Smyth’s Bystanders and Enablers
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When we teach a child about right and wrong, we tend to simplify the lesson. One action is wrong and to be avoided; the other, the good option, is what we should do. Some people carry this simple narrative about morality right into adulthood. The binary world of black-white, right and wrong which sufficed for the child’s understanding of the world, is expected to do service for the adult. By this time, most of us are immersed in a sea of complexity and ambiguity. The binary answers are no longer adequate.
The world, beyond the binary one of childhood, inconveniently, contains many situations possessing a distinct tone of grey. We are forced constantly to apply our judgement and experience rather than operate according to the rules of a simplistic morality. Some professions recognise the problem and strain of having to make complex decisions which can have life-changing outcomes. They try to provide their members with procedures or protocols for every conceivable scenario. The message is this: If you follow the correct procedure, the professional standards body will always support you if things go wrong. This system of relieving professional workers of potential responsibility works well in professions like the army, social work or medicine. There are, however, other professions which cannot ever operate in this way. Those who work for the Church, for example, find that they must constantly negotiate in a world of grey realities. To find their way forward, they have only their judgement and experience. A typical vicar will have no one to turn to when such difficult decisions must be made. All the possible choices may sometimes have poor outcomes. If choices are wrong, he/she will just hope that the results are not so devastating that someone slaps a CDM on them. Making a difficult decision in a world of grey realities is stressful. Would it not be wonderful if the right decision was always obvious? Sadly, we know that we must deal with the least bad option among several alternatives.
Beyond the world of difficult decision making faced by the clergy, is another world, even further away from the simple reassuring black-white certainties of childhood. This world we may call the looking-glass world of safeguarding. It is a looking-glass world because we find that many decisions somehow seem back to front. For reasons that are hard to understand, the people who should be at the centre of concern and care, the survivors/victims, find themselves sometimes treated as though they are the guilty ones. They entered the complaints process to find that the safeguarding system has somehow reversed the process to make them the ones under cross-examination. The ongoing saga of Martyn Percy is a case in point. As an individual he was subject to an expensive legal process by a group of vindictive colleagues. Having negotiated that, after being found innocent by a retired judge, he then went on to experience the weight of the Church’s core group process. Somehow his accusers had manipulated the system so that he was placed in the role of a perpetrator. Thus, over a period of two years, Martyn had to stand up to two well-funded institutions trying to crush him. Anyone looking on would quickly conclude that Martyn is the victim in this case. But the system of core groups and safeguarding as practised by the Church of England has managed to convince itself that Martyn is somehow a perpetrator. Welcome to the world of Alice Through the Looking-Glass.
It is very hard indeed to navigate a clear path in the world of upside-down logic and Kafkaesque process that we find in the Church’s safeguarding processes. I heard (it may be hearsay) that there are over a hundred outstanding cases for the core group process to deliberate on, following Melissa Caslake’s departure. Somewhere in Church House, someone is sitting with a pile of files, trying to work out how they are going to find dozens of people of goodwill to serve on all these groups. Are there that many people prepared to give up precious time to work out how to direct justice into this flagging (and failing) structure?
We are suggesting that the upside-down ‘system’ of church safeguarding can cause havoc for the well-being of essentially good individuals. Equally, exploitative individuals seem to be able to work the system and escape accountability for decades. The secret for escaping exposure in church settings is first to be part of powerful networks of support. These may be churchmanship fellowships, dining clubs or college alumni groups. If your network includes a bishop, a church legal officer or an Archdeacon, that will be able probably to foul up any legal process that is being mounted against you by the church. This avoidance process came out at the ICSA hearing when it was shown how Peter Ball used his levers of support to fight off and evade the structures of church justice for two decades. Had it not been for the determined work of the police force, it is likely that Ball might have retained his reputation intact for the rest of his life.
One of the important tasks involved in looking at the career of credibly accused but influential individuals, is the recognition of the role of enablers and bystanders. Not everyone of the ‘supporting cast’ deserves equal blame or guilt. Nevertheless, we must impute some level of guilt on these bystanders. Those very close to the perpetrator are a dark colour of grey while others, further away from the action, are only mildly touched with the blackness of an evil manipulating abuser.
