Monday, 1 October 2018

The Secret signs of Abuse...

Pope Francis leading the Wednesday general audience in Saint Peter's square at the Vatican on September 26
Deaf and mute children were taught 'special secret signs' for sex acts by paedophile priests in Verona who would then force them to carry them out, says alleged former victim 'Giuseppe' was abused as a child by priests at the Antonio Provolo Institute He described how he was unable to communicate what was happening to others, even via sign-language, because the signs were invented by priests.

A deaf and mute victim of the historic sex abuse inside the Catholic church has revealed how he and his friends were taught secret signs for oral sex and sodomy at a learning institute inItaly. The victim, identified only as 'Giuseppe', told The Daily Beast how the priests and monks at the Antonio Provolo Institute in Verona had started teaching him a string of sickening signs for things such as masturbation, fellatio, penis, and anus, when he was just 11 years old. 

The signs were designed to be incomprehensible to others, even those who could understand sign language, making it impossible for the children to accurately explain what was happening to them to their parents or the authorities. A deaf and mute victim of sexual abuse inside a Catholic learning facility has spoken about the abuse he experienced there. The secret signs which he came to understand as commands for sexual acts could not be translated, rendering them incomprehensible to outsiders 

The secret signs which he came to understand as commands for sexual acts could not be translated, rendering them incomprehensible to outsiders. Consequently, it took years before anyone could understand what he was trying to say, and even longer before he was actually believed. Giuseppe is one of 67 young boys named in court documents and detailing the alleged abuse at the Provolo Institute carried out by more than two dozen priests and brothers. 

Verona prosecutors are planning to bring the case to trial in the coming months, having spent almost a decade investigating the allegations.

Helping the blind see...

Hearing: A celebration

Bathurst notes that currently there are only a few hearing conditions that are operable, recognizing that she was fortunate.
In a week dominated by lauding silence, a deafened view. A personal story of losing hearing for 12 years — and then regaining it. 

Sound had come back into me with the force of revelation and I had no idea what to do with myself. I could hear! I could hear!!!! I’d been hearing for 28 years and deaf for 12, and since I’d gone back to being hearing again, everything was bigger than I had the capacity to express. I wanted everything. 

I wanted to try everything, listen to everything. I wanted to go up to strangers in the street and ask them if they had any idea of the miracles taking place inside their heads. I wanted to tell them that this hearing thing — this basic feature, fitted totally as standard in every working model — turned out, upon examination, to be a piece of kit which made the works of Shakespeare seem slack by comparison. I wanted to scroll dotingly through photos on mobiles, pull up proud scrapbooks of cochleas and temporal lobes, exchange reminiscences about auditory cortexes. I wanted to declare myself sound. 

I hoped these people knew how many miracles they had inside their heads, and just how much of the time they squandered those miracles on automated lift announcements and three-for-two offers on fabric conditioner. I sat in caf├ęs, blissed by the opportunity to eavesdrop on people bitching about their colleagues. I struck up conversations with strangers on trains or found excuses to offer directions to tourists. 

I rang up friends in Orkney or Greenock just because I wanted to hear the way they said “modern” or “cosmetic” and savoured the tastes of each professional dialect — the wipe-clean tones of nursing staff or get-in-quick diction of cold-callers. Several times I lost the thread of discussions because I was too busy listening to the sensation of listening rather than the sense. I talked to people on the tube. I took my new hearing to films, parties and bicycle races, 

I experimented with power tools and hung out around chainsaws. I stood below telegraph lines to hear the scribble of swallows or climbed hills to find the lilt of a curlew. I greeted the three-note preamble to a train announcement like an old friend and tripped out on the sheer poetry in “Cashier number THREE, please!” 

I watched TV not because I was interested in what was on, but because I loved the indulgence of sitting there just moving the volume button up and down. I wasn’t groping for a single word any longer or making approximate swipes at possible topics. I could hear a whole sentence! Every letter of every word! I could make out all of what people were saying from beginning to end! I was astounded by the thrill of exactitude. I could hear accent, dialect, nuance, mood. I could understand, and once I understood, I could connect. I had come home.