From time immemorial, religion has been more powerful than government or statute. Sadly, while there's been healthy progress in creating a well-defined separation between church and state, that separation has not been without abuses.
And yet, like the walls of Jericho, the barriers may be crumbling.
Just a few days ago, Rep. Phil Lyman, R-Blanding, announced that he would be joining with Rep. Angela Romero, D-Salt Lake City, in moving forward with a bill to end the long-standing clergy exception to the mandatory reporting of crimes revealed in confessions.
Romero had introduced HB90 back in 2020, but it stalled out, only to find a temporary grave in the House Rules Committee. That was a disgrace.
In his widely reported statement to the press—and responsive to the most recent stories of churches, including Mormonism, protecting the abusers within their faiths—Lyman asserted his concern: "Families and individuals devastated by physical, emotional or sexual abuse should find safety and protection in the law, not loopholes," he said. Bravo, Phil Lyman. Bravo, Angela Romero.
Utah's laws mandate that anyone who becomes aware of abuse or neglect must immediately report it to family services, a peace officer, or any law enforcement agency. Abuse is defined as physical, emotional or sexual. The glitch: The presence of the "religious exception" protects the perpetrators and subjects their victims to further abuse—something clearly illustrated by the recent reports of LDS treatment of confessed sex crimes in Virginia and Arizona.
When HB90 was first proposed in 2020, the Salt Lake City Catholic Diocese vigorously opposed it. Jean Hill, the diocese's Director of Life, Justice and Peace, said that such a law would force individuals to choose between "the most sacrosanct part of their religious beliefs and imprisonment—the very situation the First Amendment was meant to protect against.We must resist the intrusion of civil authorities into the sacred domain of personal conscience and religious practice."
Frankly, it is beyond me how anyone or any church can seek to protect a system in which children can be abused, and wherein abusers can simply spill their guts to clergy and be absolved—only to continue with their crimes. This isn't about the First Amendment or freedom of religion. It's about protecting the kids we love.
Recent publicity about the Latter-day Saint Church's abuse hotlines—and its lay clergy holding members' unspeakable offenses secret—has brought the subject front-and-center. Yet still, there's a great resistance to fixing the unfortunate caveat in the law, one that allows the avoidance of criminal penalties and opportunities for the abuser to continue with the abuse.
To put it into perspective, there's no question that churches may provide a sense of life's purpose and a belief that there's an omnipotent being who hears and answers prayers. The problem is that they all have an inherent problem with the concept of authority and that, from their earliest years, children are groomed to accept the understanding that authority cannot be questioned without bringing on God's wrath.
That's the scary part, simply because humankind is fallible. People have their dark sides, a certain percentage of clergy—whether paid or voluntary—are corrupted in the most-evil ways and those who would abuse the young often ascend to positions in which they can constantly interface with children.
Over recent years, the public has become more aware of the dangers lingering within the darkness of religious institutions. Eye openers like the movie Spotlight—which focused on the sexual abuse of children by clergy within the Boston Catholic Diocese—have shown that churches will often go to extremes to hide the horrific deeds of "God's servants" and that, without the encouragement of others coming forward, the abuse may continue and/or remain hidden for years. Confessed perpetrators enjoy the same.
Religions are seen as being of God, and there's a general acceptance that its ministers are merely extensions of God's hand. So how can any youngster consider dishonoring or defying that authority? In religion's most rabid manifestations, abuse of that perceived authority has ruined lives, destroyed the inner foundations of self-respect and confidence and, in some of the worst examples, ended in mass suicide.
Here in Utah, we don't need to look very far to see examples of how religion has done terrible damage instead of enriching lives, particularly for children. Mormonism, and its off-shoots, have become some of the most fascinating focuses of news organizations and exposé books; millions of watchers have been glued to their TVs for the documentaries on Warren Jeffs, the horrors of the Lafferty brothers and the conviction that God's will must be done—even when that includes murder.
If it's true that no one is above the law, and that victims must have the right to legal avenues, every human being should support an end to the religious exclusion, which protects the reputation of religious organizations while turning a blind eye to the abuse of our most tender trusts.
Sadly, both Lyman and Romero believe HB90 is an uphill battle. As Romero put it, "because you're going up against religious institutions who feel like by not doing an exemption that you're going to compromise them and their religious beliefs, which is not the case."
Rep. Lyman adds, "In my mind, it's fairly black-and-white. Take out the exemption and then let the various churches respond in their policy at how to work under the new context of that and I think they would find very productive ways of doing that."
One thing is clear: HB90 needs to see highly vocal public support. Talk, write, cry-out to your legislators. This is a serious matter. Children need our protection.
The author is a retired businessman, novelist, columnist, and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He lives in Riverton, Utah with his wife, Carol, and the beloved ashes of their mongrel dog.
