law, former archbishop of Boston, who chose to protect the institution of the Catholic Church over the safety of children when he transferred abusive priests over and over again.  I am no different than the top leadership of the Boy Scouts of America, who for decades ignored mounting evidence that their organization was being infiltrated by pedophiles, and did nothing to warn parents or Scouts. And I am no different than the leadership of numerous other churches, schools, or other institutions of trust who have a responsibility for young people.  I chose to protect my beloved organization rather than to protect children.

I was completely, totally, and unconditionally wrong.  For this, I am deeply sorry, and I apologize unconditionally. I will have nothing further to say on this matter, for I need now to go spend some time searching my conscience and asking my God for forgiveness."

That’s what I wish he would say.

——–
Kelly Clark is an attorney in Portland, Oregon, who represents survivors of child sexual abuse.

By now, much of America—and all of sport-loving America—has been stunned by the allegations of child abuse at Penn State University against a former longtime coach, Jerry Sandusky, apparently with at least some knowledge by University athletic officials, including an Athletic Director and a Vice President, both of whom have been indicted for perjury and failure to report child abuse. There are even hard questions being asked about beloved coach Joe Paterno, and why he did not call police when he was made aware of allegations some years ago.
 
What has become apparent in the days since the story broke is that the University’s response has been all about the University and not at all about the victims.  On Monday, the President of the Alumni Association was on National Public Radio going on and on about how this story really shouldn’t tarnish the great legacy of the Penn State football program. Initial stories in the media seemed to focus almost exclusively on similar questions.  Only in the last day or so has the topic rightly turned to larger questions—what about the victims?  How did this happen?  What is the take-away from such a sad story?
 
I want to suggest that the most important lesson to be learned about this story is how such a situation—abuse and cover-up—can  occur in a well-respected institution such as Penn State, with a hope that other institutions of trust will realize what not to do if faced with similar events.

For, as a trial lawyer having represented over 300 men and women sexually abused by trusted adults in contexts such as churches, the Boy Scouts, schools and , athletic leagues, I have seen the way that such organizations respond to child abuse allegations.  Almost always there is an element of denial and often cover-up.  And such conduct always rightly shocks the public.  But, how is it in the first instance that such respected institutions—we can now apparently add Penn State University to the list—act in a way so contrary to their ideals and reputation? What is going on here?

The only way to understand situations like the one at Penn State is to recognize that in all such institutions of trust and respect, there is a perhaps understandable sense of pride, even uniqueness,  that is dominant, and that often colors all else. Organizations such as the Catholic Church, the Boy Scouts and others—even governmental entities such as public schools and law enforcement, itself not immune from child abuse in its midst—think of themselves as special, their work as wholly righteous.  The organizations have noble purposes, their supporters are fervent and earnest, their workers tireless. The attitude in such places can be so strong that, when confronted with an ugly reality like child abuse, it produces a feeling that we are unique, our mission is so important, our work so noble, that ‘those kinds of problems’ could never happen here, and if they do, well then, we must first of all protect our good name and good work—even if that means we ignore, interpret, or sometimes even violate the rules applicable to the rest of society. 

The social philosophers have a name for this dynamic, of course: it is the belief that the ends justify the means. You can read about it in any history book.

And so when an institution like Penn State University is faced with something so threatening to its work and reputation, so foreign to its ideals and self-understanding, as child sex abuse in its midst, the first instinct is to ignore it or try to make it go away.  That cannot be happening here. We have worked too hard for excellence. We have too many people who believe in us. We are Penn State, and we are special.  This thing did not happen.  
And so bishops transferred sexually dangerous priests, Scout officials ignored an obvious cancer of abuse in their midst, and football officials from a prestigious and storied university looked the other way when a boy was raped in their midst.

 I suspect this—what I call the curse of being special—after all, is what was really going on at Penn State.  At one level, of course, it is outrageous, shocking, and devastating.  But to allow ourselves to stop with those emotions would be to let ourselves off too easily.   No one at Penn State—except perhaps Jerry Sandusky—woke up one day and decided to allow child abuse to occur. We must understand this if we are to learn from what happened. What happened was a product of the curse of being special.  Now, this is not to let anyone off the hook–all those responsible for this abuse should be held accountable.  But for those of us who care about kids, if we stay focused on the outrage of the moment, we will miss the point. For the point is to take these lessons—including the institutional grandiosity that resulted in such denial and cover up—and make sure that other institutions of trust learn them well, so we don’t have to keep reading this story over and over again.
 
 

Frank Bruni of the NY Times has an excellent Op-Ed piece this morning that mirrors my most recent blog post concerning the Penn State sex abuse scandal.  The molester is not the person in the trench coat lurking behind the bushes.  Those who abuse children, whether the abuse occurs in the Boy Scouts, in the Catholic Church, or in a school setting, are adults who are perceived leaders in the community.  They gain access to children through their positions of trust and authority.  As scout leaders, priests, ministers, or coaches they are afforded easy access to vulnerable children.  Very often, the children upon whom they prey are in need of love, attention, and direction from an adult.  Many of these children are showered with gifts, praise, and attention.  The kids in turn become susceptible to the progressive advances of the molester until they are trapped in the vicious and tragic cycle of sexual violence.  The predator’s actions become confusing and disorienting to the child or teenager.  On the one hand, everyone (their parents included) think highly of the predator.  Yet, lurking behind the public façade of altruism and mentoring, is the deep, dark secret of sexual abuse.  So, they keep it to themselves thinking, “maybe that’s what love is” or “maybe I’m special because I’ve been selected to be his special friend”.  

