Our free speech is a universal call to justice and peace

“It’s alright. You are safe. They have freedom of speech here.” Those wonderful words broke into my silent irritation at the sight of the mess and the noise outside Parliament the evening before the marriage of Prince William and Kate Middleton. One of the two young men walking behind me was visibly scared when he saw the demonstration about Britain’s continued presence in Afghanistan. His friend’s words, however, made me want to turn cartwheels for joy.

In spite of the untidiness and frequent disconnect, in spite of sometimes being regaled with sights and sounds we would rather not see, we have a freedom which is unmatched in many other countries across the world. We are not expected to ‘toe the party line’ and fall in unanimously behind every thought word and deed of David Cameron or any other Prime Minister.  The Opposition, or to give it its full title, the Loyal Opposition, does not expect to be silenced for objecting to whatever words of wisdom (real or apparent) which might come from across the other side of the Parliamentary chamber. We might have a superabundance of CCTV cameras positioned in every conceivable place, but their aim is not to spy on the legitimate activities of the law abiding general public.

It might seem unimportant, but a small, tangible sign of our democracy-in-action happened when, over the August Bank Holiday weekend, the poorly-regulated noise from a nearby fairground and an almost equally close music festival became unbearably loud. Personal complaints had no effect. Eventually, late at night and trapped indoors by the inescapable nuisance of window-rattling sound, I e-mailed my local MP. Within fifteen minutes of her office opening on the Tuesday morning, a response appeared in my Inbox. Since then, I have had two letters detailing the progress of the negotiations between the two adjacent local Councils. I am impressed! As with any human institution, nothing is perfect, but we do have a system which, by and large, works.

The Chief Justice of India P. Sathasivam, recently remarked that, “All the major legal systems of the world... recognise that the expression of facts and ideas and opinions can never be absolutely free. Words can do damage in many ways even if they are true, such as by prejudicing a trial or by inciting communal hatred... ‘free speech is what is left of speech after the law has had its say.’”

We have recently seen a very good example of that! A prospective demonstrator from the English Defence League argued his case for free speech and democracy – but the police still wisely moved the demonstration from the heavily Islamic and multicultural area of London’s Tower Hamlets to an area which could be more easily controlled. The man did not lose his right to protest, but neither did the residents of Tower Hamlets lose their right to safety.

The media play a huge part in, not only exercising our right to free speech, but also in channelling its exercise. How often do we know, for instance, more about the misbehaviour of celebrities than about their words and deeds which are to be highly commended? How often are so-called leaders of public opinion celebrities who have perhaps never been encouraged to think more deeply than their next photoshoot?

It is very noticeable that, at present, Pope Francis is extremely popular with the world’s media, which seems to hang on his every word regardless of the journalist’s agreement or disagreement with its content. So it is that many of the same stories, quotes and images are available time and again in both the religious and the secular press. It is not a problem: suddenly the world seems to be waking up to the fact that the Church has something to say which might be worth hearing and which might offer hope in a frequently troubled and violent scenario. Some have not noticed that the basic content of the Pope’s message happens to be the same as his predecessors over the course of the last 2,000 years. He just happens to say things differently, in catchy soundbites and with brilliantly personal, genuine and meaningfully spontaneous gestures. He has a gift which, surely, must be the envy of opinion leaders across the world. How many other Heads of State, for instance, could call for a day of fasting and prayer for peace in Syria and be assured that millions will hear and respond, regardless of their nationality, language, gender, colour and creed?

Certainly, Pope Francis has a delightful talent for saying the most profound things in words which anybody can understand. Perhaps that is one reason why the media are so eager to listen to what he will say next, knowing that it will probably be unexpected and will probably be in words which journalists and writers will wish they had thought of for their own use.

Take, for instance, the forthcoming visit to Assisi in order to celebrate the feast of St Francis on 4 October. The Bishop of Assisi, Domenico Sorrentino, said, “Just after he was elected Pope I sent him a letter on behalf of the diocese, reminding him that as Bishop of Assisi I live in the place where Francis undressed before his speechless father, Pietro di Bernardone, eight centuries ago, to free himself entirely for God and for his brothers... I remember him being really touched by this. So I took the liberty to say to Pope Francis: ‘So, Father, it would be great if among your many other commitments today, you came here at least to say the Our Father, as Francis did 800 years ago.’ The Pope’s answer really threw me. He said: ‘The Our Father? But I want to talk about how the Church should undress and somehow repeat that gesture Francis made and the values inherent in this gesture.’” What a call to simplicity – and yet unselfconsciously couched in words which really did hit the headlines!

