Media Takes Gloves Off For Clergy Abuse Scandal

Sarah Seltzer

Coverage of the most recent in a series of church child-abuse scandals may indicate the gradual beginning of a shift, a willingness for media interrogation not just of religious figures, but of outdated religious ideas.

Mainstream media coverage of religion and religiously-tinged ethics is a tricky thing. Religions, of course, by their very nature, maintain some un-proveable tenets, such as the existence of deities and the moral importance of rituals and holidays. But no one ever prefaces a journalistic mention of Moses or Jesus by calling them an “alleged prophet” or a “so-called holy man.” There’s a level of respect accorded to religion that few other unsubstantiated beliefs get. That’s one of the problems women’s rights advocates run up against in terms of media coverage of our movement, as our opponents are often motivated by religious dogma.

Of course, covering people’s most sacredly-held beliefs in a polite manner is a goal for media types who try hard not just to be objective and accurate, but also fair. Unfortunately, this often translates to simply giving both sides of a “moral issue” equal space to speak, without always interrogating the factual accuracy of their statements. This is why the “new atheist” crew like Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens try so hard to emphasize the irrational and occasionally ludicrous aspects of religion–so that governments, parents, schools and journalists won’t necessarily take the opinions of religious figures at face value.

With the latest church scandal, their point may finally be getting through. The way the media has been approaching the most recent in a series of church child-abuse scandals may indicate the gradual beginning of a shift in coverage, a willingness for media interrogation not just of religious figures, but of outdated religious ideas.

For those who have been living under a rock, the situation is this: more and more evidence points to the fact that the current Pope, formerly Cardinal Ratzinger, was involved in ignoring or hushing up sexual abuse complaints against clergy in multiple diocese in Europe and the United States.

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Newspapers in Europe have been on the case for months. At home, many outlets, The New York Times in particular, have been appropriately loathe to drop the trail of the ongoing sexual abuse cover-up scandal roiling the church. More so than during previous iterations of this same major scandal, media figures have been digging up documents, breaking news, printing virulently anti-Church op-eds, and repeatedly following up on their own and others’ reporting. Not only are journalists questioning the actions of the most venerated of religious figures, but they’re looking into the doctrine that led to the abuse and cover-up, specifically the concept that rape, molestation and abuse on the part of clergy constituted a sin to be reckoned with before God rather than a crime against another person and the state.

One journalist, Walter Robinson, a former Globe reporter who once famously exposed much of the abuse in the Boston diocese, explained in a Q and A with ProPublica what has shifted in the Catholic Church since that era:

… [church authorities’] view of the abuse itself—and this was fairly naive—wasn’t that it was a pathology or illness, but that it was a sin, and that if the priest repented of his sin, they could reassign him to another parish. That went on—we say for decades, but no doubt has gone on for centuries—and that view has changed pretty radically. The church now recognizes that somebody who molests children should not be put in a situation where he can further molest children.

Whether or not the church is now willing to surrender those abusers to law enforcement remains to be seen–there are new directives in place to cooperate with civil authorities, but then again known criminals have cushy jobs at the Vatican. Still, the distinction described by Robinson, and echoed throughout media reports this week, is important. The media  has begun to question one of the world’s most powerful and visible religious bodies not just for its actions, but for its teachingsand fight back when Church authorities slam them.

Why this shift? There are a few possibilities. One is simply the indisputable hard evidence uncovered by reporters, dating back decades. Another is that this Pope was not a beloved figure like his predecessor, John Paul II–who was a more cuddly face in public even while embracing similarly anti-choice, anti-birth control, anti-gay ideas to his successor. Cardinal Ratzinger, now known as Benedict XVI, was dogged by controversy the minute he was chosen, when it was revealed he had (under compulsion) been a member of the Hitler Youth. Perhaps this unpleasant factoid meant that the new Holy Father was less off-limits than other venerated religious figures might be.

Another explanation is the confluence of this scandal, in the American press, with the debate over health care. During the protracted negotiations over abortion provisions and other aspects of the bill, the US Conference of Catholic Bishops aggressively lobbied for stricter anti-choice provisions that would have essentially railroaded all abortion coverage off the market–public and private. Eventually, other Catholic groups with more direct experience on the ground, such as several orders of nuns, broke with the bishops by supporting the bill. The marked contrast of the Catholic officials who actually directly worked with parishioners supporting the bill and the bishops who opposed it, made for extremely good optics, and clear evidence that not all Catholics marched in lockstep.

