SEATTLE (WA)
The Good Men Project [Pasadena CA]
November 23, 2025
By Scott Douglas Jacobsen
Why must the Vatican adopt a universal zero tolerance canon law to protect children and restore accountability?
Timothy D. Law is a Catholic advocate for survivors and accountability. A founding leader with Ending Clergy Abuse, he campaigns for a universal zero-tolerance canon law that permanently removes abusers from ministry. Law helped advance clergy mandatory reporting legislation in Washington State and has worked alongside Ugandan and Kenyan communities for decades. He and advocates met Pope Francis to press for enforceable reforms after years of Vatican resistance. Sanctioned by his archbishop for supporting reform, Law continues to serve at the parish level while challenging hierarchical impunity. His approach combines legal strategy, media engagement, and collaboration with survivor leaders.https://db2d6925c9150ac345bc49b511cdcebf.safeframe.googlesyndication.com/safeframe/1-0-45/html/container.html
In this interview with Scott Douglas Jacobsen, Timothy D. Law traces the clergy abuse reckoning from the 1984–85 Gauthe case and Boston’s 2002 Spotlight exposé to UN scrutiny in 2014 and the 2018–19 crisis that forced a Vatican summit. He argues that policies without sanctions produce “no there there,” urging a universal canon law mandating permanent removal of abusive clergy. Law describes Vatican resistance, especially from parts of Africa and Asia, and recounts meeting Pope Francis, who acknowledged “great resistance.” He outlines poverty, church–state entanglement, and weak mandates as barriers, praises parish-level service, and champions transparency, civil investigations, and survivor-centred reforms, including Washington State’s clergy reporting push.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: What is the history of your work?
Timothy D. Law: The first significant date is 1984–1985, when the Gilbert Gauthe case in Louisiana became the first widely publicized criminal trial of a U.S. Catholic priest for child sexual abuse; civil suits followed, and the scandal broke into national view.
The Church initially framed the abuse as the work of “a few bad apples.” The next major year is 2002, when The Boston Globe’s Spotlight reporting exposed systemic cover-ups in the Archdiocese of Boston and beyond.
Rome first minimized this as an “American problem.” However, one concrete result was that U.S. bishops adopted the Charter for the Protection of Children and Young People and companion Essential Norms—effectively a zero-tolerance policy in U.S. canon law for clergy who abuse a minor, requiring permanent removal from ministry. The Holy See granted formal recognition to those Norms in December 2002. To date, the Vatican has not mandated a universal zero-tolerance law; advocates continue to push for it.
After 2002, the next major year is 2014. The UN Committee on the Rights of the Child (CRC) and the Committee against Torture (CAT) reviewed the Holy See. Both committees criticized the Holy See for prioritizing institutional reputation over child protection and issued recommendations that included: ending impunity for abusers and for cover-ups, mandatory reporting to civil authorities, greater access to files, and reparations. As a state party, the Vatican is expected to report periodically; another CRC report was due in 2017, and advocacy groups later complained about the lack of follow-through.
The next pivotal year is 2018, a perfect storm: Pope Francis’ troubled trip to Chile amid a national abuse crisis there; the Pennsylvania grand jury report detailing decades of abuse and cover-ups; and the Theodore McCarrick revelations that led to his removal from ministry in 2018 and laicization in 2019. These events prompted Francis to convene a global summit on the protection of minors in February 2019, which brought together about 190 participants, including the presidents of 114 bishops’ conferences. Survivor advocates were not official participants in the closed-door sessions, though survivor testimonies were presented to the assembly.https://db2d6925c9150ac345bc49b511cdcebf.safeframe.googlesyndication.com/safeframe/1-0-45/html/container.html
Two primary outcomes followed. First, on December 17, 2019, Francis abolished the “pontifical secret” for cases of clergy sexual abuse of minors, sexual violence, and child pornography offences—intended to allow cooperation with civil authorities and improve transparency. Observers welcomed the step but noted that other forms of canonical confidentiality still limit practical access to files in many places.
Second, Vos Estis Lux Mundi (May 2019, made permanent and expanded in 2023) established universal procedures for receiving and investigating allegations against bishops and religious superiors, and for handling reporting and case management. It is a procedural framework, not a universal zero-tolerance penalty law, and its effectiveness has varied from country to country.
Jacobsen: When these policies and announcements are made, what usually happens next?