Looking at the example of John Smyth’s activities in England and Africa we can see the way evil was spread among his supporters. The contentious part of the story is the one that Keith Makin is piecing together. Who knew what and when? This blog does not aim to bring up once again the names of those who were caught up in this narrative. Clearly there were some who knew enough to have been potentially able to have stopped the abuse but did not. They carry the most guilt in the story other than what Smyth himself acquired. Most of these, who are coloured dark grey, are now dead. Forty years have now passed since the events in the Winchester garden shed.
A larger group belong to the category of bystanders. This group may have suspected that something was wrong, but they failed to speak of it. Many of these bystanders were very young at the time and thus susceptible to a culture of hero-worship of their charismatic Iwerne leaders. Can we really attribute guilt to this group, mesmerised, seduced even, by the charms of the leadership at Iwerne?.
The novel the Go-Between begins with the memorable sentence: ‘The past is a foreign country’. Even those of us who were adults 40 years ago can forget how attitudes have subtly changed over the intervening period in the understanding of sexuality. Few people then discussed the issues around gay sexual activity, and it was certainly not a cause that embroiled large numbers of people. But there is one document on the topic that was written in 1991 but not published till 2012 called The Osborne Report. It is salutary to read the report and see in it the attitudes and assumptions of thirty years ago. We can realise that much has changed. In the report there is an extraordinary section which discusses the way that clergy guilty of paedophilic behaviour should be treated. The document makes no recommendations for the care of victims. Worse still is the suggestion that perpetrators might be forcibly moved on to a new post as a way of dealing with their offence. I mention this passage merely as a way of reminding the reader that attitudes in 1982 to the homoerotic violence practised by Smyth would have been different. When a church culture tends towards tolerance, we should be aware of that the way that this impacted on the very young people attending Iwerne camps. They may have failed to understand the significance of what was going on around them. The guilt of these bystanders, particularly for those who were very young, was at the time, not great.
Around 2012 there was a minor revolution in attitudes about child sexual abuse when the behaviour of Jimmy Savile became known after his death in 2011. It was a significant wake-up call for all institutions given the responsibility of caring for children. Sexual abuse of the young was now acknowledged as happening, even though it had been going on in secret for decades. Perhaps the group that were initially most affected by the Savile revelations were abuse victims themselves. They suddenly had a voice. They knew that they would now be listened to and be believed. At the same time, we might have hoped that those uneasy bystanders of Smyth’s crimes might have sought the relief of telling what they knew. After a further eight years of knowing that it was important to share openly what they knew, the status of these silent bystanders has changed from innocence to serious guilt. They should have been first in the queue to tell all that they knew of Smyth’s manipulations. No, this group have largely chosen the path of tribal loyalty to a network of other colluders. This choice to ignore conscience and accept guilt will seriously impact on their integrity. No names are mentioned here, but many people in the Church know the identity of these non-cooperating bystanders.
When the thirtyone:eight report on Jonathan Fletcher and the Makin report on Smyth appear next year, I, for one, will be looking for evidence that at least some of the colluders and bystanders have come forward. Failure to speak and reveal the truth is a failure to acknowledge guilt. An inability either to admit guilt or to deal with it, is for me first-hand evidence that many who emphasise the preaching of the Gospel have not really understood it at all. I listen to the first words of Jesus in Mark, Metanoeite, turn around with your mind, repent. That repentance is a prerequisite of accessing the Good News or Gospel of Jesus Christ.
It’s not just the sin of omission that’s marks those who fail to act. Those close to perpetrators have on occasion more than the institution’s reputation as a motive for silence. Sometimes they themselves are tinged or stained with a similar category of offence, by committing similar things themselves.
Once a perpetrator has died, it’s surprising how many come out of the woodwork in condemnation. At that point he can’t reveal what he knows about them.
High level manipulators are skilled in the art of blackmail.
It feels distasteful to raise this aspect of the subject matter but I believe we would do well to open our eyes to what could be going on to reinforce the wall of silence.
