Editor’s Note: This week, John Bellocchio, a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the late Theodore McCarrick as a young teenager in Hackensack, New Jersey, forwarded me an email he received from the Diocese of Metuchen, New Jersey. The official who sent the email apparently forgot to delete multiple emails between diocesan personnel (including the bishop) exposing their unfiltered comments about him and their suspicions about his intentions. I invited John to write a reflection on his experiences working with the Catholic hierarchy as a survivor, and he responded with a strong challenge to Church leadership. — ML

Dismissed and Insulted: The Cost of Speaking Up

Coming forward as a survivor is never easy. But nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced when I recently reached out to the Diocese of Metuchen. I contacted them respectfully, seeking dialogue and transparency. What I received in return was cruelty—sent to me by accident.

In an internal email thread mistakenly forwarded to me, diocesan officials mocked me behind my back. They called me “warped,” “unwound.” One high-ranking employee wrote about me, “This guy is dangerous because he seems to have motives well beyond survivors—maybe working for a Plaintiffs’ firm.”

This showed me what they really thought of me. There was no charity. No listening. No pastoral concern. Just contempt.

This wasn’t just a moment of unkindness. It revealed their culture. A culture that treats survivors as problems to manage, not people to accompany. A culture still rooted in fear, denial, and self-protection. And it showed why so many survivors stay silent. We fear exactly this—being dismissed, discredited, and dehumanized.

It’s not paranoia. It’s pattern. Studies show that more than 60% of sexual assault survivors never report what happened to them. For childhood abuse victims, the average time before disclosure is 17 years. Why? Because the price of speaking up is often humiliation, retaliation, or being reduced to a threat. What I saw in those emails confirmed every worst fear. And it reminded me why so many survivors give up on the Church altogether.

Partners in Healing: When the Church Walks with Survivors

And yet, there are dioceses that are choosing a better way.

The Diocese of Paterson, under Bishop Kevin Sweeney, has been a genuine partner in healing. Bishop Sweeney has walked with survivors—personally, publicly, and without hesitation. He’s supported survivor-led initiatives like the St. Dymphna Society, which creates space for healing through community, prayer, and advocacy. He’s met with us. He’s listened to our stories. He even recently sat down with one of my fellow survivors on a diocesan podcast to discuss trauma, healing, and the Church’s responsibility.

This isn’t PR. It’s pastoral care. Bishop Sweeney models the very heart of synodality: listening with humility and acting with compassion.

I’ve seen the same spirit in the Diocese of Camden. When Bishop Joseph A. Williams arrived, he inherited a legal disaster. For years, Camden had been fighting a state grand jury investigation into clergy abuse, using the courts to keep records sealed. He could have continued down that road. Instead, he changed course—immediately.

Bishop Williams made it clear that survivors matter. He consulted us directly—I was honored to be among those he called. He committed publicly to cooperation with the investigation. And he acknowledged what the Church so often avoids: the truth must come out if healing is ever going to begin.

His words were simple but powerful: “Our people need to hear this. The clergy needs to hear this. So that it never happens again.” That’s leadership. That’s accountability. And that’s what survivors deserve, and I was proud and honored to join Bishop Williams on his journey of discernment on this vitally important matter.

Paterson and Camden aren’t perfect, but they are trying. They are listening. They are learning. And most of all, they are walking with survivors. That’s what synodality looks like in action. And it offers a blueprint for the rest of the Church.

The Other Path: When Leadership Stays Silent

But not every diocese is willing to take that path. What I experienced in Metuchen wasn’t just personal—it reflects a broader institutional failure.

Metuchen, once home to Theodore McCarrick, should understand better than anyone the cost of silence. Yet its leaders responded to my request for transparency with hostility and insults. Rather than engage with me as a survivor, they closed ranks—and revealed what many of us fear: that behind closed doors, some dioceses still see us as enemies, not brothers and sisters in Christ.

Even more concerning is the silence from the top. Cardinal Joseph Tobin, as Archbishop of Newark and Metropolitan of the province, has long said the right things about transparency and reform. He pledged a “new level of transparency” after McCarrick. But in practice, that promise remains unfulfilled.

At Seton Hall University—under Tobin’s oversight—an internal report uncovered decades of harassment and intimidation in the seminary. Yet action was limited. A priest recommended for removal after mishandling abuse reports was promoted to university president. When questions were raised, the archdiocese instructed seminary officials not to speak. Instead of transparency, survivors were met with silence.

In 2021, a secret court hearing allowed the Diocese of Camden, under previous leadership, to block part of the state’s clergy abuse investigation. Nothing that significant could have happened without Tobin’s knowledge. Yet he said nothing. And only now, with the Diocese of Camden under new leadership, is the Church beginning to walk that back.

To his credit, Cardinal Tobin has acknowledged survivors publicly. But acknowledgments are not action. Words must be followed by reform. For all his statements, Newark has yet to fully confront the culture that protected abusers and punished truth-tellers. That culture remains intact—and so does the damage it continues to cause.

A Challenge for Cardinal Tobin—and the Whole Church

Your Eminence, with respect: the time for cautious statements and half-measures is over.

You have the authority to lead real reform in New Jersey. You have the ability to open the files, remove compromised figures, support survivor-led initiatives, and ensure no diocese under your oversight repeats what happened in Metuchen. But you must act.

You can still be the kind of leader the Church needs—a leader who chooses humility over image, and justice over delay. But if that commitment isn’t there, if transparency continues to be deferred, then perhaps it’s time to ask whether someone else is better suited to carry this burden.

This isn’t about politics. It’s about the Gospel. And the Gospel demands truth. It demands mercy. And it demands courage.

I believe in the Church’s capacity for renewal. I’ve seen it in Paterson. I’ve seen it in Camden. I want to see it in Newark.

So to Cardinal Tobin—and to every bishop reading this—I say: we don’t need more statements. We need your sleeves rolled up and your hands at work. Heal what has been broken. Walk with those who were cast aside. Make sure no survivor ever again sees their name mocked in an email from the Church they once trusted.

The choice is clear: delay or reform, silence or solidarity, hostility or healing. For the sake of the Gospel and the people of God, may you choose the latter. And may you choose it now.

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Image: Adobe Stock. By musa.