8th March 2019

Removed from the furore of social media, my beloved informs me that the discussion and debate about the cardinal’s case is impassioned, vitriolic, typical of a modern acquiescence to one’s guilt in light of accusation, despite evidence that may point to the contrary. I’m willing to accept possibility of anyone’s failure, in light of our fallen nature, but I, and many others, cannot neglect what seem to be absurdities in the details of the case for prosecution.

I am uncomfortable with the Victorian Police pursuing an investigation, trying to build a case, without a single complainant having spurred their interest. I am uncomfortable with the nonsensical notion that an archbishop could possibly believe that the sacristy, after a solemn high mass, could be a private and secure location in which to commit such grave acts, knowing that other altar servers, a diligent master of ceremonies, amongst others, could and would step in at any given moment. I am uncomfortable with the fantasy that a man wearing a cassock, an alb, a chausible and a cincture, could capably move in a manner that is being purported. I am uncomfortable with the widespread sentiment that charges that ‘even if he’s innocent he deserves to pay.’ I am uncomfortable with the innovative archbishop, leading the western church’s response to institutional abuses, being accused of the same crimes he was capably working to redress.

It’s perfectly just, warranted and in the interest of one and all for one to express these discomforts, doubts and questions, when we fear and wonder whether the course of justice has been served, or corrupted, in the pursuit of vengeance. There is a place for righteous anger and condemnation, in the historical wake of an institution that was corrupted by the broken inclinations of those who would commit evil, and those who would allow it. But there is no place, in a just society, for an innocent man to bear the weight of that condemnation, despite the truth, despite the facts. I cannot speak of innocence or guilt as fact or fiction, from where I sit, from where I write. But I can express my doubts and concerns, as can others, without expecting to be a pariah amongst the most ‘compassionate’ and ‘just’ amongst us.

Let the questions be asked. Let the process be scrutinised. Let the discussion happen, without assuming the worst in your neighbour’s intentions, ideas, or beliefs. Let the standard of public scrutiny and fruitful debate rise to the standard we would want for our own investigation, prosecution and incarceration, lest we’re next to sit entombed within the concrete, iron and barbed wire of a trial by public sentiment and journalistic ill will.