The criticism I make of the Church’s handling of this safeguarding complaint does not arise from a single decision, nor from a single failure of judgment. It is the product of a sequence of complaints, processes and refusals stretching back to 2019, in which the Church of England — at various levels — repeatedly chose institutional convenience over clarity, learning and pastoral responsibility. In doing so, senior Church figures not only kept the truth hidden; they conspired — whether knowingly or through systematic incompetence — to concoct lies.

At every stage, senior figures spoke about safeguarding culture and lessons learned. At every stage where those words required action, they failed to act.

The most recent and most visible failures are those of the Archbishop of York, Stephen Cottrell, and the Archbishop-Elect of Canterbury, Sarah Mullally. Both refused to apologise and refused to commission an independent lessons-learned review when given the opportunity to do so, even though such a review was promised to the victim in this case at least as far back as 2021.

That refusal was not an isolated lapse. It was the endpoint of a pattern that runs through the handling of three distinct complaints under the Clergy Discipline Measure, and through the reasoning of the President of Tribunals, who declined to take further action against the Archdeacon of Nottingham.

Three complaints, one pattern

The first complaint was made in 2020 by the Archdeacon of Nottingham, Phil Williams, against the Revd Anthony Giles, Rector of Epperstone, Gonalston, Oxton and Woodborough. The underlying facts were serious. A parishioner had disclosed sexual abuse, indecent exposure and coercive sexually explicit communication by her vicar.

She approached the Church with a straightforward question: “This is what my vicar did — is that OK?” She was told by safeguarding officers that it was sexual assault and an abuse of position of trust.

Yet when the matter reached senior ecclesiastical figures, it was reframed. After reading the narrative put forward by the archdeacon, the Bishop of Southwell and Nottingham, Paul Williams (no relation), described the complaint as concerning “an intimate relationship outside of marriage”. The Deputy President of Tribunals, Judge David Turner, described the behaviour as “consensual”. That reframing minimised the safeguarding dimension and set the tone for what followed.

What was reported as sexual assault and indecent exposure — and investigated as such by Nottinghamshire Police — was treated by the Church as a priest not seeking safeguarding advice when he was aware that a vulnerable woman had romantic feelings towards him. 

The actual complaint that Mr Giles had to face in his clergy disciplinary tribunal was:

The actual complaint that Mr Giles had to face in his clergy disciplinary tribunal was that:

1. In 2015, at a time when he was aware of feelings of romantic affection towards him from Ms AB, a vulnerable woman, he:
   1. failed to seek assistance or advice from the diocesan safeguarding team as to how to respond appropriately to her; and
   2. in failing to seek assistance or advice, placed the concerns of his own reputation above the pastoral needs of Ms AB; and
2. During 2017, he:
   1. sent text messages to Ms AB which were inappropriate in frequency and content; and
   2. in doing so, failed accordingly to observe or maintain appropriate professional boundaries.

This was a complete distortion of the complaint, but Ms AB was unable to challenge it. She tried: she complained to the bishop, to the archdeacon, to the diocesan safeguarding team, to the national safeguarding team, to the Archbishop of York, to anybody who would listen. But nobody did listen. She had no voice in the Church’s process. No victim has a voice in the Church of England’s safeguarding processes. They are silenced.

That complaint resulted in Mr Giles being prohibited from acting as a priest for six months — but he was not removed from office. This, despite the statutory penalty guidance putting it the other way around: a tribunal should decide whether a priest should be removed from office and then decide whether it should also prohibit the priest from ministry, either for a limited term or permanently. Looking through the published tribunal judgments, this is the only case where a priest received a prohibition from ministry but who remained in office. In effect, his punishment was a six-month paid holiday, on top of the time he previously spent suspended pending the outcome of the tribunal.

The Bishop of Southwell and Nottingham and the Archbishop of York have both expressed privately to Ms AB that they do not want Mr Giles to continue in ministry. But neither of them has done anything to bring about his removal from ministry. He continues to “serve” his parishes to this day. Meanwhile, Ms AB has been forced to leave her home and relocate to another town, and has rarely stepped foot in a church as a result of her treatment at the hands of the Church’s processes (Matthew 18:6 springs to mind).

