Final Thoughts on the Ryan Report
A few friends have suggested to me in strong terms that I am going on too much about the Ryan Report. One woman is very angry at me for, what she sees as, bringing down the Catholic Church, and my brother in Australia opined that I am flogging a dead horse, as most of the stuff revealed by Ryan was known already.
Certainly, I have been greatly affected by the extent of the depravity that is so graphically set down by Ryan. The thought of thousands of children, with nobody in their corner, being abused by thugs, who were seemingly operating with the approval of Irish society, is shocking, beyond words. It is difficult for me to avoid the conclusion that the culture that tolerated and gave tacit approval to such outrageous behaviour was other than barbaric and corrupt.
A few last random comments on this whole sordid business.
1 Fintan O’Toole, who, in my opinion, is the most perceptive critic of Irish society, past and present, in commenting on the Ryan Report, pointed out that Irish people have a real proclivity for doublethink. He gives a brilliant example of this with the story of the woman who was asked if she believed in fairies. Her reply is a classic example of doublethink: “I don’t -- but, they are there alright!” Denying that kids were being beaten, while saying that it was probably necessary, is a central part of the sad Ryan story.
2 I was moved by the story in the Report of the Moloney family from Kilbeggan in County Westmeath. The mother died and left the father with seven young children. He was visited on a few occasions by a nun, whom they dubbed “the little nun,” urging him to allow her to take the kids to an institution where her Order would care for them. The father, to his great credit, finally chased her, while listening to her parting admonition about his irresponsibility as a parent.
3 The Mercy Sisters gave their young clients identification numbers; they were called by number, not by name. That is as heartless as it gets! These kids, from age seven up, had to make X amount of rosary beads every weekday and more on weekends. The sale of these beads allowed the Sisters to purchase a summer home for their members. The Provincial of this Order, to this day, argues publicly that, taken in the context of the time, these childcare practices were justifiable.
4 Of course, the attitudes of the times have been used to explain some of the abuses. For instance, when I was young, a common question asked of students about the school they were attending was: Are the priests, brothers or nuns tough? If the answer was affirmative, then the students were deemed to be attending a good school.
5 Patrick Pearse’s beliefs about violent revolution were widely known, and they played a big part in the culture that prevailed during the War of Independence and, later, during the Civil War. Irish Republicans of every hue felt justified and affirmed by Pearse’s philosophy of support for armed resistance. Amazingly, Pearse’s very progressive attitude to a humanistic education never counted when Republicans were in power. What Pearse correctly identified as the “murder machine” of the British education system, deteriorated into schools that terrorized young people, especially those in so-called reformatories, after independence from Britain was achieved.
6 Some commentators blamed the subservient peasant mentality, which never questioned the authority of the Catholic Church, for the disaster of these “schools.” Patrick Kavanagh’s line seems appropriate in this context: “Relieve me of my peasant roots!” Irish society certainly lacked a coterie of critical thinkers, who were casting a cold eye on their society.
7 What does the Ryan Report say about Irish attitudes to poverty? It seems that Irish culture gave undue respect to rich people, and, on the other end, the poor were deemed to be, in some way, responsible for their own plight.
8 Were there any interventions on behalf of the children by left-wing T.D.’s or eccentric clerics? Almost none! Fr. Flanagan of Boys’ Town fame heard about the Irish borstals and returned from the States to highlight the cause of the children who were being abused. He was scolded publicly for his efforts by the Minister for Education, Gerry Boland, who was supported by the Fine Gael spokesman, John Dillon. Fr. Flanagan died before he could investigate the matter further. The other Irish person who hated Industrial Schools was the founder of the Legion of Mary, Frank Duff. He regularly expressed his dislike of these schools, but he did not argue for reform publicly.
Final Thoughts on the Ryan Report
A few friends have suggested to me in strong terms that I am going on too much about the Ryan Report. One woman is very angry at me for, what she sees as, bringing down the Catholic Church, and my brother in Australia opined that I am flogging a dead horse, as most of the stuff revealed by Ryan was known already.
Certainly, I have been greatly affected by the extent of the depravity that is so graphically set down by Ryan. The thought of thousands of children, with nobody in their corner, being abused by thugs, who were seemingly operating with the approval of Irish society, is shocking, beyond words. It is difficult for me to avoid the conclusion that the culture that tolerated and gave tacit approval to such outrageous behaviour was other than barbaric and corrupt.
A few last random comments on this whole sordid business.
1 Fintan O’Toole, who, in my opinion, is the most perceptive critic of Irish society, past and present, in commenting on the Ryan Report, pointed out that Irish people have a real proclivity for doublethink. He gives a brilliant example of this with the story of the woman who was asked if she believed in fairies. Her reply is a classic example of doublethink: “I don’t -- but, they are there alright!” Denying that kids were being beaten, while saying that it was probably necessary, is a central part of the sad Ryan story.