The secretive nature of the abuse often leads to self-doubt and self-loathing.  In my many years as a sexual abuse lawyer, survivors have recounted to me how they feel lost and alone.  They tell me how they’ve tried to mask those feelings with drugs, alcohol, or unhealthy relationships.  Unfortunately, very often they blame themselves for the actions of the one who abused them.  Tragically, some have ended their lives rather than continue the dark struggle.

Yet, there is a way out.  Some courageous men and women have transformed what happened to them and have begun the long process of healing.  They tell their stories.  They report the abuse to civil authorities.  They demand change for the sake of future children.  They confront the institutions that protected these adult molesters.  

If there’s any good that can come out of the Penn State sex abuse case, I suspect it will be when the community rises up and demands accountability from those who knew and should have done the right thing and reported Coach Sandusky to law enforcement.  There is nothing more damaging to those who’ve survived such abuse as when institutions such as Penn State, the Boy Scouts, the Catholic Church and many others hide behind lame excuses.  I’ve read too media reports trying to argue that the University officials, including Coach Joe Paterno, weren’t really required to call the police.  But this is the worst kind of denial.  Paterno and the other officials at Penn State who were told about Sandusky had a moral obligation to tell law enforcement.  Perhaps it wasn’t a legal requirement, but it’s surely an ethical requirement for men in such positions of trust and confidence.  As the head of the Pennsylvania State Police dryly remarked to the press, all of the administrators should have called the police; as he put it, “it isn’t a high standard.”   

At this point, no one should give a damn about the future of Penn State football, Coach Paterno’s legacy, or the next football game.   The fact is children were abused right under the noses of a prominent and respected institution, which sat idle, choosing to pretend the problem did not exist, so that its pristine reputation wouldn’t be sullied.   Well, now: that sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

This weekend’s revelations of sexual abuse and cover-up at Penn State have no doubt opened old wounds for those who’ve been victimized by sexual abuse.  The sad fact remains that child sexual abuse and exploitation is an all too common reality in our society.  The abuse is aggravated when it is perpetrated by a trusted member of the community such as a priest, minister, Boy Scout leader, or, as in this particular case, a college football coach. 

Here’s the story as we now understand it.  Jerry Sandusky, a former defensive coordinator for the famous Penn State Nittany Lions football program, had retired in 1999.  However, he was still a respected figure on campus and continued to enjoy the privileges of access to the campus facilities after retirement.  Sandusky, who had served as the assistant football coach for decades under legendary coach Joe Paterno, had founded a non-profit for at-risk kids called Second Mile.  According to news reports, it was these boys that Sandusky abused over the last 15 years.  The charges range from inappropriate touching to anal rape. 

According to media reports, just three years ago, a Penn State graduate assistant witnessed Sandusky sodomizing a young boy in the school’s showers and reported it to Coach Joe Paterno.  Paterno then reported it to the athletic director of the school—but not to police.  Two weeks later, the school’s Athletic Director and a Vice President of the school met with the graduate assistant who related what he had seen. Then, apparently—and incredibly—neither of these men called the police.  Now, both the Athletic Director and the Vice President face criminal charges for failing to report this abuse, and for lying to the grand jury investigating the Sandusky matter. 

Of course,  there are patterns of behavior in the Penn State abuse case  that are very similar to the patterns of sexual predators in other sexual abuse cases in which I’ve been involved—Catholic priest abuse, Mormon Church abuse and, most recently, Boy Scout abuse.  In most instances, the predator ingratiates himself into a community, association, or organization where he has access to the young, vulnerable children—just like this case.  In most cases, he is in a position of trust, authority, and responsibility over the children—just like this case.  Finally, he is able to lure these kids through his charismatic presence or by buying gifts or presents, for in some situations, the promise of a better life is all the predator needs to gain access to the young child—again, just like this case.  The parallels are striking. It just seems to happen over and over again in setting after setting. 

I’m never particularly surprised to see the new and novel ways that adults manipulate kids into abuse.  What I am surprised at here—stunned would be a better word—is that, in this day and age, sophisticated professionals like an Athletic Director and a Vice President at a major university would not report such a blatant incident of child abuse—let alone that they would apparently lie about it in front of a grand jury.  What is it going to take to get people to report child abuse?  What is it going to take to get institutions of trust to stop covering it up?  How many times, and how many institutions, do we have to go through this before adults start acting like adults?

Finally, I need to lodge a stiff protest concerning the public reaction thus far concerning the Sandusky abuse case.  This morning on National Public Radio I heard the Penn State Alumni President go on and on about how this scandal should not hurt the great Penn State football legacy.  And over at ESPN or on various sports radio talk shows, I see and hear nothing but speculation about Penn State, its reputation, and the future of its football program. That seems to be the exclusive focus of the media reports.  Now, I’m as much a fan of college football and Joe Paterno as anyone else.  But, I am simply appalled that we are not hearing any concern for the victims of abuse.  We know there were eight: I’m guessing there were eighty.  Somebody tell me what Penn State has done to try to help them? What has Penn State done to protect them in this process?  What has Penn State done to let them know that no one blames them for this scandal?  Where is it?  I just haven’t seen any of it.  To say the obvious, what should concern anyone who cares about kids is not how this scandal might affect Penn State’s college football program—for crying out loud—but, instead is what is happening to the victims, and what lessons can be learned from this whole mess.

