Here in Massachusetts, the Boston archdiocese seems to have followed the lead of its Providence counterpart in dealing with the 500 lawsuits pending against it. Ever since Bishop Lennon took over as the archdiocese’s temporary head, in December 2002, he has expressed commitment to "a fair and equitable settlement for those who have been harmed by clergy sexual abuse," as he put it in a December 23, 2002, statement. At the time, Lennon even announced that he’d authorized the sale of "certain [Church] properties ... in order to make funds available for the compensation" of those alleging child molestation by priests. To hear his words, a speedy end is just over the horizon.

Yet actions, as the adage goes, speak louder than words. And the archdiocese’s behavior has indicated a willingness to do anything but settle. Take, for example, Lennon’s repeated pleas to extend the "moratorium" on legal activity with victims’ attorneys to pursue negotiations. Despite this seemingly cooperative tack, Church leaders have yet to produce even a single offer to victims during the four official stand-downs to date, which collectively add up to 150 days. Bishop Lennon has never once sat at the table with victims in mediation discussions, although he has met a handful at the Greenberg Traurig law firm. If anything, the moratoriums have only served to prolong the victims’ pain and anxiety. Says Durso, one of the victims’ attorneys, "If people want to resolve these cases, they can. This isn’t brain surgery. There’s just nothing being done by Church leaders."

At the same time, the archdiocese has launched a vigorous defense inside the courtroom. There was, of course, its attempt to throw out all 500 pending suits by arguing that the First Amendment and its religious-freedom protections prevent the state from scrutinizing the Church’s workings. Though Lennon has contended that the move came at the behest of insurers, he and Church officials flew in L. Martin Nussbaum, a renowned First Amendment attorney, from Colorado just to make the case — a clear sign to many that the archdiocese meant business. Superior Court judge Constance Sweeney denied the motion, which the archdiocese appealed — to no avail. (While the archdiocese has yet to appeal to the state Supreme Judicial Court, the First Amendment issue isn’t necessarily dead. Church leaders could invoke their right to appeal this decision at the time of a trial.) But the defeat didn’t stop Church attorneys from turning to other adversarial legal arguments. Take, for instance, the case of David Carney, a former student at Catholic Memorial High School, in West Roxbury, who has accused Monsignor Frederick Ryan of assaulting him in 1981. The Church tried to dismiss Carney’s high-profile case by challenging the statute of limitations on civil claims — a move that could have negated scores of similarly situated claims. Their motion failed.

As Garabedian, the Boston attorney who represents Carney, observes: "The Boston archdiocese has always been aggressive in these cases. Why should we expect an entity that allowed children to be raped for decades to act rationally?"

We shouldn’t, of course. Yet the archdiocese has steered litigation in a particularly nasty direction in the more-celebrated suits. Because Gregory Ford and Paul Busa, two of the alleged victims of the notorious priest Paul Shanley, have refused to participate in past moratoriums, lawyers on both sides have taken dozens of depositions in their cases. Church attorneys have traveled the country, deposing the victims’ therapists as a way to undermine their credibility. Last May, Newman, who is the attorney for both Ford and Busa, had to represent Ford family members in 20 or so depositions averaging up to eight hours in length — depositions he calls "very intense, very rancorous." His colleague, Eric MacLeish, has caught the Church’s legal representatives recording his speeches in an attempt to convince the court to "gag" him from discussing the Ford case.

Church attorneys have even publicly cast doubt on the reputations of Ford and his family. On April 8, while arguing for a court motion in the case, they suggested that Ford had once been raped by his own father, Rodney — an accusation that the family denies, but that the press trumpeted in stories headlined LAWYER HINTS DAD RAPED ALLEGED VICTIM and MEMORY QUESTIONED IN ABUSE CASE. As Newman sees it, this type of "baseless accusation" crosses the line between a legitimate defense and dirty practices. When it comes to the Shanley suits, at least, the archdiocese has made it clear that, as he says, "it’s a scorched-earth policy."

Church attorneys, for their part, dismiss the notion that the Boston archdiocese has gone full throttle while defending itself against the pending sex-abuse lawsuits. Timothy O’Neill, a Boston attorney who represents some Church supervisors in the civil suits, including those of Ford and Busa, describes the archdiocese’s legal strategy as "schizophrenic." On the one hand, Church leaders are striving to be pastoral toward the victims by, for instance, taking depositions in the Ford and Busa cases only after the victims moved closer to trial. On the other hand, Church leaders are exercising their right to wage a legal defense by pursuing arguments meant to get the cases thrown out. "I suppose the Church could just roll over and do nothing in response," O’Neill says facetiously. He adds, "It would be totally unfair to characterize the archdiocese as being aggressive. If anything, it’s been the exact opposite."

Another Church attorney, who asked not to be named, puts it this way: "Any attorney worth his salt would be taking these depositions, yet it’s labeled as ‘outrageous’ and ‘super-aggressive’ when the Church does it. To say the Church has been overly aggressive is either disingenuous or ill-informed. Everybody is equal under the law." Church lawyers point out that attorneys for alleged clergy-sex-abuse victims have been just as vigorous. MacLeish and Newman, in particular, have deposed Bernard Cardinal Law, and won the release of 45,000 pages of internal archdiocesan files. Recently, they succeeded in unsealing the psychiatric evaluations of 87 priests accused of sexual assault. And MacLeish has made a name for himself with his PowerPoint presentations to the local and national press.