2 I was moved by the story in the Report of the Moloney family from Kilbeggan in County Westmeath. The mother died and left the father with seven young children. He was visited on a few occasions by a nun, whom they dubbed “the little nun,” urging him to allow her to take the kids to an institution where her Order would care for them. The father, to his great credit, finally chased her, while listening to her parting admonition about his irresponsibility as a parent.
3 The Mercy Sisters gave their young clients identification numbers; they were called by number, not by name. That is as heartless as it gets! These kids, from age seven up, had to make X amount of rosary beads every weekday and more on weekends. The sale of these beads allowed the Sisters to purchase a summer home for their members. The Provincial of this Order, to this day, argues publicly that, taken in the context of the time, these childcare practices were justifiable.
4 Of course, the attitudes of the times have been used to explain some of the abuses. For instance, when I was young, a common question asked of students about the school they were attending was: Are the priests, brothers or nuns tough? If the answer was affirmative, then the students were deemed to be attending a good school.
5 Patrick Pearse’s beliefs about violent revolution were widely known, and they played a big part in the culture that prevailed during the War of Independence and, later, during the Civil War. Irish Republicans of every hue felt justified and affirmed by Pearse’s philosophy of support for armed resistance. Amazingly, Pearse’s very progressive attitude to a humanistic education never counted when Republicans were in power. What Pearse correctly identified as the “murder machine” of the British education system, deteriorated into schools that terrorized young people, especially those in so-called reformatories, after independence from Britain was achieved.
6 Some commentators blamed the subservient peasant mentality, which never questioned the authority of the Catholic Church, for the disaster of these “schools.” Patrick Kavanagh’s line seems appropriate in this context: “Relieve me of my peasant roots!” Irish society certainly lacked a coterie of critical thinkers, who were casting a cold eye on their society.
7 What does the Ryan Report say about Irish attitudes to poverty? It seems that Irish culture gave undue respect to rich people, and, on the other end, the poor were deemed to be, in some way, responsible for their own plight.
8 Were there any interventions on behalf of the children by left-wing T.D.’s or eccentric clerics? Almost none! Fr. Flanagan of Boys’ Town fame heard about the Irish borstals and returned from the States to highlight the cause of the children who were being abused. He was scolded publicly for his efforts by the Minister for Education, Gerry Boland, who was supported by the Fine Gael spokesman, John Dillon. Fr. Flanagan died before he could investigate the matter further. The other Irish person who hated Industrial Schools was the founder of the Legion of Mary, Frank Duff. He regularly expressed his dislike of these schools, but he did not argue for reform publicly.
Final Thoughts on the Ryan Report
A few friends have suggested to me in strong terms that I am going on too much about the Ryan Report. One woman is very angry at me for, what she sees as, bringing down the Catholic Church, and my brother in Australia opined that I am flogging a dead horse, as most of the stuff revealed by Ryan was known already.
Certainly, I have been greatly affected by the extent of the depravity that is so graphically set down by Ryan. The thought of thousands of children, with nobody in their corner, being abused by thugs, who were seemingly operating with the approval of Irish society, is shocking, beyond words. It is difficult for me to avoid the conclusion that the culture that tolerated and gave tacit approval to such outrageous behaviour was other than barbaric and corrupt.
A few last random comments on this whole sordid business.
1 Fintan O’Toole, who, in my opinion, is the most perceptive critic of Irish society, past and present, in commenting on the Ryan Report, pointed out that Irish people have a real proclivity for doublethink. He gives a brilliant example of this with the story of the woman who was asked if she believed in fairies. Her reply is a classic example of doublethink: “I don’t -- but, they are there alright!” Denying that kids were being beaten, while saying that it was probably necessary, is a central part of the sad Ryan story.
2 I was moved by the story in the Report of the Moloney family from Kilbeggan in County Westmeath. The mother died and left the father with seven young children. He was visited on a few occasions by a nun, whom they dubbed “the little nun,” urging him to allow her to take the kids to an institution where her Order would care for them. The father, to his great credit, finally chased her, while listening to her parting admonition about his irresponsibility as a parent.
3 The Mercy Sisters gave their young clients identification numbers; they were called by number, not by name. That is as heartless as it gets! These kids, from age seven up, had to make X amount of rosary beads every weekday and more on weekends. The sale of these beads allowed the Sisters to purchase a summer home for their members. The Provincial of this Order, to this day, argues publicly that, taken in the context of the time, these childcare practices were justifiable.
4 Of course, the attitudes of the times have been used to explain some of the abuses. For instance, when I was young, a common question asked of students about the school they were attending was: Are the priests, brothers or nuns tough? If the answer was affirmative, then the students were deemed to be attending a good school.
