Cardinal George Pell, who was convicted and then acquitted of sexual abuse, reflects on the nature of suffering, Pope Francis’ papacy and the humiliations of solitary confinement in his jailhouse memoir.
Prison Journal, which recounts the first five months of Pell’s 404 days in solitary lock-up, also provides a play-by-play of Pell’s legal case and gives personal insights into one of the most divisive figures in the Catholic hierarchy today, according to an advance copy obtained by The Associated Press.
To his supporters and even some detractors, Pell is a victim of a terrific perversion of justice. To his critics, he is the symbol of everything that has gone wrong with the Catholic Church’s wretched response to clergy sexual abuse.
Due out December 15, the book likely won’t budge anyone from either camp, but it is a fascinating read nonetheless.
It is at times a spiritual meditation, a defiant assertion of innocence and a morbidly voyeuristic view into the daily grind of prison life — all of it narrated by a man who for a time was one the most powerful Catholic cardinals in the world.
Prison Journal: The Cardinal Makes His Appeal is the first volume of a set being published by Ignatius Press, the US-based Catholic publisher, which has made no secret that it hopes sales will help Pell pay his sizeable legal bills.
Pell left his job as the Vatican treasurer in 2017 to face charges in Australia that he sexually molested two 13-year-old choir boys in the sacristy of the Melbourne cathedral in 1996.
After a first jury deadlocked, a second unanimously convicted him and he was sentenced to six years in prison. The conviction was upheld on appeal only to be thrown out by Australia’s High Court, which in April found there was reasonable doubt in the testimony of his lone accuser.
Pell’s trial took place against the backdrop of Australia’s reckoning with decades of child sexual abuse brought to light by the years-long Royal Commission inquiry into institutional abuse, which found that 7 per cent of Australia’s Catholic priests raped and molested children.
For many of his supporters, Pell was convicted as a scapegoat for all the church’s sins.
Pell, though, had been dogged for years by allegations that he mishandled cases of abusive clergy when he was archbishop of Melbourne and later Sydney.
Specifically, he was accused of creating a victims’ compensation program in Melbourne mainly to protect the church’s assets and of using aggressive tactics to discourage victims’ lawsuits.
Pell repeatedly denied wrongdoing and has apologised to victims for what he called the “profoundly evil” actions of predatory priests.
He has defended his record, though he has described some of his encounters with victims as unfortunate. He strongly denied he ever abused the choirboys.
“The pedophilia crisis remains the greatest blow the church has suffered in Australia,” Pell writes in his diary.
“If anyone in the mid-nineties knew the extent of the problem, they did not say so publicly, or to me privately. We thought the Melbourne Response would finish its work in a few years.”
The book begins February 27, 2019, on Pell’s first day in prison. A diligent reporter with a lot of time on his hands, Pell describes the daily routine of solitary confinement in all its tedium: the humiliation of strip searches, the profanities shouted by prisoners he never sees, the requests for a broom to sweep his cell that go unmet.
But Pell also appreciates the occasional joys: his tea kettle, an extra glass of milk from a guard, the sun during his daily hour of outdoor exercise.
He lives for visits, phone calls and letters from friends and strangers alike offering support and prayers — and, from a handful of prisoner pen pals who offer advice on coping with detention.