There’s a tendency despite having encountered a sexual abuser at school (who was an Anglican priest) still to assume all priests are genuinely good and can do no wrong until proved otherwise.
There’s a tendency to believe all Christian teachers are good and can do no wrong, despite having witnessed supporting behaviours, friendship, blind-eye-turning for the offending priest. As Stephen indicates, there are concentric rings of supporters and enablers.
I’m suggesting that in the inner ring (most likely) they have their hand in too. Literally.
A great deal of emotion is expressed by survivors. That is to be expected. But a separate sentiment frequently expressed, is one of confusion. We simply cannot understand why they are getting away with it.
I suggest our own assumptions of worthiness in others sometimes blunt our faculties to discern what’s truly going on.
In contrast, an investigative journalist or a specialist detective can sometimes be shown to get to the real story more swiftly. With support let’s broaden our outlook to engage their services.
Part of the problem is we don’t want to believe our friends are capable of abuse. That means admitting that life is more grey than we thought, that our judgment was wrong, that we may even have been colluders (even if not intentionally). I discovered through a SAR that when I first reported my abuser to his diocesan & area bishops, that a) his area bishop helped him to write a letter to me denying everything, discrediting me and threatening me with legal action. Also that his archdeacon (who said he was his personal friend) wrote to the bishops to defend him, & accuse me (who he had never met) of being an unstable, lying gold-digger. He found it easier to construct a fantasy (on no evidence) about me, than believe my rape allegation about his friend.
Why is it that we find abuse victims hard to believe? Like I said in synod, if I told you my Dad died, you wouldn’t immediately question my truthfulness.
We all need to examine our responses here. Disbelief and silence is an immoral response, because it silences victims and colludes with abusers.
And then there’s the fear of what the church would do to you. Would you be scapegoated? You may feel rather guilty, even though you know you are not greatly to blame. But in other cases, I have come to hate the good men who do nothing more than the perpetrators.
I know a lot of survivors feel that way, but I don’t. Choices to act can look very clear when you’re outside a situation, but can be very murky indeed when you’re inside. As Stephen says, there are lots of shades of grey. And we are all weak and fallible and prone to make mistakes. The only ones I feel strongly about – hate is too strong a word – are the perpetrators themselves and those who deliberately refuse to act, knowing what they are doing.
I think the latter are fairly rare, though there are some. They aren’t ‘good men’, though. They’re people with no moral compass; Sir Humphreys or narcissists who only care about getting ahead and saving themselves trouble. The rest are often victims of the abuser’s uncanny powers of manipulation, deception, and ability to disorientate and confuse. I have known three of them well, to my cost, and their deployment of smoke and mirrors was really quite extraordinary.
When the crimes or sins become public, however, and there’s really no doubt of guilt – then the duty to speak out becomes clearer.
Jane very sorry to hear about the despicable way you were treated by those who should have helped you. I do believe it can be difficult to accept that your friend or colleague is the perpetrator. When you have worked with and trusted a colleague it is difficult to picture them guilty of misconduct and easy to assume the complainant is a trouble maker. That is why it is extremely important to have fair processes to deal with safeguarding allegations. Clearly these do not include threats, abuse, and tarnishing the complainant with fantasy allegations. All this has happened to me too. Are survivor organisations keeping tabs on how often this happens? However I suggest that the reasons friends/colleagues do not remain neutral but engage in such behaviour is not because they do not believe the person making allegations. If this was the case, they would go through due processes knowing their assumptions would be confirmed. The most likely reason for this despicable behaviour is either that they believe the allegation or suspect it may be true. Concerned that due processes may find their friend/colleague guilty, they need to resort to other methods, and themselves further abuse the complainant. The behaviour of Nichola Sturgeon in a recent case publicly documented was a public example of exemplary conduct. She stated she would await the outcome of due processes. Only those people frightened of what due processes would expose threaten legal action, and abuse victims in the rush to protect colleagues they fear or know to be guilty. In my case the Bishop protected a clergyman. I later found the clergyman had abused a parishioner with learning difficulties who stopped coming to church. I believe such actions as you described are engaged in because colleagues have made a wilful and deliberate decision to protect the guilty. At best, as Stephen remarks, they do not understand the gospel they preach.