Law: They make a big show of these things, and at the moment they sound terrific—full of potential.
Jacobsen: I really love that phrase, “at the moment.”
Law: Because when the smoke clears, there’s no there there. The bishops face no real accountability. They can choose whether to follow the procedures, and there are no sanctions if they don’t.
There was no zero-tolerance law made part of this, so it was a toothless public relations effort.
Jacobsen: If there’s no there there, then when our time comes, there’s no here here.
Law: Pope Francis is beloved by much of the world community, and people think he’s doing a great job. He talks about zero tolerance, but he wasn’t a canon lawyer—he’s more of a theologian, someone who gives statements and guidance. The current officials in charge of canon law could, in theory, put those principles into legal form, but they haven’t.
The Vatican often co-opts our language. They start using phrases like “zero tolerance” and other terms we use, but they don’t translate them into enforceable law.
Our goal has been to get inside the tent—to be part of the conversation and push for real change. We managed to get our foot in the door a year ago, in November, when we were invited into the Dicastery for Legislative Texts. I believe there are eight major dicasteries in the Vatican, and this one handles canon law.
We met with the president of the Dicastery and asked him directly: why no zero-tolerance law? They gave several responses, often contradictory. Some said, “We already have enough laws; we just need to enforce the ones we have.” Others said, “It’s cultural. We can’t have one law that fits the entire world. We’re a global Church.”https://db2d6925c9150ac345bc49b511cdcebf.safeframe.googlesyndication.com/safeframe/1-0-45/html/container.htmlDon’t like ads? Become a supporter and enjoy The Good Men Project ad free
We pointed out that the Church does, in fact, enforce universal laws on issues like abortion or the death penalty.
Jacobsen: Religion is a transnational movement.
Law: That’s true—but consistency should apply to protecting children as well.
They said that in some places, such as parts of Africa, attitudes toward sexuality differ. But one of our board members, Janet Aguti from Uganda, who runs a remarkable sexual violence awareness program there, told the Holy Father directly: “There is nowhere in the world where sexual abuse of children is culturally acceptable.”
The next significant milestone was our meeting with the Pope in October. We were genuinely surprised to receive the invitation. It was the first time in history that a Pope had met with a survivor activist organization. Usually, the Vatican arranges meetings only with hand-picked individual victims.
Jacobsen: What was the significance of your meeting with the Pope?
Law: Normally, the Vatican arranges private, emotional meetings between the Pope and individual survivors—what we call “kiss and cry sessions.” They generate much publicity but little systemic change. For a Pope to meet with a group like ours was different. More than half of our delegation are survivors of abuse, but we approached it as a professional meeting. We weren’t there to recount our trauma; we were there to say, “We need to be part of the solution. We need to be part of the conversation.”
We began by saying the Church must adopt a zero-tolerance policy. The Pope told us there is excellent resistance to such a law. That was new—previously, Vatican officials had claimed it wasn’t necessary. We knew the real issue was resistance, especially from bishops in Africa and Asia.
Jacobsen: That’s an interesting nuance. Why the resistance from those regions?
Law: The Pope acknowledged that Africa poses a serious challenge. He said many bishops there deny they have a problem, though he added, “I know better.” He told us that the days when he could sign a decree were over. He could, technically, do it, he said, but because of social media, if those under his authority aren’t willing to follow it, they’ll ignore it.
We understood that as an admission of a fundamental structural problem. Still, we said, if you can’t sign a universal zero-tolerance law now, then let us be in the room to help remove that resistance. Survivors and advocates have expertise that can help address cultural or institutional objections. The Pope agreed to that in principle.
What form that collaboration will take is yet to be seen. The question now is whether he meant it sincerely or was deflecting. He mentioned that we should meet with the Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors, and I thought to myself, “That’s a toothless commission.” If he’s relegating us to that body, it means he’s punting on the real issue.https://db2d6925c9150ac345bc49b511cdcebf.safeframe.googlesyndication.com/safeframe/1-0-45/html/container.htmlDon’t like ads? Become a supporter and enjoy The Good Men Project ad free
That said, he seemed straightforward. He told us, “I won’t promise what I can’t do, but I hear you. Let’s try to work together.”
