Some communities protect abusers the same way churches did
I wrote the other day about white European men, the church, and the long, ugly trail of child sexual offending that keeps surfacing in this country. Predictably, some people bristled. Others pretended not to understand the point. A few accused me of singling out one group while ignoring others. So let’s be clear about what was said, and what wasn’t.
When abuse linked to churches comes to light, it is usually white European men who are paraded across the news. Mugshots. Court sketches. Priests, teachers, authority figures. Names suppressed for years, then finally revealed. The pattern is undeniable, and the institutions that enabled them deserve every ounce of scrutiny they get.
But that does not mean child sexual abuse is confined to churches, or to one demographic. Far from it.
Sexual abuse is widespread across New Zealand society, including within Māori and Pacific Island families. The difference is not the harm. The difference is what happens next.
When abuse occurs within the family, particularly at the hands of another family member, the response is often silence. Doors close. Ranks tighten. Victims are pressured to keep quiet, to protect the family name, to avoid bringing shame on relatives or the wider whānau.
We have seen this dynamic play out repeatedly in high-profile violent crime cases in this country. Serious assaults. Child homicides. Offending where entire families knew what was happening, yet chose loyalty over accountability. The same instinct applies to sexual offending within the family home.
The offender is “one of ours”. The victim is told not to talk. Police are kept at arm’s length. The damage is buried, not addressed.
This is not about culture as an excuse. It is about human behaviour under pressure. Institutions close ranks. Families close ranks. Churches are simply families with power, money and lawyers.
The reason church abuse cases dominate headlines is not because they are more common, but because eventually the institution cracks. Documents surface. Survivors band together. The courts intervene. The story spills out whether the church likes it or not.
Family abuse rarely gets that far. It stays hidden in bedrooms, living rooms and whispered conversations. It becomes an “open secret”. Everyone knows. No one acts. And the victim is left to carry it alone.
That is the part of this conversation many people are uncomfortable having. It is easier to point at priests and collars than to look inward at what happens behind closed doors in ordinary homes.