To be fair, the Boston archdiocese has had to grapple with the real problem of shoring up enough money to end what amounts to an unparalleled number of lawsuits. Church officials may want a global settlement, but they have to figure out how to limit the archdiocese’s liability. If they resolve, say, 20 cases for $10 million — at $500,000 per victim — does that mean they have to resolve all pending cases for the same amount? Explains DeLuca, who went through a similar conundrum with the Providence diocese, "The archdiocese has a lose-lose situation on its hands because, if it starts settling, it doesn’t know where it’ll end. To just write blank checks would be irresponsible."

Other factors have helped delay negotiations as well. First, the archdiocese has bumped up against its insurance companies, Kemper and Travelers, which are reportedly balking at a final payment figure. And then, the archdiocese has had to contend with all the publicity and political fallout surrounding Cardinal Law, whom one observer calls "its true arch-villain in these cases." The cardinal had stirred up such a furor that it distracted Church leaders and their lawyers from focusing on the civil suits for months.

To victims and their advocates, though, the archdiocese appeared simply to continue its half-hearted response even after Law stepped down as archbishop last December — it still deals with victims and their supporters by "talking out of both sides of its mouth," says SNAP’s Gately. It’s true that there’s no reason why the archdiocese cannot fight these lawsuits like any other corporation — as long as it doesn’t ask for special treatment. But the Church, after all, presents itself as a moral authority, an entity charged with the salvation of souls. If it’s going to demand a favored place in society, critics note, it has to adhere to a higher standard than Raytheon and General Electric.

Durso, the victims’ attorney, sums up the sentiment best: "The Church wants it both ways. It wants to fight these lawsuits like anyone else, while saying it’s a charitable institution entitled to special protections. That doesn’t fly with people."

BY ALL ACCOUNTS, a settlement would mark the logical end to the Boston archdiocese’s legal woes. It would be an enormous task for lawyers on both sides even to attempt bringing 500 abuse claims to trial; just picking potential jurors who haven’t already formed an opinion of the sex-abuse scandal seems next to impossible. As one Church attorney admits, "A settlement has to be reached. The costs of trying the cases, financially and emotionally, are just too great to bear."

Yet even with a much-anticipated offer from the archdiocese — which many consider more likely to be forthcoming with the appointment of Bishop O’Malley, who, in a local appearance on Tuesday, signaled his desire to settle the lawsuits after he assumes leadership of the Boston archdiocese later this summer — history suggests that the legal saga is far from over. Remember the high-profile lawsuits against defrocked priest and convicted pedophile John Geoghan? Last September, the archdiocese agreed to pay $10 million to 86 of his victims to settle their lawsuits — but only after reneging on a previous offer to pay up to $30 million. When the archdiocese broke its initial agreement, in May 2002, it argued that it could not afford to honor it and still pay off the scores of other people alleging clergy sexual misconduct. For Geoghan’s victims, however, the move constituted a slap in the face. "It was a revictimization of the victims," says Garabedian, who represented the 86 plaintiffs.

Not surprisingly, the experience left Garabedian with a deep distrust of the Boston archdiocese. As a result, he has refused to participate in any of the past moratoriums. Instead, he’s handling his remaining 113 cases, which involve 21 area priests, as if they’re going to trial. "Trust," he explains, "is a serious issue for archdiocesan officials. My clients will not be sitting ducks for the archdiocese while it continues to advance on all fronts. That’s ridiculous."

Expect other victims to hold out for trial, too. Although the Ford and Busa lawsuits were included in the recent stand-down, Newman and MacLeish spent the past 30 days putting final touches on the two complaints — poring over 45,000 pages of Church files and re-interviewing witnesses. Newman insists that neither Ford nor Busa feels so committed to trial that he wouldn’t consider a reasonable settlement offer from the archdiocese. But then, that raises the question: what’s reasonable? Even if Church leaders were to make an offer tomorrow, Newman anticipates that their price tag may differ substantially from the one his clients have in mind, thus necessitating a courtroom fight. "Will there be trials?" he asks, and then answers, "Yes, I think there will be."

Looking back over the past year, a settlement offer from the archdiocese might seem like the final victory in a string of wins for victims. The sex-abuse scandal has provided them with a sense of vindication: if nothing else, people now believe them when they say they’ve been molested by priests. It has led to the public recognition that Church officials shielded child molesters for decades. It has led to Cardinal Law’s resignation, and to long-overdue legislation requiring clergy to report allegations of child abuse. It has even prompted the state’s top cop, Attorney General Tom Reilly, to investigate the Boston archdiocese’s apparent cover-up of abusive priests. In upcoming months, the attorney general, whose investigation is ongoing, is expected to release an exhaustive report on how the Church hierarchy failed to prevent clergy sexual abuse.

But when it comes to real justice for the crimes committed against them, victims haven’t gotten much. Not one Church leader, including Law, will likely face a criminal indictment from Reilly, since the state did not have a clergy-reporting law prior to 2002. Few of the archdiocese’s 90-plus sexually deviant priests have found themselves behind bars. And the much-touted settlement offer still hasn’t materialized.

In the end, the civil suits represent the last chance victims and their supporters have to hold the Boston archdiocese accountable for the sex-abuse scandal now roiling the Catholic Church. For any real healing to occur, the archdiocese has to do more than pay lip service to helping victims move on with their lives. It has to live up to its word. As SNAP’s Gately concludes, "The archdiocese is still cancerous. Clearly, it’s still diseased."

Kristen Lombardi can be reached at klombardi[a]phx.com

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