As always, you all make some very important points. We do need to recognise the fear of whistle blowing, so we can understand how to be more transparent, and to make it easier to raise concerns if we feel something is wrong. And certainly abusers are able to manipulate and deceive those around them, which is why they often get away with abusing ‘in plain sight’.
So yes, our harshest criticism is for those who clearly know and choose to do nothing, and of course those who abuse.
Thank you Mary for your supportive words and I am so sorry you have had a similarly dreadful experience. I hope you have some good support to deal with all that?
I fear you are right about some, that they defend to cover up, because their own moral compass is lacking.
I suppose it’s that I believe change is possible and that all system change starts with individual hearts & minds. So trying to understand all the complexity of things that drive people’s behaviour in these situations, and how to change.
I do think there’s something about stereo-typing that leads to victim-blaming. Ideas about teenage behaviour, some of which came out with the Rotherham case – working class girls and a misogynist council. Teenagers are labelled as having “challenging behaviour’ instead of recognising trauma responses. Women ask for it. Victims are either ‘mad or bad’.
Exposing and challenging these stereotypes is another important thing this site does well, and one we can all do wherever we get a chance.
When Jimmy Saville was finally revealed as a prolific abuser we discovered those who had raised issues with BBC managers or hospital managers, were told to be quiet and disregarded – especially women. Some were threatened. The abused were chosen carefully as they would not be believed against the testimony of a powerful man. The ability to manipulate others, and the cleverness of many abusers and their access to power, should not be underestimated and neither should the power of an institution and its desire to protect itself and its reputation. It is easier to crush a whistleblower than deal with the issue – especially when money, powerful friends/contacts are involved. The price of speaking out is high and continues to be whether within the church, the NHS or generally. There is no real evidence that things have changed after the inquiries – the cover up seems to continue despite the ‘lessons have been learned’ speeches. Without root and branch reform I am not optimistic things will not come round again in however many years.
In the last few days I have spoken with people in the church, in the NHS, in academic research, in universities, in social care, domestic abuse/sexual violence charities & survivors, and we have all been asking the same question – the culture needs to change, so how do we change the culture?
I don’t think there is one simple answer. There’s something about power-sharing and challenging abusive cultures. There’s something about hearts & minds, having the safe space for the big conversations that stops us ‘othering’ victim/survivors. Something about shared stories, putting ourselves in other people’s shoes. And the importance of us all coming with curiosity & openness and a willingness to change, not defensiveness.
What do you all think? How do we change culture?
“Abusive cultures” serve a purpose. Until we understand the roots of this purpose we don’t stand much chance of changing it. Why even bother to try to change the culture?
Most of us do try to change it of course, in the face of overwhelming evidence that our our voices will fall on stony ground.
I bumped into an acquaintance the other day from a church I used to attend. Her experience was of “not being fed” but kept going because she would miss her friends. Some friends I thought. She actually recommended a different church, a non Anglican seeded plant where many of our mutual friends attend. Behind our conversation, was an Economy of church movement.
People up sticks and leave. And maybe go somewhere else outside the Establishment. Below a certain threshold, churches become uneconomic and close.
We can get all warm and fluffy, collaborative and open to others until we’re blue in the face. Or we can try the relentless attacking, shouty ranting I see daily on social media. All they do is mute us.
Permit me the metaphor of a brick wall. We can go up and stroke it, or alternatively hit our already bloodied heads against it. That ain’t shifting.
We can try cracking a brick off, one at a time with a sharp blow. Concrete is only strong in compression, but the demolition is long and arduous. A more radical approach is to undermine the foundations of the wall. The bricks will tumble easily once the foundations have gone.
A simpler strategy is to walk round the wall. And start at another church or another life somewhere else.
Whichever action we choose, we must calculate the cost to ourselves and those we value. Sometimes victories, such as they are, can be pyrrhic. The risk of an approach may outweigh the benefits.