5 Patrick Pearse’s beliefs about violent revolution were widely known, and they played a big part in the culture that prevailed during the War of Independence and, later, during the Civil War. Irish Republicans of every hue felt justified and affirmed by Pearse’s philosophy of support for armed resistance. Amazingly, Pearse’s very progressive attitude to a humanistic education never counted when Republicans were in power. What Pearse correctly identified as the “murder machine” of the British education system, deteriorated into schools that terrorized young people, especially those in so-called reformatories, after independence from Britain was achieved.
6 Some commentators blamed the subservient peasant mentality, which never questioned the authority of the Catholic Church, for the disaster of these “schools.” Patrick Kavanagh’s line seems appropriate in this context: “Relieve me of my peasant roots!” Irish society certainly lacked a coterie of critical thinkers, who were casting a cold eye on their society.
7 What does the Ryan Report say about Irish attitudes to poverty? It seems that Irish culture gave undue respect to rich people, and, on the other end, the poor were deemed to be, in some way, responsible for their own plight.
8 Were there any interventions on behalf of the children by left-wing T.D.’s or eccentric clerics? Almost none! Fr. Flanagan of Boys’ Town fame heard about the Irish borstals and returned from the States to highlight the cause of the children who were being abused. He was scolded publicly for his efforts by the Minister for Education, Gerry Boland, who was supported by the Fine Gael spokesman, John Dillon. Fr. Flanagan died before he could investigate the matter further. The other Irish person who hated Industrial Schools was the founder of the Legion of Mary, Frank Duff. He regularly expressed his dislike of these schools, but he did not argue for reform publicly.
Final Thoughts on the Ryan Report
A few friends have suggested to me in strong terms that I am going on too much about the Ryan Report. One woman is very angry at me for, what she sees as, bringing down the Catholic Church, and my brother in Australia opined that I am flogging a dead horse, as most of the stuff revealed by Ryan was known already.
Certainly, I have been greatly affected by the extent of the depravity that is so graphically set down by Ryan. The thought of thousands of children, with nobody in their corner, being abused by thugs, who were seemingly operating with the approval of Irish society, is shocking, beyond words. It is difficult for me to avoid the conclusion that the culture that tolerated and gave tacit approval to such outrageous behaviour was other than barbaric and corrupt.
A few last random comments on this whole sordid business.
1 Fintan O’Toole, who, in my opinion, is the most perceptive critic of Irish society, past and present, in commenting on the Ryan Report, pointed out that Irish people have a real proclivity for doublethink. He gives a brilliant example of this with the story of the woman who was asked if she believed in fairies. Her reply is a classic example of doublethink: “I don’t -- but, they are there alright!” Denying that kids were being beaten, while saying that it was probably necessary, is a central part of the sad Ryan story.
2 I was moved by the story in the Report of the Moloney family from Kilbeggan in County Westmeath. The mother died and left the father with seven young children. He was visited on a few occasions by a nun, whom they dubbed “the little nun,” urging him to allow her to take the kids to an institution where her Order would care for them. The father, to his great credit, finally chased her, while listening to her parting admonition about his irresponsibility as a parent.
3 The Mercy Sisters gave their young clients identification numbers; they were called by number, not by name. That is as heartless as it gets! These kids, from age seven up, had to make X amount of rosary beads every weekday and more on weekends. The sale of these beads allowed the Sisters to purchase a summer home for their members. The Provincial of this Order, to this day, argues publicly that, taken in the context of the time, these childcare practices were justifiable.
4 Of course, the attitudes of the times have been used to explain some of the abuses. For instance, when I was young, a common question asked of students about the school they were attending was: Are the priests, brothers or nuns tough? If the answer was affirmative, then the students were deemed to be attending a good school.
5 Patrick Pearse’s beliefs about violent revolution were widely known, and they played a big part in the culture that prevailed during the War of Independence and, later, during the Civil War. Irish Republicans of every hue felt justified and affirmed by Pearse’s philosophy of support for armed resistance. Amazingly, Pearse’s very progressive attitude to a humanistic education never counted when Republicans were in power. What Pearse correctly identified as the “murder machine” of the British education system, deteriorated into schools that terrorized young people, especially those in so-called reformatories, after independence from Britain was achieved.
6 Some commentators blamed the subservient peasant mentality, which never questioned the authority of the Catholic Church, for the disaster of these “schools.” Patrick Kavanagh’s line seems appropriate in this context: “Relieve me of my peasant roots!” Irish society certainly lacked a coterie of critical thinkers, who were casting a cold eye on their society.
7 What does the Ryan Report say about Irish attitudes to poverty? It seems that Irish culture gave undue respect to rich people, and, on the other end, the poor were deemed to be, in some way, responsible for their own plight.
