An Impossible Dream

"When you say top, you mean a Bishop or something?"

"Try Arch-Bishop. Now we can authenticate these documents, but unless we can get hold of the computer files, the church can always say that they were forgeries put about by someone wanting to damage the good name of the church."

"So what we have is evidence that we are unable to use."

"I'm not saying that we can't use it, just that we can't prove it. We don't have the powers of the police, or the Royal Commission, to force the church to release the documents. What we can do is to write up our report, hinting at the existence of these documents, and hand them over to either the police or the Royal Commission before we release the report. The church will go into damage control and, if their usual route is taken, they will deny, deny, deny, not realising that the police or whoever already have the documents. That extra lead time should give the authorities time to act before they can be destroyed."

"You've thought this through, haven't you?"

"We have thought this through, this is a joint effort, Sonia and I are a team, a very good team, and worth more than the miserable salary that you are paying us."

"No hide, no Christmas box. We'll leave the decision as to your nett worth to this organisation until after I have read your report. Hop to it."

"Yes Sir." We both saluted him, in a spontaneous casual fashion and headed for our desks.

We hardly noticed the passage of time. Neither of us felt the urge to stop for lunch, or even a cup of coffee. We were told later that we ignored other staff and Journalists saying good night to us. The truth was that neither of us heard them. It was late when we finished the report to our satisfaction. We printed off a copy and placed it in Byron's in tray as we left. Something else that we didn't notice was that as we walked towards the front entrance I reached for Sonia's hand and she gave it to me. It was the most natural of gestures, so much so that we didn't notice it until we reached her apartment. We were oblivious even to the fact that we had not eaten since coffee and biscuits at Beryl's house, we just fell, totally exhausted, into bed. The touch of our naked bodies should have been enough to lead to a night of unbridled passion, but we were too tired even for that.

Breakfast was disgusting, MacMuffins, hash browns washed down by several MacCafes, but we didn't care, all that we wanted to do was to fill the gaps in our stomachs caused by our single minded desire to complete our report. People stared at us as we entered the newsroom, and it was then that we realised that I still had Sonia's hand in mine.

"Ah the love-birds have arrived." Byron's disgustingly hardy voice shouted over the din of people talking on phones and chatting to each other. Thirty years ago you could have added the clatter of typewriters, but they no longer existed. "Come in." We entered, not in fear for we knew that he would have nothing but praise for our work. "This is some report that you have written here, I will say that for it . . . "

"There's a 'but' about to appear, isn't there." Sonia beat me to the punch.

"As I was a bout to say before I was so rudely interrupted, was that I'm sorry, but we can't print it, at least not yet."

"We already knew that, we realise that the police need to act on it before we publish, to minimise the opportunity of the church to destroy the documentation."

"No, that's not what I meant. We can't use it period, at least not until the Royal Commission has completed its gathering of evidence and released its findings, and that will take months, years even, to happen." He saw the disappointment in our faces, all of that hard work for what? For nothing. What a let down. "I don't mean that we can't use it at all. Look, I've spoken to Legal and the police, and they both said the same thing, that it's simply too hot to handle right now, but in time it will be, and you can look forward to your acceptance speech at the Walkley Awards."

"What if we were to present this report directly to the Royal Commission? Once it is out in the open as evidence it is on the public record. Surely we can publish then, get the drop on the other media outlets."

"That sound good in theory, but, if you present it as evidence the church will go into damage control and deny it until they can manage to destroy any trace of the evidence ever having existed. James, don't get me wrong, the two of you have done a thorough piece of investigative journalism here, something of which you can be justifiably proud. But when you've been around this industry for as long as I have, you learn that the timing of a story is almost as important as the story itself."

"I suppose that you're right, but where does that leave my source. She has been waiting for a long time for closure on this, for the church to admit its culpability in what has happened to her family. She is not after financial compensation, especially if it's attached to a Melbourne Response solution. All she asks is for the church to recognise that the problem exists, has existed for decades, probably longer, and to do something positive about it. Is that too much to ask?"

