onus probandi

 In the pinball machine that is my mind, a marble pinged off a thought about the concept of Burden of Proof, onus probandi. I went looking for some enlightment as so the roots of the phrase and came up with Latin - onus or 'burden', and probandi - 'of proving', and was apparently  originally part of a much longer phrase. None of this was hugely helpful. 

I looked at a law site where they explained this legal term with additional legal terms, in endless paragraphs of equally incomprehensible legal language which I do not speak. 

It is not that I do not understand what it is and why it is necessary. There needs to be sufficient, credible evidence to convict someone of any crime. I just wondered about why the word 'burden' was chosen, instead of maybe 'weight' or 'responsibility' or 'duty'.

It is a task of great gravity and responsibility to make a charge against someone. It should not be taken lightly or without significant proof and preparation.  

However, my mind and heart have been dwelling on the horror of sexual abuse lately. So I was picturing a victim, someone already deeply hurt, someone who hopes that the court process will give them the protection and justice that has not, and may not, be found in any other place. 

The evidence of the crime is written on their face, heard in their voice and hidden out of sight on their body. The crime is written in their past, their present and their future. 

Now to this, the justice system adds another burden, this 'burden of proof.' And the proof must be so compelling, so incontrovertible as to prove guilt beyond 'reasonable doubt'. Now this seems at the least, rather subjective and vague. I read that this criteria arose because earlier 'Christian' jurors were so convinced that they would certainly go to hell if they passed judgement on a person who actually was not guilty, that suddenly no one was found guilty. Somehow, 'reasonable doubt' allowed for some margin of error and freed them to actually pass judgement on occasion.

However, being that 'burden' implies a heavy load, something possibly painful and oppressive, and that victims already carry far too many of those, it almost seems like some of this language is an additional victimization. 

Just a thought.

(I went downtown to our Courthouse thinking to perhaps find the Scales of Justice inscribed on the building. I found instead the Royal Coat of Arms which hearkens back to our history as a British colony and later a Dominion. It features two mottoes; 'Honi soit qui mal y pense', and 'Dieu et Mon Droit'. Interestingly neither pertain to justice, but rather the right given by some to judge.)

Vastate

I learned a new word yesterday, 'VASTATE'. The definition given was

'make immune; purify by destroying evil elements'.

Although there seemed to be consensus that the root word was Latin there were several similar words given;

vastus - 'Empty, unoccupied. Vast, immense'

vastatio(n-), from vastare ‘lay waste’

past participle of vastare 'to lay waste'

I made a little more progress with 'VASTATION'. Merriam-Webster offered -

  'a renewal or purification through the burning away or destruction of evil attributes', 

and The Oxford English suggested - 'The purification of someone or something by the destruction of evil qualities or elements; spiritual purgation.'

Both forms are the word are 'archaic' or 'obsolete'. Also, most references found offered up 'devastation' either as a definition or a replacement for 'vastation'.

You may be wondering about now, why this word study? 

I recently found out that my nephew was sexually abused at a church that I once attended. In light of this revelation, most of my waking thoughts since, have revolved around this topic, this specific incident, how it has shaped him and how I might now display support. He has experienced the 'devastation' of abuse; 'the great destruction or damage' caused by it, the 'severe and overwhelming shock or grief'  that this word defines. 

Whilst the definitions of 'vastate' seems to imply more of a personal search for those unlovely things in us that need correction, it struck me that 'vastation' should certainly not be replaced by 'devastation' because it implies an opposite process, one that causes harm.

 Vastation would then be a process where healing could allow a person an immunity to the further effects of abuse on their minds and spirits; a purification of the soul from the darkness imposed on it; a purging of the evil elements that have scarred their hearts and bodies. 

It seemed to me that this should not be an obsolete word because it has such great relevance in the lives of so many. 

ot

A Light Extinguished

Sexual abuse took place.

By someone who was trusted.

By someone who should have been trustworthy.

By someone put in authority by a church. A place that should have been safe and whose people should also have been safe.

He was not.

One, a grown man with a responsible job of note. One a child, who, out of fear, kept silent.

The child remained mute, the man remained trusted, trustworthy, in authority in the church.

The day came when the 'story' came to light. But only a small light, a feeble light. The child told the Pastor. The Pastor asked the man. The man confessed.

But, the man was sorry, so he was dismissed with a 'go forth and sin no more' and the light instead of becoming the intense glare of a spotlight turned on in the presence of those who represent not God's authority, but man's, was extinguished.

Not just put in the dark but covered in silence.

Sealed in silence by fear and threats.

A silence so deep and so profound that it entombed a child.

A silence so complete that no one heard the child.

A conspiracy of silence.

A shroud of shame transferred to a victim who wore it for many years.

But

that child has become a man.

He has found his voice.

He will use it for justice, not only his own, but for those whose pain he has lived and understands. 

... let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

A May morning

 Beltane ushered in a season of most blessed rain. All the growing things lifted their arms to the sky to welcome it. Whilst the resultant green may not rival that of the Emerald Isle, it is lush and vivid and so welcome; an exultant affirmation that life lying dormant in the winter will return. 

As I look out my front window the garden begins to take on contours.

The soft mounding of the phlox...

the spiky vertical leaves of the tulips with their soft yellow blossoms preserved to enjoy yet a while by cooler temperatures... with the exception of one complete sunshine bloom lying whole at the base of a naked stem...hmmm.

culprit?

The pear tree displays the tips of the green leaves that will soon replace the blossoms, and with the soft breeze, there is now a light snowfall of spent petals.