8 Were there any interventions on behalf of the children by left-wing T.D.’s or eccentric clerics? Almost none! Fr. Flanagan of Boys’ Town fame heard about the Irish borstals and returned from the States to highlight the cause of the children who were being abused. He was scolded publicly for his efforts by the Minister for Education, Gerry Boland, who was supported by the Fine Gael spokesman, John Dillon. Fr. Flanagan died before he could investigate the matter further. The other Irish person who hated Industrial Schools was the founder of the Legion of Mary, Frank Duff. He regularly expressed his dislike of these schools, but he did not argue for reform publicly.
Final Thoughts on the Ryan Report
A few friends have suggested to me in strong terms that I am going on too much about the Ryan Report. One woman is very angry at me for, what she sees as, bringing down the Catholic Church, and my brother in Australia opined that I am flogging a dead horse, as most of the stuff revealed by Ryan was known already.
Certainly, I have been greatly affected by the extent of the depravity that is so graphically set down by Ryan. The thought of thousands of children, with nobody in their corner, being abused by thugs, who were seemingly operating with the approval of Irish society, is shocking, beyond words. It is difficult for me to avoid the conclusion that the culture that tolerated and gave tacit approval to such outrageous behaviour was other than barbaric and corrupt.
A few last random comments on this whole sordid business.
1 Fintan O’Toole, who, in my opinion, is the most perceptive critic of Irish society, past and present, in commenting on the Ryan Report, pointed out that Irish people have a real proclivity for doublethink. He gives a brilliant example of this with the story of the woman who was asked if she believed in fairies. Her reply is a classic example of doublethink: “I don’t -- but, they are there alright!” Denying that kids were being beaten, while saying that it was probably necessary, is a central part of the sad Ryan story.
2 I was moved by the story in the Report of the Moloney family from Kilbeggan in County Westmeath. The mother died and left the father with seven young children. He was visited on a few occasions by a nun, whom they dubbed “the little nun,” urging him to allow her to take the kids to an institution where her Order would care for them. The father, to his great credit, finally chased her, while listening to her parting admonition about his irresponsibility as a parent.
3 The Mercy Sisters gave their young clients identification numbers; they were called by number, not by name. That is as heartless as it gets! These kids, from age seven up, had to make X amount of rosary beads every weekday and more on weekends. The sale of these beads allowed the Sisters to purchase a summer home for their members. The Provincial of this Order, to this day, argues publicly that, taken in the context of the time, these childcare practices were justifiable.
4 Of course, the attitudes of the times have been used to explain some of the abuses. For instance, when I was young, a common question asked of students about the school they were attending was: Are the priests, brothers or nuns tough? If the answer was affirmative, then the students were deemed to be attending a good school.
5 Patrick Pearse’s beliefs about violent revolution were widely known, and they played a big part in the culture that prevailed during the War of Independence and, later, during the Civil War. Irish Republicans of every hue felt justified and affirmed by Pearse’s philosophy of support for armed resistance. Amazingly, Pearse’s very progressive attitude to a humanistic education never counted when Republicans were in power. What Pearse correctly identified as the “murder machine” of the British education system, deteriorated into schools that terrorized young people, especially those in so-called reformatories, after independence from Britain was achieved.
6 Some commentators blamed the subservient peasant mentality, which never questioned the authority of the Catholic Church, for the disaster of these “schools.” Patrick Kavanagh’s line seems appropriate in this context: “Relieve me of my peasant roots!” Irish society certainly lacked a coterie of critical thinkers, who were casting a cold eye on their society.
7 What does the Ryan Report say about Irish attitudes to poverty? It seems that Irish culture gave undue respect to rich people, and, on the other end, the poor were deemed to be, in some way, responsible for their own plight.
8 Were there any interventions on behalf of the children by left-wing T.D.’s or eccentric clerics? Almost none! Fr. Flanagan of Boys’ Town fame heard about the Irish borstals and returned from the States to highlight the cause of the children who were being abused. He was scolded publicly for his efforts by the Minister for Education, Gerry Boland, who was supported by the Fine Gael spokesman, John Dillon. Fr. Flanagan died before he could investigate the matter further. The other Irish person who hated Industrial Schools was the founder of the Legion of Mary, Frank Duff. He regularly expressed his dislike of these schools, but he did not argue for reform publicly.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
CLASS DISTINCTION AND THE RYAN REPORT
Class Distinction and the Ryan Report
The central tenet of Karl Marx’s philosophy is that all human activity emanates from prevailing economic conditions. An obvious example of this thinking can be seen worldwide in the corelation between poverty and a high crime rate.
The Irish society, which is under the microscope in the Ryan Report, was a class-ridden society. The children in the so-called industrial schools were all very poor. They came from homes that were in serious disarray; for a variety of reasons, these families lived on the margins of their communities. Keep in mind that in the years covered by the report, there were little or no welfare payments to destitute families.