Notably, he also revealed something we hadn’t expected: he didn’t know that the U.S. bishops’ zero-tolerance policy had been formally recognized as canon law. He believed it was just a voluntary initiative by the American bishops. I said, “No, Holy Father—it’s an essential norm approved by the Vatican.” That was news to him.
The significance of that moment is enormous. It shows we’re not asking for something new or impossible. The U.S. has had this in place since 2002. For all our ongoing problems, the United States is probably the safest place in the world for children within the Church because of those protocols and the zero-tolerance policy. Our question to him was simple: if it works here, why not make it universal?
He said again that there’s strong resistance to that. Our reply was: “Let us help you remove it.”
Jacobsen: Do you have any further reflections on why Asia and Africa are regions of acute concern regarding clerical abuse and institutional resistance?
Law: Yes, and it’s essential to understand the historical pattern. This crisis has moved in waves. It began in the United States, then spread to Western Europe, and then to Australia. Now we’re seeing it emerge in South America, though resistance remains strong in Asia and Africa. Their time will come.
The main reason for resistance is the tight interconnection between Church and State in those regions. They protect one another. For over thirty years, I’ve been travelling to Uganda and Kenya. I first became involved through a group of Ugandan Catholic nuns I met by chance three decades ago, and since then I’ve worked with them on various community projects.
The faith of the people there is firm, and their bond with the Church is almost inseparable. The bishops are deeply intertwined with the government. Corruption runs deep. When abuse occurs, even if it causes an uproar locally, it’s quickly suppressed. The people don’t want to believe their priests or bishops could commit abuse, and civil authorities protect the Church. Cracks are forming, but the reckoning hasn’t yet arrived.
Jacobsen: Why do laypeople remain in denial? Why do secular institutions of the state protect religious institutions complicit in systemic or individual crimes?
Law: Poverty is the central factor. When I visit every other year, even for a few weeks, I see how profound it is. For many people, faith is their only constant. They literally depend on it to survive. If that faith were shaken, they feel they would have nothing left. They wake up thanking God they’re alive. A bowl of food is a miracle. The Church often provides that food, and that charity cements loyalty.
But the tragedy is that this dependency prevents systemic change. People won’t fight for functioning economies, infrastructure, or accountability. I’ve seen regions where farmers all grow tomatoes but have no roads to transport them elsewhere. If they had decent infrastructure, they could sell to markets beyond their village. Deep poverty, in that sense, serves both the Church and the State very well. It maintains control. It’s heartbreaking.
At the same time, I see how meaningful faith is to them, and I feel conflicted about challenging it. When I stay in village rectories, I see firsthand how priests live and work. Africa is overwhelmingly young—about 75-80% of the population is under 30. It’s a continent of children and youth. Priests there are overwhelmed by poverty. A single priest may serve 15,000 to 30,000 parishioners, all of them struggling. He has limited resources but access to some aid. That dynamic—scarcity and power—creates a dangerous imbalance.
Many priests in Africa are also principals of schools. Their parishioners’ children will do anything to get an education—literally anything. Some even resort to prostitution to pay school fees. With that kind of power and pressure, it’s not hard to imagine how widespread abuse can become in a system like that.
These are good people, compassionate people, but when you’re living under immense pressure and poverty, people cope however they can—through alcohol, drugs, sex. Abuse grows out of that environment. I believe that when the truth eventually comes to light, the scope of abuse in Africa will be ten times worse than anywhere else in the world.
That’s why the bishops are so resistant. Deep down, they know that if a universal zero-tolerance law were implemented, they would lose much of their power—and many of their own.
Jacobsen: On a broader level, this brings us to international ethics. There’s only one real place where nations have agreed—at least formally—to play by the same moral rules: the United Nations, through its human rights framework. That principle of universalism means the same ethical standards apply everywhere. You’re calling for a universal zero-tolerance law. Why is it crucial that such a standard exist?
Law: It’s essential to call it a law, not a policy. The Church keeps saying it has a “zero tolerance policy.” But a policy is optional—it can be ignored. A law is binding. A law means that if you sexually abuse a child, you must be permanently removed from ministry. No exceptions.
That removes discretion from the bishops and shifts power toward the victims. That’s the fundamental struggle here—who holds power.
Of course, even if the Pope were to sign such a law, that wouldn’t be the end. It’s not a cure-all. It would still have to be enforced. But it would be the critical first step—the Achilles’ heel. Once that domino falls, everything else follows: full disclosure, independent review, perhaps even a truth and reconciliation commission. That’s why they’re so afraid of it.