Yet what happens when people have no chance of obtaining the rightful publicity that they need for justice and for peace? Pope Francis is trying to be ‘the voice of the voiceless’, but what about local advocates? Where is their voice heard? Where are they allowed to be heard? Why do some die before anybody pays attention? Take, for example, 4 year-old Daniel Pelka whose mother and stepfather recently beat and starved to death. It is only after, and as a result of, his death that things will change. Banner headlines across media outlets proclaimed the cruelty and injustice of his treatment – but in a country which is proud of its record for freedom of speech, why did we only become aware of Daniel after the event? How many others will never be heard?

It takes considerable effort, courage and time to sensitize the world to justice and peace. Even the incredible lead offered by Pope Francis will not change things overnight. Syria, in spite of a day of fasting and prayer, will be a problem today and tomorrow. Yet we could listen to the words of St Francis, who said, “Let us begin, for until now we have done nothing.” We could make a start. Our free speech is also a universal call to justice and peace.

The uniqueness of Jane

Jane was unique! Nobody knew her age or where she lived. Everybody said the same thing: “She has a sister somewhere”, but push for more information and there was none. Yet Jane was everywhere, her small, lean frame, huge grin and battered saucepan in every place where she should not have been. She was ageless. Jane could have been 60 or 160 years old. There was no way of telling.

There were two responses to Jane: most people tried to be invisible. Others attempted to become larger than life in the hopes of driving her away. It didn’t work. Hide in the house, and her big grin and friendly wave appeared at the window. Shut the door? She refused to go away, trapping the householders until they gave in and dealt with her needs.

Did Jane’s psychiatric condition have a name? Probably, but in the remote Zambian village of Lubwe, a diagnosis made little difference. There were no medicines for her unless she was sick. Wherever Jane should not have been, she was, and where she should have been, she wasn’t.

Jane’s ‘normal’ behaviour did not fit into most people’s scheme of things. She was a crafty old so-and-so. Many housewives complained of their unexpected visitor. “I put the food on the table, went into the next room for a few seconds and when I came out, she was in the house, beside the table and had eaten the whole lot!”

Leave a door or a gate only slightly ajar. Somehow, Jane would squeeze through the gap, into the house and into the kitchen, only agreeing to leave when her ancient, blackened saucepan could hold no more food… and then she would select a banana (always the best!) on her way out.

Nothing was safe when Jane was around. Sister Jean had long given up looking for her missing dress when, one morning, Jane arrived wearing it. By that stage the dress, stolen from the washing-line, was filthy and barely recognisable. Sister Jean did not ask for its return!

Jane’s nuisance-value was enormous. Yet there was something endearing about her grin and peculiar run as she escaped from her latest venture. Illness never troubled her. She had no worries, was never hungry and never put on weight. It was useless to scold her because Jane merely grinned and laughed aloud as she walked away, leaving the frustrated individual even more frustrated… and minus whatever it was that Jane had stolen in the first place.

Jane’s good health ensured she would probably outlive most people and she was probably one of the happiest women that most of us had ever seen. Someone wryly remarked that she would probably succeed in driving everybody else to an early grave!

Every so often, Jane vanished for a few days. People breathed a sigh of relief and then, just as they were enjoying their peace and quiet, she would reappear and the whole sequence would start all over again. Yet however much she exasperated people, nobody lifted a finger to hurt her. She was a fact of life.

One of Jane’s outstanding characteristics was that she refused to be ignored and, even if her behaviour was always directed by self-interest, nobody escaped her attention. In her own peculiar way, she was a community builder, partly because she demanded help from others and partly because, when she had temporarily disappeared from sight, people came together to talk about her latest escapades.

Jane was totally free. She belonged to everyone and to no-one. She received care from everybody, asked or unasked, but at the same time, nobody cared. They responded to her immediate request and then happily escorted her from their premises. She was unrestrained, walking and doing wherever she wanted. There was no local police station at that time, so her thefts were unchallenged, and, in any case, what court could have produced a lasting effect for her betterment?

Contrast Jane with some of those whom our ‘enlightened society’ allows to have ‘care in the community’. What would happen if they were to wander in and out of people’s houses, helping themselves to food or to the occasional item of clothing as it hung on the washing line? What would happen if someone like Jane were to stand outside a house, banging on the door or the window until the householder supplied food?

My memory of Jane is of an elderly woman who laughed and never seemed to mind that she had no home. How many of the homeless men and women in our streets are smiling and enjoying life?

Jane’s conversation was not very sensible. A sentence always ended with a toothy grin and a burst of laughter. There was not an atom of malice in her, a small child within the body of an adult. So it was that even her greatest misdemeanours were never evil. Mischief-maker that she was, being caught out and yet still escaping with her ill-gotten goods was all part of the game.