Furthermore, protest is coming loud and clear from within the Catholic community itself. Victim advocacy groups are refusing to endorse a church-sponsored hotline. Years ago, Sinead O’Connor was mocked and vilified for her SNL protest against the then-Pontiff. Now she’s being treated as an expert, with an op-ed urging Irish Catholics to boycott mass in protest of the cover-up. Other Catholics like TAP’s Tim Fernholz are writing about giving up attending church in solidarity with victims.

The seemingly-new understanding that, hey, we can acknowledge that it’s bad for a religious institution to treat rape and abuse as a sin rather than a crime, will hopefully open doors to more vigorously examine other religious practices that do harm, such as the refusal to distribute condoms in AIDS-stricken countries, relegating women to the back of buses or forbidding them from driving, or even holding up health care for millions because of abortion language. Religion-based morality isn’t always bad, but it certainly isn’t always good either, and it’s crucial for our media to be able to examine religious principles and practices, no matter how widely-accepted or praised, in terms of their real effect on actual people’s lives.

See also: Katha Politt on the abuse scandal.

News Media

Study: Politicians Dominate Nightly News Reports on Birth Control

Nicole Knight Shine

Study co-author Michelle H. Moniz, assistant professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Michigan, noted that news segments largely framed contraception as a political issue, rather than a matter of public health.

When it comes to asking experts to weigh in on birth control, the nation’s three major TV networks favor political figures over doctors, according to a forthcoming paper in the journal Contraception.

Analyzing nightly news segments on contraception on ABC, CBS, and NBC between 2010 to 2014, the authors found that few broadcasts included medical professionals (11 percent) or health researchers (4 percent). Politicians, however, dominated coverage, appearing as sources 40 percent of the time, followed by advocates (25 percent), the general public (25 percent), and Catholic Church leaders (16 percent).

Sixty-nine percent of news segments on birth control included no medical information, the authors found.

Study co-author Michelle H. Moniz, assistant professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Michigan, noted that news segments largely framed contraception as a political issue, rather than a matter of public health.

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“Health professionals are an untapped resource for ensuring that the most up-to-date, scientific information is available to the public watching the news,” Moniz said in an email to Rewire.

An estimated 24 million Americans watch nightly news, making it an “influential information source,” the authors note.

And although nearly half of pregnancies in the United States each year are unplanned, news segments did not emphasize highly effective contraception like IUDs, the researchers found. Instead, emergency contraception, commonly known as the morning-after pill, warranted the most coverage, at 18 percent, followed by the daily oral contraceptive pill, at 16 percent.

The researchers’ analysis of 116 nightly news segments coincided with the rollout of the Affordable Care Act by President Obama and continued through the June 2014 U.S. Supreme Court decision in Burwell v. Hobby Lobby, which carved out the right for private corporations to deny birth control coverage to employees on religious grounds.

“We found that when the network television media covers contraception,” the authors observed, “they do so within a largely political frame and emphasize the controversial aspects of contraception, while paying less attention to health aspects and content experts.”

The paper was authored by five researchers from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor; the Veterans Affairs Center for Clinical Management and Research in Michigan; and the Pennsylvania Department of Health.

The study builds on earlier work exposing media bias and gender disparities in reproductive health coverage.

In June, an analysis of prime-time news programs on cable networks CNN, Fox News, and MSNBC by media watchdog group Media Matters for America found that 40 percent of guests on all three networks made anti-choice statements or identified as anti-choice, compared with 17 percent of guests who made pro-choice statements or identified as reproductive rights advocates. On Fox, guests made a total of 705 inaccurate statements about abortion care over a 14-month period.

The nightly news study follows a report earlier this year on gender disparities by the Women’s Media Center, a nonprofit advocacy group, indicating that male journalists dominate reproductive health coverage, with bylines on 67 percent of all presidential election stories related to abortion and contraception. Female journalists, in comparison, wrote 37 percent of articles about reproductive issues.

Commentary Violence

This is Not The Story I Wanted—But It’s My Story of Rape

Dani Kelley

Writer Dani Kelley thought she had shed the patriarchal and self-denying lessons of her conservative religious childhood. But those teachings blocked her from initially admitting that an encounter with a man she met online was not a "date" that proved her sexual liberation, but an extended sexual assault.

Content note: This article contains graphic descriptions of sexual violence.

The night I first truly realized something was wrong was supposed to be a good night.

A visiting friend and I were in pajamas, eating breakfast food at 10 p.m., wrapped in blankets while swapping stories of recent struggles and laughs.

There I was, animatedly telling her about my recently acquired (and discarded) “fuck buddy,” when suddenly the story caught in my throat.