When we met with the Pope, he was caught off guard. We were scheduled for a 20-minute meeting—it lasted about an hour. We began with a statement explaining who we were and what we were asking for, then introduced ourselves. The Pope was warm and personable, and the tone throughout was professional and respectful on both sides.
We got the Pope’s commitment to work with us. As the meeting was wrapping up, I debated whether to ask one last, pointed question. Finally, I did. I said, “Holy Father, you don’t have to answer this, but I must ask: why can’t the U.S. zero-tolerance law be made universal throughout the Church?”
He hesitated, fumbled a bit, and then said there was “great resistance” to it. That’s when he made the statements I mentioned earlier—the ones acknowledging the opposition, particularly from Africa and Asia. His response revealed just how aware Church leadership is of the potential consequences such a law would have for them.
Jacobsen: You were, shall we say, rather bold in asking that. It got right to the heart of the issue—universalizing a law that already exists in America.
Law: Yes, and his acknowledgment of resistance was significant news. From that moment, we decided to focus our efforts laser-like on this single goal: establishing a universal zero-tolerance law. We believe it’s the one thread that, once pulled, could unravel a culture of impunity.
Jacobsen: The slow progress raises a question. Is this delay simply because the Catholic Church is vast and bureaucratic—a 2,000-year-old institution with layers of canon law to navigate? Or is it more self-serving—an attempt to shield itself from exposure? Could it even stem from lay resistance or people protecting their own crimes under the cover of faith? What’s really driving the inertia?
Law: That’s a complex question. In one sense, things haven’t moved slowly at all. If you look at the last forty years, child sexual abuse wasn’t even a topic of public conversation. Now it’s part of global discourse. The clergy abuse crisis in the Catholic Church helped catalyze broader social awareness. Movements like #MeToo and increased attention to institutional accountability all owe something to the exposure of these crimes.
We now have a safer Church in many regions, and many other organizations—religious and secular alike—have adopted safeguarding protocols inspired by these reforms. So, in that respect, progress has been real. Every time we speak about this, every time you interview this one, it has a ripple effect. It makes the world a bit safer.
That said, we’re dealing with an institution that instinctively protects itself. It’s a self-preserving organism, and no one likes to confront such horror within something they love. Many good people have left the Church over this, leaving behind those who prefer to look away or trust that the hierarchy has it under control.
I may be the only person in our organization who still actively practices Catholicism. I still attend the same parish where I was baptized seventy-six years ago. I love the Church. I believe deeply in its spiritual message. But the hierarchy—since its earliest days—has always been susceptible to corruption. Power is intoxicating, and it corrupts. It always has, and it always will.
This issue affects different parts of the world in various ways. In Africa, for example, the people are not demanding accountability from their bishops. So yes, it’s both leadership and laity that allow the system to persist. It takes a few activists—people willing to keep pushing, to keep prodding the institution—to create a movement. Change happens, but it tends to occur in bursts rather than gradually.
We’ve seen this pattern before: 1985, 2002, 2018—each year marking a significant crisis or revelation that forced the Church to respond. My view is that if we’re in the room with a “shovel-ready law,” ready to be enacted, then when the next scandal inevitably breaks, they’ll call us. They’ll say, “We have to do something. We’re losing people. Let’s move on to this law.” Unfortunately, it often takes a catastrophe to create momentum. That’s why we have to be present and prepared when that moment comes.
Jacobsen: Why is the movement so catastrophe-driven?
Law: Because the survivors and advocates—people like us—are motivated by conscience, not power. We believe what we’re doing serves the good of both victims and the Church. The hierarchy knows what it must do—be transparent and accountable—but it won’t act voluntarily. It takes public outrage and those catastrophic shocks to jolt them into reform.
A pope would never have convened a global summit on clergy abuse or publicly acknowledged it as a worldwide crisis if not for the convergence of scandals that came to a head in 2018. That was a perfect storm—years of revelations building until he had no choice but to respond. It’s human nature, unfortunately.
Jacobsen: Within the theology itself, shouldn’t they fear God’s wrath for allowing such evil?
Law: I don’t think it works that way. I believe God gave us intelligence to solve our own problems. It’s our responsibility to use that—to act justly and fix what’s broken.
