Fr. Uhlenkott and Child Pornography Scandal at Gonzaga 2013

Child Pornography Raid at Gonzaga University in Spokane April 2013

Opinion and Insight

As I am one who attempts to be a humanist, I am going to comment on a few potential factors which have not been adequately addressed within the coverage of this case.  These are my two cents worth: 

1) This man was obtaining his paraphernalia from a country and region that recognizes age of consent as 16 years of age (Toronto, Canada).  It appears that he is NOT entertained by 3, 6, 8, or 12 year olds, and that makes a bit of a difference in how these stories are portrayed. 

2) While there are several cases of horrific abuses by clergy, the witch-hunt which has entertained and enraged so many people is likely to play part in biases of fairness and justice in this case.  It is not a simple matter of the blackness/whiteness of the law here, no matter how quick one wants certainty in their conclusions.

3) From a Psycho-analysis perspective, one might argue that in many cases, the Church's celibacy requirements have helped perpetuate this sort of theme throughout the Catholic Priesthoods. 

a) We very likely have a case here of a man who began his ministry in adolescence, and ceased internalized sexual (and psychological) development as a consequence of his ministry, thereby becoming a "fractured psyche". 

b) Fr. U recently underwent invasive medical procedures for testicular cancer.  Intuition might lead one to an insight that facing his own mortality has contributed further to that fractured sense of self, otherwise called here, "a fracture experience" (Menzies 2005). 

c)  If one were to dig up research on near death experiences, one might discover that often these occurrences tend to heighten sexual appetite.  It is not uncommon to see a person who has gone through a "fracture experience" act upon that appetite at the level where they left off in their sexual (and psychological) development.  The outcome can look something like this: 

Active abnegation of sexual exploration around the ages 12 through 18. ----> A near death or "fracture experience" occurs at age 40 inciting heightened sexual appetite. ----> Sexual exploration at the age of 40 begins at a psychological level shared by many 16 year olds and thus 40 year old "recognizes" or is drawn to "equal" spectrum development.

This man has not been accused of molesting children, as of yet.  He has been accused of possessing pornography that portrays people under the age of 18 and above the age of 16.  It has not been proven that he is a pedophile.  He would be considered an ephebophile at best with the information available. 

Logically, at this point, we are looking at a conflict of laws of countries, and which country is most correct?

Sleep Well, Friend. We'll Be Along Soon.

     As I was walking behind the three of them on my way to spend the last moments I could with my dying friend, the man occasionally glanced quickly over his shoulder.  His countenance was one of defense and I got the impression he believed I was going to try and mug him.  It was most likely the case that he was trying to see if he could make room for me to get past himself, the orderly, and the woman being wheeled down the narrow hall, but their pace was a bit too rushed for me to attempt to over take their position without an embarrassing effort.  We remained in proximity for the entire trek down to the elevator.  Along the way, I heard the orderly mumble something to the woman, to which she replied, "No, I think it's going to be a while still."

     When we all reached the elevator, a nurse having come from the basement level held the door while we piled in.  The man entered first, and then the orderly wheeled the woman around so at that point, as we were facing each other, my suspicions were confirmed; she is very pregnant.  All the while, I'm thinking about the dichotomy of how one soul is about to enter this world as one is leaving.  As I let my mind wander, I fictitiously pondered for a moment if they knew of my dying friend.  After progressing through the floors of the hospital, I was the last to leave the elevator.  

     The room is directly to the right of the lift foyer, so close in fact that from just outside the elevator, I can look into his room.  The privacy curtain had been drawn, so I was unable to see him immediately.  The cart holding the yellow protective gowns and gloves for visitors had been there about 8 hours earlier.  It was now gone, and I was unsure if he is still in this room.  Did they move him?

     As I walked toward the room, I was quickly stopped by a nurse who asked me who I was there to see.  I somewhat expected this given that I was there at 7 minutes to midnight.  I said my friend's name, and he asked if I was a relative.  I told him, "No. I'm a friend of the family.  I've spoken with his mother, and she left a message with the nurses station letting you know I would be here."

     He nodded, and said, "Were you aware that he has died?"

     Somewhat shocked and slightly irritated, I stated, "No. They were supposed to call me. When did he die?"  I knew he was dying, but I truly expected that someone would contact me closer to the event.

     "He died around 11pm."

     That was almost an hour ago! Again, with grief this time, I stated that someone was supposed to call me, and asked if anyone had contacted his mother.  She had been there earlier that day, but had not gotten much rest the two days previously, and had gone home knowing that she was most likely going to receive a phone call sometime soon.  The nurse informed me that she had been called and had already come and gone.

     The hospital staff had begun the process of preparing his body for transport.  The nurse kindly removed some of the gauze and left the room allowing me to remain.  After a few moments, I looked at the clock and it ticked at about 15 seconds until midnight.  I watched all the hands combine.