Somebody please tell the folks at Penn State to wake up and smell the coffee. Hard as it may be for them to believe, there are more important things than college football. Geepers.

Richard Sipe is one of the wisest and most courageous men I know. A former Benedictine monk and priest, he is now a writer who for nearly 30 years has been recognized as perhaps the world’s leading expert on the clergy sex abuse problem in the Catholic Church.  For decades he was also a mental health professional who worked with hundreds of abuse survivors.  You can read more about Richard’s work at www.richardsipe.com .  I thought readers would be interested in his reflections from a Christian perspective, on the idea of "powerlessness" in the context of child abuse.

Here are his thoughts:

In 1988 I met three people who were concerned about those being sexually abused by Catholic priests: Jeanne Miller had gained some national notice when she wrote a book about her son’s abuse by their pastor. She used a pen name and disguised her real identity when she appeared on national television. Despite that she was driven from her parish that treated her as a traitor for speaking about the abuse.

She organized a group that in 1992 sponsored the first national meeting dedicated to the concerns of victims and survivors of clergy abuse. Three hundred people attended. Among the speakers were Fr. Thomas Doyle a canon lawyer who remains an outspoken advocate for abuse victims and Jeff Anderson a civil lawyer who continues to lead the assault on clergy abuse throughout the world..

With their inspiration and the support of many survivors and advocates another national meeting to discuss clergy sexual abuse assembled in 1994. One bishop attended the meeting and wept openly when he listened to victims reporting their abuse in public.

The lasting contribution of these people was to give voice to the afflicted and to encourage them to declare themselves publicly in an organized way.

Barbara Blaine and Dave Clohessy are two other people I met during the same time frame. Their challenge to advocacy was purchased at an even higher price. They were the immediate victims of sexual betrayal by priests. They had to fight the battle of survival and have always been primarily dedicated to the healing process, one victim at a time. They have become a clear voice for thousands.

Their power has come from that personal and individual fight for truth telling. They have supported and inspired thousands of other victims to pool their experience, and declare the truth of clergy abuse and join the ranks of survivors. The fight for truth helps to prevent future abuse, but that battle is not easy. There is always a price to pay. The forces against truth are formidable.

What are the religious forces that oppose truth? Why have religious leaders put up such daunting resistance to the reality that some clergy who should protect children and the vulnerable do in fact, violate them?

In my 78 years of life I have never heard one sermon preached on a particular passage from scripture. Recently I have come to think that the neglect is purposeful. The words are not directed to the apostles or to the followers of Jesus. These are some of the few words addressed specifically to men holding religious and institutional power. All of us have heard them. Don’t they still have meaning here and now?

Woe to you, Scribes and Pharisees,

Hypocrites. You are just like white washed sepulchers.

On the outside you look beautiful,

But on the inside you are full of decay

Dead men’s bones and corruption.  (Matt 23:27)

None of the gospels say anything about the sexuality of Jesus; they do tell us that he was poor—not a place to lay his head; and that he had no worldly power—he willingly rendered to Cesar material power. He was powerless.

I do not hear these words of Jesus to religious leaders as oppositional, a play for power, or as words of anger. St. Augustine assures us that "Anger is the beginning of courage" and survivors of abuse have to use their inevitable anger.  But at the time Jesus was delivering this diatribe he was beyond anger. Neither anger nor defiance was his point. He was instructing his disciples in a lesson that they would need to know well—not to fear the powerful people; to trust the power of truth, even harsh, demoralizing truth spoken by the powerless. "Fear not to speak the truth." ("Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed, nor secret that will not be known…be not afraid." Matt 10: 26-27)

Christ knew what he would have to suffer for telling the truth. It is true now, and always has been, that those who speak truth to power will suffer for it. You can be sure of that.

With Jesus’ words in mind reflect on what victims of clergy sexual abuse have suffered at the hands of priests, bishops, their lawyers, and accomplices in the process of cover-up, denial, delay, and deception in fighting the truth survivors have to tell.

Systemic religious power has amassed a formidable army in opposition against the simple truth of the story victims have to tell: some clergy are not chaste, some fail to practice the virtues they preach. The courage of survivors has forced some bishops to concede, albeit with great reluctance, the truths the vulnerable tell: there is corruption in high places. But religious powers still have not learned to embrace the truth. They still persist in minimizing the problem of sexual violence among their ranks.

Grand jury reports conducted in the United States give victims some consolation. They all lay the blame for the sexual crisis in the Catholic Church at the doorstep of power. Bishops discouraged victims from reporting abuse, conspired to conceal abuse, failed to report possible criminal offenses to appropriate authorities, and neglected to track allegations against priests,

But the full tragedy of clergy abuse is still unrefined. In 1983 11.4 percent of the priests active in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles were subsequently identified as sexual abusers. Seventy-five percent (75%) of all the LA parishes had at least one abusing priest on staff and 5 to 8 perpetrators served on the staff several parishes.

There is little evidence that bishops are even now listening to what documents are telling about abuse. Bishops have not listened, and are not listening to those concerned with the roots of the problem of clerical sex abuse.

Survivors of abuse have tried for decades to get religious power to listen to stories of violation and take remedial action. One concern was validation about the horrible truth of assault. Another drive is to insure that abusers would not abuse others.

Church authorities still have not really heard victims. They have learned to "deal" with complaints. They have increased their public relation efforts and skills. One reporter said that bishops have become, "more slick." Why is the church spending all this time, money, and energy fighting the truth and resisting what abuse survivors have to teach them?

