This is not a primer on white privilege…

It is a snapshot of one white, straight, cis-gendered male’s approach to white male privilege in the context of the 2017 election in Aotearoa New Zealand.

So why post it? There are many better resources out there, authored by people who experience the sharp end of privilege.

I’m sharing this because we are approaching a tipping point. Awareness of privilege is higher than at any point in history, simply by the diffusion of communication channels. However, cultural pushback is also on the rise, as people struggle with specific understandings and (often incorrect) assumptions about privilege.

The filter bubble is usually blamed for this – but that blame perpetuates another misconception: that filter bubbles are absolute.

In most cases, our self-selected groups do overlap, in small but significant ways: and here is where the work of allies is vital. My voice on this is not as important as the voices of those affected. But my silence would be taken as assent to the status quo.

A few people have asked what I meant by “white male privilege” in my last post – and it’s telling about my own biases and filter bubble that I took the phrase for granted.

In some ways, privilege is an unfortunate term because it is ambiguous. In the context of white privilege, we’re not talking about people strutting around savouring gold-plated cigars – that’s a whole different problem.

White privilege in Western-majority countries, as defined by numerous studies on unconscious bias and equity, is about the disadvantages you don’t encounter by being born into a dominant cultural group.

You’ll never be pulled over by the police because you’re a white man driving. You’ll never have to fear that a wolf-whistle will escalate into an assault. You’ll never be subjected to “jokes” about claiming back people’s land, or reparations. You’ll never have to fear that you’ll be labelled a bitch for being too assertive in that meeting.

It’s about the luxury of being able to call yourself “colourblind” when every other segment of the population is constantly made aware of their skin colour, and when our collective biases have measurable negative effects on those demographics.

But more than these examples, and at its core, white privilege is about being able to see yourself as the norm, the default expression of humanity. It’s never really being othered, marginalised, in any context, because your whole life has taught you that you belong anywhere. That implicitly makes it harder to empathise with marginalised groups and individuals.

There’s no sin in being privileged. It’s often called invisible precisely because white males can’t see barriers that they don’t face. But if you’re convinced of its reality, I believe you have a duty: to listen, to try to understand and to ally yourself with those around you who do encounter such obstacles, and against the institutional and cultural constructs that penalise them.

Are there other forms of institutional and societal bias? Absolutely! We all, irrespective of race, gender, sexual orientation and philosophy, think using stereotypes and other mental shorthand. Many of these biases, when not critically appraised and factored for, have a similar tendency to cause harm. But as a dominant, visible problem in Aotearoa, that shapes the assumptions behind our public and especially our political discourse, I believe white male privilege has a lot to answer for.

If you prefer facts and figures to my generalised and imperfect synopsis, I’d recommend Google and Facebook’s Unconscious Bias workshop materials as a comprehensive introduction, along with the many independent resources, papers, books, articles, and infographics available with a quick search.

Aspirational voting in 2017

There are many ways to frame this election, but the one I keep coming back to is that Saturday will show us, by the numbers, how strong white privilege is in Aotearoa New Zealand.

We (white males) have a disturbingly pervasive subtext that minimises and condescends to questions of culture, values and politics, dismissing anything other than the status quo as self-evident idiocy.

And we wonder why the outside world still sees us as parochial, ignorant and naive.

This election is about whether a party with a record of lies, claiming the work of others, changing definitions to “solve” problems and denying the consensus of experts across multiple fields retains its mandate to govern, with the (false) justification that politics has always been done that way.

It is about whether we want to endorse greasy backroom smear campaigns and reward fearful, defamatory rhetoric.

It is about whether the joke that is politics should be met with a shrug, a laugh, and a concession that this is the best we can do.

This election is about giving National another three years to make problems go away by clinging to outdated understandings of brand and message. For someone who criticises Labour for being stuck in the past, Bill English has a very retro grasp of identity and vision.

Do we perch in complacency, because everything is superficially okay for us, personally, at this instant?

Do we rely on philanthropy to solve poverty, turning survival into a lottery for our most vulnerable?

Do we accept that the numbers on a screen are more meaningful – even when misrepresented – than the people and the society that we want to be?

Or is this election not really about us at all?

The wealthy, the privileged, the educated, and the well employed aren’t going to see their world shaken by this election.