When I finally managed to choke out the words, they weren’t what I expected to say. “He—he held me down—until, until I couldn’t—breathe.”

Hearing myself say it out loud was a gut-punch. I was sobbing, gasping for breath, arms wrapped as if to hold myself together, spiraling into a terrifying realization.

This isn’t the story I wanted.

Unlearning My Training

I grew up in the Plymouth Brethren movement, a small fundamentalist Christian denomination that justifies strict gender roles through a literal approach to the Bible. So, according to 1 Corinthians 11:7, men are considered “the image and glory of God,” while women are merely “the glory of man.” As a result, women are expected to wear head coverings during any church service, among other restrictions that can be best summed up by the apostle Paul in 1 Timothy 2:11-12: Women are never allowed to have authority over men.

If you’ve spent any number of years in conservative Christianity like I did, you’re likely familiar with the fundamentalist tendency to demonize that which is morally neutral or positive (like premarital sex or civil rights) while sugar-coating negative experiences. The sugar-coating can be twofold: Biblical principles are often used to shame or gaslight abuse victims (like those being shunned or controlled or beaten by their husbands) while platitudes are often employed to help members cope with “the sufferings of this present time,” assuring them that these tragedies are “not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

In many ways, it’s easy to unlearn the demonization of humanity as you gain actual real-world experience refuting such flimsy claims. But the shame? That can be more difficult to shake.

The heart of those teachings isn’t only present in this admittedly small sect of Christianity. Rather, right-wing Western Christianity as a whole has a consent problem. It explicitly teaches its adherents they don’t belong to themselves at all. They belong to God (and if they’re not men, they belong to their fathers or husbands as well). This instilled lack of agency effectively erases bodily autonomy while preventing the development of healthy emotional and physical boundaries.

On top of that, the biblical literalism frequently required by conservative Christianity in the United States promotes a terrifying interpretation of Scripture, such as Jeremiah 17:9. The King James Version gives the verse a stern voice, telling us that “the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked.” If we believe this, we must accept that we’re untrustworthy witnesses to our own lives. Yet somehow, we’re expected to rely on the authority of those the Bible deems worthy. People like all Christians, older people, and men.

Though I’ve abandoned Christianity and embraced feminist secular humanism, the culture in which I grew up and my short time at conservative Bob Jones University still affect how I view myself and act in social situations. The lessons of my formative years created a perfect storm of terrible indoctrination: gender roles that promoted repressed individuality for women while encouraging toxic masculinity, explicit teaching that led to constant second-guessing my ability to accurately understand my own life, and a biblical impetus to “rejoice in my suffering.”

Decades of training taught me I’m not allowed to set boundaries.

But Some Habits Die Hard

Here’s the thing. At almost 30, I’d never dated anyone other than my ex-husband. So I thought it was about time to change that.

When I found this man’s online profile, I was pleasantly surprised. It was full of the kind of geekery I’m into, even down to the specific affinity for eclectic music. I wrote to him, making sure my message and tone were casual. He responded instantly, full of charisma and charm. Within hours, we’d made plans to meet.

He was just as friendly and attentive in person. After wandering around town, window-shopping, and getting to know one another, he suggested we go to his favorite bar. As he drank (while I sipped water), he kept paying me compliments, slowly breaking the touch barrier. And honestly, I was enthralled—no one had paid attention to me like this in years.

When he suggested moving out to the car where we could be a little more intimate, I agreed. The rush of feeling desired was intoxicating. He seemed so focused on consent—asking permission before doing anything. Plus, he was quite straightforward about what he wanted, which I found exciting.

So…I brought him home.

This new and exciting “arrangement” lasted one week, during which we had very satisfying, attachment-free sex several times and after which we parted ways as friends.

That’s the story I told people. That’s the story I thought I believed. I’d been freed from the rigid expectations and restraints of my youth’s purity culture.

Now. You’re about to hear me say many things I know to be wrong. Many feminists or victim advocates almost certainly know the rationalizations and reactions I’m about to describe are both normal responses to abuse and a result of ingrained lies about sex in our culture. Not to mention evidence of the influence that right-wing conservatism can have on shaping self-actualization.

As I was telling people the story above, I left out important details. Were my omissions deliberate? An instinctive self-preservation mechanism? A carryover from draconian ideals about promiscuity?

When I broke down crying with my friend, I finally realized I’d kept quiet because I couldn’t bear to hear myself say what happened.

I’m a feminist, damn it. I left all the puritanical understandings of gender roles behind when I exited Christianity! I even write about social justice and victim advocacy. I ought to recognize rape culture!

Right?

