Priest molestation victims vindicated by payouts
Pastor Dale Morgan
Priest molestation victims vindicated by payouts*
By Cathy Lynn Grossman, USA TODAY
Monday's $666 million settlement in the clergy abuse case in Los Angeles
means each victim may wind up with nearly $1 million after attorneys'
fees of 40%.
But how much difference can a sudden fortune make in an unfortunate life?
It can't undo the trauma of being sexually abused by a trusted priest.
It can't restore a damaged childhood or repair relationships derailed as
an adult.
But it can be vindication. And it can underwrite steps toward a better life.
So say people who came by their expertise in the most painful way. They
were among the first 552 victims of clergy sexual abuse who shared an
$85 million settlement paid in 2003 by the Archdiocese of Boston,
epicenter of the national scandal.
"I would give back every cent if the person who raped and molested me
were put in jail," says Alexa MacPherson, 32, of Holbrook, Mass., who
was abused between ages 3 and 9 by a priest who also assaulted two of
her siblings.
She bought a home with the settlement and paid medical bills. Now she's
a single mother struggling with the mortgage. The money is gone, and
she's working overtime as a lab tech to care for her two daughters.
"The money hasn't made anything else in my life any easier or made the
pain go away. I would sell this house and give the church every dime if
he'd be prosecuted," she said. Her molester, who she says is now working
in Boston as a nurse, is still a priest because his bishop in Thailand,
where he was ordained, has not had him defrocked.
"No settlement can change the fact that many abuse victims still feel
guilty, as if they let God down," says her attorney, Mitchell
Garabedian. He represented more than 300 people in the 2003 settlement
and now has 75 clients pressing claims.
He says he has seen many clients use the money for school, homes,
education and paying off debts. "For some others, the money could have
been spent more wisely, but their lives were already a wreck, and they
couldn't see their way clear."
Despite the big-money settlements that make the headlines, "the
overwhelming majority of victims never get a nickel," says David
Clohessy, director of Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests.
The true power in a big settlement is psychological, says psychologist
Thomas Plante, a professor at Santa Clara University in California. An
expert on clergy sexual abuse, Plante treats numerous sexual-abuse
victims and clergy perpetrators.
"They have unsuccessful marriages, alcohol and drug and employment
problems, and the sudden arrival of a million dollars won't fix them,"
Plante says. "Still, more money is better than less money. In our
society, money equals validation. It's a form of justice when there may
be no other justice, no one going to jail."
David Carney says no one knows the whereabouts of the priest who
molested him and sent his life into a tailspin when he was 12. Now 41,
Carney still can't work, still sees a therapist paid for by the
archdiocese, and looks back at years lost to drugs and alcohol.
"A settlement is great. Don't get me wrong. If it can get you on your
feet, absolutely take it," says Carney, who declined to say how much he
received. But "the process of fighting for it helped me find out a
little more about the man I was supposed to be. Even if I had gotten
nothing, I saved my own life with this suit."
His abuser, who drove the sports bus for a Catholic high school, rose to
the title monsignor under Cardinal Bernard Law. He was defrocked and, no
longer under the eye of the church, he vanished.
"The pedophiles are still out there, roaming the streets," Carney says.
Even so, "by settling, the church has stepped up to the plate and
admitted, 'We blew it,' " says Joseph Bille, an interior designer in
Melrose, Mass. He says he was attacked in his teens by two different
priests.
Bille, 50, who is gay, says the abuse experience threw him off track in
education and relationships. By suing the archdiocese, he says, "I began
to define my own experience."
And when the money came, Bille says, he had the last laugh.
"I gave a lot away to family and friends, I paid some bills, and then I
used the rest to get married to my partner. It seemed a particularly
wonderful thing to do with the church's money."