The Catholic "Church"

   Is the entire Church guilty of pedophaelia? Of course not. But the reality is that when Church elders heard of priests committing acts of abuse they gave them a stern talking to, suggested they pray (prey?) and ask God's forgiveness, and then moved them to a new parish (at times even a new country) where the root issue isn't really addressed.

   Gays are villified in the Church - priest or not, even though the gay priests are as celibate as any other. Today, priests are subjected to rigorous psychological profiling just to determine their sexual orientation, and yet I've heard of nothing of the same battery of testing to determine their predilection toward atypical sexual deviances. The Church has addressed the disease without treating the symptoms. Unless something more than a financial payout is done, the Church is going to crumble. And that's a shame because there are so many good people who see their faith as a sign of strength and comfort, and yet are turning away because it has become a representation of much of what is wrong in this world.

   When you see how many priests and bishops have been incriminated for sexual abuses and kiddie porn charges you have to wonder how many criminals are able to hide within the Church. The Church says ALL gays are sinners and must live celibate lives to be considered "acceptable" children of God. Interesting that statistics show that the VAST majority of sexual predators are heterosexual. According to the U.S. National Institute of Mental Health (1988), the typical child sex offender molests an average of 117 children (most of whom do not report the offence). That's the average...which means it can be more (or less).

   So I should be celibate while priests will break their vows of chastity with innocent children - who are never the same. I've seen priests getting drunk at bars and yet they lead AA groups. I am sick and tired of the Church getting away with gross hypocrisy just to maintain an image that may never have truly existed. I can't sit back anymore and watch this kind of thing happen without speaking out. How the Church treats me is one thing, but when the most innocent of all people (children) are being manipulated and abused I refuse to be silent on the issue. You must understand that this is a commentary driven by frustration and anger at an institution that refuses to acknowledge a need for overwhelming reflection and change.

"For some sexually undeveloped priests, sexual abuse of a pubertal boy may have signified sexual merger with a male perceived to be a psychosexual peer of the abuser. In addition, it may have represented an unconscious act of hostility toward a boy who otherwise could look forward to a sexual life closed off to the priest. In other words, the abuser, who could have entered a minor seminary at age 14 or 15, may have unconsciously attacked his victim’s sexuality at the same age he was when he entered the minor seminary, symbolically castrating the victim as he himself was symbolically castrated. Finally, clinicians working with Catholic priests say some priests define celibacy as refraining from sexual relationships with women and thus could convince themselves that sex with minor males did not jeopardize their celibate status. Vatican officials, in their search to blame the sexual abuse scandal on someone or something external to institutional and doctrinal failings of the church itself, conflated sexual orientation with psychosexual maturation and with criminal behavior." (Frawley-O'Dea, Mary G. "Experts on sex offenders have news for Vatican: Abusers’ behavior does not stem from orientation, studies show" from National Catholic Reporter. Fall/Winter: 2005. 9.3.)

   Priests should be able to get married. That kind of change would encourage more men to take their vows because unrealistic expectations would not discourage them from following a path to God. And if priests take their vows for the right reasons, there might not be an opportunity for those who pursue it for the wrong reasons. Women should be able to lead a congregation. Many men have proven themselves incapable of doing it with honor or faith. Gays should be just as welcome within ALL of the precepts of the Church as any other Christian. Not just gays who deny much of what makes them human. God loves us all - male and female, gay and straight. He created us ALL in his image. An image of inclusion and love. And until the powers that be come to terms with that very fact, they will preside over the destruction of that which they allege to hold most dear.

Peace One Day

I wanted to create a short film to enter into a contest put forth by Peace One Day - an organization devoted to working toward creating peace in our world. I don't know if I'll win. Hell, I don't even know for sure that I am eligible. But when I saw Jeremy Gilley's devotion, I wanted to be a part of it - no matter how small.

Where do we go from here?

   Every now and then I’m reminded why I still need to be a little angry, why I still need to be outspoken. Today, even in a nation where gay marriage is recognized and perfectly legal, children are still struggling to find that sameness that everyone else takes for granted. Children are still struggling to find hope. And we need to give them that hope. Without it, many will not survive the struggle to persist through their tumultuous teenage years into adulthood.

   In 1981, Harvey Milk was murdered for being openly gay and for fighting for gay rights in the city of San Francisco, California. There have been times in my life when I have found myself speaking out against my peers who wear their sexual orientations on their sleeves. Personally, I think my sexual orientation is just about the least interesting thing about me. And yet, I still find myself worried about the reactions of others when I walk into a public environment – a bar, at the beach, and the workplace. So while I am not externally identifiable as gay to most, I have found myself wondering when and where it is appropriate to self-disclose my sexuality. As an educator, is it not my responsibility to offer my students the benefit of my experience? But what about principals who won't hire an openly gay teacher for fear of a public backlash from homophobic, uneducated parents? It's a pretty big question mark...