Jacobsen: Where has the Church done well, on the other hand?
Law: Well, credit where it’s due. The Apostle Paul wrote that before God, there is no male or female, rich or poor, that we are all equal in His eyes and share a common humanity. That idea—radical in its time—helped transform the world. It inspired the foundational ideals of equality in the modern era. You see echoes of it in the American Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” That philosophical lineage traces back to Christian thought.
Throughout history, the Church has also founded universities, hospitals, and charitable institutions. The impulse to love, to serve, and to care for humanity is deeply rooted in the Church’s teaching. It’s just that the institution often falls short of its own ideals. The principles are there—the implementation, far less so. But occasionally, we do get it right.
It’s exciting to wake up each morning and work toward justice. We all feel that way. If we didn’t believe that what we’re doing makes a difference, it would be unbearable. That drive—to seek truth and justice—comes, in part, from the very moral teachings we grew up with in our churches, across all faith traditions.
Jacobsen: You’ve supported the civil investigation in Washington State. What lessons from that effort could apply nationally or even internationally?
Law: What we’re doing in Washington is really a microcosm of what needs to happen around the world. We’ve asked the bishops of Washington State to enter into a truth and reconciliation process with us—to grant access to their files, to protect victims, of course, but above all, to put all the cards on the table. We need to understand why the abuse happened, how it happened, and how to prevent it from ever happening again.
This has to be a partnership between the people and the Church leadership. It can’t be a self-contained, internal process. That’s what needs to happen locally, and it’s also what must happen internationally. I do believe it will, eventually.
Each U.S. state has different laws governing access to Church records. Some, like Pennsylvania, allow grand jury investigations with broad powers. That’s how the Pennsylvania grand jury was able to force the Church to release decades of internal files, exposing systemic abuse. Washington State’s laws aren’t as clear.
So, we initiated a process with the state attorney general’s office to gain access to those files. We lost the first round in the trial court, but the case is now on appeal. The briefs are filed, the hearings are done, and we’re awaiting a decision on whether the attorney general has the authority to access those records.
Jacobsen: The argument for transparency seems foundational—what’s at stake in that decision?
Law: Full disclosure is essential. The Church, especially when dealing with children, cannot be above the law. It must be accountable to parents, to grandparents, to the public. We have a right to know. Those abuse files belong, in a moral sense, to the victims. They’re not the Church’s property—they’re the stories and the pain of human beings.
There are two reasons we want access. One is informational: we need to understand the scope and details of what happened. But the second is preventative. If the Church knows the public has a right to access its records, that knowledge itself acts as accountability. It’s a safeguard against future cover-ups.
Jacobsen: Survivors have sought justice through various paths—such as independent compensation funds, civil litigation, or hybrid models. While each case is individual, what tends to feel most like justice for survivors?
Law: The biggest thing is acknowledgment. Survivors want the Church to publicly admit that the abuse happened and that it was allowed to happen. Many survivors were told for years, “You’re the only one,” or “We didn’t know.” Then they discover that the Church had known for decades that there were thick files documenting the same abuser harming child after child.
That revelation—that they were lied to, that the institution they trusted knew and did nothing—is devastating. So when the Church finally acknowledges the truth, it validates survivors’ pain and their humanity. It’s not about money first—it’s about being believed.
When they acknowledge to the victim, “We hurt you. We did wrong,” that’s huge. That’s validating. The financial part—settlements and compensation—is good, but it’s not deeply satisfying. It doesn’t make anyone whole. No matter the size of the settlement, nobody feels whole afterward. Their soul have been shattered, and they can never be restored to what it was. That can’t be undone.
But it is accountability. When the Church has to sell off property to make funds available for compensation, that’s a form of justice. Unfortunately, they’ve begun using bankruptcy strategically—to limit compensation and to block access to the files. So, the accurate measure of justice is holding them accountable: making them pay, where possible, and forcing them to acknowledge wrongdoing.
Jacobsen: How realistic are transnational bodies—like UN treaty committees or regional courts—as avenues for action on behalf of survivors?
Law: It has to be a multi-pronged approach. No single system will fix it. Over time, you build a patchwork of solutions—legal, moral, and social. The United Nations and similar institutions can’t enforce much; they don’t have legal power over sovereign or religious entities. But they do have moral authority—what’s sometimes called “moral suasion.”
