In the aftermath of an investigation by two Mennonite institutions, that found my late father guilty of sexual misconduct (June 7, 2021, page 24), I am trying to decide whether I am a victim or a perpetrator.
My father, Frank H. Epp, died 35 years ago. I have lived longer without him than with him alive. Nevertheless, as a person with widespread presence and influence in Mennonite and other circles, he continues to generate both sunshine and shadow in my professional and personal life.
I have devoted much of my writing and teaching career to elevating marginalized individuals and groups in the Mennonite past and present, especially women. As a feminist scholar, I am pushed to accept, claim and confront my father’s alleged misconduct. It is hard to do that when neither I, nor anyone else, can ask him directly about his actions or feelings of almost 40 years ago.
I am not attempting to redeem his reputation. Or even to refute the investigation’s findings. I want to offer insight into what happens to family of a long-ago deceased person convicted of sexual misconduct by Mennonite institutions. These are my opinions alone.
Current protocols for Mennonite church investigations of misconduct are said to be “victim-centred.” This approach was necessary to respond to, and redress, past abuses, but it has led, I believe, to an imbalance in fairness, justice and compassion for all involved.
Recent experience with the process made me feel as both victim and perpetrator. I repeatedly wondered which label fit best, as my emotional responses ranged from anger and indignation to shame and guilt.
I am clearly not a victim, in that I am not the person who made allegations against Frank after he died. I am sad for the pain this individual carried. Yet I, and others in my family, were made to feel like the perpetrator when anger was directed towards us, the family of the accused.
Shouldn’t I have known what was going on? Shouldn’t I have stopped him? No to both questions. Yet I feel guilty, somehow. Like the perpetrator.
Church leaders and others offer prayers for my “healing,” as if I am a victim. When I see this, I ask myself from what exactly am I healing? The pain of learning about my father’s behaviour in this case left me long ago.
I realize that I need healing from the pain inflicted by church institutions themselves. I am grateful that at least one leader acknowledged that “gaps” in policy created new victims.
Those institutions—Mennonite Central Committee Canada and Mennonite Church Eastern Canada, in this case—have yet to create policies and procedures imbued with fair process, natural justice, transparency and compassion for both accuser and accused. Not to mention all the friends and families of those involved. This applies whether the accused is alive or dead.
Some key elements of institutional policy and process need to change so that family, of either the accuser or the deceased accused, are not forced to carry the burden of accusation or defence.
Church agencies must develop alternate policies and procedures for trying and convicting the dead—principles and steps that are now absent. The dead should have advocacy and representation. As should the living. Both the accuser and the accused must be directly involved in an investigation and its outcomes.
The accuser has the right to safety and protection. The accused has the right to a voice, whether that expresses denial and defiance or regret and confession. The accused, or a representative if they are deceased, should know precisely what they are accused of and by whom.
Natural justice assumes that investigations are imbued with fairness, absence of bias and willingness to listen to all sides. There should be openness, clarity and accountability on the part of everyone involved. Confidentiality should not be used to protect institutions and their policies from scrutiny and accountability. Victims are brave to come forward and need to be protected, but the level of opacity and secrecy that now exists only leads to misplaced and damaging speculation.
My family was told to maintain confidentiality about the investigation within our “small circle.” In other words, we were told to be quiet, despite our possible need for professional, spiritual or friendship support. This directive only reinforced for me the feeling that we were taking the place of the perpetrator.
During, and even more so in the aftermath of, a church investigation and public statements, the shaming and erasure of individuals found guilty appear to be primary goals. Anabaptists have a long history of shunning members not without “spot or wrinkle.” While a minority of orthodox Anabaptist groups continue the doctrinal practice of shunning, so-called progressive Mennonites often lean toward shaming and erasure as ways to maintain purity within the fold.
Philosopher Martha Nussbaum suggests something similar. In her analysis of the #MeToo movement, Nussbaum says, “#MeToo has helped win accountability. But the fact that so much of the #MeToo movement is social rather than legal creates a problem: how to secure justice and protect equal dignity when punishment is meted out not by impartial legal institutions but by shaming and stigmatization” (quoted in The New Yorker, 2021).
The legal system is not perfect, especially with regard to sexual misconduct, and has a long journey to incorporate restorative justice into its systems. Yet, I fear that retribution and shaming are becoming norms in church investigations and findings, rather than restorative processes that lead to dignity for all.
As the daughter of a man posthumously found guilty of sexual misconduct, I feel like both victim and perpetrator. I call on church institutions with responsibility for these life-changing policies and procedures, to review and revise them with compassion and justice for all as a foundation.
Marlene Epp is author of Mennonite Women in Canada: A History (2008), and Women Without Men: Mennonite Refugees of the Second World War (2000). She lives in Waterloo, Ont.
Sidebar
I realize that I need healing from the pain inflicted by church institutions themselves. I am grateful that at least one leader acknowledged that ‘gaps’ in policy created new victims.
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