Some people have listened to survivors. Other victims have found the courage to come forward because of their example. Together survivors have mobilized—rather inspired—the media to speak up despite their own reasons to fear adverse pressure from the church. Victims have enlisted the help of courageous lawyers in the cause of prevention.

I have reviewed thousands of stories of clergy abuse. I have waded through several thousand depositions in abuse cases. I have some idea of the price victims have to pay to tell their stories to bishops’ lawyers who insult, accuse, discredit, and demean victims, re-abusing them through the process. In all my years, I have never met a more compromised group of men and women than the lawyers working for bishops who like Pilot wash their hands and take no responsibility for the ordeal they put victims through. They write off  pastoral concerns as, "That’s what lawyers do."

The recorded testimony of some of the bishops and cardinals patently avoids truth, and utilizes forgetfulness that verges on perjury. No intelligent person can miss the truth behind clergy denials and protestations of innocence and ignorance. Some footage of a Cardinal’s deposition is recorded in Amy Berg’s 2006 prizewinning documentary "Deliver Us From Evil."

Many victims of clergy abuse are subjected to harrowing examinations. Church authorities and lawyers often demand proof that borders on voyeurism.  "Where, how, when did he touch you? Details. Was it on the skin? How did you feel? Did you enjoy it?" Church powers demand details and specifics far beyond what any reasonable person needs to assess the validity of an allegation.

Why?

Victims of clergy violations are presumed villains. Even in apologies bishops fail to take responsibility for the causes of abuse and their part in cover-up and preferring image to honesty. "Psychiatrists" misled them. "Lawyers" gave them bad advice. They are sorry for "suffering" and apologize generically. But church authorities fail to take direct responsibility for their part in neglect, denials, deception, and delays in coming to terms with the problem of clergy sex.

Why?

Church authority still vigorously opposes the truth victims are telling. United States bishops are spending billions of dollars to fight the truth.

Why? Because they are the white washed sepulchers of this generation. That does not mean that churches do no good. But it does mean that when power fears and resists truth it becomes destructive.

Many related questions emerge from exploring the history and continued failure of bishops to deal honestly and proactively about the problem of sexual abuse.

The crisis of clergy abuse poses questions for every Christian.

Power—fame, status, force, money—is so universally admired and sought after in society today it is easy for a person to forget the power of powerlessness—Christ’s message. Religious power confronts everyone with valid questions:

Have I trusted in the power of others rather than the truth in myself?

What leads a person to trust and even defend a priest who abuses?

Why is it forbidden to think that a priest would be sexual and abusive?

Is it because power protects even thoughts about a priest?

He deserves the highest respect because he represents God.

Do we believe he is sexually safe; he gives up all sex to serve God?

We all want the safety we think exists in the strong, rich and powerful.

What part do we play in allowing the sexual crisis to come about?

How does it persist when bishops knew all along that some priests do sexually abuse vulnerable congregants?

Why do bishops continue to spend your resources to deny that truth?

Why do we support them?

Are we afraid of Truth?

Can we embrace our powerlessness, as Jesus did neither fearing nor cowering before riches, fame, and power?

What can we learn from how bishops handled the abuse crisis?

Have we played a part in secrecy, resistance, continuing denial and tolerance for abuse?

Are we too eager to think the crisis is over?

Do we want to return to business as usual rather than work for sexual reform?

The systemic roots of clergy abuse have not been eradicated.

Reform will come not from power, but from truth.

That is the power of Christian powerlessness.

In the last post, I commented upon the recent investigative report from the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and the LA Times about confessed child molester Richard Turley, a Boy Scout leader who abused boys for decades in both Canada and the US.  That story showcased how one pedophile was able to go from troop to troop, despite knowledge of the Boy Scouts organization and their so-called “Perversion Files”—their supposed system for keeping track of child molesters.

Some readers will recall that, last year, I, along with lawyers from my firm, as well as my co-counsel attorney Paul Mones, won a jury verdict in Portland against the Boy Scouts on a sex abuse case, the total award being nearly $20 million– $1.4 million in general damages and $18.5 million in punitive damages—the largest single child abuse verdict in American history.  In that trial, Paul and I were able—for the first time ever in any courtroom—to get introduced into evidence the entire BSA Perversion Files system, some 20,000 pages of records, reflecting over 1000 instances of child abuse within Scouting from 1965-85.  For articles on this trial and on the Perversion Files, click here.  For previous posts of mine about the trial and the files, click here. 

What the IV/Perversion Files showed was a remarkable similarity to what we have seen in other contexts. As a child sex abuse attorney who has represented over 300 victims now, of abuse in the Catholic Church, the Mormon Church, the Boy Scouts, and other youth organizations, I can see the way that the abuse dynamic has played out in all of these contexts.   Here, then, are some of the similarities in abuse cases in those three settings:

1.    The abuse was shrouded in secrecy.  Child abuse thrives in secret, and abusers know this.  So they almost always threaten or coerce their victims into silence and secrecy.  This is one of the most damaging aspects of abuse for children, that they feel trapped and unable to do anything or say anything.  At the same time, the institutions involved, whether the Catholics, the Mormons or the Boy Scouts, also shrouded their abuse problem in secrecy: the Catholics with their “secret archives” in which reports of abuse were hidden (for stories about the Catholic problem of secrecy, click here); the Boy Scouts and their Perversion Files, and even the Mormon Church’s still-secret internal system for tracking abuse and keeping it hidden from members (for stories about Mormon abuse, click here)

