Tying you to the stake of your own inadequacies would probably do no good, George … but I do have a few things to say to your ‘eminence’.
Right now* as you sit on that ‘duck and weave’ stool in that room in Rome, right now as I listen to your testimony … I had thought that my anger had gone. After a lifetime of remedial healing I thought that my anger had gone. I was wrong.
I would like you to consider this:
We don’t call ourselves Survivors just for the fun of it. We call ourselves Survivors because we have managed to struggle through our lives without taking that ultimate choice … that ultimate choice of killing ourselves.
In that sense at least, for those of us that have survived, we have beaten the predations of your priests.
Do you realise, George, that when we came into your orphanages as young children we were already in a highly anxious and vulnerable state? We were the product of broken homes.
We were cast adrift from any notion of security and placed into an environment with less emotional succouring than that possessed by the cold hard impersonal vacuum of bloody space. We knew the starkness of aloneness.
And then, on top of it all, along came your priests …
Damage done. Damage compounded. And we have spent the majority of the rest of our lives trying to do the undoable … trying to undo the damage done.
We have lived our lives in a state of high anxiety. We have lived our lives trying to struggle out from beneath the weight of an enforced emotional stuntedness. We have spent far too many of our days hardly being able to breathe.
We have lost years to pain self-medication. We have had to continually ravage our scant energy reserves to hold at bay the scourge of depression.
As much as we have tried to hold on to them we have, invariably, lost relationships that were dear to us. The emotional adequacy required to hold on to those relationships was ripped away from us in childhood. Ripped away by your priests.
Many of us have not survived long enough to write such a letter as this. In writing this letter to you I am using the name ‘BB’. I am using that name because I don’t wish to be made a cause ‘band-wagon’ by anyone. But behind BB stands a real person. Behind BB stands a Survivor. Behind BB stands ME.
So yes, George, I am looking straight at you. I am angry. I am very angry.
It is the anger of a lifetime lost.
And now … and now you sit on that seat in Rome and you duck and weave. And you say that our stories are of no particular ‘interest’ to you.
Well, my story, and the story of other Survivors, I can well assure you, George, is of paramount bloody importance to me.
So … for once in your life, Cardinal George Pell … get your comfortable protected arse up off that bloody chair and start telling the TRUTH.
* Pell’s testimony in Rome has just finished … I have my own feelings about his statements:
PELL … THE TESTIMONY
So ends the testimony of one Cardinal George Pell.
So, back to the safety of the Vatican apartments slinks that little ecumenical mind.
So, unrealised, remains the potential of that Roman interrogative chair.
So, for us Survivors …