THE KEEPERS. Justice from Beyond the Grave

Not only the families of Catherine Cesnik and Joyce Malecki, murdered in Baltimore at the end of 1969, are still waiting for justice. Victims of sexual abuse—used for years by pedophiles, not all of whom were priests—are still hoping for it as well. They did not receive justice from the Church, which—despite assurances and apologies coming from Rome—still cannot honestly admit to some of the crimes committed by specific individuals. Nor did they receive it from their community, which for years either didn’t believe them at all or—at best—saw them as helpless victims and treated them like lepers. Only The Keepers allows us to understand what they felt and how the events of the past affected their lives. At first glance, it explores a familiar topic, but such stories happen not only in America. They happen just around the corner, and people still wear blinders and refuse to entertain the idea that someone could have hurt their loved ones. I write this with full awareness, because I have witnessed this mechanism in action.

If not for what happened, maybe I would have been a better father, a better husband – sobs the man, now 80 years old, a victim of sexual abuse.

Each of you has some dark secret. And now stand in front of complete strangers and talk about it – adds another. – That’s what you expect from twenty-five-year-olds. You expect them to publicly reveal their darkest secret.

This is an excerpt from a hearing before a committee considering a possible change in the law that currently allows a molestation case to be dismissed if the alleged victim is over the age of twenty-five. People who, only after decades, find the strength and are finally able—still through tears—to talk about their experiences, continue to crash into a wall. The proposed amendment they’re fighting for doesn’t even reach the senate. That’s what “justice” looks like for about a hundred victims of sexual abuse that went on for years in Baltimore.

That’s why the creators of The Keepers, through the voices of the victims, accuse not only rapists, pedophiles, and the murderers responsible for the deaths of twenty-six-year-old Sister Catherine Cesnik and twenty-year-old Joyce Malecki. This seven-episode Netflix series is, above all, an indictment of the system that allowed earlier crimes to be concealed—crimes that eventually led to murders that remained unsolved for nearly half a century. Did Father Joseph Maskell do things that defy the imagination of an average person? Most likely, yes. Someone finally said it out loud. – He raped me so violently my head was hitting the wall – recounts Jean Wehner, known for years as Jane Doe, one of his victims. According to her testimony, the priest took her—then a teenage girl—to the body of the dead nun and, pointing to it, said: look what happens to people who talk badly about others.

The Keepers wouldn’t exist without two women. Gemma Hoskins and Abbie Schaub were once students of Sister Cathy. For decades, they’ve been searching for answers about who killed the twenty-six-year-old nun and twenty-year-old Joyce Malecki—and why. Gemma is a “purebred bull terrier”—a talker who asks hard-hitting questions without hesitation, but also knows how to make people open up to her. Abbie is the one who “sniffs things out”: she spends whole days in archives, searching for answers, connections between the characters in this story, and new leads. Based on their materials, the creators were handed an almost ready-made story. All they needed was to look at it with the distance usually lacking in those emotionally involved with the victims, and then press those who didn’t necessarily want to talk to Gemma and Abbie again. With the filmmakers, they had to—or at least were supposed to. And here we reach the heart of the matter.

That makes the written responses given to the filmmakers, which we hear in the final episode, all the more shocking. They prove that, despite the public acknowledgment that there was a problem and the compensation paid to victims, the problem of pedophilia in the Church has only seemingly been resolved. The Vatican says one thing, Baltimore another. Maybe it’s an unnecessary bit of sarcasm, but could it be that the reach of the Holy Spirit doesn’t extend across the ocean?

Maybe The Keepers doesn’t uncover anything new. The subject is well known—thanks to Spotlight, we already know everything and we’re safe. But if anyone thinks this doesn’t concern them, let me tell a story. A few years ago, I wrote a short article about a priest allegedly molesting students at one school in a small town. Fortunately for everyone, the accusations were not confirmed. The priest returned to his parish and deservedly enjoys a very good reputation among those who work with him—he does a lot of good for the community he serves.

What struck me was the atmosphere among the parishioners and townspeople at the time the scandal broke. By decision of the archbishop, the priest was already on leave, unable to comment, so I wanted to talk to his parishioners as they left church after Sunday Mass. I didn’t expect their reaction. These weren’t arguments like we’re surprised, we don’t believe it, but we have doubts. Not a single sentence gave me any indication that people were even willing to consider the possibility that their children or grandchildren could have fallen victim to a pedophile priest. Instead, there was aggression. One man waved his fists, another wrote down the license plate of the car I arrived in. I don’t blame them. I honestly don’t know how I would react if such news burst into my safe, orderly world. But one question still haunts me: how would those same people have reacted if the accusations had been confirmed?

It’s hard to even entertain the thought what if my child was molested, isn’t it? That’s why The Keepers is one of the most important documentaries to have come out in recent years, the subject still hasn’t been, to put it bluntly, dealt with. Contrary to how the series was marketed, the murders of Sister Cathy and Joyce are merely the tragic tip of the iceberg. If someone is expecting a clear answer to the question who killed them?, they may be disappointed. Over time, the creators reveal stronger and weaker clues, and conversations with successive witnesses lead to one of the alleged perpetrators—Edgar Davidson. This old man, who comes across as slightly unhinged and deeply lost in his secret, still denies everything. How strong must his sense of duty to—let’s call them his handlers—have been, that even today he hides behind forgetfulness or lies spoken like a kid caught stealing. And yet doubts remain.

Ryan White’s seven-episode documentary is not a masterpiece, but it impresses not so much with the material gathered as with its clear siding with the victims. They are at the center—we hear their voices the loudest. The filmmakers, who still allow the other side to speak and do so fairly, probably didn’t expect that taking the right side would be so easy for viewers. That’s why comparing this series to Making a Murderer doesn’t quite hold up. One can compare them, but rather on the basis of contrast. The story of Steven Avery (just like Amanda Knox’s) is an attempt to stir doubt in the viewer—doubt that investigators should also have had. The Keepers stands firmly on one side and tells us that in such cases, we should not question what we hear from victims. The creators did not avoid a few mistakes and some draggy moments. Information is often repeated several times in a row, prompting the reaction: yes, I know, I got it the first time.

The biggest criticism, however, remains the somewhat cursory treatment of Joyce Malecki’s murder. In the first episode, we are told of her disappearance, the discovery of her body, and a possible connection to Sister Cathy’s death. Then the thread disappears, and only near the end do we learn that a connection did exist—but the case was not so much silenced as never truly investigated by the authorities. Perhaps the lack of information prevented the filmmakers from exploring the thread further, but it still leaves a sense not so much of incompleteness as of a lack of real effort to find answers to the most pressing questions. Still, this does not affect the overall reception.

Fortunately, the series also avoids a simplistic anti-clerical tone, although many victims candidly admit that their past experiences prevent them from belonging to the Catholic Church. For all other viewers, it’s seven hours of truly powerful, devastating, and deeply unsettling cinema.