Prince Andrew, rape gangs and safeguarding in the Church of England

BY STEPHEN KUHRT

The news is currently dominated by two of the greatest scandals to have occurred in Britain during the twenty-first century. One is the continued saga surrounding Prince Andrew concerning his close connection with the convicted paedophile Jeffrey Epstein and his alleged abuse of the late Virginia Giuffre. The other surrounds the Pakistani rape gangs, seemingly allowed for years to commit horrific sexual abuse upon young girls in the towns and cities of this country with impunity.

Scarcely less shocking, though currently less in the news, have been the revelations in recent times about abuse and its cover-up within the Church of England. It is nearly a year since the resignation of Justin Welby as Archbishop of Canterbury in November 2024 for his failure to respond adequately to the horrific crimes of John Smyth. The recent nomination of his successor Sarah Mullally, is a reminder of this and the task the church still faces in this regard.

The coinciding of these three scandals has led me to reflect on their parallels. The fact they each involve such different people and settings is key to recognising what their comparison reveals.

The tendency of all institutions to facilitate and cover up abuse

Local councils, police forces, the monarchy and the Church of England appear to have little in common. And yet in all of these seemingly diverse institutions, a strikingly similar attitude to safeguarding of the vulnerable has been evident. In the most generous interpretation, they have turned a blind eye to abuse and in the harshest, they have actively colluded with it.

This is most obviously true in the case of the rape gangs. Numerous young girls and their families made allegations about horrific sexual abuse over many years, meeting with entirely inadequate responses from both police forces and local councils. The report of Baroness Casey said that a culture of ‘blindness, ignorance and prejudice’ had led to repeated failures to investigate child rape cases with a fear of appearing racist keeping authorities away from examining the ethnicity of those involved.

The non-actions of Justin Welby and Stephen Cottrell (while Bishop of Chelmsford) over the abuse of John Smyth and David Tudor respectively was very similar. Within these examples and numerous other abuse scandals within the Church of England, an appalling indifference was displayed by those whose positions of responsibility should have led them instead to tenacious engagement.  

The case of Prince Andrew is no different. The prince has, of course, consistently denied any wrongdoing although the recently released emails with Epstein and Virginia Giuffre’s posthumous book suggest otherwise. More pertinent, though currently drawing less scrutiny, is the role of the monarchy in this situation. Three years on from the death of Queen Elizabeth II, much of the admiration for her strong sense of duty continues. Some Christians in its aftermath, went as far as to call her ‘the Servant Queen’, seemingly intending parallels with Jesus Christ.

Fairness demands, however, that Elizabeth II receive an equal scrutiny to others in positions of responsibility. Is it really credible that she was entirely ignorant of the activities and certainly the associations of the son to whom she was so close? If not, was her non-action on behalf of the vulnerable compatible with the role of someone so publicly pledged (‘whether my life be long or short’) to the service of her people? Should we accept the excuse that she had a blind-spot towards the ‘weaknesses’ of her supposed favourite child? And what was the knowledge of the legions of royal staff and others in positions of responsibility equally committed (in official terms) to public service?

Rather than demonising those who have facilitated abuse and its cover-up, however, a more constructive approach is to ask why this so often happens? Why have people in all cases possessing a strong sense of responsibility and indeed calling, so often failed to be tenacious in applying this to their protection of the vulnerable?

The answer, in every case, is that they have started to serve the institution that they are part of rather than what that institution was established to do. This has then led to the misguided belief that the institutions with which they are associated are best served by turning a blind eye to such matters. Focus on the reason that local councils, the police, the monarchy and the church exist and care and concern for the most vulnerable will be the top priority. Focus instead on care for the institution itself and the agenda of ‘keeping the show on the road’ will, at best, relativise the importance of those without power and, at worst, produce a stunning indifference towards their treatment.

The encouragement of abuse and cover-ups by those with emotional and tribal blind spots

However, before we become too judgemental about those leading such institutions, we need to acknowledge our own role in facilitating abuse and its cover-up. The second chapter of my recent book is called ‘It takes a village to abuse a child’, signalling the inescapably communal role in such scandals. Where a degree of this is currently acknowledged, it often recognises the emotional hurdles that people have in acknowledging that such awful crimes occur.

But the emotional factors at play are often far deeper. Most of us have institutions that we identify with because we believe they stand for good and form a defence against the forces we most want to resist. These reasons are usually sound and legitimate. But our emotional attachment to their reason for existing can then lead us all too easily into ignoring the shadow side of these institutions. It can also make us oblivious to the way our own one-eyed support has aided the process of institutionalism that has corrupted them.

This is seen across the political and social spectrum. Those with an instinctive emotional attachment to the monarchy, the church, the police or left-wing bodies are usually very different. But in each case, the strength of feeling about the good that these institutions represent and the bad they seek to oppose, can produce remarkable blind spots towards their weaknesses and failures. Examples from both ends of the range are needed for this point to be heard.

One such example is the astonishing dismissiveness of the arch-conservative Jacob Rees Mogg towards the findings of Andrew Lownie about Prince Andrew and also the calls for Justin Welby to resign. Another is the comparable attitude of many left-wing commentators and politicians such as Sadiq Khan towards the crimes of the Pakistani rape-gangs and the role of largely Labour-run councils in ignoring this.

A good test of the emotional bias of those reading this article is which of these two critiques we instinctively endorse and that which we instinctively react against. So too in regard to the earlier questions about the late Queen. In each case, this will be because there is something good we rightly want to protect and something bad (and perhaps evil like racism) that we are determined to oppose. But in both cases, we also need to acknowledge that our tribal affiliations and even the best instincts that have led us to them, can lead us into blind spots regarding the culpability of their institutions in facilitating abuse and its cover-up.

The expendability of those who pay the price for this

The truth is that those whose ultimate allegiance is given to institutions always become, in time, indifferent to the vulnerable people harmed by this agenda. This is true whether these institutions are the monarchy, political structures (be they left or right), police forces or the Church of England. Neither the leaders nor devotees of these institutions start off this way. They attach themselves to these institutions because they see something good they want to protect and something bad they want to defend against. But in the process, they all face and frequently succumb to the temptation to become institutionalised which, in every case, involves treating those who are vulnerable and without power or agency as expendable.

This is the reason why those exposed for showing such negligence are so perplexed and confused about this. Justin Welby’s tone-deaf performances in interviews and speeches after his resignation was because he cannot yet accept what he allowed himself to become. Stephen Cottrell remains in post as Archbishop of York because he is in a similar state of denial. The late Queen would probably have struggled to see any way in which she could or should have played a role in preventing what has happened to and through Prince Andrew. And politicians and political commentators of all types are astonished by any suggestion that their allegiances and the expression of them have facilitated both abuse and its cover-up. 

The front and centre of any institution should be its protection of those that it was established to care for – with its foremost priority upon protecting those who are vulnerable and without power and agency. There is a huge value in the coinciding of the revelations about Prince Andrew, the rape gangs and abuse within the Church of England. The very different groupings and people that they involve make it abundantly clear that the challenge to avoid institutionalism, tribalism and uncritical emotional allegiances, with all of their terrible fall out for the most vulnerable in our society, applies to every single one of us.