   So I find myself wondering what the right move is for me and for my peers, students, friends, and family. How can I best represent the interests of all of the people around me, while representing the very truths that underlie my own needs and wants? Usually I'll write a blog with many of my own conclusions. In this instance, I am really hoping for some input. I don't have all of the answers, and the ones I do have lack the same level of certainty that I typically possess for my conclusions. Man, I hate uncertainty.

Lessons Learned

   I am a teacher. I have always been a teacher. From the moment I wake up until the moment I go to bed at night, I am a teacher. Teaching is a calling. Many people think you decide to become a teacher. You want holidays and summers off. You want a pension. You want a certain level of job security. You go to school and get an undergraduate degree. You either have a double major or a major/minor (you need two teachable subjects). Then you go on to a professional degree (the Bachelor of Education), and perhaps some graduate level work if you are looking to specialize. But I digress.

   When I graduated high school I was expected to move on to university right away. After five years of hard work, and two undergraduate degrees later, I was a journalist. I had a yearning for knowledge and to share that knowledge. Journalism seemed to fill that desire…for a time. There is something inherently corruptible in a field that depends on “keeping the sponsors happy” or requires an editor to determine the validity of your articles, rather than limiting themselves to ensuring grammatical precision. Over the past ten years I have worked in retail, in a call center, and as a payroll practitioner. In retail I quickly moved into a leadership role and became responsible for training new hires. When I moved on to working in a managerial role for a call center, I took on mentorship roles on over a three-month period developed a training curriculum which included written documentation, scheduled dates and times for mentorship between senior and junior associates, and evaluative scales. I was a mentor at the payroll company too. No matter where I was, or what position I held, I was a teacher. At every step in my career, I have taken on the role of teacher.

   I have been accused of many things in my life. Most recently, I was accused of being heartless. A teacher. Someone who wants nothing more than to contribute to the world. To instill a thirst for knowledge and to inspire ambition and wonder in the minds and hearts of those he encounters. This is the majority of teachers. There are always exceptions to reinforce the standard.

   I am heartless because I am pragmatic? Admittedly, this does get me into trouble more often than I like. Let me give you a scenario (Please note – this scenario is entirely fictional. Any similarities to actual persons or situations is entirely unintentional.):

You’re dating someone for a little less than a month. You know that at the end of that month, this person will be moving away. You choose to enjoy the time you spend together, remaining entirely realistic that any relationship that develops will be primitive, at best, and do not want to allow yourself to get so invested that the ultimate end – however long that end may or may not last – will be all the more painful. On the second date, you clarify that when you part ways you will “do your own thing.” This appears clear. When the time comes, this fact is reiterated. Nothing is said to discount the statement. What follows is initially amicable text messages and emails that soon degenerate into restating what you thought had already been stated, only somewhat more final. Following that you are insulted, your intelligence is questioned, your consideration is discounted and your every attempt to remain practical and mature is twisted. And then you are called heartless.

   Now…I am many things. I am logical. I am well-read. I am passionate. I am self-conscious. I can be arrogant, at times. I am a perfectionist. I find it difficult (though FAR from impossible) to accept that I am wrong unless it is proven with factual arguments. But I am by no means heartless. In fact, I tend to lead with my heart. I do not hide my feelings well. If I am feeling happy, I am visibly elated. If I am feeling sad, I emanate doom and gloom. If I am angry, by God you’ll see it in my expression. So what am I saying?

   Is it possible for a teacher to be heartless? Well, few things in this world are impossible. Let’s just say it is highly unlikely. Do I need to learn to get over a hurt from a year ago that has left me jaded and overly guarded in emotional considerations? Absolutely. Is this a conscious act? Of course not. If we could consciously control our emotions every moment of every day there would be no crime. There would be no greed. There would be no violence. Mind you, there might be no art, or theatre, or any real passion at all.

   To make a long story short (too late, I know), life is a journey. We are never done learning or maturing or changing. We are different from one moment to the next. So while I hated to be called heartless, I have learned something from the experience: Don’t rush to the destination. Enjoy the journey.

Where was I?

It has recently come to my attention that I may periodically give the impression that I am anti-development. Nothing could be further from the truth. So let me clear things up a bit...

