In many cases, in order to protect organizations, administrators

The scholar Anthea Butler pierces the veil of silence when she declares: “In many cases, in order to protect organizations, administrators often move abusers around, discount victim statements, stonewall victims in administrative processes, and/or offer legal settlements with non-disclosure agreements to victims with the express intent of protecting the institution and ridding themselves of the victim.” These words strike not only at the heart of bureaucracy, but at the very sickness that festers when institutions place their survival above truth. They remind us that structures built by human hands—schools, churches, governments, corporations—often betray the people they were sworn to serve, exchanging justice for protection of their own power.

In her lament, Butler names the common pattern: the abuser is shielded, not punished; the victim is silenced, not vindicated. This pattern is as old as empire, for whenever power gathers, its first instinct is to preserve itself, even at the cost of righteousness. And so, we see administrators transferring offenders quietly, as though moving a shadow removes its darkness. We see the testimony of the wounded discounted, their voices treated as inconvenient noise. We see stonewalling, where endless procedures exhaust the spirit of the injured. And we see the binding chains of non-disclosure agreements, which muzzle truth so that the façade of honor remains uncracked. This is not the way of justice, but the way of fear disguised as order.

History bears grim witness to this truth. Recall the great scandal of the Catholic Church, when countless children suffered at the hands of predatory priests. For decades, rather than confront the evil directly, bishops and administrators moved abusers around, shifting them from parish to parish. They silenced those who cried out, branded their stories as lies, and paid settlements hidden under the cloak of secrecy. By protecting the institution, they betrayed the very flock entrusted to their care. And when the truth finally erupted into the light, the wound was deeper, the shame greater, and the trust harder to restore.

This tale is not confined to religion. Corporations, too, have practiced the same deceit. In industries where harassment festers, legal settlements with silencing clauses are offered to victims—not as mercy, but as a weapon, ensuring the cycle continues unbroken. Universities have done likewise, casting out the voices of survivors while shielding professors or coaches whose reputations were deemed too valuable to lose. In every age, the temptation is the same: to treat the victim as the threat, and the abuser as the one worth saving.

But here is the wisdom: when an institution places its image above its integrity, it begins to rot from within. The protection of reputation is fleeting; the protection of truth is eternal. An organization that silences the wounded in order to appear strong is like a fortress that crumbles behind painted walls. Only by listening to the voices of the oppressed, by holding the guilty accountable, can strength endure. Anything less is cowardice masked as prudence.

The lesson for us, children of tomorrow, is fierce and clear. Never allow yourself to be complicit in silence. If you serve in power, remember that your first duty is not to the image of the institution, but to the people it was built to protect. If you are among the people, do not fear to speak, and do not shame those who cry out. The chains of secrecy may be heavy, but they can be broken by collective courage and relentless truth.

Practical wisdom demands this: wherever you labor—be it school, company, church, or community—watch how the weak are treated. Support those who speak of harm, even when their words trouble the peace. Demand transparency, resist the quiet settlement that erases the victim, and call leaders to account. Do not be deceived by titles, robes, or polished facades; look instead for justice in action. And when it is absent, raise your voice like the prophets of old.

Thus, let Butler’s words be not only a warning but a call to arms. Protecting institutions at the expense of truth is a betrayal that breeds ruin. Protecting truth, even at the expense of institutions, is the path to healing, to renewal, to the creation of communities that endure. Remember always: the honor of any institution is not in its ability to appear untarnished, but in its courage to confront its own failings, and to lift up those it once cast aside.