written by Belinda Martinez, Minnesota SNAP Leader
At Voice of the Faithful Kick-off Meeting
Eden Prairie, Minnesota
July 31, 2003
(Attribution to bishopaccountability.org)
Thank you for your kind invitation to speak with you this evening as you consider becoming the 182nd chapter of the Voice of the Faithful. It has become possible for me to share my story in fewer and fewer sentences these days. I will do that this evening. I will also share with you how my abuse by catholic clergy affected me, which is the more dramatic story and I am able to do so with fewer words, fewer tears, and a great deal of hope. These things come with time and healing. Before I do either one those things, let me begin with the end.
I am fine. I am a survivor, but I do not want to give you the impression that the impact of my abuse has faded. It is simply different. It has changed over the years.
I buried my daughter yesterday. You may think me either very foolish or very brave for attending this evening, but my presence has more to do with sincere commitment to survivors. I knew my daughter was going to die last week and when it became imminent, I phoned the parish office of the church she and I had been attending to ask for the pastor to anoint her. I followed the instructions on the voice message and dialed another number. He refused. Make no mistake; I am not implying that his response had anything to do with my history of abuse. His is a larger problem of abject apathy for his responsibilities. But I relate the story to you because when I went in search of another priest who might be willing to make the middle of the night trip to her hospital room to administer a sacrament, I felt forced to explain to him why I was unwilling to summon the on-call chaplain, and that has everything to do with my history of abuse. I can tell my story, but I resent having been forced to tell it at a time that was not of my choosing.
When I was a teenager, I was sexually abused by a priest in charge of a youth retreat facility. I was repeatedly incapacitated with medication and communion wine and abused in my sleep. This happened over the course of a two-week stay. Fourteen years later, I was sexually assaulted by a hospital chaplain the day after I had surgery. I was still under the lingering affects of anesthesia, and on pain medication as well. I had to protect my surgical sutures while he ejaculated in my face.
I kept the details of the first abuses a secret and as a result became hell-bent on self-destruction. I was a cutter. I was obsessed with burning myself with acid. I poured acid in my eyes. I swallowed thousands of pills. I have been in many emergency rooms throwing up pills, and I have been intubated in many emergency rooms because I refused to throw up the pills I swallowed. I have been locked in the most secure unit of a maximum-security mental health facility on the East Coast.
When I came forward with my abuse, I went to the archdiocese first. My abusers were notified immediately of their removal, but I was sent to speak with a bishop who was a good friend of one of the priests who abused me. I found him arrogant and patronizing and I was told to go home and consider what restitution meant and come back when I had any ideas.
Well, I never did go back. I hired an attorney instead. I sued them and I agreed to a settlement one week before the trial was to begin. I did so for several reasons; because the perpetrators had been removed, because other victims had come forward, and I got a written admission of guilt included in the language of my settlement. So for the reporters in this room, my abuse was not "alleged."
That's enough about my own personal experiences. There is more. You should know there is always more...........
(Read entire statement on snapnetwork.org or bishopaccountability.org)
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