We vote not for ourselves, but for our society – that is the essence of democracy. And we need to look to the outliers. To vote for the poor, the sick, the addicted, and the oppressed. For them, this election may be the difference between life and death.

We need a vision.

We need to admit that the status quo is never “good enough” while people are starving. While there remains systemic and cultural discrimination against specific minorities – and majorities, in the case of women.

We need to strive – as we do in our jobs, in our families, in our relationships – to be better people, and to do that we need above all else a clear, cohesive vision for the future. For an Aotearoa that acknowledges and learns from the mistakes of our past. For an Aotearoa that seeks better ways forward. For an Aotearoa that actually wants to be “100% Pure:” in our motivations, in our self-critique and in our care for our people.

We need integrity. We need hope. We need a social conscience.

But in the face of stupefying resilience by White Male New Zealand (never Aotearoa) we may also need, to quote an unlikely source, a little stardust.

#changethegovt #letsdothis #nzpol #decision17

A home for my words

“I could sit in the middle of Sunset Boulevard and write with my typewriter on my knees.” Louis L’Amour once said. “Temperamental I am not.”

I grew up seeing those words as the terrifying mark of a great storyteller: someone so engrossed in the flow of the art that their surroundings became something lesser. And this transcendent state too often eluded me.

Later, advice from Stephen King, Jim Butcher and other greats provided a different way to parse L’Amour’s words: as a challenge. A quiet prompt to let go of all preciousness and pretension. To write, because you write, irrespective of where you are or how you’re feeling.

This distinction matters, because otherwise environment too easily becomes justification for procrastination and defeatism.

Those writers are simply better, that’s why they can write anywhere/are so prolific/are so inspiring, yet eternally beyond my reach. When my internal monologue offers such helpful input, I now edit it. Because they choose to write anywhere, those writers are prolific and have grown great, and if I let their example inspire me, my writing might grow in kind.

My favourite place to write, then, is beside my sleeping wife at 2amsuffocating under the sheets to shield her from the light — tapping a sudden turn of phrase into my phone before it’s snatched away by slumber.

It’s sitting on the beach where I first encountered heartbreak, scribbling in a notebook and letting those long-ago stirrings play with the pen.

It’s at my desk, internet blocked, and a list of chapter outlines on the screen.

Desk, dark, couch, mountain, café: there are places that colour my writing, and places that facilitate the craft, but any environment can provide both context and constraint, which is the space in which writing feels truly at home.

This article was first published in The Writing Cooperative on Medium.com, and won the 2016 Autumn Writing Challenge.

An open letter to the Catholic Church on the protection of minors

I would like to preface this letter with a personal disclaimer and trigger warning:

This letter discusses the ongoing Catholic sexual abuse scandal. It contains coarse language, because sexual abuse is an emotive issue. It also contains specific understandings of Catholic teaching. You may disagree with my choice of words or application of scripture, in which case I would encourage you to find your own means to express to your local Bishop why immediate action is required. The top-down approach has continued to fail. It is time to compel the Bishops to do their job.

I have been employed by and personally know and respect Bishop Patrick Dunn of the Catholic Diocese of Auckland, a deeply learned and pastoral minister who has truly dedicated his life to the service of others. I also see a man who is chronically overworked, and who I believe has been poorly advised on at least some of these matters, no doubt by sincere individuals with the best of intentions. I have addressed this letter to him as my local Church representative, while acknowledging that his own role is largely as an inheritor of this tragic legacy, and one who has taken steps in the right direction – but is still some way from a credible destination.

16 March 2016

Dear Bishop,

Enough is infinitely too much.

It isn’t a pleasant issue. Few issues that matter are. But for far too many of us, it’s also one that’s close to home.

Clerical abuse.

And it’s more than an issue: it’s a betrayal, perhaps the most horrific that can be inflicted. There is no question about that; nobody minimising the impact or the horror of abuse. The evasions only start when it comes to the Church’s response.

So this is an open call to the Bishops of the world, beginning with our own Bishop of Auckland, Patrick Dunn. The Body of Christ and the secular world are united on this. Some can’t speak of it. Some want to hide it, argue the extent or the impact; but all can agree that it needs to be made better. Not right. You can never make it right. This is a legacy that will justly cling to the Church, and perhaps inject a humility that is too often lacking.

But you can take action. With the dismissal of Peter Saunders – and let’s not pretend it’s anything else – from the Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors, the Curia has once again taken a stance that is morally and theologically indefensible.