It is a sad reflection on Irish society that those poor kids were blamed for their awful plight. Somehow, the poverty was deemed their parents’ fault and, by some cruel logic, responsibility for their situation, was extended to the children. This culture of blame permeated the borstals, and it was used as a rationale by the Brothers, priests and nuns, for the violent and demeaning mistreatment of the children.
The Catholic Church is a highly-hierarchical organization. The pope is at the top and he is followed by the cardinals, who elected him, to the archbishops, bishops and priests. Below the priests, were the brothers and the nuns. Finally, at the bottom, the laity was expected to follow all the directives that came from above.
In the Irish society of the Ryan Report, the bishops enjoyed exceptional power and privilege. They frequently called their houses “palaces,” and no politician dared contradict their version of what was ethical or moral. They nearly all were educated in the national seminary in Maynooth, which was and is the training college for almost all diocesan clergy.
The local parish priest and his assistant priests had great power and did not hesitate to use it in the parishes throughout the country. Then there were the priests from the various Orders, who shared the power of the altar and confessional with the diocesan clergy, but who very rarely gained one of the prized bishoprics, which were seen as spoils for the Maynooth boys. Their best chance for advancement came after years of missionary work in some foreign diocese.
Brothers and nuns were really handicapped by their lack of power to say mass or hear confession. Like the laity, they were dependent on the priest for the eucharist and the sacrament of penance. However, they had their own fiefdoms in the hospitals and the schools. They largely operated these vital institutions which provided education and hospital care throughout Ireland.
The socio-economic origins of each of these groups were very interesting and tell a lot about the various strata of Irish society. The bishops and their diocesan underlings were nearly all drawn from upper-middle or rich families. Most of the Order priests came from the lower economic echelons of their communities. However, even among the orders, there was some class distinction. For instance, the Holy Ghost Fathers and Jesuits operated the most exclusive high schools in Ireland, and many of their members came from these schools.
The Order priests often resented the dominance of the Bishops, who insisted on keeping their “lessers” in their place. About fifteen years ago, the late Cardinal O’Fiaich visited a number of dioceses in the United States, raising money for a new library in Maynooth College. I know of one diocese in the South, which has over twenty Order priests working in its parishes, where they scoffed at the idea of supporting such a project because, in the past, the low socio-economic status of their families ruled them out from even considering a career as a diocesan priest.
The Brothers also came from poor families. Often, young boys left their homes at an early age to attend juniorates that served as rather harsh training grounds for the future Brothers. For many, it was the only chance they had of a decent education. After completing their training, the various orders of Brothers offered their members a steady job in the respected teaching profession, with no worry about adequate food or retirement benefits.
What about the nuns? There was also a definite pecking order among the many congregations of Sisters. Some orders kept the “riff-raff” out by insisting on a family contribution or dowry from the entrant’s family. The Reverend Mother was a powerful person in many Irish communities, but everyone knew that, in any crunch, the real power resided with the bishops, appointed by a Vatican bureaucracy that had no place for women.
A few days ago, Fr. Vincent Twomey, a prominent theologian who studied under the present pope – presumably, a mark of distinction that gives his words extra credibility – spoke on the BBC about the Church crisis. He said that many of the Brothers, priests and nuns, who perpetrated the abuse in the so-called reformatories, came from big, very poor families, where it seemed a good idea to encourage one or more to opt for the safe haven of the religious life.
He went on to say that, presumably unlike the priests who came from better-off backgrounds, the abusers were “monsters,” “the dregs of society.” They did not have real vocations!
I find his logic very unconvincing. Of course, there were economic considerations in the decisions of so many to become religious Brothers or priests, but to blame the crisis on big families, somehow described as societal dregs, makes no sense, unless we say that all the members of these orders from poor backgrounds were corrupt. And, what is he saying about the integrity and genuine Catholic religious culture of so many large Irish families?
Also, Fr. Twomey should explain how the diocesan clergy all over Ireland had so many child abusers among their members. Very soon, we will have another devastating report about flagrant child abuse by clergy, who worked in the Dublin diocese during the last fifty years.
The abuse of power is at the heart of the Ryan Report, the abuse of powerless children from poor backgrounds by the established authorities of church and state. The Catholic Church must explain how priests and bishops knew – or didn’t want to know – about the terrorizing of children in Catholic institutions and why every last one of them said nothing. It is a well-established moral principle that those who remain silent in the face of evil behaviour share in the guilt for that evil behaviour. Qui tacit consentire videtur. That is the question that Professor Twomey must address.
Class Distinction and the Ryan Report
The central tenet of Karl Marx’s philosophy is that all human activity emanates from prevailing economic conditions. An obvious example of this thinking can be seen worldwide in the corelation between poverty and a high crime rate.
