Readers of this blog will remember the 19-month long inquisition of the archbishop, who was alleged to have committed various wrongs: selling a school without permission, covering up pederast priests, supporting legislation that would allow straight or gay couples living together to get insurance, and—here was the real dirt—setting up an altar to the patria—or motherland—in the cathedral.
Archbishop Roberto González Nieves is an independentista, and is perfectly happy to have everyone know it. So he set up the altar in the cathedral—take a look:
OK—not a problem, right? Well, seen through Puerto Rican eyes, there was just a little omission, namely the absence of another flag, called la pecosa, or the freckled one. Puerto Rico, you see, has but one star on its flag—the US flag has fifty. Hence, freckles—see?
Nor was that all. González conceived the wonderful idea of digging up the bones of a long dead statesman, Ramón Power y Giralt, a man who had represented Puerto Rico in a fledgling attempt at representation in Spain. And there he had died, and there he was buried—away from his beloved Puerto Rico, and away from his beloved friend, the first Puerto Rican bishop, Juan Alejo de Arizmendi. And wouldn’t it be wonderful if these two great Puerto Ricans at last could be united, these many centuries later, here at the Altar to the patria, in the land which they had loved so much, and for which they had battled so arduously?
“He was buried in a mass grave,” sputtered Mr. Fernández, referring to Alejo de Arizmendi, “he died of yellow fever, or some such thing. So the damn Spaniards dug up some old bones, and sent them over here! They’re probably still laughing!”
Well, it was true—the Spaniards sent over their training ship: it docked; a troop of cute Spaniards got out in their best ornamental uniforms; trumpets and fifes and drums got played; the Spaniards carried with great formality the “remains” to the state capitol, where they were received with Caribbean effusion.
Well, the other music in the room—or on the island—was the collective gnashing of the teeth by those who favor statehood. The archbishop, they frothed, was injecting politics into religion; he was shoving his belief down their throats. They complained to the papal nuncio, who lives on the next island over. Being a territory, Puerto Rico cannot have a nuncio of its own, so we have to share.
And apparently the nuncio, Jozef Wesolowsky, was all too happy to launch an investigation, which he did by calling in a bishop from Ecuador, Guayaquil Antonio Arregui Yarza. Letters flew back and forth, leaked to the press—and in May, it was rumored that the archbishop had been asked to resign.
Ah, but by then the archbishop had gotten his break—Benedict decided to thumb his nose at half a millennium of church history and resign. And guess who got the job? A fellow Latin American—a guy who was both a pana and a pala.
Translation—a buddy and a connection.
In June, the archbishop was crowing victory. And in August?
Well, this is a dish that was served on ice, if not completely deep-frozen. For the papal nuncio, Jozef Wesolowsky, has been sacked, and charged with molesting young boys.
Here’s an account from Pedro Espinal, the bird who decided to sing:
“Nosotros una vez fuimos a Juan Dolio con 48 monaguillos de lo cual, eeehh, yo dormía en la parte afuera de la casa del Nuncio apostólico, que está en Juan Dolio, de vacaciones. Y nos repartimos, como entre cinco adultos que estábamos, los niños; cinco dormían conmigo, cinco con otro y cinco con otro, y así sucesivamente. Pero él (el padre Wojciech) siempre escogía los niños más pequeños.”
Translation: Once we went with 48 altar boys to Juan Dolio, where I slept outside of the house of the Papal nuncio, who was there on vacation. We shared, among the five of us adults, the kids: five slept with me, five with the other, and five with another, and so on. But he (father Wojciech, a friend and fellow priest) always chose the youngest.
And so on the 21st of August, the papal nuncio was stripped of his positions. And where is he? Nobody knows. Oh, and the friend mentioned above, Wojciech? He went on the lam to his native Poland.
Nor, apparently, did Wesolowsky engage in this behavior only while on vacation—he was well known in the old city of Santo Domingo, where he plied kids with alcohol, and then had sex with them in an abandoned monument to Fray Antón de Montesinos. Here’s an account:
SANTO DOMINGO, República Dominicana.-La periodista Nuria Piera denunció que el hasta hace poco embajador del Vaticano en Santo Domingo, Joséf (o Joseph) Wesolowski, era un habitual visitante de la Zona Colonial, lugares donde tomaba alcohol y luego pagaba a niños para sostener relaciones sexuales en el abandonado a Fray Antón de Montesinos, en el malecón de Santo Domingo.
Well, the district attorney in Santo Domingo, Yeni Berenice Reynoso, has decided to open an investigation, even without having spoken with the victims. So Wesolowsky, if they can find him, is cooked.
Anybody want to bet he’s in the Vatican?
