Collared

Three decades of silence and shame, broken with one line.

“After 33 years, today I was revealed as Victim 54.”

No photo. No link. No commentary. No follow up.

But I knew.

I drew my breath in sharply. Old wounds burned under my skin. Did he know that I already knew? It didn’t matter either way. What mattered is that now it has finally come to light. Two-thirds more of his life has passed since those betrayals were committed. Same for Victim 55, my dear friend from the same years.

Finally, those in power who hunt and hurt and those who covered for them are named. Those hiding behind the priest’s collar are collared.

Child abuse doesn’t just hurt the victim. It hurts their friends, their family, their loved ones. They are robbed of the closeness they could have shared while the victim hides in plain sight.

Abuse also hurts the victim’s future. Choices, freedoms, preferences, relationships…it all changes.

Maybe I shouldn’t be thankful I was a girl, but I am. When I look back at having lunches with the predator, the gifts he gave me, the attention he showered on me…but a priest with a girl was probably too strange. Instead, he victimized boys, young men, my friends.

These old horrible men, hiding behind their uniforms. Carrying the banner of Jesus.

Power corrupts. Power clothed in a “sacred” uniform is even worse…more insidious. It gets a pass because it wears the costume of innocence. Virtue creates victims.

No wonder I am mistrustful of power. No wonder I automatically resist anyone who tries to govern me, legal or not. No wonder every time someone shows up in a wholesome uniform, I am guarded, cynical, preemptively skeptical.

The damage done by people who parade their trustworthiness, their valor, is infinitely as egregious. It makes me sick.

Sometimes I am too trusting. But when it comes to uniforms and power, I am the opposite: suspicious. I assume the worst. I always wonder if they are humbly trying to live up to their uniform or is there wickedness hiding beneath?