"No, it's not too much to ask for, but we can't always get what we ask for. That's life, and to quote someone, 'you'll just have to suck it up.' I'm sorry, but my hands are tied on this, the media has been on this subject for some time, and we can print stuff that we know but can't prove until we're blue in the face and the public won't take any notice of us. We've done it for so long that it has lost it's impact, and Roland is only interested in stories that have the sort of impact that sells paper, sells air-time on TV."

"What are we going to do now? This was our big story."

"We can both have a think about it and see if there is a story out there that you can get your teeth into."

We were deflated. All that effort for what? Nothing. As soon as I reached my desk I rang Beryl. "Hi Beryl, it's James, look I didn't thank you for that information that we got from you, it was just what we needed for our story. But here's the thing, the paper won't use it."

"Why?"

"Because this cause has been done to death with little chance of a result, at least not until the results of the Royal Commission are published. I guess that it was just one of my impossible dreams, me thinking that I could do something. The problem for the paper is that, while the information that you gave us is damning, the church can claim that the instructions are forgeries. We need someone who is inside the church to come out and swear that they are the real deal and not forgeries. I'm sorry, but that's how it stands."

"Oh." Her voice was that quiet that I had trouble hearing it. "Well, at least you tried. Thank you for that."

My next call was to Mum. "Hi Mum, is it okay if Sonia comes over for dinner tonight?"

"Of course it is. She's a lovely girl son, she'll make you happy."

"Don't you think that you're jumping the gun a little here?"

"That's one of your problems son, you rationalise these things until the opportunity is lost. It's obvious that the two of you are a perfect fit, so why beat about the bush, do something about it."

"I suppose that you thought of asking me before asking your Mum for an invite to dinner? I could have other plans for this evening."

"Do you? Have other plans."

"No as it happens."

"Well then, would you like to come over to mine for dinner tonight?"

"Yes, of course. Only because I like your Mum."

"As it happens, my mother already has us married off."

"A woman of vision it seems."

"Does that mean . . .?"

"I won't discount the possibility." She smiled at me, got up, walked around from her desk to mine, sat on my desk and smiled again. What she did next was un-expected, but not un-welcome, she kissed me. Someone whistled at us, while another suggested that we get a room. We went to lunch instead.

A surprised awaited us when we got home, a couple of extra dinner guests "Father, I'd like you to meet the two Journalists that I told you about this morning." Beryl took Father O'Brien's hand and led him to us as we entered the living room of Mum and Dad's house. "James you already know from a few years ago before he went to Uni to study Journalism, and this is his partner in crime Sonia."

"Pleased to me the two of you. Beryl has told me what you are doing, and I commend you for your thoughts, efforts and enthusiasm. I wish you well, and I wish that there was more that I could do to help, but my hands are well and truly tied."

"I know that I speak for Sonia, I wish that there was more that you could do. We have found ourselves in something of an impasse, we have a story that our Editor tells us is the best that he has seen and would win a Walkley, but that he can't print it because, due to the almost incessant number of horrific stories that have already come out, based on statements made by victims and families of victims, that lack one thing, and that is tangible proof, that our story lacks impact. Can you believe that?"

"What sort of proof are you looking for. I know that there is convincing evidence of a number of priest who have committed crimes against young boys, and this has led to convictions and gaol terms for the offending priests, what else can you want?"

"What we a looking for is evidence of a cover-up by the church. Evidence the the hierarchy of the church knew that this sort of thing was going on and not only did nothing about it, but actively sort to hinder any investigation that was carried out by police. They deliberately moved offending priests from Diocese to Diocese, they hid behind the sanctity of the confessional to prevent priests from revealing offences to the police. They subverted the course of justice by conducting their own sham trials where the victims had to present their evidence without the benefit of legal representation. Can you imagine how a twelve year old kid would feel in a situation like that?"