In the grey green of the lavender there is the promise of blooms and fragrance.

Such a bounty of shape, texture and colour

Added to this wealth is the unexpected; evidences of other life in the garden.

So much to glory in on this May day.

 

A Fearful Silence

 Justice is an illusion in this world. An accused can be wrongfully charged and convicted - an accused can be completely culpable and yet walk free. 

There is however, a place where truth and doing what is right should be a fundamental tenet of their purpose - the Church. This place is supposed to be the earthly representation of God, where He is honored and His will for daily living earnestly sought. A place where the truth is spoken and acknowledged without exception or flinching. A place that displays the face of God to the world.

I come from a strict Evangelical background. Hymns are the music of my childhood; the routines of church attendance part of the fabric of family life as I grew up; the bible and its teachings the framework that formed my thinking and emotional behaviour. I am now 63 and have long since left behind the rigid requirements of organized religion but for a full 2/3rds of my life, beginning from the cradle, my life was centred around church attendance and responsibilities. Its influence cast a long shadow over me.

This is also the basic history of my siblings; a life centered around the church and the service of its members and the wider community. As happens in life the family began is disperse geographically as life and employment took members out of the province. Then life took a member away from us; my sister. 

In the way of larger families, my sister's children are as close in age to me as are  several of my brothers but regrettably without the emotional closeness of shared experiences because visits with them were only sporadic. I never saw my sister's youngest boy after his mother's funeral 31 years ago. It's like a chasm opened and got wider over the years. I would hear of him; a new partner; a new job; a new location. I mourned what I thought were the effects of a mother gone too soon and an emotionally unavailable father. 

Today I learned that a church that my family had attended for several years, covered up the sexual abuse of my then 13 year old nephew. At that time an accusation was made before the elder's of the church. The accused admitted his guilt.

I do not know many details; that is my nephew's story to tell as after many years he is now able to. What I do know, now, is how complete the conspiracy of silence was, and how this agreement to not treat this heinous event with the urgency and gravity required, has caused a tsunami of consequences.

Now I interpret my nephew's story slightly differently than before. The complicit silence kept the knowledge closely contained and fear enforced it. The congregation was not told. Our family was kept in ignorance in perpetuity - I did not know.

The ripples start...because we did not know, we did not offer help.

Because we did not offer help, I believe that my nephew assumed that we knew and were complicit to the silence.

Because we did not offer help, I believe that my nephew shunned the family at large; emotionally then physically as soon he was able.

Because we did not offer help, I believe he may have assumed that we did not love him enough to believe him or that he was important enough to stand up for.

Because we did not offer help, I believe that he may have come to believe himself unworthy and then assumed the guilt and even shouldered blame for an event for which he should have been publicly vindicated.

Because we did not offer help, I think he found other ways, destructive ways, to assuage the pain he felt, resulting in broken relationships and confirming his feelings of unworthiness.

This happened to my nephew. I knew this church and these people. I knew the families of the other boys, because yes, there were more. Are we to be silent because the name of God might come into disrepute? No! Only the names of His unworthy servants will, and should. And that is Biblical! 

Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known. Therefore whatever you have said in the dark shall be heard in the light, and what you have whispered in private rooms shall be proclaimed on the housetops       Luke 12:2-3

 You might think think that after a year of practice I would be taking this new life in stride. Well, you might be wrong. 

I hold my own most days, but every few, the news worsens or I see a horrifying image or there is evidence that this threat is coming too close to my family. Then I have to once more locate my 'grip' so I can get a hold of it.

Sometimes I can' find it by myself because I need to admit out loud that I am scared. Which is actually.. 'still scared'. Often this admission stops the endless loop in my head and allows a different, and more balanced, tape  to play.

Many times I can catch the downward trajectory of my thoughts and emotions by going outdoors. Where I can go has depended on the restrictions at the time, but sometimes, just 'outside' is enough. A moment in the sun and the sound and feel of the breeze can lift my spirits.  There is even a word for the sound of the wind in the trees or the rustling of the leaves. 

This word is Psithurism. It is one of a multitude of astonishing words now listed as obsolete because they have not become part of normally used vocabulary, which is a tragic loss to language. The 'p' is silent, though, why it is there, can be blamed on  the Greeks from whose word 'psithuros' (for 'whispering'), our new word stems. It is therefore pronounced 'sith-ur-izm' which has a lovely  onomatopoeic quality to it.  

There is something about the sound of the wind in the leaves that settles my soul and allows me to take a deeper breath. It reminds me of a mindfulness technique to use in moments of stress. So I will open the side door and begin to focus on...

5 Things that I see

The sky vast and everchanging

Dandelions cheerful and familiar

A Blue Jay bold and noisy 

A squirrel hungry and hopeful, and 

my chair, empty and waiting.

4 Things that I Feel

The warmth of the cup in my hands

the sun that warms my face

the softness of a tulip petal

and the roughness of the brick.

3 Things I can Hear

The chimes on the porch

the squabble of sparrows

and the slam of a car door.

2 Things that I Smell

A hint of rain in the breeze

and the blossoms on the pear tree.

1 Thing that I taste

the coffee from that warm cup in my hand.

So it is not the surroundings, I am not in the forest or a beautiful garden, that are the important factor. It is the deliberate bringing of my mind  to focus on where I am and what I can see and hear in this one moment. It grounds to where I am and away from the vague and scary places and possibilities where my mind goes when left unattended. I touch the brick of my house and feel its solidity and security.

It also reminds me that I am in a minority amongst the millions in the world who have never experienced the kind of security and privilege that I have, here, standing in my doorway, with my coffee.