At one point in the IICSA hearings in 2019, the treatment by church leaders of a survivor of sexual abuse was described by a witness as ‘shabby and shambolic’. This memorable choice of words was shared with both Archbishops, Canterbury and York. They each admitted that this was a fair description of the way the survivor, Matt Ineson, had been dealt with. The words summed up the coldness, indifference and failure of care that has contributed enormously to the suffering of Matt and many other abuse survivors. It still continues today in spite of many declarations by leaders to the contrary. Matt still awaits an apology for his abuse from the Church. Another survivor is reported to have sent 17 letters to Lambeth Palace before receiving a single acknowledgement from a correspondence secretary. Matthew Ineson himself disclosed his abuse eight times to three bishops and one Archbishop. Some of these disclosures were verbal and three were in writing. When later challenged, some of the bishops concerned were still hazy about these meetings and one even claimed not to remember it at all. When we encounter failures of this magnitude, we realise that we are dealing with something beyond just incompetence and poor organisational skills. We are, in all likelihood, also encountering a human reluctance to face up to the suffering of another person. It is so much easier for our peace of mind if we allow ourselves simply to close our ears and eyes to what other people sometimes have to experience. We know that the pain of another person can so easily become our pain if we allow it to. So we shut it off as though it does not exist. Is this what we are encountering in the failures of bishops and archbishops in the Church of England to meet up with and support survivors?
Any experience of suffering carried by an individual seldom makes them easy to live with. One of the untold stories of the Second World War is the arrival home of thousands of men from the fighting. Many, possibly the majority, were suffering from what we now call post-traumatic stress. Nobody then in the therapeutic professions had really mastered the implications of what was involved in being exposed to so much violence, killing and all the other experiences of war. Each individual soldier returning home had to deal with trauma as best he could. The best that many could achieve was to shut down quite large areas of the personality. Children were then brought up by fathers who were not really in touch with areas of emotion or empathy. These children thus suffered as did their fathers from this experience of mass trauma brought about through war.
Today we speak about post-traumatic stress far more readily. Most people know about the symptoms which can come to anyone who is a survivor of abuse or who has witnessed a violent episode. Much of the work of the psychotherapeutic profession is helping people to deal with events from the past which can cause them continuing trauma or stress. We seem to have a far wider recognition of the issues around stress and trauma with a greater sensitivity to the consequences to body and mind that linger after passing through such ordeals. Some people carry the memory of past trauma in their heads, but it is increasingly realised that severe stress, of whatever kind, can have effects on the body as well. Headaches, palpitations and panic attacks seem to oppress many people including survivors. On top of that we are all familiar with the way that stress and trauma can result in severe episodes of depression.
My impression of church abuse survivors is that, like WWII survivors, many have buried the memory of their individual traumas as a way of coping with their PTSD. Those who do speak openly about what they have suffered, are probably not typical. But when we have the testimony of survivors who are prepared, at considerable cost to themselves, to relive and speak of what they have been through, we should be extremely grateful to them. Our gratitude is partly in the fact that they are speaking on behalf of others for whom the Church also has a continuing responsibility – the silent ones still coping with trauma. Everyone who has endured the pain of abuse, whether they are silent or vocal, is worthy of our compassion and attempts at practical help. The vocal survivors, the ones who have come forward to speak openly of their abuse, have had to possess considerable stamina and courage. They are not necessarily comfortable people to have around. They force us to confront evil, shame and pain. They also remind us how people we want to rely on, trusted church leaders, are sometimes prone to failure with devastating consequences. The recent IICSA report on the Church of England was greatly shocking. Some of these leaders were actual abusers but many more have failed badly through their inertia and a failure to act when compassion and justice demanded it. In the past few days, the House of Bishops, has now begun to show some proactive energy in putting right some of the poor decisions and failures of the past. The protestations of ‘will do better’ seem now to have a certain weight behind them. They will be still more effective if the insights of survivors are drawn into the process. Their experiences make them a vital part of the much-needed process of redress and reconciliation. The culture of niceness and deference will be the more quickly overcome if the realism of survivors and their past confrontations with both human evil and institutional inertia is brought within the process.
