Minor Abuse in Religious Institute

Members of the Catholic Clergy in France sexually abused an estimated 216,000 minors over the past seven decades.

CNN article suggests “the Catholic Church is the place where the prevalence of sexual violence is at its highest, other than in family and friend circles.”

There are many factors that lead to this shocking situation. Because of the Catholic tenet, children in churches are more likely to be obedient, submissive, and innocent. The Clergy or other adults linked to the church had “easy access” to these vulnerable children. Unaccompanied minors in the Catholic church are also clearly in a lower power position than church leaders because their parents or guardians are not with them. Church leaders have ultimate control over them.

It is ironic that the most degraded work has been done to children in the holiest place. And the Clergy’s position, which is expected to enlighten and save people, provided cover for the polluted immanence.


left without a choice

we let people change us. from the moment we are born, our lives have a certain path dictated by others, whether you’re premature and in need of immediate surgery or cozily wrapped in a pink or blue blanket. after you go home from the cold hospital, you were placed in a crib and kissed on the head. the people

Photo Credit: wird.com.ua

who brought you home soon tell you what to wear and how to act. this is only reinforced when your teacher tells you to raise your hand and to ask politely to use the restroom. after you outgrow the brightly colored chairs at kindergarten table to a desk at a high school, you start letting your peers decide certain parts of you. they decide where you sit at lunch and who your biology partner is.

and after that you start letting one person decide. this person is commonly known as a spouse, partner, or significant other. you share deep night conversations filled with painful memories or happy ones. what they do with this information is up to them, and you’re allowing them to decide that for themselves. so, what if they pull the trigger, let go of your darkness over dinner cocktails or lunch sandwiches. so what if your leg got bruised when i pushed you around, sweetie? don’t worry, i’m sure a haircut will cover up that broken jaw or that black eye. when you go home, make sure to wear a little more makeup there so your mom won’t notice. you listen to them, curl your hair that way or stop hanging out with that friend.

no wonder 25% of women and one in seven men will be victims of domestic abuse. if you’re shocked, don’t be. we train people from birth how to change for others, but some don’t learn to change for themselves.

Rebecca’s Outlook

(The following is a work of fiction)

I walk into my third-grade classroom with my head down, my eyes purposely averting the stares of my fellow classmates. I sit down in the back, alone, as usual. My classmates began avoiding me long ago, and truthfully I am thankful for it.

The teacher comes into the room, a bright smile on her face. She’s young, and this is only her third year teaching. As she begins the lesson, she glances to me. I notice the moment of hesitation in her voice as he takes in my bruised eye, before she continues on with what she was saying before.

This isn’t the first time I have come to school bruised, and I know that at recess I’ll be pulled aside and asked what has happened. I’ll give the usual answer, “I ran into something,” or “I tripped.” But the excuse barely worked the last time, and I know that this time it will be harder to cover for Daddy.

As I suspected, I am pulled from the bench where I sit and eat, and taken to the principal’s office. When I walk in I notice the young lady sitting across from Mrs. Wilkon, easily making small talk.

The next hour goes as I suspected, with the young social worker asking me questions about my dad and what it’s like at home, with Mrs. Wilkon looking on.

By the end of it, I’m not so confident that they won’t be taking Daddy away from me this time. I consider this as I make my way home after school, retreating immediately to my bedroom upon walking in the door. That way Daddy doesn’t know I’m home, and can’t blame me for anything.

I go to school the next morning as usual, and the day after that as well. I’ve begun to relax, having not heard anything of the events a few days before. Then a week after everything has happened, I am once again called into Mrs. Wilkons office.

The social worker is there once again, and she explains to me in a calm voice that I am being moved to a foster family who lives nearby. She takes me home, and waits patiently while I pack my few belongings.

Daddy isn’t home, and she explains to me that he won’t be coming back for a very long time. I”m not very sad about it. We lost Mommy to cancer years ago, and since then Daddy hasn’t been the same. But now it’s just me, Rebecca, who’s still here.

It doesn’t take very long to get to the foster family’s house, and once we’re there I’m lead inside and introduced to my new parents and siblings. They show me the house, and finally my room, leaving me to unpack and settle in. They have a nice house, and seem like a nice family.

I don’t think I mind them too much.

It takes me a while to adjust to my new life, and especially to stop being so nervous all the time. My new family is nice, and they explained to me that they would never hit me like Daddy did if anything went wrong. I even find myself relaxing.

And I think to myself, I could get used to this.