#1 Abuse by the Good Guys
There's something sleazily seductive about scandal in the church--particularly if you're an outsider--but I've found myself engaging on a deeper level than I expected. I was particularly touched and challenged by the story of one bishop's struggle to respond to one of his priests who had been accused of abuse. This was a man whom he valued, who did good work. While he couldn't just throw away the stories that had come to his attention, neither could he just throw away this man. What do we do when good men get lost, when they do hurtful things--but pretend they haven't, and a combination of their obvious goodness, their power, and our love for them, allow them to continue?
With some types of men who do bad things, we as a society are not so conflicted. We've never loved or counted on them as a group. They do bad things but don't pretend, or we have stereotypes that make it easy to simply label them as bad people. Then it's not too hard for us to agree to just throw them away (though in each case there are surely those who love them and struggle just as this bishop was struggling--to acknowledge what they have done, while still knowing their goodness).
It is when they seem so good that we get really confused. What do we do when people use our love and respect for them as cover? What about those who cover for them, just because they know they can get away with it? When and how and under what motivation do we decide that good outweighs bad or bad outweighs good? When do we expose someone who has abused to the glare of publicity and punishment?
Respect, gratitude and love--motivators we would choose to act on--may inhibit our confronting wrong, while hatred and contempt make it easy, but pull us in to a vortex of negativity. There seem to be only two choices: I know what a good man he is so I have to remain silent, or I know what a bad man he is so I have to speak out.
We hear silence from the biggest institutions to the smallest family units. The church has opted for silence for years, probably from a combination of arrogance of power and a sincere belief that they can handle their own. Many women have opted for silence in the face of marital abuse--some because they feel they have no choice, many because they never lose sight of the goodness underneath, and keep hoping that somehow their love will make a difference. Children are almost always silent. When those who do things are also the voice of authority, when you love and respect and look to them, it's much easier to doubt yourself.
The determination to expose seems very much a reaction to that silence. "I was never allowed to speak, but now I have found my voice--and I use it to say that these bad things have happened." The agony of such silence seeks balm from full public exposure and punishment. If someone is clinging to his goodness as a cover, the impulse can be irresistible to peel off that outer layer and expose the truly bad things he has done. But if we stop there, we never get to the heart of the matter. We don't bother to peel back that newly-exposed and ugly layer to get to the goodness underneath. Pursuing a need for exposure and punishment also keeps us in the victim role; if they need to suffer before we can be whole, then we'll never have the power to heal ourselves. And it relies on a legal system of retribution that neither heals victims nor transforms perpetrators--a system that there are good reasons to avoid as well as bad.
Somehow we need to find a way to move out of these narrow frameworks, to not be limited to choosing between license and retribution, between perpetrator and victim. How can we go for truth, and real power, and healing?
The abusive marriage may help show the way. The most common dynamic here seems to be that of a man looking for a place to show his worst side, and directing it at a person he counts on to stay. A woman may understand this on some level and do her best to handle it, but lack the strength (both physical and emotional) to stand to it and not let herself get hurt. When she finally acknowledges that she can't handle it alone, and gets the restraining order or moves out, it may be the only possible solution, but there is a wrench, a loss, a giving up. She doesn't want to throw out a good man.
These husbands--and churchmen--who go after women and children are acting out. They need to be stopped, just as children who are acting out need to be stopped. But we're not good at this, even with our children. Some parents have a hard time setting limits because it seems so unloving. Others are quite willing, but the limit always comes harshly, as punishment. Yet our children thrive best when we are relaxed, firm and connected. "I love you and I'm not going to let you do that."
How much harder it is to find that authority to set limits with our men, whose habit of confidence and control can be so confounding. I think we need to believe that we have enough power and enough love--to look with clear eyes at what our good men are doing, and tell them they have to stop. If one woman isn't strong enough, what if the neighbors could be gathered in to speak in one voice. "We know how good you are, and we're not going to let you do that any more." What if the children could speak up and the congregation could listen and see, and say, "You're too good a man for us to let you get lost that way." How can we gather our authority together, and speak with love?
Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, July 2002
With some types of men who do bad things, we as a society are not so conflicted. We've never loved or counted on them as a group. They do bad things but don't pretend, or we have stereotypes that make it easy to simply label them as bad people. Then it's not too hard for us to agree to just throw them away (though in each case there are surely those who love them and struggle just as this bishop was struggling--to acknowledge what they have done, while still knowing their goodness).
It is when they seem so good that we get really confused. What do we do when people use our love and respect for them as cover? What about those who cover for them, just because they know they can get away with it? When and how and under what motivation do we decide that good outweighs bad or bad outweighs good? When do we expose someone who has abused to the glare of publicity and punishment?
Respect, gratitude and love--motivators we would choose to act on--may inhibit our confronting wrong, while hatred and contempt make it easy, but pull us in to a vortex of negativity. There seem to be only two choices: I know what a good man he is so I have to remain silent, or I know what a bad man he is so I have to speak out.
We hear silence from the biggest institutions to the smallest family units. The church has opted for silence for years, probably from a combination of arrogance of power and a sincere belief that they can handle their own. Many women have opted for silence in the face of marital abuse--some because they feel they have no choice, many because they never lose sight of the goodness underneath, and keep hoping that somehow their love will make a difference. Children are almost always silent. When those who do things are also the voice of authority, when you love and respect and look to them, it's much easier to doubt yourself.
The determination to expose seems very much a reaction to that silence. "I was never allowed to speak, but now I have found my voice--and I use it to say that these bad things have happened." The agony of such silence seeks balm from full public exposure and punishment. If someone is clinging to his goodness as a cover, the impulse can be irresistible to peel off that outer layer and expose the truly bad things he has done. But if we stop there, we never get to the heart of the matter. We don't bother to peel back that newly-exposed and ugly layer to get to the goodness underneath. Pursuing a need for exposure and punishment also keeps us in the victim role; if they need to suffer before we can be whole, then we'll never have the power to heal ourselves. And it relies on a legal system of retribution that neither heals victims nor transforms perpetrators--a system that there are good reasons to avoid as well as bad.
Somehow we need to find a way to move out of these narrow frameworks, to not be limited to choosing between license and retribution, between perpetrator and victim. How can we go for truth, and real power, and healing?
The abusive marriage may help show the way. The most common dynamic here seems to be that of a man looking for a place to show his worst side, and directing it at a person he counts on to stay. A woman may understand this on some level and do her best to handle it, but lack the strength (both physical and emotional) to stand to it and not let herself get hurt. When she finally acknowledges that she can't handle it alone, and gets the restraining order or moves out, it may be the only possible solution, but there is a wrench, a loss, a giving up. She doesn't want to throw out a good man.
These husbands--and churchmen--who go after women and children are acting out. They need to be stopped, just as children who are acting out need to be stopped. But we're not good at this, even with our children. Some parents have a hard time setting limits because it seems so unloving. Others are quite willing, but the limit always comes harshly, as punishment. Yet our children thrive best when we are relaxed, firm and connected. "I love you and I'm not going to let you do that."
How much harder it is to find that authority to set limits with our men, whose habit of confidence and control can be so confounding. I think we need to believe that we have enough power and enough love--to look with clear eyes at what our good men are doing, and tell them they have to stop. If one woman isn't strong enough, what if the neighbors could be gathered in to speak in one voice. "We know how good you are, and we're not going to let you do that any more." What if the children could speak up and the congregation could listen and see, and say, "You're too good a man for us to let you get lost that way." How can we gather our authority together, and speak with love?
Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, July 2002
posted by Pamela Haines | 2:40 PM
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