Father O'Brien was saved from answering by the call to dinner.

"Dad, I'd like you to meet Sonia. She's a Journalist at the Standard and I am working with her on projects. Sonia, this is my father, Peter."

"Pete, not Peter. Or you can call me Dad, seeing as how, if Maureen is to be believed, you two are a step shy of the altar."

"Okay Dad, I'm pleased to meet you. Now I know where James has inherited his good looks from."

We were seated at the table, Dad appropriately enough, at the head, Mum at the foot, Beryl and Father O'Brien opposite Sonia and me. Father O'Brien wasted no time on a long and involved Grace, allowing us to dig into the first course, one of Mum's beef and vegetable soups that took several days of intermittent slow cooking to mature into the a thick, rich dish. Dad introduced us to a bottle of red wine that he informed us he had hidden in his wardrobe for just such a special occasion. It was worthy of the wait.

The main course dishes had just been cleared from the table, and during the hiatus between it and dessert, I bit the bullet. "Father O'Brien, tell me, the Parable of the Good Samaritan, what does that say to you?"

"That mercy and love can come from unexpected people. Why do you ask?"

"I feel that it means something a little different. To me it is a criticism of the priest and teacher, scribe or whatever, who had allowed church to get between them and the work of God."

"I think that I know where you're going with this. You are telling me that I have placed protecting the church before doing the work of God, that the church is more important to me than justice and mercy. Let me tell you, that, notwithstanding the use of that Parable in the context of what has happened, is happening, in the church, I have given this a great deal of thought. And I admit that self-preservation features strongly in my thoughts, let's face it, who would employ a forty plus year old man who went straight from school to a seminary and into the priesthood. I have no other work experience. What kind of job do you think that I could get, and you can be certain that any entitlements that would be coming my way after the church has dismissed me, would not sustain me for the rest of my life."

"So, we can't expect you to help us in any way?"

"Did I say that? After Beryl told me what you told her this morning, I have had a re-think of my situation. I am prepared to give up my calling, my life's work, to give you the evidence that you need. What can you give me in return?"

"I can see to it that anything that you give us will have everything that could identify the source removed from it. I can guarantee that you will be referred to in any copy as 'Father X', I might tart it up a bit by calling you 'the Whistle Blower Priest', with your permission of course."

"That sounds almost like I'm a super hero, I like it. There is an up-side to all of this."

"What might that be?" Beryl asked.

"It means that, if I'm defrocked and kicked out of the Priesthood, I'll be able to marry Beryl here, that's if she wants me."

Beryl placed her hand on his on the table. "I'd consider it when the time comes. I'd have to get a full-time job to support you, you do realise that." She kissed him, a chaste little kiss that said more to Father O'Brien than any words could tell him.

"That's it. If you can guarantee that the story will get printed if I provide you with all of the evidence that I have, then you've got it."

"Leave it with me, I'll speak with Byron in the morning and call you as soon as I have an answer from him."

Mum had slipped into the kitchen and chose that moment to return with plates of apple crumble hidden by a thick vanilla custard. She mightn't be the most flamboyant of cooks, but it was very tasty. This was followed by coffees all round and an hour or so of interesting and varied conversation. Sonia told me later in bed, that she had never felt more at home with people that she had just met. Even Father O'Brien and she had found enough common ground to carry on a quite long conversation.

"Father O'Brien is a very strong willed man, do you know that?"

"What do you mean? I have never really thought of him in that way."

"He has been in love with Beryl for years, since before her husband died he told me, and he has never given in to the temptation to tell her how much he loved her, or to act on it. Chatting with Beryl, she's known for years and has been waiting for him to make his move. She didn't want to come between him and the church."

"Do you think that tonight might be the night?"

"If they take any notice of what I have told them, individually, then yes. She might have to show him the way, but I'm sure that love will out."

Speaking of love, Sonia and I made up for missing out last night because we were so very tired. We tried to keep it quiet, without success it seems.