The second complaint was brought by me in 2020/21. It concerned the Bishop of Southwell and Nottingham’s handling of the case, including his decision to question the victim himself, contrary to recommendations in previous lessons-learned reviews, his failure to ensure appropriate pastoral care was provided to the victim, and his mishandling of safeguarding responsibilities. That complaint was rejected by the Archbishop of York.

In a covering letter dated 18 December 2020, sending the bishop’s response to the complaint to the archbishop, the bishop’s solicitor said: “the bishop would want to extend an unreserved apology to [the victim] if she felt that the support she received was inadequate.” Despite that assurance, the bishop has never apologised to the victim. He apologised for what Anthony Giles did, but not for his own actions, nor for the inadequacy of the support she received.

The third complaint was made by me in August 2025. It concerned the Archdeacon of Nottingham’s continued refusal to provide the victim with a copy of his original complaint and the misrepresentation of her account within Church processes. This complaint reached the current President of Tribunals, Sir Stephen Males.

He decided to take no further action. His decision, and his reasoning, expose how deeply embedded these problems are. It is this third complaint that this blog post explores.

“It is not clear”: uncertainty as a shield

The President of Tribunals’ decision notice halting my complaint about the Archdeacon of Nottingham relies heavily on a single device: the assertion that key matters are “not clear”. That phrase appears repeatedly and does crucial work. It allows the decision to avoid grappling with evidence without having to reject it.

One example is central. The President states that “it is not clear whether Ms AB was ever told of” the earlier decision of the Deputy President. He goes on to say: “It would appear that she was not told because, if she had been, she and the Complainant [me] would have understood that the Respondent had included her allegations in the 2020 Complaint and the present Complaint might have been avoided. Plainly she ought to have been told and, if she was not, that was a failing.”

Yet the evidence before him was clear because in paragraphs 21–22 of her witness statement, Ms AB explains that the Deputy President’s decision notice was sent to her, that she read it, and that it caused her significant distress.

She describes the sense of being blamed and disbelieved, and the way the wording in the Deputy President’s decision notice compounded the earlier harm. This is direct, first-hand evidence. The Deputy President’s decision could not help her to understand that the archdeacon had included her allegations. Her allegations were of sexual assault. Sexual assault can never be described as “consensual”.

The President does not say that he rejects Ms AB’s statement. Nor does he explain why it should be regarded as unreliable. He simply declares the matter “not clear”.

That approach recurs elsewhere. The President says it is “not clear” what the complainant was told by safeguarding officers when she first raised her concerns, despite her statement setting out a consistent account: that she was told the conduct amounted to sexual assault and abuse of trust. He says it is “not clear” whether procedural handling caused harm, despite detailed evidence describing the impact on her mental health, family life and faith.

In another passage, the President treats references in the chronology to instructions attributed to the Bishop as of unclear basis, despite those references being identified in the witness statement and supported by an annexed chronology quoting dated instructions that were provided to me (the complainant) by the bishop — and my statement set out the documentary basis for those claims. Again, no evaluation is offered; uncertainty is simply asserted.

The most troubling aspect of this reasoning is not disagreement with the complainant’s case, but the absence of analysis. The decision does not weigh evidence or explain why it fails to meet the required standard. Instead, “not clear” becomes a full stop. It functions as a way of preserving institutional comfort while avoiding accountability.

An aborted judicial review

I had intended to bring a judicial review against the President’s decision. The concern was not merely the outcome, but the manner in which evidence appeared to be disregarded rather than evaluated. That is not what should be expected of a decision-maker who also serves as a judge of the Court of Appeal of England and Wales.

I engaged in pre-litigation correspondence with the Archbishops’ Council and the Office of the President of Tribunals, primarily through their external solicitors, Sharpe Pritchard LLP.

Ultimately, I did not progress the application for a judicial review — not because my concerns lacked substance, but because the potential remedy available to the court was so limited. If the court had found that the president’s decision was unlawful, the most it could have ordered was a fresh decision by the same decision-maker.

The court could not substitute its own assessment of the evidence. Faced with the prospect of further delay, further exposure and the likelihood that the same focus of protecting the Church would be repeated, I did not proceed to litigation.