The Commission has argued that long-term policy development is their priority, whereas Mr Saunders contends that the Commission should also be focused on the immediate, individual cases that are being improperly handled by Dioceses. And there are many.

In scriptural terms, the Commission prefers to ignore the multitude at the door for the comfort of hypothetical victims, who are so much easier to confront.

As one of the two – only two – abuse survivors on the Commission, a single vote has managed to silence Peter Saunders’ voice. You may disagree with him. You may debate his recommendations, or offer alternatives, but you cannot ignore the victims who believe that he has clearly articulated their collective concerns, and he must be reinstituted as an active member of the Commission. Voices of dissent and challenge are essential to change, and the entire process appears disingenuous when the Church marginalises them.

As would-be Apostles of Christ, this situation calls on the Bishops of the world to once again aspire to their calling.

Whatever you believe of Peter Saunders’ methods, his concerns are echoed by a multitude of victims. The Church’s absolute first priority in this situation is not policy, or even reparation: it is protecting the children of the world from the predators who still take advantage of the Church and its sanctuary for their own depravities. Peter Saunders has done much to illustrate how far the Church still has to go in this mission, and it is a sickening picture.

The public perception of the abuse crisis is that the Church now hands all abuse cases over to the appropriate authorities. Why wouldn’t they? While this may be the case in all right-thinking Dioceses, it is still not Church policy or universal practice, and this is unacceptable.

Some Bishops have justified this approach – and it’s the only defence I’ve heard – by raising the spectre of unjust accusations as a threat requiring careful management by the Church. However, this response raises several obvious problems:

  1. The burden of being unjustly accused, while horrible, remains by any measure lighter than the burden of being abused.

    Studies disagree on the rate of false accusations of childhood sexual abuse, but none place it higher than 10%. Using this worst-case figure, if nine in ten abuse claims are founded, then society and the Church is compelled to first safeguard the alleged victim and prevent the potential for further abuse of them and other victims, before examining the veracity of the claim.

    Put this in context: for every ten cases you investigate to protect the priest involved, nine minors continue to be abused while you fail to escalate the case to the legal system. At least nine more victims, directly harmed by an inaction that has also caused immeasurable harm to the Church.

  2. False accusations of abuse occur in both secular society and among accused priests. While the inclination to defend your fellow ministers is admirable and well-intentioned, what moral authority allows a priest to receive preferential treatment over his flock? Remember to render unto Caesar: Priests, servants to all, must not be elevated above the justice system, even where it might operate in a flawed context. Working to fix the system is admirable; circumventing it is criminal.
  3. No matter how gifted your Pastoral Assistants and other staff, they lack the physical, psychological and legal resources of a police department, and are simply not a credible avenue for investigating abuse.
  4. The opportunity to gather evidence of abuse, as with any crime, diminishes over time. Potential witnesses forget details, physical evidence is compromised, and objectively assessing the case becomes more difficult with each passing day. To return to the rare case of a false accusation, it is in the priest’s interest to get the authorities involved sooner, not later, so that any exonerating evidence can be recovered.

There are societal problems with false accusations and the difficulty of recovering unjustly damaged reputations, but the bottom line is that these are a clear minority of cases and that children continue to be abused when priests and Bishops are too slow to take action. We must fix the societal problem, but our first responsibility is to the nine in ten legitimate cases, and ensuring that these children are out of harm’s way immediately.

There are no two ways about this: top-down policy or not, Commission oversight or not, Peter Saunders or not, every Bishop must enforce this simple requirement to protect the children of his Diocese and end the environment that allowed abuse to continue for so long.

When an accusation is made, the police are involved. If you cannot do this, resign now and save the Church another decade of hypocrisy.

Which brings us to assisting survivors of sexual abuse. Once you have safeguarded the current generation of children, you need to step out from behind the bulkheads of public relations and administration, and really confront the situation surrounding victims of sexual abuse. It appears far less nuanced when it must be lived every day.