"Have you given any thought to where you are going to live?" Mum asked as we sat at the kitchen table to a large breakfast.

"What makes you ask that?" I asked.

"Well, by the sound coming from your room, you are either very much in love with each other, or you're both very good actors. I know which of those I want to be the truth."

"Okay, we are both lousy actors. You can draw your own conclusion from that." Sonia told her with this wicked look in her eyes.

Cross that from the impossible dream list.

Byron was not happy to see us the next morning. "Are you two still angry at me for canning your story?"

'No, in fact what we now have will force you to un-can the story."

"What new and exciting thing do you have to add?"

"We have a priest who is willing to put his job on the line and give us chapter and verse of the attempts to sweep this under the carpet. How do you like them apples Boss?"

"And how much is this going to cost us? I'm sure that he wants some form of compensation."

"He wants nothing more than the protection that we offer any confidential source, complete anonymity. He will provide us with the certified copies of all original memos, emails, and snail mail directives dating back at least ten years. These direct Priests as to how to react to allegations of sexual abuse involving fellow Priests. They are very strong on the subject of not revealing information received in the confessional to the police. As to direct allegations about the activities of other Priests, they are to refer the matter immediately to the Diocese, where it will be dealt with in a manner considered appropriate to the situation. Appropriate manner includes, and this is spelt out in one memo, the moving of the offending Priest to another Diocese. All further correspondence with the victim, or the victim's family is to be referred to the Diocese for consideration. Priest at the Parish level are instructed not to take matters into their own hands."

"Okay, wheel him in and let the negotiations begin."

Father O'Brien's visit to the Standard's offices was preceded by the courier delivery of a large package. This proved to be a cardboard Archive box, heavily secured with packaging tape and wrapped in a plain wrapper. A note inside was from Father O'Brien. 'I have sent this package ahead because I considered it to be injudicious to be seen leaving the church with a bundle of files. Beryl has been taking them home in small bundles until we had copies of all relevant files. Will you and Sonia come to church on Sunday, I am to make a momentous announcement to the Parishioners.'

"I wonder what this is all about?" I asked Sonia.

"I guess that I will just have to break the habit of a lifetime and go to church with you."

"I'm pretty much a stranger to the church myself these days."

We spent the best part of the day wading through the documents, cataloguing them and tagging them, so that they would be easy to refer to as needed. At the end of the day I rang Byron's Secretary. "Hi, it's James Lawrence here, would it be possible to arrange an appointment with Byron?"

"Is it important? He has a meeting with the Managing Editor in half an hour."

"It is that important, don't worry, it won't take long, just a preliminary to a more important appointment, hopefully tomorrow."

I was put on hold for fully thirty seconds. "He'll see you immediately, come straight down."

A minute later she ushered us into the inner sanctum. "Well, I suppose that you two have been making significant progress with your story."

"Yes, we have spent most of today sorting through the files the Father O'Brien has sent us, and we have our story. We haven't written it up yet, that will take us a day or two. In the mean time, we want you to speak with Father O'Brien, if you want us to be there we will, but I think that we might be too close to him for comfort. Someone not close to him may be able to look at this whole story with more objectivity than we can."

"Very well, give me a précis of what you have, and then give me his number and I'll call him to arrange a meeting tomorrow. You may want to call him first to let him know that I will be calling him."

"Very well, I'll call him immediately."

"Good work you two. I knew that I would be getting the best team when I put you together."

Father O'Brien spent the best part of two hours with Byron. Numerous cups of coffee were ferried into the office before Byron dictated something to his Secretary that was taken into the office and signed by both parties. The two of them walked down to our desks. "James, Sonia, I must say that you have done a bang-up job here. Gerald (Father O'Brien's name is Gerald?) has let me know in no uncertain manner that he would not have given his story to any Journalists other than the two of you. He has told me that, if you hadn't pointed something out to him, he would have taken this information to his grave, along with his shame for doing nothing about it. I don't know what you said to him, and I don't want to.