Power Is the Safeguarding Exemption

The Church of England has reached a moment; some people are too senior for safeguarding.

Safeguarding language becomes camouflage. When words like process, oversight, and assurance are used not to protect the vulnerable, but to protect the powerful.

The decision for Stephen Cottrell to oversee a complaint connected to Sarah Mullally—a close colleague and friend—would raise serious questions in any organisation that genuinely understood safeguarding . This is not happening in isolation.  It is taking place while Cottrell himself remains the subject of sustained criticism and public calls from survivors and advocates to resign over safeguarding leadership failures.

That context reframes the whole situation; Rules for thee, but not for me.

Safeguarding is more than a paper trail. If it does not build trust or inspire confidence, it is nothing more than admin.

When the person charged with oversight is someone whose own safeguarding credibility is under challenge, and who is personally connected to the subject of the complaint, the process becomes compromised before it even begins. Not necessarily because of intent—but because of structure. Any safeguarding professional would say the same.

Justice does not simply need to be done; it needs to be seen to be done. Yet the Church of England repeatedly behaves as though how things look to survivors is an inconvenience rather than a safeguarding imperative. Survivors are told to “trust the process” while watching the same group of senior leaders rotate roles; gatekeeper today, colleague tomorrow, and respondent the next.

This is not independence.

It is an echo chamber.

For anyone bringing a complaint, the message is unmistakable: you are entering a system where bishops oversee bishops, friends oversee friends, and accountability evaporates the closer you get to the top. Even when procedures are technically compliant, the imbalance of power is crushing. It tells victims and survivors that their courage, trauma and pain will be managed, contained, and weighed against institutional reputation.

What makes this particularly serious is that safeguarding best practice is unequivocal:

Where there is a close relationship, there must be recusal.

Where credibility is contested, there must be distance.

Where trust is fragile, there must be independent external oversight.

These are not radical demands. They are basic safeguards. The failure to apply them here was not an oversight — it was a choice.

It exposes what many already know about the Church’s safeguarding culture: seniority still functions as protection; moral authority is assumed rather than earned; and accountability is quietly negotiated away. Safeguarding, in this system, is enforced on the powerless but rarely applied to the powerful.

This is why calls for resignation matter, even when they are resisted. They signal a collapse of trust. Once that trust is gone, leaders cannot continue to preside over others’ complaints as though nothing has changed.

Moral authority is not conferred by office or history. It depends on credibility, humility, and the willingness to step aside when your presence undermines confidence and puts people at risk

Instead, the Church closes ranks.

The result is not just anger — it is despair. Survivors, whistleblowers, clergy and staff do not see a Church learning lessons. They see one protecting itself. They see “process” used as a fig leaf for corruption, with people being sacrificed to preserve reputation and control.

 Any claim by the Church of England that it prioritises victim-centred safeguarding is undermined when oversight is exercised by leaders whose impartiality and credibility are already in question.

Safeguarding depends on distance and independence. This system chose proximity, handing the fate of the abused to people with blood on their hands and calling it safeguarding.

~ Michelle Burns at Guarding the Flock

Writing this blog takes time, care, and a lot of tea. If it’s been helpful to you, you’re very welcome to buy me a cuppa as a small way of supporting it. No pressure at all – I’m just glad you’re here - Michelle