In recent days, Infovaticana has had access to material whose mere existence is difficult to reconcile with the public image that the Church offers of itself. We will not go into details now about its origin or who is involved in it; suffice it to say that it is a private conversation in which, with the serenity of someone who feels safe from prying eyes, a high-ranking Roman official, speaking about abuses against minors, states that, in the face of certain serious problems, «above the victims is the good of the Church». The phrase falls with a naturalness that is chilling. It is not uttered as a dramatic exception or a verbal error; it appears as an operational principle, almost an unwritten rule.
That mentality, as old as the structures of power and as resistant to reforms, reveals better than any official document the lingering inertias that still survive in some areas of the Curia. The idea that the Church protects itself by hiding the harm is one of the most dangerous commonplaces in its recent history. And yet, it continues to be uttered, sometimes with a paternal tone, other times with resignation, and on occasions—like in the material we have accessed—with a confidence that disarms due to its sincerity.
What is disturbing is not only the content, but the naturalness with which it is stated. Speaking of the “good of the Church” as something that can be placed above the dignity of people implies a profound conceptual shift: it turns the Church into an abstract entity with its own interests, separate from those who form it. But the Church is not a fortress that must defend its walls at any cost; it is a concrete community of the faithful. There is no institutional good that can be sustained on the denial or minimization of the suffering of those who have trusted in it.
History shows that every attempt to avoid a scandal through silence has only aggravated that same scandal. The logic of cover-up presents itself as prudence, but always ends in moral devastation. It has destroyed the credibility of entire dioceses, wounded the faith of thousands of the faithful, and multiplied the pain of victims who should never have been left in solitude. In reality, the Church has never been stronger than when it has faced the truth without fear.
It is striking that, while the last Popes, with their flaws, have insisted strongly on the absolute priority of the victims, there are still those who, in discreet settings, invoke a kind of reason of State to justify opacity. It is as if two models of Church coexist: one that is expressed in official documents, and another that persists in private conversations where people speak with excessive frankness.
What is at stake is not just an unfortunate phrase. It is a way of looking at the world, a way of exercising authority, and a deeply mistaken conviction about what it truly means to protect the Church. The good of the Church is not an invisible abstraction that competes with the good of the victims of pedophile priests; its true good is precisely identified with them. When a person is hurt, hiding it does not protect the Church: it hurts it twice.