2.    The abuse arose out of relationships of trust.  Almost always in these three contexts, children were abused because they trusted their priests, Scout leaders or LDS leaders implicitly.  And always, the organizations had taught these children and their families that they should trust such men: the Catholic Church with its emphasis on the power of the Church and the supposed holiness of priests, the Mormon Church and its theology that every person assigned to a specific calling was placed there by God, and the Boy Scouts, with their oaths, emphasis on duty and honor, and the high esteem with which Scouting was held by society.  And so, for a victim of abuse, up until the time the abuse began, the trusted adult was doing the exact kinds of things that a child would expect a trusted adult to do: building a relationship with the child, spending time with him or her, teaching, mentoring, playing the role model.  The fact is, most molesters are nothing less than geniuses when it comes to understanding children and winning their trust.  And so, naturally, when these relationships progressed to the point of absolute trust, abuse was possible.   The fact is, that the Catholic Church, the Mormon Church and the Boy Scouts all received tremendous benefit from these trust relationships—families were loyal members and supported the organization generation after generation.  And so their protest these days that they should not be liable for abuse arising out of these relationships of trust rings hollow.

3.    When abuse became public, the organizations opted to protect themselves and not the children.  One of the main lessons that came out of the Portland trial last year was that  juries are outraged when they believe that a child-trust organization responds to an abuse problem with cover-up, denial, minimization and blaming the victim.  All of these responses are ones that the Portland jury saw from the Boy Scouts in child abuse cases, and are consistent as well with what we know about the response to child abuse from the Catholic Church and the Mormon Church, the only difference between these latter two organizations being that the Catholic Church child abuse problem has been in the process of being cracked open now for almost ten years, while the LDS/Mormon Church has managed to escape the kind of public scrutiny brought to bear on the Catholics.  But all three organizations—Boy Scouts, Catholic Church, and Mormon Church—have responded to child sexual abuse problems in their midst by keeping secrets, tolerating abusers in their organization, and avoiding reporting allegations of abuse to law enforcement, almost always in an effort to avoid bad publicity for the organizations. 

The public, parents and law enforcement are rightly indignant when they learn the extent to which these three organizations, which still enjoy great social prestige and status, to this day do not require mandatory reporting of child abuse allegations to law enforcement without exception.   Likewise, when stories like the Richard Turley story, mentioned above, break, the public is stunned to see the way an organization like the Boy Scouts of American operates in the face of a clear danger to children. 

As a child sex abuse attorney who has been representing victims of abuse for well over a decade, against dozens of institutions of trust in dozens of states all over the US, I would like to believe that the work that has been done by child abuse survivors over the last decade has made these organizations safer for children than they were twenty or thirty years ago.  And while I still think this is true, I also know how far we have to go.  But I am not yet an old man, and while it is true that I am sometimes tired, sometimes discouraged, and sometimes angry, yet it is also true that I am not going away anytime soon.  Nor are the hundreds of other fine attorneys around the country who do this work going away, nor the thousands of prosecutors working to put pedophiles away. Nor, finally, are the adult survivors of childhood abuse—some of the most courageous and resilient people I have ever met—going away.

In Part I of this series on apologies and forgiveness, I offered some thoughts on the nature of a genuine apology, as distinct from a pseudo-apology, or a non-apology.  In Part II I told a story of one of the most genuine and healing apologies I have ever seen.  In this meditation, Part III, I want to consider with you the place and power of forgiveness.

At the outset I should say by way of disclaimer and disclosure, again, that I have several reasons for having thought so much and read so widely on these matters. First, I am a broken man, a not very virtuous Christian in recovery from many addictions, who has badly hurt, and been hurt by, those I have loved deeply.  Some of this pain has been very private, but some of it– because much of my professional life in law and politics has been somewhat high profile– some of it has not.  Either way, for many years now I have been keenly aware that I am a man who stands in need of both receiving and giving forgiveness.  Second, as a child sex abuse lawyer for those who are victims of Catholic priest abuse, Mormon abuse, and Boy Scout abuse, among other contexts, I have seen firsthand the struggles of survivors of child sex abuse to obtain apologies from those who wronged them, and, sometimes, to find in their own souls the power to forgive those who harmed them.   So I have thought a lot about all this.

Often I am asked, by a client survivor of child abuse, or by, say a younger man in recovery, about forgiveness. Usually the question is whether I think it is incumbent upon them to forgive those who have hurt them.  This is a difficult and delicate question, and I am always quick to say so to those who ask.  Some people—many of my colleagues in the child abuse healing field, for example—will discourage you from even considering this.  But, I suggest to my questioner, no one can presume to tell another whether he or she must, or even should, forgive someone who has wronged him or her.  I have not lived your life, I have never been an abuse survivor, I have not walked in your shoes. Recovering—from addiction or from child abuse—is about learning to take back your power and live your own life, and so only you can decide whether to forgive. 

But, even being reluctant to give advice about whether another should forgive, I will sometimes  offer a few observations. 

First, I have observed that it is very difficult—although not impossible–  for a person who has been hurt to forgive someone who has not asked for forgiveness, who has not shown remorse, who has not tried to make amends, who has shown no willingness to change and go in a new direction.  So one consideration is whether the hurtful person has asked for forgiveness.   If not, then offering forgiveness is more difficult and it is perfectly appropriate to acknowledge that.

