An unlikely heroine.

The last thing that interested Monique Dostie was achieving status as a celebrity. Her chosen profession seemingly guaranteed that such status would not only be unlikely, but impossible. She had hidden herself away in the sleepy town of Lewiston, Maine, where she operated a small group home for developmentally disabled adults. She lived in the Jaricot Foster Home, as it was called, and offered full-time care for its four residents. Marie Jaricot was the nineteeth-century holy woman in France who lived with the poorest of women.

The Home offered quality care to its residents. But it also provided a good moral atmosphere. It was precisely the (Catholic) moral values the home honoured that led guardians of the residents to place them at the Jaricot Foster Home. There were "rules" to be sure, including the prohibition of sexual activities and the use of pornographic magazines and videos.

Make room for paganism

Everything was relatively peaceful at this small home. None of the residents--whose level of maturity is comparable to that of 3- to 5-year-olds--ever complained about the rules. But then came the bureaucrats of the Department of Human Services in the State of Maine. They were not happy with Ms. Dostie's "rules".

According to DHS rules, mentally retarded and autistic adults who live in a group home have the right to participate in sexual activities of their choice, including viewing pornographic magazines and tapes, and engaging in sexual relations with selected partners. And if the residents want to participate in group sex, the home is obliged to set aside a room specifically for that purpose.

In May of 1998, a war of "rules" began between the Jaricot Foster Home and the Maine Department of Human Services. The state agency urged Monique Dostie to reclassify her "rules" as "guidelines". As a consequence of Dostie's refusal to comply, the state held a hearing at which it ruled that she must comply or face the revocation of her licence. Nonetheless, Dostie, a devout Catholic, indicated that she could not, in conscience, betray her wards by exposing them to activities that could be emotionally ruinous to them. According to Ms. Dostie, her developmentally disabled wards cannot handle decisions of daily living, let alone the complex atmosphere that promiscuous sexual relationships would create.

Dostie also pointed out that it wasn't the residents who were requesting sex and pornography, "it's the state that's mandating it." In reply Robert Steinberg, assistant director of licensing and certification with the DHS, stated that while residents of group homes may not exercise their sexual rights, they are entitled to them, nonetheless.

National abuse

With help from a Catholic group, Monique Dostie appealed the decision. In the meantime, the feud between her and the DHS had begun to attract national attention. On June 2, 1999, The Washington Post, for example, reported the case to its readers.

Thereupon Joni Fritz, executive director of the American Network of Community Options and Resources representing group homes, accused Dostie of "denying human sexuality." Curt Decker, executive director of the National Association of Protection and Advocacy Systems for people with disabilities in Washington, stated that the biases of Ms. Dostie should not overtake the choices of individuals.

Dostie remained firm. "I teach that [indiscriminate sex] is wrong, that they don't need that to survive. I teach them their faith and bring God into their lives", she stated.

Dostie was not without public support. Some complained that it was outrageous to deny a licence for not permitting promiscuous sexual activities. Others charged that they themselves could not find a sex-free home for their own developmentally disabled children. Some raised the issue of pedophilia, since many adults who are mentally retarded have the emotional maturity of a child.

Virtue triumphs

The appeal never took place. Thanks to the national attention the dispute had received, agents for a home for the developmentally disabled in Purgitsville, West Virginia, saw in Monique Dostie the kind of person they were looking for. They offered her a position working at their 212-acre mountaintop farm where she would live and work with six mentally retarded adults. Dostie was elated: "Everything we wanted to accomplish was living and well in West Virginia, and looking for help." It all came about "strictly by the providence of God." Dostie has moved Jaricot Foster Home to the mountaintop operation.

Dostie abided accusations of being "unbending", "unrepentant", and "violating the rights of others". We call it having integrity. Thanks to her integrity, she is now in a position to dedicate herself to helping more people, and this time without interference from the state.

Those who are in her care will not think of her as a heroine. They will gladly accept this 31-year-old woman, as did those at her former home, as "Mom". To outsiders, particularly to Catholics, she ought to be seen as a model for themselves. She fought an eighteen-month war against powerful bureaucrats but did not allow them to compromise either her dedication or her integrity. She made sure that virtue triumphed over temptation.

Dr. Donald DeMarco is a professor of philosphy at St. Jerome's University.