The Irish society, which is under the microscope in the Ryan Report, was a class-ridden society. The children in the so-called industrial schools were all very poor. They came from homes that were in serious disarray; for a variety of reasons, these families lived on the margins of Irish society. Keep in mind that in the years covered by the report, there were little or no welfare payments to destitute families.
It is a sad reflection on Irish society that those poor kids were blamed for their awful plight. Somehow, the poverty was their parents’ fault and, by some cruel logic, responsibility for their situation, was extended to the children. This culture of blame permeated the borstals, and it was used as a rationale by the Brothers, priests and nuns, for the violent and demeaning mistreatment of the children.
The Catholic Church is a highly-hierarchical organization. The pope is at the top and he is followed by the cardinals, who elected him, to the archbishops, bishops and priests. Below the priests, were the brothers and the nuns. Finally, at the bottom, the laity was expected to follow all the directives that came from above.
In the Irish society of the Ryan Report, the bishops enjoyed exceptional power and privilege. They frequently called their houses “palaces,” and no politician dared contradict their version of what was ethical or moral. They nearly all were educated in the national seminary in Maynooth, which was and is the training college for almost all diocesan clergy.
The local parish priest and his assistant priests had great power and did not hesitate to use it in the parishes throughout the country. Then there were the priests from the various orders, who shared the power of the altar and confessional with the diocesan clergy, but who very rarely gained one of the prized bishoprics, which were seen as spoils for the Maynooth boys. Their best chance for advancement came after years of missionary work in some foreign diocese.
Brothers and nuns were really handicapped by their lack of power to say mass or hear confession. Like the laity, they were dependent on the priest for the eucharist and the sacrament of penance. However, they had their own fiefdoms in the hospitals and the schools. They largely operated these vital institutions which provided education and hospital care throughout Ireland.
The socio-economic origins of each of these groups were very interesting and tell a lot about the various strata of Irish society. The bishops and their diocesan underlings were nearly all drawn from upper-middle or rich families. Most of the Order priests came from the lower economic echelons of their communities. However, even among the orders, there was some class distinction. For instance, the Holy Ghost Fathers and Jesuits operated the most exclusive high schools in Ireland, and many of their members came from these schools.
The Order priests often resented the dominance of the Bishops, who insisted on keeping their “lessers” in their place. About fifteen years ago, the late Cardinal O’Fiaich visited a number of dioceses in the United States, raising money for a new library in Maynooth College. I know of one diocese in the South, which has over twenty Order priests working in its parishes, where they scoffed at the idea of supporting such a project because, in the past, the low socio-economic status of their families ruled them out from considering a career as a diocesan priest.
The Brothers also came from poor families. Often, young boys left their homes at an early age to attend juniorates that served as rather harsh training grounds for the future Brothers. For many, it was the only chance they had of a decent education. After completing their training, the various orders of Brothers offered their members a steady job in the respected teaching profession, with no worry about adequate food or retirement benefits.
What about the nuns? There was also a definite pecking order among the many congregations of Sisters. Some orders kept the “riff-raff” out by insisting on a family contribution or dowry from the entrant’s family. The Reverend Mother was a powerful person in many Irish communities, but everyone knew that, in any crunch, the real power resided with the bishops, appointed by a Vatican bureaucracy that had no place for women.
A few days ago, Fr. Vincent Twomey, a prominent theologian who studied under the present pope – presumably, a mark of distinction that gives his words extra credibility – spoke on the BBC about the Church crisis. He said that many of the Brothers, priests and nuns, who perpetrated the abuse in the so-called reformatories, came from big, very poor families, where it seemed a good idea to encourage one or more to opt for the safe haven of the religious life.
He went on to say that, presumably unlike the priests who came from better-off backgrounds, the abusers were “monsters,” “the dregs of society.” They did not have real vocations!
I find his logic very unconvincing. Of course, there were economic considerations in the decisions of so many to become religious Brothers or priests, but to blame the crisis on big families, somehow societal dregs, makes no sense, unless we say that all the members of these orders from poor backgrounds were corrupt. And, what is he saying about the integrity and genuine Catholic religious culture of so many large Irish families?
Also, Fr. Twomey should explain how the diocesan clergy in all dioceses in Ireland had so many child abusers among their members, who came from a different socio-economic group. Any day now, we will have another devastating report about flagrant child abuse by clergy, who worked in the Dublin diocese during the last fifty years.
The abuse of power is at the heart of the Ryan Report. The Catholic Church must explain how priests and bishops knew – or didn’t want to know – about the terrorizing of children in Catholic institutions and why every last one of them said nothing. Qui tacit consentire videtur. That is the question that Professor Twomey must address.
The central tenet of Karl Marx’s philosophy is that all human activity emanates from prevailing economic conditions. An obvious example of this thinking can be seen worldwide in the corelation between poverty and a high crime rate.