That context matters. When a system concentrates so much power in a single decision-maker, and offers so little meaningful oversight, no ability for challenge or appeal, and no ability for those decisions to be scrutinised by being made in the open, the quality of that decision-maker’s engagement with evidence becomes critical. In this case, the repeated invocation of uncertainty in the face of specific, sworn evidence undermines confidence in the process itself.

A missed opportunity for apology and learning

It was against this background that the Archbishop of York and the Archbishop-Elect of Canterbury were approached. The request made to them was modest and reasonable. It had two parts: an apology acknowledging the harm suffered and the Church’s failures in responding to it, and the commissioning of an independent lessons-learned review as had been promised in 2021. The request was, in effect, an invitation for the Church to honour its own commitments.

Both leaders refused.

The wording of their responses was strikingly similar.

On 10 October 2025, the Archbishop of York wrote:

“It appears you are proposing litigation against the Archbishops’ Council. It would be inappropriate for me to enter into dialogue with you over this, and therefore … I won’t be answering your questions, or any further questions which relate to or arise in relation to any claims you may make.”

On 27 October 2025, the Archbishop-Elect of Canterbury replied:

“It appears that you are proposing litigation against the Archbishops’ Council. And whilst I am not yet a member it would be inappropriate for me to enter into dialogue with you over this, and therefore … I won’t be answering your questions, or any further questions which relate to or arise in relation to any claims you may make.”

Both of the Church of England’s most senior bishops stated that because litigation was proposed, it would be “inappropriate” to enter into dialogue, and therefore no questions would be answered. No apology was offered. No review was commissioned. Engagement ceased.

That position was not legally compelled. An apology does not amount to an admission of liability. Commissioning a lessons-learned review does not prejudice legal proceedings. These are well-established points, repeatedly made in safeguarding reviews — including safeguarding reviews commissioned by the Church of England, purportedly so they could learn lessons from past mistakes and not repeat those mistakes again. The refusal was a choice.

Words without weight

What makes that choice so damaging is the contrast with the public statements of those involved. The Archbishop of York has spoken eloquently about humility, repentance and the need for the Church to listen to survivors. The Archbishop-Elect of Canterbury has emphasised cultural change and the importance of trust. Those words are on the record. They are frequently cited as evidence that the Church has learned from past failures.

Yet when faced with a real case demanding precisely that response, both leaders retreated behind legal process. They chose distance over dialogue, silence over apology, and delay over learning.

This is precisely the pattern identified and criticised in countless lessons-learned reviews: fear of litigation inhibiting apology; process displacing pastoral care; institutional defensiveness compounding harm. The tragedy is not that the Church was warned. It is that those warnings were ignored when they mattered.

Conclusion: lessons ignored, not learned

Taken together, these events form a coherent picture. A safeguarding complaint reframed as consensual. Concerns about handling dismissed. Evidence treated as “not clear” despite being detailed and specific. Apology withheld. An independent review promised and not delivered. Senior leaders stepping back when moral leadership was required.

The Archbishop of York and the Archbishop-Elect of Canterbury are not responsible for every decision taken along the way. But they are responsible for how they responded when the failures were laid before them.

They had the authority — and a moral duty — to apologise. They chose not to.

They had the authority — and under current guidance, I would argue, an obligation — to commission an independent review. They chose not to.

Safeguarding reform cannot rest on speeches and statements alone. It is tested in moments like this, when apology is uncomfortable and learning carries risk. In this case, the Church’s most senior figures failed that test.

Until that failure is acknowledged, the promise that lessons have been learned will remain exactly that: a promise, repeated, but not kept. And for this victim — as for so many victims of the Church of England’s safeguarding processes — the truth remains untold.

And the sad fact remains: when Stephen Cottrell and Sarah Mullally were confronted with a moment requiring moral leadership, pastoral courage and institutional honesty, they both chose to walk by on the other side. They opted for silence, refused to apologise, declined to commission the promised independent review and then withdrew entirely.

Neither has contacted me, nor the victim, since it became clear that the proposed judicial review would not proceed.

• This post was edited on 27 January to correct some typographical errors, including the name of the Archdeacon of Nottingham.