We need to reflect a little further on this narrative of bishops and other church leaders who appeared so inept and incompetent in their failure to listen or respond to the stories of suffering told them by survivors. This seems to be, in the first place, about people unable to handle emotional discomfort. Other people’s suffering is a threat to their own sense of well-being. It thus has to pushed away. It is extraordinary how common this account of shunning, ignoring or avoiding survivor accounts seems to be. When we hear of promises by senior religious leaders to meet sufferers which are not followed up, we have to ask, what are they afraid of? Every priest, as part of their day-to-day work, faces the unbelievable pain told to them by others. They cannot draw back from the officiating at a funeral of a two-year-old child on the grounds that it would be upsetting. Pain, whether our pain or that of someone else, is the reality that many have to deal with, both as clergy and laypeople. Surely bishops cannot afford to be seen to fail in this basic pastoral task.
A second reason for the failures of church leaders recorded by Matt Ineson, Gilo, Jo KInd and others, may be accounted for by the way that bishops have become creatures of the institution. Because they are all public figures, they are apparently no longer allowed to think and behave as individual human beings. While there are notable exceptions to this pattern, it seems that episcopal reactions and encounters with the public are carefully staged managed and manipulated under the supervision of advisers and reputation managers. Almost the only positive thing to be said about Donald Trump is the way that he has allowed his personality to be exposed fully to the American public. It is not mediated through a publicity machine. What we see is in fact ugly and toxic, but at least it represents the reality of his personality. In most institutions, every word, every decision and every appearance of a leader is carefully choreographed. It cannot be easy to be a bishop and sacrifice along the way much spontaneity and empathy. There must be among the bench of bishops, individuals who pine for the days when they could simply be themselves and respond to others primarily as a human being rather than as a creature managed by the system.
The rebuilding of the church will need a great deal in the way of authentic leadership, one which is currently invisible. We need to see the human face of leadership, not the carefully crafted stance or statement of a communications expert. I am sure that the majority within the church would prefer to see such honesty and authenticity. They also want to identify with fresh, dynamic and effective compassion for those who have been so cruelly treated by abuse and the subsequent manipulations by the church system wanting to protect itself.
Many thanks. You use a striking phrase, ‘the culture of niceness’. One of the things about ‘niceness’ is that it is relatively cheap. Anyone with pastoral responsibilities can palm off people who need help with some ‘nice’ words, or they can use ‘niceness’ as a form of emotional and/or social Telflon: a ‘nice’ person is a person with a certain amount of social ‘insurance’ or credit – s/he will be forgiven all sorts of moral blunders, even cruelties, because s/he is perceived as being ‘nice’.
However, niceness should not be confused with decency. It is possible to be nice but callous or indifferent to suffering; it is far harder to be nice *and* be willing to go the extra mile on others’ behalf.
I suspect that one of the reasons for the profound public disaffection with the Church is the dissonance between its much-vaunted ‘niceness’ (i.e., “we are not like vulgar, pushing sects or people [sotto voce, from backward countries] who take their religion literally”) and the more sordid reality. In too many instances the ‘niceness’ has been a front for opportunistic, exploitative and, frankly, disgusting behaviour (note the Whitsey report just published: the bishop was ebullient, seemingly kind, but actually an uncontrolled pervert and pederast). So, niceness can give rise to a crisis of trust. In too many cases, niceness – and especially niceness in the Church of England – is a mere sham and a fraud. There is a dark side to Dibley.
However, it should be added that too many clergy and neither especially nice, nor particularly decent.
You also mention that the one potential virtue of Donald Trump is the candour of his toxicity. I agree: he is a caricature of the worst features of the wealthy and, as such, I hope that amongst a large section of ‘Middle America’ his words and deeds have exposed the lie that people succeed, whether financially or politically, through merit. This is one of the reasons why I am deeply ambivalent about the prospective ‘return to normalcy’ promised by his opponents. What good will it do if Trump is merely replaced by the ‘nice’ exploitative rich imperialists, who throw the occasional budgetary sweetmeat to the poor so that they can retain their economic privileges?
I would be insulted if anyone described me as “nice”. No one has. I have taken as my role model Geoffrey Clayton, some time Vicar and Archdeacon of Chesterfield, eventually Archbishop of Cape Town. “When I was first ordained,” he said, “I made up my mind that no one should say, ‘What a nice young man!’” Then, after a pause, “and no one ever did.” (From Alan Paton’s bio of GC “Apartheid and the Archbishop”).