…but doesn’t it also say something about the innate goodness of the village that, with kindness and a great deal of patient forgiveness, accepted Jane as part of its daily life? Her counterpart in Britain would probably receive some form of medical diagnosis, treatment and perhaps at least an ASBO or two. Social Services might grudgingly accept her onto their books but would find great difficulty in placing someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere. Restrain her and Jane’s laughter would turn to tears. She was the child of whom Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me for of such is the kingdom of Heaven”.

Not long ago, four celebrities chose to become homeless for several days, their paths carefully monitored by television cameras and members of an organisation which cares for the destitute around London. None found it a pleasant experience. One man described his unhappiness as he found himself lonely and ‘invisible’, with everybody passing him by, looking past him lest he ask for money. They were wrong on a few counts: he is a Sikh and Sikhs don’t beg, but also they were, unconsciously, part of a real life re-enactment of the parable of the Good Samaritan.

I once found myself in conversation with an elderly man. “I’ve actually got a home”, he said, “but my wife died and I’m so lonely that I come down to the shelter every day, to talk to the tramps and then, at the end of the day, I go home again.”

Then there was a tramp, in hospital with severe cellulitis on both legs. “When my wife died, I sold the house and took to the road”, he declared. “I have two sisters, one in Kent and the other in the West Country. I spend my days walking between their houses. When I reach the home of one sister, I stay for a few days and then start walking again until I reach the other.”

Jane was unique: she was homeless, happy and constantly receiving the care of the community, even if reluctantly and almost blackmailed into responding to her needs.

Some people don’t even receive a greeting.

Jesus said, “As long as you did it to the least of my little ones, you did it to me”.

Titanic Martyrs

“The ship was sinking but the priests refused to go into the lifeboats. They stayed on the deck, hearing Confessions, helping passengers to climb into the boats and offering whatever support they could until the Titanic finally sank.”

This was a lovely and unexpected tribute from a member of the Titanic Society as he gave a slideshow and talk in Liverpool’s Maritime Museum. Searching through the list of victims of the Titanic, I found the names of several men described as ‘priest/minister’ and one woman, described as ‘missionary’. Of these, three were Catholic priests. All put the safety of others before their own.

The woman, Miss Annie Clemmer Funk, aged 38, went so far as to climb out of the lifeboat in order to allow someone else to take her place! She was the first female Mennonite missionary to India, where she learned Hindi and opened a one-room school for girls. Annie had received a telegram from her father, informing her of her mother’s illness and summoning her home to America. Her memorial records:

'On the night of the sinking, she was asleep in her cabin, was woken by the stewards, dressed and went on deck. She was about to enter a lifeboat, when a woman came from behind, pushing her aside by calling: "My children, My children". The last seat was gone, Annie had to step back. She died in the sinking. Her body, if recovered, was never identified.'

Rev Charles Leonard Kirkland, aged 57, was a Scots Presbyterian minister from Glasgow, Scotland, travelling to visit his sister in Saskatchewan. Kirkland died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Rev William Lahtinen, aged 30, and his wife Anna died together, their bodies never recovered. When the Titanic collided with the iceberg, Anna initially boarded a lifeboat, but then decided to stay with her husband. Their friend was rescued and later reported that Anna had appeared very nervous, whilst William calmly smoked a cigar.

Rev John Harper, aged 39 and a Baptist minister, was travelling with his daughter Nina. Hours before the collision, he and a friend stood on deck admiring the sunset. "It will be beautiful in the morning," he remarked heading to his cabin. After the collision, Harper awakened his daughter, picked her up and wrapped her in a blanket before carrying her up to A deck. There he kissed her goodbye and handed her to a crewman, who put her into lifeboat 11. Rev Harper went down with the ship.

Revd Ernest Courtenay Carter, 54, was the vicar of St Jude's in Whitchapel, London.

"On the evening of 14 April, Rev Carter presided over a hymn service for about a hundred passengers in the second class dining saloon, he preceded each hymn with a history of the hymn and its author… Marion Wright sang a solo of Lead Kindly Light. Among the other hymns sung were Eternal Father, Strong to Save (also known as For those in peril on the Sea), On the Resurrection Morning, There is a Green Hill Far Away ... The final hymn was Now the Day is Over. Around ten o'clock the steward began to lay out coffee and refreshments and Rev Carter drew the proceedings to a close by thanking the Purser for the use of the Saloon and added that the ship was unusually steady and how everyone was looking forward to their arrival in New York. 'It is' he said 'the first time that there have been hymns sung on this boat on a Sunday evening, but we trust and pray it won't be the last.'

