Abuse victim, now 40, returns to the scene

Understanding cultural impact is important in dealing with abuse.
KNIGHT RIDDER NEWSPAPERS
HACKENSACK, N.J. -- He was only 11 when the trips to the rectory basement of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist in Paterson, N.J., he recalls, became journeys to hell.
Inside the towering, Gothic-style church, where Johnny Vega's parents and scores of other Latino newcomers found comfort and strength as they built new lives here, a priest sexually assaulted Vega and other boys over several years, he says. That was three decades ago, when such indignities often brought shame to a victim and his family, and the solution usually was secrecy.
Now, at 40, Vega -- who repressed memories of the abuse -- is on a full-throttle mission to face his demons and make sure that the church and Latino parents never again foment a climate that discourages children who are victimized by a priest or other church official from reporting the abuse.
"I wonder about other people, if they were abused and haven't told anyone," says Vega, who lives with his wife and two sons in Wallington. "I wonder if they couldn't do anything about it either. I think, also, that if I had done something, said something earlier, maybe other people would not have been abused."
SNAP
This year, Vega founded a Hispanic chapter of the national Survivor Network of Those Abused by Priests, because, he says, Hispanics have additional cultural obstacles that impede efforts to cope with the abuse and its lingering effects. He wants to bring together Hispanic victims from different states for a one-day meeting, but coming up with the right place and the money to pull it off has been an obstacle. And he is doing what he has contemplated -- and dreaded -- since the priest abuse scandal first broke in Boston two years ago. He is reaching out to officials of the Paterson Diocese, and to the clergy of the very parish where he says he was abused. The most daring and frightening step Vega has taken is requesting a meeting with Monsignor Mark Giordani of St. John's.
It will mean stepping into the rectory where he remembers being abused, for the first time since he was a youth. But, he says, he is determined to barrel through those fears.
"I want to make sure that our children are safe from priests or other church employees who are child molesters," Vega says a few days before the scheduled meeting. "But SNAP Latino and I are not against the church. I just want the monsignor and the diocese to have a sense of what SNAP is, of how the abuse impacted our lives, and to listen to our stories. We want to help make things better; we want a positive, healthy bond with the church. We want to be able to go to church without thinking about all the things we went through."
The meeting
It is early on July 14.
The meeting between Vega and Giordani is scheduled for 8 p.m.
Vega has been preparing for this evening for about a month. He has seen a therapist, he has had countless talks with his wife, he has written down what he wants to say, then deleted it, then written it again and deleted it again. He has grown more anxious as the day has drawn closer.
What if he loses his composure during a moment when so much -- for the accusers he is representing and for himself -- is at stake? What if the monsignor reacts defensively when Vega presents him with a list of requests -- to attend a meeting of SNAP Latino, to let Vega address a Spanish- and English-language Mass about his experience and how adults must listen to children who want to speak about an alleged assault, about how he still believes in the Catholic Church.
"I am a mess," Vega says during a break from his job at a roofing and siding company. "I've been playing with my hands, I'm trying to concentrate on my work. I left myself more work to do today on purpose. But the closer the hour gets, the more nervous I get. My boss was speaking to me, and I didn't even notice."
Now it is shortly before 8 p.m. Heavy rains have stopped, but the sky is unusually dark for this hour.
A SNAP board member, David Cerulli, has come with Vega.
"I couldn't do this alone," Vega says.
Before Vega began to recall the abuse two years ago, his life was already an ordeal. He carried unfocused anger, he'd punch walls, he was demanding of girlfriends and, later, his wife. He attempted suicide three times. But he never understood why he was like that until the memories came rushing to him, he says.
"I was very depressed, and I know that had to be why," he says. "I wish I could apologize to some people I lashed out at."
Vega, who has large, round, brown eyes and a friendly face, glances nervously at his watch. He has tears in his eyes.
"It's time," he says to Cerulli.
Slowly, but purposefully, they walk toward the door of the rectory.
The outcome
The meeting lasts more than two hours.
At the beginning, while waiting for the monsignor to appear, Vega and Cerulli linger near the entrance of the rectory.
"It all started coming back to me," Vega says. "I remembered the priests' bedrooms upstairs. I remembered people saying certain things, doing certain things."
Vega, as he describes it, told Giordani about the abuse, what SNAP Latino's mission is, how the abuse still affected the victims, even in middle age.
Giordani listened and expressed sympathy, Vega said after leaving the meeting about 10:30 p.m.
"He spoke about what he'd heard about abuse and said he had inherited a lot of problems," Vega says. "He spoke about how important the Hispanic community is, and he seemed to understand a lot about the culture. I was amazed at how positive he was to us. He really seemed interested in what I was saying, and in understanding. I felt comfortable."
Vega ran down the list of requests. Without a trace of hesitation, Giordani accepted all of them. Vega will be addressing English- and Spanish-language Masses, and Giordani is scheduled to attend an August meeting of SNAP Latino.
"He agreed to everything, and took out his calendar and committed himself to several things and dates," Vega says.
Vega asked to tour the rectory. Giordani rose up from his seat, Vega says, and said: "Follow me."
"It was very emotional, I had to stop a lot and just cry," he says. "Sometimes I didn't know if I could take another step. I was shaking, especially when I passed the door of the priest who first abused me. The monsignor would look back at me and just pause and wait. It was like he could feel what I was going through at that moment."
Afterward, Giordani showed them the parish's spacious new gymnasium. Vega mentioned he was looking for a place for a SNAP Latino summit.
Giordani offered the gym. That is where the summit will be held, at no charge, in April of next year.
Church response
Marianna Thompson, a spokeswoman for the diocese, says helping the abuse victims heal and restore their faith is a priority for the church. She said Friday that Giordani was too busy to speak about the meeting.
"That is our mission," she says, "to heal and reconcile and to bring the faithful back to the Catholic Church. I'm glad it was a good experience for Mr. Vega. He had the courage and desire to reach out."
Decades of scars, Vega says, preclude him from feeling completely triumphant over his progress.
"Actions speak louder than words, of course," he says. "Time will tell if everything that was promised happens. But I'm amazed and very relieved. What Giordani did for me and for SNAP Latino was a big, big step in our healing. I feel more energized about what I'm doing with SNAP and for victims. I feel that now I can go back to them and say, 'There are good priests; there are people who care and want to help.'"