If only being a socially aware feminist was enough to erase decades of socialization as a woman within rape culture—or provide inoculation against sexual violence.

That first night, once we got to my car, he stopped checking in with me. I dismissed the red flag as soon as I noticed it, telling myself he’d stop if I showed discomfort. Then he smacked my ass—hard. I pulled away, staring at him in shocked revulsion. “Sorry,” he replied, smirking.

He suggested that we go back to my house, saying we’d have more privacy than at his place. I was uneasy, unconvinced. But he began passionately kissing, groping, petting, and pleading. Against my better judgment, I relented.

Yet, in the seclusion of my home, there was no more asking. There was only telling.

Before I knew it, I’d been thrown on my back as he pulled off my clothes. I froze. The only coherent thought I could manage was a weak stammer, asking if he had a condom. He seemed agitated. “Are you on birth control?” That’s not the point! I thought, mechanically answering “yes.”

With a triumphant grin and no further discussion, he forced himself into me. Pleasure fought with growing panic as something within me screamed for things to slow down, to just stop. The sensation was familiar: identical to how I felt when raped as a child.

I frantically pushed him off and rolled away, hyperventilating. I muttered repeatedly, “I need a minute. Just give me a minute. I need a minute.”

“We’re not finished yet!” he snapped angrily. As he reached for me again, I screeched hysterically, “I’M NOT OK! I NEED A MINUTE!”

Suddenly, he was kind and caring. Instead of being alarmed, I was strangely grateful. So once I calmed down, I fucked him. More than once.

It was—I told myself—consensual. After all, he comforted me during a flashback. Didn’t I owe him that much?

Yet, if I didn’t do what he wanted, he’d forcefully smack my ass. If I didn’t seem happy enough, he’d insistently tell me to smile as he hit me again, harder. He seemed to relish the strained smile I would force on command.

I kept telling myself I was okay. Happy, even. Look at how liberated I was!

All week, I was either at his beck and call or fighting suicidal urges. Never having liked alcohol before, I started drinking heavily. I did all I could to minimize or ignore the abuse. Even with his last visit—as I fought to breathe while he forcefully held my head down during oral sex, effectively choking me—I initially told myself desperately that surely he wouldn’t do any of this on purpose.

The Stories We Tell and The Stories That Just Are

Reflecting on that week, I’m engulfed in shame. I’m a proud feminist. I know what coercion looks like. I know what rape looks like. I know it’s rarely a scary man wearing a ski mask in a back alley. I’ve heard all the victim-blaming rape apologia you have: that women make up rape when they regret consenting to sex, or going on a date means sex is in the cards, or bringing someone home means you’re game for anything.

Reality is, all of us have been socialized within a patriarchal system that clouds our experiences and ability to classify them. We’re told to tend and befriend the men who threaten us. De-escalation at any cost is the go-to response of almost any woman I’ve ever talked to about unwanted male attention. Whatever will satiate the beast and keep us safe.

On top of that, my conservative background whispered accusations of being a Jezebel, failing to safeguard my purity, and getting exactly what I deserve for forsaking the faith.

It’s all lies, of course. Our culture lies when it says that there are blurred lines when it comes to consent. It violates our personhood when it requires us to change the narrative of the violence enacted against us for their own comfort. Right-wing Christianity lies when it says we don’t belong to ourselves and must submit to the authority of a religion or a gender.

Nobody’s assaulted because they weren’t nice enough or because they “failed” to de-escalate. There’s nothing we can do to provoke such violence. Rape is never deserved. The responsibility for sexual assault lies entirely with those who attack us.

So why was the story I told during and after that ordeal so radically and fundamentally different from what actually happened? And why the hell did I think any of what happened was OK?

Rape myths are so ingrained in our cultural understanding of relationships that it was easier for me to believe nothing bad had happened than to accept the truth. I thought if I could only tell the story I wanted it to be, then maybe that’s what really happened. I thought if I was willing—if I kept having him over, if I did what he ordered, if I told my friends how wonderful it was—it would mean everything was fine. It would mean I wasn’t suffering from post-traumatic stress or anxiety about defying the conservative tenets of my former political and religious system.

Sometimes, we tell ourselves the stories we want to hear until we’re able to bear the stories of what actually happened.

We all have a right to say who has what kind of access to our bodies. A man’s masculinity gives him no authority over anyone’s sexual agency. A lack of a “no” doesn’t mean a “yes.” Coercion isn’t consent. Sexual acts performed without consent are assault. We have a right to tell our stories—our real stories.

So, while this isn’t the story I wanted, it’s the story that is.

I was raped.