A minute or so later, I walked out of the room.  I could see no one in the hall.  As I waited for the elevator, I noticed the clock there was showing just 10 seconds to midnight.  This irony of time was little comfort as I too watched this clock's hands combine.  As each second slowly rolled by, I stared and contemplated the importance of my own last tick. 

This is a true story. 

Tornados

My dreams of last night included scenes with intense tornados. It is now 10:24 am on Sunday morning, September 6th, 2009. I do not live in an area where tornados are common, so it's an odd sight to imagine. I wonder what tomorrow will be like.

Replication: A Glimpse at a Family System

The long and the short answer to this was that I loved him. The problem was that I did not know how to love him. I did not listen to him when he expressed through every action that he engaged that he wanted to die. I was punished for asking; demanding; even begging for him to live. It took me a long time and enormous amounts of wasted energy to realize that he had cut me out of his most intimate moments, which I longed to share. I was so naive. I listened to what he said and turned a blind eye to what he did (or didn't do), never understanding that that too was a language. He lived out his suicide script and he's been dead now for a little over 4 years. In that time, I believe I've gone def.

Over the past few weeks, I have taken on an inappropriate parental style role for my friend's son. This kid is turning out to be quite the little shit in a passive/aggressive fashion. I've watched this child grow up to the young adult he is today, and I've been tracking his progress. There was a time when I looked into his eyes and knew beyond a doubt that someday, he would get in touch with his anger and abandonment experiences. Like clockwork, he has arrived, and it will not be difficult to detect the fallout. Some time ago, foolishly, I attempted to intercede with he and his family system. As a result, I am now, in his eyes, part of that system, and now subject to the covert and overt vengeful behavior that he is using to cope with the pressures associated with post-adolescence.

This evening, though it was communicated in a playful manner, Sonny stares me straight in the eyes with a mocking glare as he pulls a pocket knife out of his right front pants pocket, and opens it up with a flick of his wrist. As he is holding this, never taking my eyes from his eyes, I popped him in the gut causing him to lurch and laugh. I did not laugh, did not smile, and with the straightest face I could muster, did not remove my gaze. He said "Ow! I wasn't ready for that. That hurt!". My reply was, in a calm and matter-of-fact demeanor , "Don't ever do that to me again. Ever!" He walked out of the kitchen, and I resumed interactions as best as I could not drawing any more attention to the matter. It at a time like this where I will sit back, re-examine my roles in this friendship, and step away.

This child has informed me that he is not going to constructively work through his anger, and out of compassion for him and for myself, I am going to remove myself from involvement in his family pathology. I am not equipped to help him, and he is not looking for help, and to force it upon him would be most ill on my part. Despite the probability that his continuation of this behavior will lead to death (of himself and/or of others around him), I must remind myself that he has choices, and he is exercising those choices, and those around them are also making choices. I am not God, and I am not able to rescue someone who is not going to live.

A part of me is still angry that I couldn't save him. The "him" here is now arbitrary, because there have been many "hims" that have fit this kind of description. There was a time when I would have chased this child to the ends of the world to try and save him. This is my problem to work through, and no one else's. There is much that I am capable of when it comes to helping; however; I cannot save him from himself.

A Place to Start--Making Real

There was a time when I was adventurous and sought out answers to mysteries of life. The Christian churches that I was exposed to almost always had something to say, but seemed to lack appreciation for the obviousness of certain evidence, and were willing to sacrifice any who couldn't/wouldn't restrain themselves from in depth "why" inquisitions. Science is methodical, wonderful, and informative; however; it seems that there are times that an ultimate goal of objectivity is taken to such an extreme, the observer becomes a monstrous machine capable of remarkable atrocities. Combine these two heuristics and we might have a repeat of the destruction of WWII, or beautiful inspirational people such as Nelson Mandela. At some point in my early 20s, I developed inclinations towards Eastern Philosophies of Tao, and the I Ching, and through varieties of meditations and searches, my view of time and space changed in such a way that I made it a practice to question and explore significance of "living in the moment".

Realizations that every moment that passes by is a new place to start had propelled me through my journey of life exploration. Something's happened along the way. It has been sometime since I have engaged in making (myself) real. Philosophically, one is not able to make (self) real if one is not examining perceptions in accordance with what is real. Such a curse and blessing of human existence it is to have some concept or awareness that what is experienced (sensory and emotionally) is only minutely, if at all, related to what is real.

So with this kind of information to work with, now what? Zen buddhist says, "Chop wood. Carry water."

It Turns Me On When He Texts Me That Way!

Sadly, I have to admit to myself that I have been spending entirely too much time surfing the net to fulfill a pornographic desire. I qualify this as too much time because the trade-offs have been studying, and working . . . two areas of which the consequences of success are far longer lasting than those obtained by sexual gratification. May I continually remind myself that an erection does not constitute personal growth!