That matters. Speaking out always has an effect. Silence is never neutral. Every voice adds pressure. So we keep saying something, always. It’s a long game.
We have a board member named Janet Aguti—she’s 32. I’m 76. That gives you a sense of the timeline. There’s no quick fix, no “kill shot.” This work will outlast us. Independent lay groups like ours are new, both in civil society and within the Church’s context. That’s historic in itself.
Our existence must be permanent. These groups need to keep watch—to monitor, to hold the institution accountable. Centuries ago, the Church functioned as a law unto itself. That era has to end. We’re part of a movement meant to ensure it does, permanently.
Jacobsen: Many people—whether victims, advocates, or simply believers learning these truths—have struggled with their faith. How did you process this personally? Did you ever question your faith? Once? Several times? How did that reconciliation unfold?
Law: Yes, I’ve questioned it—more than once. I still do, sometimes. I don’t really know why I have faith—it’s a mystery, something larger than logic.
Until about 2014, I was oblivious to the depth of this issue. I’m relatively new to it. I knew about the 2002 Boston Globe investigation, of course, but I believed the bishops had solved the problem afterward with their so-called “safe environment” programs. I lived in a kind of bubble, thinking the crisis was over. I was wrong.
I lived in a lovely little religious bubble. Then local events here in Seattle burst that bubble, and I could no longer see my faith in quite the same way.
Jacobsen: What do you mean by that?
Law: The comfort I used to draw from ritual—from the daily Mass, from the rhythm of it all—was shattered. I went to Mass every day. Some of my best friends were priests and bishops. Some still are. But when I discovered that several of them were complicit in covering up abuse, that sense of comfort dissolved.
Even so, other experiences have convinced me there’s something rather than nothing—something divine, something loving. I believe there is a God of love. I realized that faith has been part of me since childhood.
When I was seven years old, I had a terrible experience with a nun in first grade. She called me up to read in front of a class of sixty children. I stumbled over a word, and she told me to stick out my tongue—then she punched me in the jaw. It wasn’t discipline; it was terrorism. Later, I started to recall how often she struck other children, too.
That was the start of understanding that there’s both good and evil within the Church’s ranks. My parents were people of deep faith, and I suppose I inherited that from them. The priests and nuns I knew—some were kind, others cruel—but none of them destroyed my belief in God.
The real challenge was this: I can believe, but why do I still belong to the institution? I had to decide. I remain a member of the parish where I grew up. These are my people. They do good work—serving the poor, fighting for justice. At the ground level, in local parishes, the Church can be a dynamic, life-giving community.
But once you move up the hierarchy, that’s where everything breaks down. Leaders seem to be chosen not for moral courage, but for their willingness to protect their fellow bishops. That creates and perpetuates a culture of corruption at the top.
Another reason I stay in the Church—and in my parish—is that it’s more effective to work from the inside. I get to educate people on the issues and, frankly, disturb their peace a little bit. Recently, I lobbied for and helped pass a bill in the Washington State Legislature to make clergy mandatory reporters, even when they learn of abuse in a confessional setting. That specific confessional clause was later set aside, but the law itself passed.
There’s a photo of my wife and me standing beside the governor as he signed the bill. Because of my public support, my archbishop sanctioned me—told me there were specific duties I could no longer perform in my parish. Ironically, that only amplified the story. Rolling Stone even covered it, and my grandkids now think I’m pretty cool.
This institution—the Catholic Church—has been around for two thousand years and will probably be around for thousands more. It’s 1.3 billion people strong and operates across national borders. That means it has an enormous responsibility to clean up its act. That’s what we’re working toward: reform from within.
Jacobsen: What about the push to vet cardinals’ abuse records and monitor the next papal election? I believe that’s connected to the Conclave Watch effort.
Law: Yes, that’s right. Peter Isely and Sarah Pearson led that project. They were both part of Ending Clergy Abuse (ECA) until last year—Peter was actually our public spokesperson. He’s an incredibly talented guy. They later moved to SNAP—the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests—and took a more confrontational approach.
SNAP has always been bold and direct. Without SNAP, our movement wouldn’t exist in its current form. Their confrontation created space for us to take a complementary role—to work the inside track while they maintain external pressure.
Jacobsen: The classic “good cop, bad cop” dynamic?