Second, I have noticed that coming to a place where one can offer forgiveness to another for a wrong done can take a long, long time—and that is understandable. Deeply wounded people must first become whole, become strong, become able to care for themselves and their needs, to stand up for themselves and hold their boundaries.  Too often, a perpetrator of abuse or pain has conditioned the other to give up his or her own power habitually and automatically, or quickly to drop emotional boundaries in relation to the perpetrator.  Do not confuse damaged self-esteem or fragile boundaries with true forgiveness, I will say.  Only a whole and healed person can forgive, and if one tries too soon, or pronounces forgiveness out of compulsion, it can become a re-enactment of the abuse dynamic—even from a distance, even without any actual or ongoing interaction between the wrongdoer and the wronged.  “I really feel like I should forgive him,” some of my clients will say.   But this is just another way in which a harmful person continues to steal power from the one he has harmed.  

This dynamic is true even—maybe even especially—if the compulsion to forgive comes from a place of early or old religious dogma or training.  Remember that many survivors were abused by figures of religious or spiritual authority, which means often that many of these survivors carry the remnants of religious training, and so can easily feel compelled “to forgive” as a result of childhood guilt.  But as we can easily see, a coerced or compulsive religious scruple is not the same thing as a mature and strong spiritual decision: especially when it comes to the very weighty decision to forgive one who has done harm.  Now I want to be careful here, lest I be misunderstood. I am not rejecting the ancient and powerful spiritual wisdom of Christianity, of Judaism, of Islam, of the Eastern spiritual systems—all of which, in various ways, teach the cleansing power of forgiving those who have hurt us.  But I am saying that the truth in these traditions about forgiveness must be discovered by each wounded person in his or her own time, in wholeness and in freedom.  It is no good to forgive because I think I “must,” or “should.”  Forgiveness is a gift—perhaps the greatest gift known to humankind—but in order to be authentic, to be healing, it must be freely offered by one who has the emotional and spiritual power to choose to do so.  So forgive when you are able to do so freely: which is, ironically, about the same time that you are also able to choose not to forgive. In other words, forgive if you choose, as you choose.

Then, once I have tried to make sure I am clear on these two observations, I offer a third.  And that is this: that once in a great while—and it is a mysterious and beautiful thing– I have seen wounded people become strong, become clear, become free in their healing and new power, and then choose to forgive those who have hurt them.  And what I then see in these people is a release, a new level of freedom from the toxic hold that the hurtful person once held over them.  “He/She has held me and my emotions captive long enough,” they say. “I’m done.  I release it, I release him.  I’m no longer willing to carry the burden of this anger, this hurt, this resentment.  I choose to forgive, and I am free.  I do not hate him; I do not wish him ill.  I want to be at peace, with myself, with him, with the universe.  Knowing I could choose not to do so, and that I would be justified in doing so, I nonetheless think it is best– for me –to choose to forgive.”  When these incredible people come to this place, as I have observed, they become some of the freest, most peaceful, powerful and loving people I have ever known.   And so it is that, in response to the question of “should I forgive?” I say to my inquirer, if you decide you want to go to that place, if you decide, in freedom, to choose to forgive, then I will fully support you and walk with you along the way. Because I want to watch the miracle.  Perhaps I might learn from you, and draw from your good spirit and energy. That would be a great privilege, indeed.

Reading about a recent criminal sex abuse trial in Medford, Oregon recently, I was stunned at what I learned.  A child was asked to "demonstrate" how she was abused by her stepfather, complete with a mattress being brought into the courtroom.  Now, of course, I have no right to an opinion about whether the man is guilty or not.  But, as this well-written Mail Tribune editorial points out, assuming that the child was abused– which is what any judge must do in such a situation– did no one in the courtroom, judge, prosecutor, victim’s advocate, see what this was likely to do to a child who has been abused?  It is the worst kind of re-creation of trauma: done in public with hostile adults standing by ready to shame the child!  I don’t of course question the motive of the judge or prosecutor: I do question their judgment.   It tells me how far we still have to go in helping even the legal profession understand the life-scarring impact of abuse.

As a child sex abuse attorney who has represented many, many victims of priest sexual abuse, Boy Scout sexual abuse, Mormon sexual abuse, and child sexual abuse in a variety of other contexts, I have seen firsthand the deep need that survivors have for a genuine apology from those who harmed them—the perpetrators of the abuse and those in institutional positions of responsibility who failed to protect children from abuse. In my last blog, I posted on the nature of a true apology, and examined some pseudo-apologies, explaining why such half measures do not achieve any healing or forgiveness.  In this post, I want to tell a story of one of the very few true apologies I have ever seen in doing this work, and one of the most genuine apologies I have ever seen in any context.

A number of years ago, the parents of a four year-old little girl came to me deeply distraught at having learned that their daughter, along with several other children, had been repeatedly molested by an employee of a large athletic club, part of a national chain company. This 22 year-old man, who was soon after convicted of multiple counts of child sexual abuse, would often worm his way into the child care area of the club, and was allowed by unsuspecting childcare workers to play with the children.  During this play, he would frequently abuse these small children, as a hidden video camera later showed.  As the situation became clear during the criminal investigation, the parents became convinced that the club had been badly negligent, both in failing to do a full background check on this man, but also in failing to supervise the child care area, as the videos made plain.  The parents wanted accountability and they wanted change, so that this did not happen to anyone else, but they did not want to file a lawsuit if they could avoid it. So we made an out of court claim against the athletic club and they offered to mediate the claim. 