Since I have spent countless moments that I will surely pay for in various dollar amounts, and other costly commodities, I have become quite an expert in some of these sexual markets. For example, the most prized goods in this internet warehouse of lusty desires seem to be the men between ages of 22 and 26, who are well hung, height and weight proportionate, have absolutely no boundaries, and are willing to bare all without telling all. The costs include an enormous amount of time and energy one will spend for this beauty to become available--probably beyond the expiration date on the label and after the warranty has expired (because he's been around the block a time or ten). Another is a depletion of self worth because the rash doesn't go away and a state of desperation has now settled to stay. Probably one of the most expensive is the sacrifice of viable opportunities that are available as one holds out. Add a computer into the mix and these trends are recurrent.

So was it the internet that turned me into a social idiot, or is it that I'm a social idiot and I must use the internet to gain a social life? I'll not suppose an answer to that in either direction at this time. It's sufficient enough for me to say that I spend far too much time on the internet "pretend sexing", and not enough time feeding my brain!

The True Meaning of . . . . . . . .

It is Christmas (actually it was yesterday), and I have spent the entire day in bed sick, first with reconciling myself to the world, and also with a cold. Phone calls, emails, and other forms of communication were very manageable, so there was a moment or two of reflection, and the inspirations derived came and went with little-to-no consequence. An exercise in mediocrity produced from reduced levels of stimulation has transformed me to lump and log syndrome. My willpower to do any other is diminished.

This has occurred to me:

We studied a little bit of William James in my philosophy and psychology classes. He was very popular during his time, and quite congruent with the Zeitgeist of burgeoning American thinking that seemed to fuel ideals such as manifest destiny through existentialism. Along with John Dewey, James was considered a co-founder of a thought movement termed pragmatism. Psychology of the time referred to this form of thinking, and therapeutic technique as functionalism. The oversimplified basic premise of these systems of thought was, if it works, do it (Nike would have been nothing without the work that James produced). I bring up James, and functionalism as a topic because this variety of thinking seems to be extremely prevalent, and is a major root to business and social philosophy today. It seems too, that armed with this philosophy as a compass, we have focused mostly on implied antecedents and misunderstood how they are connected to real consequences.

Now, I'm not critiquing James for his contributions (mostly because I have little more than a summary of his work to pull from). I will, however, criticize any just do it strategies which strive solely towards producing instant gratification with little (if one acknowledges degrees) accountability and responsibility for consequences. It seems that it is within my nature to compulsively berate and ever-so-slightly belittle (again, if one acknowledges degrees) commercialization, stringent uniformity, and highly celebrated pathological narcissism (I'm thinking Dick Cheney) spun around to appear as a social service. Because this seems to be part of my nature, I suspect this has much to do with why I tend to be socially awkward.

I struggle with the Christmas season. The warm fuzzy feelings that I once cherished during this time of year are all but gone, and they seem ghostly to me now. It is around this time of year that I shut off the television, the radio, and do nearly everything I can to drown out the commercials. If I could grow insensitive and delusional toward the consistent stream of bullshit that is shoveled through every grocery store, shopping center, and department store to be found in this blessed two month period, then I would probably join right in and feel just as happy as everyone appears to be in these gaudy displays of cheer; but alas, I have been cursed with a few reality genes that just don't let the anesthetic vapors seep in.

A dear friend of mine refers to this time of year as Organized Joy. It reminds me of the history lessons surrounding the inculcation of Nazism in early 1930's--even if you didn't support the Party, you were supportive. Ever watch a crowd of people turn on a key speaker during the middle of his/her speech? If it were legal to bring pitchforks and torches to those events, human shishkabob becomes an option for the menu. Being a person who has something to say that isn't fun and festive runs this kind of risk almost every holiday season. It would be interesting to see how many people, the day after Christmas, remember the poor man who was trampled to death during a shopping stampede in New York last month. Emphasis on realism tends more often than not to fall in to the not so fun category, so speeches and lessons about real dangers of Santa CEO are probably going to receive a most aggressive rejection. Moral of this story: Don't step out of line, or you're gonna get forked!

With that said, I'd like to come back to just do it policies. This year, more than any other that I've had the pleasure to participate, has been most wrought with rot! The same bastards that stand on a bandwagon of less government do so with the message that government is just stealing tax payer's contributions. It's funny how those who scream the most seem to be the worst for waste, especially when they advocate programs that are designed to fail more than succeed (thus never proving themselves wrong). The thievery, scandals, lies, facades, and out right blatant abuses of power have been so prolific that it will probably take decades to fish out how we have come to this wonderful state of national slavery. It is my opinion that some of our political figureheads should be investigated for participation in treason. Problems arise though, because that kind of charge would probably fall under a category of frivolous law suit. When I was a kid, the big enemy was the KGB. Today we have a more general term--terrorism. It's a brilliant strategy because you can apply this terminology to any country, race, religion, or people, and it broadens the scope of impact when there is a need to rally money and support for a company's industry and CEO's retirement fund. . .uh. . . I mean. . .uh, for a "peace effort". The concept of "whatever works" seems to coincide nicely with "whatever makes the most money". War mongering continues to be a profitable venture.

As a marginalized member of this society, I wonder if I'm going to fall victim to Pragmatism with a limited fascist vision. Merry Christmas!