The Irish society, which is under the microscope in the Ryan Report, was a class-ridden society. The children in the so-called industrial schools were all very poor. They came from homes that were in serious disarray; for a variety of reasons, these families lived on the margins of their communities. Keep in mind that in the years covered by the report, there were little or no welfare payments to destitute families.
It is a sad reflection on Irish society that those poor kids were blamed for their awful plight. Somehow, the poverty was deemed their parents’ fault and, by some cruel logic, responsibility for their situation, was extended to the children. This culture of blame permeated the borstals, and it was used as a rationale by the Brothers, priests and nuns, for the violent and demeaning mistreatment of the children.
The Catholic Church is a highly-hierarchical organization. The pope is at the top and he is followed by the cardinals, who elected him, to the archbishops, bishops and priests. Below the priests, were the brothers and the nuns. Finally, at the bottom, the laity was expected to follow all the directives that came from above.
In the Irish society of the Ryan Report, the bishops enjoyed exceptional power and privilege. They frequently called their houses “palaces,” and no politician dared contradict their version of what was ethical or moral. They nearly all were educated in the national seminary in Maynooth, which was and is the training college for almost all diocesan clergy.
The local parish priest and his assistant priests had great power and did not hesitate to use it in the parishes throughout the country. Then there were the priests from the various Orders, who shared the power of the altar and confessional with the diocesan clergy, but who very rarely gained one of the prized bishoprics, which were seen as spoils for the Maynooth boys. Their best chance for advancement came after years of missionary work in some foreign diocese.
Brothers and nuns were really handicapped by their lack of power to say mass or hear confession. Like the laity, they were dependent on the priest for the eucharist and the sacrament of penance. However, they had their own fiefdoms in the hospitals and the schools. They largely operated these vital institutions which provided education and hospital care throughout Ireland.
The socio-economic origins of each of these groups were very interesting and tell a lot about the various strata of Irish society. The bishops and their diocesan underlings were nearly all drawn from upper-middle or rich families. Most of the Order priests came from the lower economic echelons of their communities. However, even among the orders, there was some class distinction. For instance, the Holy Ghost Fathers and Jesuits operated the most exclusive high schools in Ireland, and many of their members came from these schools.
The Order priests often resented the dominance of the Bishops, who insisted on keeping their “lessers” in their place. About fifteen years ago, the late Cardinal O’Fiaich visited a number of dioceses in the United States, raising money for a new library in Maynooth College. I know of one diocese in the South, which has over twenty Order priests working in its parishes, where they scoffed at the idea of supporting such a project because, in the past, the low socio-economic status of their families ruled them out from even considering a career as a diocesan priest.
The Brothers also came from poor families. Often, young boys left their homes at an early age to attend juniorates that served as rather harsh training grounds for the future Brothers. For many, it was the only chance they had of a decent education. After completing their training, the various orders of Brothers offered their members a steady job in the respected teaching profession, with no worry about adequate food or retirement benefits.
What about the nuns? There was also a definite pecking order among the many congregations of Sisters. Some orders kept the “riff-raff” out by insisting on a family contribution or dowry from the entrant’s family. The Reverend Mother was a powerful person in many Irish communities, but everyone knew that, in any crunch, the real power resided with the bishops, appointed by a Vatican bureaucracy that had no place for women.
A few days ago, Fr. Vincent Twomey, a prominent theologian who studied under the present pope – presumably, a mark of distinction that gives his words extra credibility – spoke on the BBC about the Church crisis. He said that many of the Brothers, priests and nuns, who perpetrated the abuse in the so-called reformatories, came from big, very poor families, where it seemed a good idea to encourage one or more to opt for the safe haven of the religious life.
He went on to say that, presumably unlike the priests who came from better-off backgrounds, the abusers were “monsters,” “the dregs of society.” They did not have real vocations!
I find his logic very unconvincing. Of course, there were economic considerations in the decisions of so many to become religious Brothers or priests, but to blame the crisis on big families, somehow described as societal dregs, makes no sense, unless we say that all the members of these orders from poor backgrounds were corrupt. And, what is he saying about the integrity and genuine Catholic religious culture of so many large Irish families?
Also, Fr. Twomey should explain how the diocesan clergy all over Ireland had so many child abusers among their members. Very soon, we will have another devastating report about flagrant child abuse by clergy, who worked in the Dublin diocese during the last fifty years.
The abuse of power is at the heart of the Ryan Report, the abuse of powerless children from poor backgrounds by the established authorities of church and state. The Catholic Church must explain how priests and bishops knew – or didn’t want to know – about the terrorizing of children in Catholic institutions and why every last one of them said nothing. It is a well-established moral principle that those who remain silent in the face of evil behaviour share in the guilt for that evil behaviour. Qui tacit consentire videtur. That is the question that Professor Twomey must address.
