The “Among,” Power, and the Difficult Questions We Avoid
By Sonia P. Soto
In Pampanga, priests are not simply called “Father.” They are called Among. That word carries centuries of meaning. It is rooted in our history, our culture, our faith, and our collective memory as Kapampangans. For many of us, an “Among” is not merely a religious figure. He is viewed as a moral guide, counselor, educator, elder, and spiritual authority rolled into one.
That is why the latest controversy involving a Pampanga priest accused of rape has become more than just another criminal case. It has become a painful mirror reflecting difficult truths about power, silence, gender, and accountability in deeply religious communities like ours.
According to reports, prosecutors dismissed the complaint for rape and acts of lasciviousness filed by a young woman against a Roman Catholic priest and two alleged cohorts for “insufficiency of evidence.” The dismissal, however, was reportedly issued “without prejudice,” meaning the complaint may still be refiled should additional evidence emerge.
The complainant alleged repeated sexual abuse, psychological control, emotional manipulation, and threats. One of the alleged cohorts reportedly admitted acting under the priest’s “moral ascendancy” and influence. The priest denied coercion and maintained that the interactions were consensual. The prosecutor, meanwhile, ruled that the available evidence fell short of establishing force, intimidation, or coercion with the degree required for criminal prosecution.
That legal reality deserves respect. Courts and prosecutors cannot convict people based on outrage, speculation, or social media sentiment alone. Evidence matters. Due process matters. Fairness matters.
But another difficult reality also exists: not all forms of coercion leave obvious fingerprints. Fear is not always documented neatly in screenshots. Psychological control rarely announces itself publicly. Power imbalance does not always appear in forensic reports.
And this is where the conversation becomes larger than one priest, one complainant, or one case.
As someone involved in feminist organizing and advocacy work through KAISA KA, I view this issue through what we often describe as the intersection of power, class, gender, and culture. Because in communities like Pampanga, reverence for the “Among” is not simply personal respect. It is historically conditioned.
During the Spanish colonial period, friars were among the most powerful figures in town life. They shaped education, morality, social behavior, and public authority itself. Over generations, this evolved into a deeply embedded cultural instinct: priests are to be respected, obeyed, defended, and protected.
There is beauty in faith and reverence. But history also teaches us that any institution placed beyond scrutiny can become vulnerable to abuse of power.
And this is perhaps the most important thing society still struggles to understand about rape and sexual abuse: these acts are often not primarily about sex. They are about power.
They are about dominance, control, manipulation, fear, and the ability of one person to exploit vulnerability in another human being. This is why abuse frequently occurs in spaces where there are unequal power relations: between bosses and employees, teachers and students, politicians and constituents, fathers and children, and yes, sometimes even between clergy and parishioners.
When enormous moral authority, emotional dependence, and institutional protection converge in one figure, the issue becomes more complicated than the simplistic question of whether physical force was visibly used. Modern safeguarding frameworks increasingly recognize that coercion can also operate psychologically, emotionally, spiritually, and economically.
This is not merely a Philippine issue. For decades, the global Catholic Church itself has confronted painful revelations involving clergy sexual abuse in countries like the United States, Ireland, Germany, France, Australia, and Chile. Investigations documented thousands of allegations spanning many decades.
In France, an independent commission estimated in 2021 that around 216,000 minors had suffered abuse by clergy or church personnel since 1950. The 2002 Boston Globe investigation exposed systemic concealment of abusive priests and forced worldwide institutional reforms. Even Pope Francis has repeatedly acknowledged the gravity of clergy sexual abuse, calling it a “monstrous crime” and pushing for stronger safeguarding measures and accountability protocols within the Church.
As someone who was invited to speak on Online Sexual Abuse and Exploitation of Children (OSAEC) during one of the sessions of the international safeguarding conference hosted in Clark last year, I know firsthand that many people inside the Church are sincerely trying to confront these realities. And precisely because safeguarding efforts are now being taken seriously, difficult convers.
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