From Police to the Pews: When Institutions Protect Themselves Instead of People

Last week’s BBC Panorama investigation into the Metropolitan Police Service laid bare a culture already described in an independent review as “institutionally racist, misogynistic and homophobic” (Casey, 2023).

Following the rape, abduction, and murder of Sarah Everard by a serving police officer — alongside a series of other scandals that have gravely undermined public trust — the government commissioned cross-bencher Baroness Louise Casey to conduct an independent review into the culture and standards of the Metropolitan Police.

When Casey published her report, the findings were devastating — but also painfully familiar to anyone who has tried to challenge wrongdoing within the Church of England. The Casey Review laid bare entrenched and systemic failings steeped in hubris, denial, and a culture of silence: a world where “keeping your head down” is safer than speaking truth; where systems exist not to protect victims, but to protect reputations.

For those of us who have experienced or witnessed institutional abuse in religious contexts, the parallels are unmistakable. Both settings wrap themselves in the language of service, vocation, and public trust. Both attract people who want to make a difference — and yet, often, betray the very values they claim to uphold.

When individuals within these systems dare to speak up, they quickly learn how lonely that act can be. Policies and safeguarding frameworks may look great on paper, but behind the scenes, the machinery of reputation management is working overtime. Victims are deserted, whistleblowers discredited, and truth quietly negotiated away — not because of one “bad apple,” but because the institution’s first instinct is always self-protection.

In the wake of the Independent Safeguarding Board (ISB) collapse in 2023, survivors expected new, truly independent structures to rebuild trust and confidence. Yet, at General Synod earlier this year, no such body has been established. In fact, the very principle of independent safeguarding was formally rejected, while dioceses across the country continue to appoint former police officers into key safeguarding roles.

To be clear, this is not about tarring all ex-police officers with the same brush. Many former officers have acted with integrity and made valuable contributions to safeguarding in a range of contexts — including within the Church itself. I have witnessed this first-hand.

Embedding individuals with policing backgrounds — particularly from forces currently under investigation, such as the Met — into Church safeguarding structures creates a crisis of confidence and independence. The issue is not one of personal character, but of culture and systems. When safeguarding in the Church is shaped by a policing mindset, the risks to trust, transparency, and survivor safety are profound.

The rationale for recruiting police is obvious: investigative expertise, procedural discipline, and experience with risk management. Yet, against the backdrop of Panorama and the Casey Review, the risks are not abstract — they are lived realities for those already failed by the system.

Ex-police may retain loyalties to colleagues or cultures that survivors distrust. In my view, there is a clear cultural mismatch: policing emphasises command and control, while safeguarding must prioritise listening, humility, and compassion.

Having spoken to survivors and advocacy groups over recent months, it’s clear that trust between

victims and the Church is already deeply eroded — and this is further compounded when disclosure to safeguarding feels more like interrogation than care. Survivors are left asking whether church safeguarding is truly about protection — or about the self-preserving “old boys’ club” Casey describes.

For me, the Casey Review is a mirror. And if those of us in faith-based or safeguarding roles dare to look closely, we will see our own reflection staring back: the same patterns of denial, defensiveness, and deeply embedded inequality that keeps cruelty and the human cost hidden behind a veneer of respectability and grace.

Real reform will not come from another review or policy statement. It begins with the courage to name what we see — even when it’s in our own ranks — and to stand with those who refuse to look away.

Replace police uniforms with purple shirts, and you’ll find the same wolf — protected by hierarchy, not hunted by it.

-Guarding the Flock