A few months later, after a day with a skillful mediator, we settled the claim—for a confidential amount of money for the future needs of the child. We also secured an agreement that the organization would do a comprehensive review of their child safety policies, bring in outside experts to assist with this project, and include my clients in the process every step of the way, allowing them to have input and to make suggestions.  And—most important of all to the parents—we negotiated that an executive of the company would come to Portland and meet with them face to face, to make a personal apology for the company’s mistakes. “An apology,” I said to the mediator, “not some meely-mouthed statement of regret.” I was thinking of all the half and pseudo apologies I had heard from so many people in positions of responsibility for the safety of children at the end of cases, so many bishops and bureaucrats and insurance executives.

So it was that a few weeks later we had a meeting in my office—the parents, me, two lawyers for the company and the executive.  I must admit, when I was first introduced to the executive, I was disappointed.  I guess I had expected some silver-haired CEO with an air of “top guy”—but instead here was a young woman, not much older than my clients, perhaps in her mid-thirties.  She introduced herself as the “Vice President for Human Resources”—meaning she was in charge of writing policies regarding the supervision of employees.  So, clearly she was the one who would head up the “policy review” process outlined in our settlement.  But who was going to make the apology? I wondered.  It didn’t take long to find out.

(Now, I should say at this point that I recreate this conversation from memory, not notes, which I did not keep, and so I might not have all the dialogue just right. But I remember it like it was yesterday, such an impact it had on me.)

”I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me,” started the young woman, clearly nervous and unsure of herself, “for I am absolutely committed to changing our policies so that nothing like this ever happens again, and we will do whatever it takes to make sure of that.”  Hmmm.  A little blunt, I thought, but so far, so good. 

She was then silent for a long time and looked down.  Her voice changed, she shook her head and looked directly at the parents.  “No, wait…Before we start that process,” said she, “I want to say something first.  I want you to know that I’m a parent, too. I have a five year old, a beautiful five year- old little boy”—at this her eyes started to well with tears– “and I just want you to know that, if this ever happened to my child, I would be so upset, so angry, so enraged, I don’t know what I would do.  I cannot even imagine what your life has been like for the last several months.  So I am here to say how very sorry I am at what happened to your daughter.  I just cannot imagine your pain and anger….”  Now, at this point I expected her to stop, as I had seen happen with so many other organizations, after a representative had given some version of “I’m sorry this happened to you.”   After all, though this young woman was obviously sincere, so far all she had really done was to show deep empathy for what had happened to this family. Now, don’t get me wrong– deep empathy is great, and I wish more organizations would practice it as genuinely as did this executive.  But so far, it wasn’t an apology. It was just an expression of empathy. 

But not for long.

“And I want you to know that I know, and my company knows, that we completely failed you here,  and we failed your daughter”— by now, real tears flowing down her face and her voice breaking—“ and I am so, so sorry. I would give anything if we could go back and prevent what happened to your little girl.  I know that we can’t do that, and so all I can offer you, on my own behalf and on behalf of my company, is a genuine, deep, unconditional apology.  I am and we are very sorry and apologize to you and your daughter.”

You could hear a pin drop. The parents were still. The mother slowly started to speak.  “You know,” she said, “that is all I really wanted to hear.  What you said really matters to me, and I believe you that you and your company are sorry….Thank you.”  “Yeah,” echoed the father softly, “I appreciate your kind words, and I accept your apology.  Now we can all go to work to change things so that this doesn’t happen to anyone else.”   And so we did, and the organization is now significantly safer for children than it was before.

The power of an apology is an amazing thing, if it is given sincerely and without equivocation, as this story shows.

I get asked quite often by people what is the role of apology and forgiveness in the work that I do. Well, the short answer is: not much. As a child sex abuse attorney having represented over over 300 men, women and children who suffered child sexual abuse, I can count on one hand the number of times that I have witnessed a genuine apology and a request for forgiveness.  Whether from those responsible for Catholic priest abuse, Boy Scout abuse, Mormon abuse, or any of the other contexts in which these crimes occur– families, schools, athletic leagues–  I just haven’t seen it, with but a few exceptions.

But as one who has made serious mistakes in my own life deeply hurting those I have loved, as a (not very virtuous) man of Christian faith, as a recovering alcoholic who has done his best to make amends to those I have harmed in my life, and as a human being who observes the human condition, I have read and thought a lot about apologies and forgiveness.  So, in this and forthcoming blogs, I plan to reflect with you on the nature of apology and forgiveness.

We have all seen the pseudo-apology:  "I’m sorry this happened to you."  "I regret that you feel something I did– or did not do–caused you pain."  "We regret your experience."  These are not apologies and requests for forgiveness.  These are words written by lawyers and publicists so their clients can get out of a legal scrape or a public embarrassment and yet not acknowledge wrongdoing.  The Catholic Church is the most notorious user of this kind of pseudo apology.   If you really read what the Church heirarchy has written, even the comments of the Popes, they do not amount to real apologies.  The closest they have come is to "apologize for the heinous actions of some priests."  But, of course, coming from the Church heirarchy– which, all too often, played a crucial role in allowing child sex abuse to occur– this rings hollow.  It fails to acknowledge the role of the bishops and cardinals in transferring abusive priests, in covering up the problem, in denying the extent of it.  It pretends that the problem of child sexual abuse in the Catholic Church began and ended with a few errant priests.  It ignores the culture of secrecy and denial that was so prevalent in the Church leadership structure during the last fifty years.

Not not only the Catholic Church, but also the Boy Scouts, the Mormon Church, the Seventh Day Adventist Church, governments and schools: I have seen all of them give short shrift to the apology and request for forgiveness that is so crucial to healing for survivors of child abuse.