Class Distinction and the Ryan Report
The central tenet of Karl Marx’s philosophy is that all human activity emanates from prevailing economic conditions. An obvious example of this thinking can be seen worldwide in the corelation between poverty and a high crime rate.
The Irish society, which is under the microscope in the Ryan Report, was a class-ridden society. The children in the so-called industrial schools were all very poor. They came from homes that were in serious disarray; for a variety of reasons, these families lived on the margins of Irish society. Keep in mind that in the years covered by the report, there were little or no welfare payments to destitute families.
It is a sad reflection on Irish society that those poor kids were blamed for their awful plight. Somehow, the poverty was their parents’ fault and, by some cruel logic, responsibility for their situation, was extended to the children. This culture of blame permeated the borstals, and it was used as a rationale by the Brothers, priests and nuns, for the violent and demeaning mistreatment of the children.
The Catholic Church is a highly-hierarchical organization. The pope is at the top and he is followed by the cardinals, who elected him, to the archbishops, bishops and priests. Below the priests, were the brothers and the nuns. Finally, at the bottom, the laity was expected to follow all the directives that came from above.
In the Irish society of the Ryan Report, the bishops enjoyed exceptional power and privilege. They frequently called their houses “palaces,” and no politician dared contradict their version of what was ethical or moral. They nearly all were educated in the national seminary in Maynooth, which was and is the training college for almost all diocesan clergy.
The local parish priest and his assistant priests had great power and did not hesitate to use it in the parishes throughout the country. Then there were the priests from the various orders, who shared the power of the altar and confessional with the diocesan clergy, but who very rarely gained one of the prized bishoprics, which were seen as spoils for the Maynooth boys. Their best chance for advancement came after years of missionary work in some foreign diocese.
Brothers and nuns were really handicapped by their lack of power to say mass or hear confession. Like the laity, they were dependent on the priest for the eucharist and the sacrament of penance. However, they had their own fiefdoms in the hospitals and the schools. They largely operated these vital institutions which provided education and hospital care throughout Ireland.
The socio-economic origins of each of these groups were very interesting and tell a lot about the various strata of Irish society. The bishops and their diocesan underlings were nearly all drawn from upper-middle or rich families. Most of the Order priests came from the lower economic echelons of their communities. However, even among the orders, there was some class distinction. For instance, the Holy Ghost Fathers and Jesuits operated the most exclusive high schools in Ireland, and many of their members came from these schools.
The Order priests often resented the dominance of the Bishops, who insisted on keeping their “lessers” in their place. About fifteen years ago, the late Cardinal O’Fiaich visited a number of dioceses in the United States, raising money for a new library in Maynooth College. I know of one diocese in the South, which has over twenty Order priests working in its parishes, where they scoffed at the idea of supporting such a project because, in the past, the low socio-economic status of their families ruled them out from considering a career as a diocesan priest.
The Brothers also came from poor families. Often, young boys left their homes at an early age to attend juniorates that served as rather harsh training grounds for the future Brothers. For many, it was the only chance they had of a decent education. After completing their training, the various orders of Brothers offered their members a steady job in the respected teaching profession, with no worry about adequate food or retirement benefits.
What about the nuns? There was also a definite pecking order among the many congregations of Sisters. Some orders kept the “riff-raff” out by insisting on a family contribution or dowry from the entrant’s family. The Reverend Mother was a powerful person in many Irish communities, but everyone knew that, in any crunch, the real power resided with the bishops, appointed by a Vatican bureaucracy that had no place for women.
A few days ago, Fr. Vincent Twomey, a prominent theologian who studied under the present pope – presumably, a mark of distinction that gives his words extra credibility – spoke on the BBC about the Church crisis. He said that many of the Brothers, priests and nuns, who perpetrated the abuse in the so-called reformatories, came from big, very poor families, where it seemed a good idea to encourage one or more to opt for the safe haven of the religious life.
He went on to say that, presumably unlike the priests who came from better-off backgrounds, the abusers were “monsters,” “the dregs of society.” They did not have real vocations!
I find his logic very unconvincing. Of course, there were economic considerations in the decisions of so many to become religious Brothers or priests, but to blame the crisis on big families, somehow societal dregs, makes no sense, unless we say that all the members of these orders from poor backgrounds were corrupt. And, what is he saying about the integrity and genuine Catholic religious culture of so many large Irish families?
Also, Fr. Twomey should explain how the diocesan clergy in all dioceses in Ireland had so many child abusers among their members, who came from a different socio-economic group. Any day now, we will have another devastating report about flagrant child abuse by clergy, who worked in the Dublin diocese during the last fifty years.
The abuse of power is at the heart of the Ryan Report. The Catholic Church must explain how priests and bishops knew – or didn’t want to know – about the terrorizing of children in Catholic institutions and why every last one of them said nothing. Qui tacit consentire videtur. That is the question that Professor Twomey must address.
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