The Church of England has today published the safeguarding review relating to the late Bishop Victor Whitsey, former Bishop of Chester. The review was led by David Pearl who has held various high judicial offices. It has the admonitory title “A Betrayal of Trust”. It’s a very comprehensive document. There are 145 pages which deserve careful reading. It’s too early to comment about detail, but the review contains recommendations which in some instances differ from those in the interim IICSA report.
This is the link:
https://www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2020-10/A%20Betrayal%20of%20Trust%20-%20Learning%20Lessons%20Case%20Review%20Regarding%20Hubert%20Victor%20Whitsey%20%2814.10.20%29.pdf
I’m in the throes of reading this. I know some of the people, which was a shock. And know people who know others.
Yes, I also know of one (although not intimately). A good, even saintly, man who died earlier this year. I have asked what I would have done in his shoes – difficult for me as a layman with a natural caution and unwillingness to assume things without some evidence. At the time, as a Suffragan, he was told what would have been no more than a third-hand suggestion that a very important diocesan bishop in another diocese (with which he never had any connection) had abused someone – no specific details. This might be nothing other than malicious gossip. What should he have done? The automatic immediate response to that question by many people now is that he should have picked up the phone and reported it. Instead he referred the matter on to his own Diocesan.
Was that passing the buck, or following what was then proper procedure? In so far as safeguarding was then anyone’s official responsibility, I believe it was the diocesan bishop’s. I don’t think that the answer is as easy or automatic as people are now saying with the benefit of more than 30 years’ hindsight.
I’m somewhat relieved that the Review does not make any adverse finding in his case.
Sorry to comment again but, Froghole, you mention Dibley. I deplore that programme with a vengeance, and the appalling fictional Ms Grainger. They have done a great disservice by showing how the church is trivial, infantile and self-indulgent – as have, and do, most celebrity clerics. The character I took to was Owen with his cloacal fixation. There’s a nice man for you.
I love Dibley. Coming when it did, on the verge of the vote on ordaining women as priests, it did a lot to make the idea acceptable to the general public. In fact, Richard Curtis later admitted that was part of his agenda in writing it. When relatively few people had ever seen a woman in a dog collar, it was remarkable to see Dawn French looking splendid in clerical collar on the front of the Radio Times. As a uni chaplain, I had that cover on my office door for ages.
The programme’s satire, of course, sometimes going into farce, but occasionally there’s real spiritual insight.
Jesus wasn’t very ‘nice’ to the spiritual leaders of His time. In fact he was positively offensive. He was crucified for it. We should thus prepare for strong opposition if we call out our leaders for malfeasance.
That said we could do well to salt our communications with good grace, and I’m speaking to myself here first off.
I grew up in the north of England where people tend to be direct and blunt, sometimes to the point of rudeness. I find the direct approach personally refreshing, particularly if it’s coupled with the typical northern warmth and friendliness.
But sometimes our directness can put people off our entire argument and the proverbial baby gets thrown out with the bath water.
Over the years I’ve also begun to understand we can also confuse good manners with being psychologically “stroked” to take us off our guard, deflecting from serious underlying character flaws in a person, even a cleric.
It is notable from the timeline of the Whitsey report just how much to and fro a letter of apology took. The drafting, the sending to the legal team, the rewording. The spontaneity of a genuine heartfelt apology has surely been lost by this time.
As a survivor I do not want an apology because all apologies in the past have been so meaningless, not least because the same actions that warranted the apology in the first place are often quickly repeated. In a post IICSA world the church needs to lead with actions, not words, and survivors need to be asked first if they would like an apology, simply pressing one on them may make the institution feel better but will feel re-abusive to those survivors where apology has formed part of their institutional abuse narrative.
Something I don’t understand about the Whitsey report is nowhere in the write-up for Kate Wood, one of the reviewers, does it state that she was the Safeguarding Adviser for Lambeth Palace, though it says she has done a lot of work for the church at a national level. Seems very odd to me!
I think people’s experience of apology varies. I’ve only had one! So no opportunity to be reabused there. I think of it rather in the same way as saying “I love you”. You need people to act on it, not just say it, or it isn’t true. But you do want to hear it said. Or I do. It’s surprisingly difficult to look someone in the eye and say those words. I once had a bizarre conversation with a cleric who was trying desperately to avoid them. They had been instructed to apologise, but didn’t want to say those words! So to me, they have value.