A true apology and request for forgiveness starts with an unconditional acknowledgment– yes, even confession– of wrongdoing.  "I was, we were,  wrong. Our actions were selfish and wrong. There is no excuse. We are deeply sorry and offer our sincere and unconditional apology. We humbly ask your forgiveness."  This kind of genuine apology takes its lead from the great spiritual traditions of the West:  the biblical stories of the Old Testament, the ancient Greeks and Romans, the  New Testament’s idea of "metanoia"– repentance– which literally means to stop, turn around and go a different direction.  The genuine apology has as its goal the deep and beautiful idea of reconciliation, that the purpose of life is to be in harmony with those around me, those I love, even those I have hurt or who have hurt me.  It understands that, as long as you are diminished by my actions, I am diminished.  I cannot be whole until you are whole.  And so, the giver of a genuine apology yearns more than anything else to be restored to the one he has hurt.  Anything less has some other purpose, and is not an apology. It cannot rightly ask forgiveness and it can never reach the goal of reconciliation and restoration.

Those who have harmed children, and those in whose names others have harmed children– churches, Scouts, youth organizations– have such an opportunity to foster healing for survivors of abuse.  It is a shame– literally, a shame– that they do not more often practice the grace of genuine apology.

In the next post, I will write about some of the genuine apologies I have seen, and about the miraculous healing that they have brought about.

Here is an interesting piece exploring the various rationales that churches sometimes use to avoid reporting suspected child abuse. While the author concludes that these cases should be reported, it is remarkable the mental gyrations he has to go through to reach that conclusion. 

"Whether the Church is subject to the laws of civil government" is a strange question as phrased. Granted, there may be a fair question about the extent to which the Church–or any private organization of goodwill– is subject to an unjust law of civil government. But that is not one that can be fairly applied to child abuse reporting laws. No serious thinker would claim that child abuse reporting laws are unjust; and the author certainly does not so suggest.

 All in all, I wish more pastors, priests and bishops thought this way. At least they would get to the right result: suspected abuse would be reported to civil authorities.

One of the blogs I read as part of my personal daily spiritual meditations today had as its accompanying photograph an image of a child, an angelic girl of about six years, apparently on her first communion. She is dressed in a white lacy sweater, with a brilliant white scarf of some sacred meaning, and she is holding a framed icon of the Virgin and Child.  She is the very image of innocence and promise.  

When I see young children these days, whether in a photograph like this, or in a school play, or at the shopping mall, I am often both overjoyed and saddened. Overjoyed at the gift of innocence in a child, at the promise and hope in a sweet face, at the pure joy in young laughter and play. Saddened because I see in those faces the early images of the hundreds of boys and girls—now men and women —abused as children, for whom I have fought over the last fifteen plus years.

In that moment, I think what it means for them that they were not able to grow naturally and happily in those early years. They never had the chance to pass naturally into fair youth, through healthy adolescence and into the fullness of young adulthood.  They had that inner flame of childlike joy so present in this photograph snuffed out by the blunt instrument of child abuse, the flame never to be rekindled, at least not to its original radiance. 

One such woman, I will call her Samantha, was raped at age seven by her family’s trusted priest, a man who over the prior decade had repeatedly been reported to the Catholic hierarchy for “inappropriate attentions” toward young girls.

To this day, she is haunted by the memory of standing at the bathroom sink, frantically washing out her dress to remove all traces of the encounter,  while the priest was standing over her and scolding her because she—she, mind you—had made such a mess.   How does a girl recover from that kind of trauma?  How possibly in later adolescence or young adulthood try to learn healthy intimacy?  How does she find again the kind of total trust that she had placed in this representative of God? 

In Samantha’s case, miraculously, she has come a long way toward healing, has through years of therapy and hard work built herself into a strong and vibrant woman of insight and wisdom, and dedication to helping others.  But others are not so constituted, and are never ever able to cobble together anything like a normal life: perpetually dogged by dark depression, shrieking anxiety or the numbness of substance abuse.

And between Samantha and these there is a whole continuum of brokenness and healing.

So when I contemplate young children, such as the girl in the photograph, I ask myself: does this work I do make any difference? Since the laws of virtually all states do not allow for aged criminal prosecutions, is it enough to try to get these people some kind of justice—even civil, that is to say, monetary, justice?  Does it really do any good for these men and women to have society say to them, through the mechanism of a settlement or jury verdict, “this should not have happened to you, and here is a rough symbol of justice”?   Does any of this really help them, or help protect kids in the future? 

The men and women I represent think so.  They tell me so, often years later when they stop by to see me or I bump into them on the streets. They tell me stories, like Samantha’s, of how they are now freer than they were, how they found inside strength and courage they never knew they had, power to keep going and to rebuild their lives, inside and out. They tell me to keep on fighting, and they thank me. Irony of ironies: they thank me. 

No. It is I who should thank them— I who twenty years ago at the age of 34 had become a selfish and abusive alcoholic, and thus a prematurely washed up politician; I who thought I had forever thrown away any chance to make a positive difference for anyone; I who because of these men and women have been given a second chance at life, a chance to redeem myself.

So now, when I see the child in this photograph, or when I see all those kids running and laughing at the beach or in the snow, I stop and look. I take it in.  I send them all the positive energy I have, I utter all the fervent prayers that this old and scarred heart of mine can find, and I thank God—and the men and women who have asked my help—that I have been given such work as this, to advocate for children such as these, children young or old.