The absolute minimum assistance that should be offered to a victim of Priestly abuse is:

  1. For the Church to financially recompense them for every hour of counselling they have had to undergo, and every hour to come.
    This cannot be limited with phrases like “within the financial means of the Diocese.” While the Diocese has a single asset or a single cent to their name and an abuse victim requires treatment, that money is theirs. End of story, as far as Christ would be concerned.
    A Church that is physically destitute but morally just is a far more potent vessel, and it would be better to tear the human organisation down and start again than to continue on a course of hypocrisy for the sake of material greed. Humans are loss-averse, we know this as psychological fact. But Bishops have a responsibility to transcend such material inclinations and put the lives of victims first.
    And remember: unlike any other perpetrators of abuse, the Church enabled and then knowingly concealed abuse while simultaneously claiming the highest moral authority. This makes the Church uniquely culpable, and there is no mitigating this requirement while maintaining the Church’s credibility.
  2. For the Church to provide an appropriate level of financial restitution for the suffering and personal consequences of priestly abuse.
    This will, where possible, be guided by other abuse survivors and cannot come with any requirements attached. You cannot, in any conscience, buy the silence of an abuse survivor.
  3. For the Church to stop trying to play shepherd to these victims, when that opportunity is well and truly past.
    The impulse to want to ensure the victim is getting the best treatment possible is understandable, but the Church has already failed in her duty of care: you have no tenable position to manage, oversee or investigate the victim’s treatment choices, duration or outcomes.
    The Church is the aggressor in this context, and you do not get to manage anything. Treating victims as incapable of discerning their own treatment choices is patronising and itself perpetuates the Church culture that allowed and concealed abusive behaviour.
  4. A recognition that, in most cases, the victim is irrevocably disillusioned with the Church. While clergy and committees will and should pray for victims of abuse, proceedings should contain an awareness of possible discomfort and triggers, down to practicalities like ensuring that meetings are not held on Church property, and putting the well-being of the victim first.
  5. A full and honest apology. You cannot make this if you are continuing to contest victim needs, deny restitution, or request name suppression in credible abuse cases. This parallels the sacrament of reconciliation: forgiveness is not granted unless you make an honest and unfeigned act of contrition to every single victim.

Until you meet these basic requirements, then you are not dealing with the sexual abuse scandal; you are a part of it, and not fit to wear your mitre.

Once your own house is in order to such minimum standards – and ideally well above them – then comes the big question: will you stand up to the Curia, as a Bishop of Christ, and tell them that enough is infinitely too much?

The world is watching.

The Didache, The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles, dedicated an entire section to recognising those who would take advantage of the Church for their personal ends. False prophets, it called them. People who would take on the mantle of priest and teacher, and commit selfish deeds in its name.

If the earliest disciples of Christ could see that this would be a problem, and openly discuss it in their teachings, how the hell did the Church get so far off track? When did reputation become something that you own, rather than earn?

You don’t automatically get your reputation back. You are all part of a broken organisation. But you do get to choose whether to fix it now, or let it fall in face of continued hypocrisy and denial.

The Church has already lost many members. Victims of abuse, their families and friends, and those like myself who simply cannot tolerate the continued missteps that betray the beautiful words and intentions of the faithful.

Francis has walked down some inspiring paths, but this shadow looms large behind him, as it has for his predecessors. How this plays out – how you respond – may be the difference between a legacy of life or a deepening of the decay.

Demand, then, that Peter Saunders be reinstituted on the Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors, and that victims are never again silenced or marginalised, no matter how challenging their voices.

Resolve to call the police immediately when an abuse complaint is lodged, for the protection of all current and potential victims.

Craft authentic and transparent Diocesan policy to engage with victims of priestly abuse and organisational misconduct, that is consistent with your understanding of Christ.

It is time to demonstrate that you are not a false prophet. It is time for the Bishops to stand together, to beg for accountability (because it’s your fucking job) and to remind the Church that her duty is to tend to the people who she has wronged, without guile, without fear and with a transparent commitment to change.

In love and hope,

Peter John Ravlich
Twitter @PeterRavlich

2015 Publishing Outlook

I’ve been working solidly on the third part of The Fallen Shepherd Saga – On Holy Ground – which is currently in the editing phase. Once it’s complete, I’ll be publishing a single novel-length volume containing the initial Saga, including a paperback version. I’m planning to have it ready to publish by the beginning of April.

I’m also working on a novelty side project, that I’m hoping to release around the same time.

Following that, I’ll move my NaNoWriMo draft into the editing room, aiming to have it ready to go by early June.

Tl;dr version:

  • April – The Fallen Shepherd Saga
  • April – Secret Project
  • June – A Matter of Faith (Working title)