My issue is with sustainability, or lack thereof. Our world is in the midst of an ecological crisis and our government is doing its letter best to sell tar sands petroleum products to as many countries as possible. I wouldn't go so far as to call it oil, because it is far less refined than your typical crude. There is growing resistance to Alberta Tar Sands products due to the energy and water resources that are used to extract the petroleum - a fundamentally different type of oil than that found in conventional oil sources. For every barrel of oil produced in the Alberta Tar Sands, four to five barrels of water are needed to force the oil to separate from the sand in which it lies (not to mention enough natural gas energy to heat a home for four days as well as the destruction of acres of natural habitats for, ultimately, displaced animals). And what is done with this "used" water?

Many of you likely know about Sydney's Tar Pond. Considered to be one of the world's worst ecological disaster's, cleanup of the Tar Pond site has been "in progress" for over 20 years. Any number of cleanup methods have been suggested, evaluated, and rejected over the years in favour of the present method: encapsulation. Let's be honest, this is a cover it up now and let someone else worry about it in a few decades when the seals on the area ultimately begin to break down and signs of new contamination rear their ugly heads. So why am I bringing it up?

There are, quite literally, billions of litres of waste water being dumped back into Northern Alberta's groundwater and natural ecosystems every year. Animals that have managed to sustain their lives in their natural habitats are consuming plants that absorb the toxins produced by the tar sand extraction process. They are drinking the water that contain the toxins directly. The Tar Sands Project has been trying to sell itself as environmentally responsible at a time when the very creation of new fossil fuel sources is a contradiction of such policies in and of itself. Companies are spending marginal amounts toward investment in green technologies when a factor of ten is spent on producing new carbon-producing, methane-releasing, dirty-burning (get my point?) fuel resources at the expense of our children, not to mention our very species.

It isn't just animals that we need to be concerned about. It is also the people who work on the tar sands projects. A media blitz is underway to change the perception of the Tar Sands developments. The oil companies and their contractors want to show how responsible they are and how they care about the environments in which they work. Touching sound bites and visuals featuring employees who are impressed by how much their employers work to take care of the many wild animals they impact and the landscapes they decimate. Of course, the landscapes they show are at the outer borders of the lands on which they work and the animals they show are either inside a captive preserve or, again, live outside the work zone. It is nice that they try to take care of them, to a certain extent, but it is little more than a hollow gesture meant to curry public support. But I digress. We're talking about the people who work there.

Often we hear politicians claiming to be environmentally conscious, and yet when partisanship comes into play we see them damning one another's green policy in order to garner power and influence over making the best decision for our nation and our world. Remember Stephan Dion'sGreen Shift (you'll note that the link points to the environmental concern largely responsible for Dion's policies and research, rather than the Liberal site itself)? Well, it had a number of recommendations. First and foremost was a national green policy - not something that would be regionalized and altered as special interests might request.

The Conservative Party and the New Democratic Party criticized Dion's Liberals for the economic impact of such a plan. They argued that taxing carbon/methane polluters would create an unreasonable burden on big and small business alike. The irony is that if the average voter did their research they would realize that a large part of the Green Shift involves teaching businesses how to be environmentally responsible. It means short term investment in learning how to make green choices an advantageous and profitable part of the business model. Unfortunately, Dion's weak English translated into a lack of charisma and an inability to respond to more challenging questions as quickly as the "instant gratification" audience would like. Also unfortunately, this is a weakness that the other party leaders were able to exploit. And they exploited Dion right out of office. The ensuing weeks were spent with the Liberal Party in a flurry to find a new leader...which helped the minority Conservatives deflect criticism of their lack of environmental policy, and the NDP gained new ground in the polls as a result.

The answer, it seems, lies with homegrown political will. For every voter, there are about a dozen non-voters who whine about policy while refusing to exercise their right to impact it. One of the most shocking groups of apathetic non-voters are the 18-25 demographic. Marketing executives try to garner favour with this group because of their spending power and dynamic will. But politicians largely ignore this group because they do not vote. If today's young adults, tomorrow's leaders, want politicians to take their concerns seriously they need to exercise their right to vote. Having a right is fine, but exercising that right is making the statement that you have a voice and an opinion that matters. Until our young adults learn this important fact, we may continue to lag behind as one of the world's largest "per capita" polluters. Food for thought...

The next step

     I figure that it's time to get back to where I started.  This weblog was started so I could take the time to trace my steps into agoraphobia.  And hopefully, to map my path out of it.  So the next step in my journey was that same winter in grade two...

