THERE’S NO QUESTION that Cardinal Law is a man under siege — as demonstrated at the hastily arranged January 24 press conference at the Boston Park Plaza Hotel, where 500 area priests had gathered for an archdiocesan conference. Law, a commanding presence in his black priestly garb, mounted the podium in the hotel’s Terrace Room amid the flash of cameras and the jostle of reporters. During the event, he reiterated his apology and even pledged to reveal the names of other priests guilty of sexual misconduct — a promise that he fulfilled last week. Despite his nod toward reform, he faced fierce grilling from reporters. They wanted to know more about his letters to Geoghan, which had appeared in the pages of that morning’s Globe. Why were they so solicitous in tone? Why had Law not once reached out to the priest’s victims? As the scrutiny intensified, Law struggled to maintain his composure. His voice grew firm, his face flushed, his brow furrowed. When asked if he’d consider quitting, he retorted, "My resignation is not part of the solution as I see it."
When pressed to elaborate, he snapped, "I think it was the press that suggested I step down," not the Catholic faithful. At the time Law made his defiant remarks, his credibility had already been called into question by the state Senate. Just 24 hours earlier, the 40-member body had unanimously passed a bill that would require clergy members, like dozens of other Massachusetts professionals, to report allegations of child abuse — except when they learn about allegations in the course of such "privileged communication" as confession. Last spring, before the Geoghan story broke, conventional wisdom on the Hill had it that this sensible legislation would go nowhere. Similar bills had been filed almost every legislative session dating back to 1988 — to no avail. Explains State Representative Paul Caron (D-Springfield), a Catholic legislator who had sponsored the measure twice in the early 1990s, "Institutional loyalty and deference to the Church had prevented this legislation from moving forward in the past."
As soon as the Geoghan story seized the headlines, that deference faded. The coverage inspired Senator Susan Tucker (D-Lawrence), who chairs the committee that signed off on the bill last summer, to reconsider its language. When she carried the bill to the floor January 23, she pushed for a last-minute amendment mandating that clergy members hand over not only current cases of abuse, but also past ones — an amendment that went beyond Law’s January 9 agreement to report future allegations. Today, the Senate bill appears on its way to passing the House. As one aide to a prominent Democratic House member puts it, "Two months ago, I’d have told you that this bill didn’t have a chance in hell here. Now, it looks good."
That the Senate — a predominantly Catholic body — would pass legislation exceeding what Law was then willing to support shows how the Geoghan scandal has weakened the cardinal’s political influence. Fifty years ago, says Thomas O’Connor, the dean of historians at Boston College, "the idea that the legislature would go against a cardinal’s wishes would have been unthinkable." Today, with Catholic legislators still composing a majority of both bodies, it betrays the cardinal’s declining clout. In the days since the Senate legislation passed, some Catholic politicians have even drafted measures making it tougher for the Church to hide pedophile priests. Last week, Senator Marian Walsh (D–West Roxbury) filed a bill that would make it a state crime for employers to enable employees to assault children.
While the momentum behind these bills relates directly to what Senator Walsh, who has carefully followed the Geoghan story, calls "the horror and tragedy of this circumstance," other signs suggest that the influence of both Law and the archdiocese is waning on Beacon Hill. Last week, for instance, the House of Representatives passed legislation that would require private health plans to cover contraceptives as they do other prescription drugs. The vote signaled a major upset for the Church, which had managed to block this bill in the House for five years.
It’s true that several factors contributed to the legislation’s ultimate success. First, it enjoyed tremendous support this year, not only from women’s groups, but also, however unintentionally, from insurance companies. Moreover, as many as 92 representatives signed on to it and, in recent weeks, they pressured House Speaker Tom Finneran to bring it to the floor for debate. It didn’t hurt that while the bill was advancing, Finneran faced the threat of an uprising by rank-and-file members who disdained the Speaker’s autocratic style. State House insiders suspect Finneran allowed this bill to reach the floor as a way to appease the unhappy reps and prevent a coup.
But the measure’s success must also be chalked up to the fact that it was proceeding just as the Geoghan story began to unravel. The Massachusetts Catholic Conference (MCC), the archdiocese’s lobbying arm, remained conspicuously silent this time around — unlike last spring, when MCC director Gerald D’Avolio made plain the Church’s long-standing opposition to the birth-control measure. Not until the last moment, as the bill came up for a vote on January 30, did the Church’s lobbyists put up a fight, pushing for a provision exempting groups affiliated with the Church from covering contraceptives. That move ultimately failed.
Simply put, then, the fallout from the clergy-abuse scandal contributed to a landmark victory for the Church’s legislative opponents. "For heaven’s sake," one House member who has long backed the bill says, "the Catholic Church doesn’t need any more bad publicity right now. It cannot be on offense when it’s on defense."
