This week I wrote a letter that, until recently, I couldn’t have imagined I would have the need or the nerve to write. It was to the Archbishop of Canterbury telling him that I agree with those who feel he should resign. The context was the Makin Report into the abuse perpetrated by the barrister John Smyth (who had long been associated with the Church of England) and the Church’s response, which confirmed that Justin Welby was in possession of information in 2013 that, had he acted on it differently, would have led to the prevention of many cases of subsequent abuse.
Welby was interviewed by Cathy Newman on Channel 4 News on Thursday 7 November, the day the report was published, and confirmed that, while he had considered resigning, he had decided not to. He did however renew and reinforce his apologies, and took trouble to express his personal responses of horror and disgust at the reported abuse as well as the depth of regret on his lack of action in 2013, and his failure to meet promptly with victims and survivors after more information came to light in 2017.
This was the key paragraph in my letter: “Under your leadership huge steps forward have been made in [safeguarding] but the church now needs to make a significant step away from allowing a perception of a culture where an unaccountable few have disproportionate power. To my mind this is the unintended consequence of you saying that you had consulted ‘senior colleagues’ about resignation. That gave the message that there were some unnamed voices that were determining things, which is seen by many, consciously or unconsciously, to mirror the power dynamics that lie behind abuse and its cover up. I know you did not intend that, but I fear that irrevocable damage is now done.”
I rarely watch Channel 4 News, but last Thursday I by chance turned it on during the interview, which I have since watched in full. Anguish and distress were evident on the Archbishop’s face, in his tone of voice, in his words and in the pauses and hesitations between his words. Anyone in his position would and should have felt the same and he was obviously right to consider resigning. It was very uncomfortable viewing.
Of course, no one would expect a senior public figure to announce their resignation during the course of an interview. The fact that he showed up meant that the question was only going to be answered one way. But I began to feel that it was the right question but the wrong answer as soon as I watched the interview in full. This was reinforced by reading the comments from the independent author of the report, Keith Makin, and those from the safeguarding leads of the Church of England that attended the release of the report.
Makin said that “responses by the Church of England and others were wholly ineffective and amounted to a cover-up”. The lead safeguarding bishop, Joanne Grenfell, and the national director of safeguarding for the Church of England, Alexander Kubeyinje, said “no words can undo the damage done to people’s lives”, that they were appalled that “any clergy person could believe that covering up abuse was justified in the name of the Gospel”, and they said it was “wrong for a seemingly privileged group from an elite background to decide that the needs of victims should be set aside, and that Smyth’s abuse should not therefore be brought to light”.
The Archbishop issued his own personal statement the same day in which he said that “the pain experienced by the victims in this case is unimaginable”, and recognised the courage of those who came forward and the “great personal cost” of their testimonies. He condemned the cover-up and states that he “had no idea or suspicion of this abuse before 2013”.
Some find that very hard to believe, given his close connection to the circles in which Smyth and those named and shamed for covering up in the report moved. But there is no need to accuse the Archbishop of lying to ask for his resignation. His self-condemnation is enough because he admitted that he “personally failed to ensure that after disclosure in 2013 the awful tragedy was energetically investigated”, and that he “did not meet quickly with victims after the full horror of the abuse was revealed… in 2017”. In fact, he did not meet them for three years.
What John Smyth did was horrific, evil and traumatising. But he is dead, and his actions were such as no person of decency would fail to find abhorrent or disgusting. Feeling bad about them does no good to anyone. No virtue is signalled by saying that it is wrong to flog young men to bleeding point, incontinence and beyond, for any reason at all. That it is done to turn them from the normal processes of adolescent sexual awakenings adds to the evil of the impact, and that it is done in the name of a loving God absolutely pushes it beyond unacceptable and into unforgivable territory.
But what matters most now is the culture that allows cover-up and the moral debt owed to the victims and survivors – and to any who have been damaged second-hand by the outworking of their inflicted trauma. My position on the Archbishop’s resignation is not based on the horror of what happened in Smyth’s soundproofed shed, but what happens in unaccountable encounters that shape decision-making and ethos in the Church of England today.
[See also: England’s revolt against change]
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