     It was a long weekend my parents decided to take to visit a family friend (Wilna - and, no, it's not a typo) in New Glasgow.  She was a kind, older lady who always had fun games to play and never insisted that a child sit and listen to old stories about things that never entered your mind before your teen years.  She was also very aware that children can quickly grow bored in a house filled with adults that hasn't seen a toy in a decade or more (her children were grown and had started families of their own by this time).  So, being as thoughtful as she was, Wilna had anticipated our desire for toys other than board games and playing cards.  She had spoken with friends who lived about six houses down on the other side of the street.  They had children close to our (my brother and I) age and offered to have us over for a couple of hours.

     Now, as I've already established, snowfall seems to increase my anxiety.  It presents itself as a barrier to my escape from any anxiety-provoking situation.  And it also slows the approach of help when it is called.  I mean, really Matt?  Really?  Ugh.  But I digress.  I do that from time to time.

     So my brother and I got all bundled up in our heavy socks, and snow pants, and heavy winter coats, and heavy winter boots.  Personally, I always felt a kinship with the Michelin Man in the winter months, but it's all about layering isn't it?  Anyway, my brother was off on his way when my last boot was being laced by Mom (I was unable to bend over due to the amount of clothing at this point).  I remember the initial pangs of panic seeing him venture across the yard toward the sidewalk before I had even opened the door.  And then when I tried to open the door I noticed significant resistance.  In fact, Mom has to open the door for me.  At this point I asked her to let me stay home because I was afraid of how windy it was.  She told me I would be fine and to catch up with my brother.  Well, I let the wind take me to my brother more quickly than I might have caught up otherwise and the anxiety diminished...until I tried to stop next to him and found myself unable.  I continued to try, hopelessly, to slow myself down and dig in my heels but the wind continued to overpower me.  My brother called after me that we had to cross the street and that I was already going too far down the street.  I looked up the street and found no cars and began to cross - finding that the street itself was even more slick.  And then it happened...

     "HEEEEEELP!  Aidan, heellllp!!" I cried.

     At first I thought he hadn't heard me.  I was unable to stop and with the blowing wind, the snow was blinding me.  I didn't know if he was even paying attention to me at this point.  I cried harder and harder.  I was blinded by my tears and thought all was lost.  What's worse is that Wilna's house was at the top of a rather steep (at least in 8-year old terms) decline and I figured I would be blown from the face of the earth.  I was in ultimate panic mode at this point.  I couldn't make sense of my surroundings and had basically shut down.  And then I felt a tug, which made me panic all the more, only to find that my big brother had grabbed my left arm and was yelling at me to listen to him when he is calling to me and that I wasn't allowed to go anywhere without him.  He was blissfully, frustratingly, unaware that I had no desire to venture off on my own.  And his chiding only made my upset all the worse.  I screamed at him that I couldn't walk against the wind and that I was going to blow away and that I was scared and to save me and help me and not let me go.  He held my sleeve tighter and dragged me to the door and rang the doorbell.

    "Calm down.  They're gonna answer the door in a second.  Stop crying!" he said.  Aidan was nothing if not reassuring.  (Yes, I'm being sarcastic.)  In his own way my brother was being protective, but at the same time he always made sure to put his best foot forward...regardless of how club-footed I might be feeling at the time.  I guess that's one of our key differences - I lead with my heart, he leads with his mind.  It explains his career geared toward math and sciences, while I'm a writer and artist.  And yet, I always wanted to be like my big brother, regardless of how little he wanted me to emulate him.

       Wilna's friend answered the door and let us in and noticed my upset right away.

      "What are all these tears for?" she asked.

     That was it.  The floodgates were opened.  I bawled and tried to relate my horrible ordeal through shaking and crying.  Aidan was long gone to find the playmates and scurry away from me as quickly as possible.  

      She rubbed my back and said, "It's okay.  You're alright now.  Do you want to go play with the kids?  They're in the bedroom.  C'mon, I'll take you in."

       To be honest, I had been looking forward to playing with some real toys.  But I am shy by nature, and back then I was painfully shy.  The anxiety that hadn't yet subsided, coupled with the still being suppressed crying, added to the anxiety of meeting new people brought it all up.  And by it, I mean my breakfast - and perhaps previous week's meals.  I threw up everywhere.  First on the carpet in the bedroom.  Then in the hallway as I was hauled to the bathroom.  Then partially on the bathroom floor until the toilet seat was lifted.  And as soon as I thought I was done, I was bundled in my clothes and driven the six houses away.  I don't think Wilna ever lived that one down.  I'm not sure who took care of the carpet cleaning but I am sure it was either costly, labour-intensive, or both.  But that was the next step in a series of events in my life that seemed to cement my continued irrational fear of abandonment, being alone, and other insecurities that have since developed in the years following these unfortunate, and all too common, trials.