But it was and Rev and Mrs Carter died in the sinking. Their bodies, if recovered, were never identified."

Rev Robert James Bateman was a Baptist Minister, married with seven children.  As he helped his sister-in-law into lifeboat 10, he said, “If I don't meet you again in this world, I will in the next.” He gave her his necktie as a keepsake. She later reported:

"Brother forced me into the last boat, saying he would follow me later. I believe I was the last person to leave the ship. Brother threw his overcoat over my shoulders as the boat was being lowered away and as we neared the water, he took his black necktie and threw it to me with the words, 'Goodbye, God bless you!"

Three Catholic priests were amongst the victims of the Titanic: Frs Peruschitz, Montvila and Fr Byles. A survivor recalled that they offered daily Mass on the voyage. Another remembered seeing them together in the library:

“In the middle of the room are two Catholic priests, one quietly reading... the other, dark, bearded, with a broad-brimmed hat, talking earnestly to a friend in German and evidently explaining some verse in the open Bible before him...”

Another eyewitness report possibly refers to Frs Peruschitz and Montvila as Fr Byles was engaged in guiding steerage passengers towards the deck:

"When all the excitement became fearful all the Catholics on board desired the assistance of priests with the greatest fervour. Both priests aroused those condemned to die to say acts of contrition and prepare themselves to meet the face of God. They led the rosary and others answered. The sound of the recitation irritated a few passengers, and some ridiculed those who prayed and started a ring dance around them. The two priests were engaged continuously giving general absolution to those who were about to die. Those entering the lifeboats were consoled with moving words. Some women refused to be separated from their husbands, preferring to die with them. Finally, when no more women were near, some men were allowed into the boats. Father Peruschitz was offered a place which he declined."

Fr Josef Peruschitz OSB, aged 41, was a German Benedictine monk who taught mathematics, music, physical education and shorthand in the scool attached to his monastery in Scheyern in the Archdiocese of Munich-Freising. In 1912, he was appointed Principal of the Benedictine school in Minnesota, where he was travelling on a £13 second class passenger ticket when the iceberg struck the Titanic. He died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Fr Juozas Montvila, a Lithuanian, was only 27 when the Czarist regime forbade him to practise his ministry. He decided, therefore, to emigrate to the United States. After the collision, eyewitnesses reported that the "...young Lithuanian priest,  Juozas Montvila, served his calling to the very end" by refusing a place on one of the lifeboats, “choosing to administer his priestly duties and offering solace to his fellow travellers.”

Montvila’s body, if recovered, was never identified. Revered as a hero and martyr in Lithuania, he is currently under consideration for canonization.

Most seems to be known of Fr Thomas Roussel Davids Byles, a 42 year-old Yorkshireman, a convert and the eldest of seven children, who eventually became the parish priest in Chipping Ongar, Essex. A member of the Catholic Missionary Society, Fr Byles was travelling to America for his brother’s wedding. The Titanic held insufficient lifeboats for the number of passengers on board. Frighteningly, there was no provision for steerage passengers, who were expected to fend for themselves. Equally scaring, apparently when bodies were recovered, because of the limited amount of space on board the rescue vessels, those of steerage passengers were merely weighted down with chains! Hence Fr Byles’ assistance of third class passengers stands out as a further act of heroic generosity.

Fr Scott Archer notes in his biography of the priest:

Of the very few passengers willing to brave the cold, Father Byles had been reciting the Breviarium Romanum, fully dressed in his priestly garb, while walking back and forth on the upper deck at the moment the Titanic struck the iceberg. He acted bravely in his capacity as a spiritual leader of men. Descending to the third class and calming the people, Father Byles gave them his priestly blessing and began to hear confessions; after which, he began the recitation of the Rosary. He then led the third class passengers up to the boat deck and helped load the lifeboats. He gave words of consolation and encouragement to the woman and children as they got into the boats. As the danger became even more apparent, he went about hearing more confessions and giving absolution. By all accounts, Father Byles was twice offered a seat in a lifeboat but refused. After the last lifeboat was gone, he went to the after end of the boat deck and led the recitation of the Rosary for a large group kneeling around him of those who were not able to find room in the boats. Father Byles also exhorted the people to prepare to meet God. As 2:20 a.m. approached, and the stern rose higher and higher out of the sea, Father Byles led the more than one hundred people kneeling before him in the Act of Contrition and gave them general absolution.

Other reports add that Fr Byles stayed alive in the icy ocean until shortly before the arrival of the Carpathia, swimming between the people floating in the water and hanging on to wreckage, still offering support and the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Eventually, through sheer exhaustion, he died.