Law: Exactly. We need each other. The Pope never would have met with us if we had taken SNAP’s approach. It was risky for both sides—for him to meet with us, and for us to accept the meeting. It brought us a lot of attention and goodwill, but also the danger of being co-opted.
We’re aware of that. Now we have to use the opportunity to push our advantage—to secure a genuine seat at the table. And if we don’t, we must be ready to call it out publicly: “You promised change. Where is it?”
The Pope took a real risk by meeting with us. I’m sure many bishops were furious—his own advisors have long argued the best way to handle us is to ignore us entirely, to deny our existence, to give us no oxygen. So for the Pope to acknowledge us was huge—for him and for us.
And now, after years of effort, the media finally understands what we’ve been saying: that the Church doesn’t need another policy on zero tolerance—it needs a law. For five years, reporters weren’t getting it. Now, they’re asking those questions themselves: “Where’s the zero-tolerance law?” That shift in understanding is a breakthrough.
That breakthrough with the press has created real momentum—momentum that can carry forward beyond us.
Jacobsen: You’re essentially talking about making accountability legally independent of bishops—canonically and jurisdictionally separate?
Law: Canon law is the Church’s internal legal system—its code of conduct and operating manual. It’s already there. What we’re proposing is quite simple: a canon law stating that if a clergy member sexually abuses a child, they must be permanently removed from ministry.
We’ve worked with canon lawyers to draft a version of that law that the Pope could sign tomorrow. It’s ready. It could become part of the Church’s binding legal framework immediately.
Right now, the Vatican’s approach borrows from the U.S. model—not a perfect fit, since it doesn’t hold bishops accountable for cover-ups. It focuses only on priests, not bishops. But even that—making permanent removal mandatory for any priest who abuses a child—would be a dramatic first step if formally enacted into canon law.
Jacobsen: You and Mary Dispenza have engaged major media outlets. What’s your advice for journalists or communications professionals trying to cover these issues with both sensitivity and firmness—enough pressure to get accountability, but without retraumatizing survivors?
Law: That’s a great question. We don’t have an institutional platform like the Pope does. We depend entirely on the press to carry our message. Without journalists, our work doesn’t reach anyone. So we need you—plain and simple.
The media landscape has changed. It used to be that if The New York Times or Associated Press covered you, that was it—you’d reached the world. Now, social media often carries more weight. We’ve had to adapt to that reality.
The Church says it isn’t a democratic organization, but in truth, every institution responds to pressure. Some do it formally through votes or policy, while others do it informally through reputation and visibility. What we’re doing—organizing, lobbying, forming alliances—is the same process I used in the Washington State Legislature to get the clergy-reporting law passed.
We lobby. We find allies. We look for people inside the Vatican who are quietly sympathetic. The organizational chart doesn’t show where the real power lies. The Pope surrounds himself with advisors he actually listens to—so our task is to find those people.
It takes time, energy, and persistence. Every time we’re in Rome, we try to meet with someone significant. On our last trip, in October, we met with someone extremely influential.
This person we met in Rome doesn’t have a big title, but he has real influence—and he knows exactly who the real power players are. Building those kinds of relationships is crucial to moving things forward.
Jacobsen: Any final thoughts on the Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors after your October 20th meetings?
Law: The commission was established with limited power and funding. It was a brilliant public relations move by Pope Francis. The problem is that it doesn’t have a real mandate. There are a lot of good people on it—people who genuinely care—but several have resigned out of frustration once they realized there’s “no there there.”
If we could work with the commission to make its recommendations more direct—more pointed—toward the Pope, that could have value. Right now, they issue reports but rarely challenge the Vatican to act. They should be the ones pushing for a zero-tolerance law. They were close to doing that last year, but then they backed away.
Because it’s a papal commission, they’d essentially have to go rogue to demand a zero-tolerance law. And of course, if they did, the Pope could dissolve the commission altogether—which, honestly, might not be a bad thing if it led to something more substantial and more independent.
Jacobsen: Tim, are there any other areas we should explore today, or does that cover the main ground?
Law: I could talk about this all day, but I think we’ve covered much territory. I appreciate your time. Thank you for listening and for what you’re doing. It’s essential work. Keep it up.
Jacobsen: Thank you. Cheers.
Law: Bye now.
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Scott Douglas Jacobsen is the publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978-1-0692343) and Editor-in-Chief of In-