The Outer Limits

Should we dismiss lawsuits that accuse priests of sexual abuse years after the fact? Absolutely.

by Christine M. Flowers

One of the first things I learned in law school was the concept of "statutes of limitation." Since my decision to embark on a legal career was motivated by high ideals and a borderline obsession with Atticus Finch (I saw To Kill A Mockingbird at least 20 times), the idea that someone could avoid being prosecuted for a crime simply because of the passage of time was troubling. After all, if you are chatting aimlessly on a cell phone and inadvertently steer your SUV into my bike, should I lose the right to sue if I wait five years to take you to court? No, said my first-semester mind, of course not.

Clearly, the untrained legal mind, which to many people means anyone with a conscience, cannot fathom why time is such a crucial element. There is a certain sympathy with victims of wrongdoing that discourages us from accepting any obstacle to vindication. But the longer I studied and the farther away I traveled from my undergraduate self, I realized that statutes of limitation are one of the things about our legal system that keep us civilized.

Consider what would happen if they didn't exist. That cell-phone toting menace would travel through the next few years blithely unaware that at any moment, she could be hauled into court. One day, a decade after the accident, she is served with a complaint filed by yours truly. While I have the burden of proving that Ms. Sprint PCS hit me, she would have the difficult task of defending herself against a claim that arose many years before. And she would have the added burden of living under the threat of litigation for an indeterminate number of years. The psychic toll is unquantifiable.

Think, then, how much more difficult it is to live with the uncertainty when the negligent or criminal conduct involves a possible prison sentence, and not a simple money judgement. This is exactly what is happening with Roman Catholic clergy implicated in the recent sexual-abuse scandals. Earlier this month, a three-judge panel of the Superior Court of Pennsylvania ruled that the accused should not live with this sword of Damocles hanging over their heads and that lawsuits filed many years after the fact must be dismissed.

It is easy to condemn these men and women for the crimes that they have been charged with committing simply because the heinous acts were allegedly perpetrated against defenseless children. There is nothing more repellent. If the truth could survive, unscathed, throughout the years, and amounted to solid proof, then the prison gates should be flung open and the criminals brought to judgement. If it were only that easy.

In this country, we cherish the principle that an accused is innocent until proven guilty. We have created a system of checks and balances that ensures that a defendant is not tried in the court of public opinion and that any evidence presented against him or her has been tested for veracity and relevance. The Catholic Church and its members are just as entitled to due process as any other person or organization. That means that unless the evidence presented in support of the accusations of abuse is credible and has met the legal threshold, there can be no convictions. We would all do well to remember that the late Cardinal Bernardin was recklessly defamed by one alleged "victim" who recanted his story while the cardinal was on his deathbed. Fire does not always follow traces of smoke.

We are all victims of time, whether it be the added wrinkle on our brow, the graying hair, the slowing of our steps and, most importantly, the fading of our memories. Evidence fades too. And witnesses die. While it is a difficult thing to accept, there are some crimes that will never be solved, and that is the price we must pay when balancing the rights of the victim against those of the defendant. Justice delayed is indeed justice denied, a principle that applies equally to the wronged as well as the wrongfully accused.

Christine M. Flowers is a lawyer in Center City. If you would like to respond to this Slant or submit one of your own (750 words), contact Duane Swierczynski, editor in chief, City Paper, 123 Chestnut Street, Third Floor, Phila., Pa., 19106 or e-mail Duane Swierczynski.