TRIGGER WARNING:
This article references accounts of sexual assault, harassment, and abuse within a religious institution. The content may be distressing or triggering to survivors of sexual violence or individuals sensitive to these topics. Reader discretion is advised.

Harrowing tales like the one shared below — and countless others that will never be documented – bring into sharp focus, the urgent need for accountability within our faith-based institutions. They demand that we, as a society, confront uncomfortable truths: that women and girls are often socialized to be submissive, to defer to authority, to stay silent in the name of respect, tradition, and faith. In doing so, they are treated as second-class citizens, left vulnerable, disempowered, and too often, doomed to a cycle of continued victimhood.

This is not just about individual wrongdoing. It is about broken systems. It is about culture. It is about power.

This is Carissa’s story…

“I am a former student of USC — the University of the Southern Caribbean — which was then called Caribbean Union College (CUC). I attended from 2002 to 2007 and lived in the dormitory throughout my time there. I had three horrific experiences during that period. All involved respected men in positions of religious and academic authority.”

From the start, Carissa’s story is not unusual — a bright, young, faithful Caribbean woman seeking higher education within a religious institution she trusted. What follows, however, is a journey marked by betrayal, trauma, and a long, painful silence.

“The first,” she shares, “was a Pastor in training — a man who is still serving in the Caribbean Conference today. He attempted to rape me in the President’s Office while I was working there.”

Let that sink in. A man in training to be a spiritual leader, attempting to rape a student in the very space that symbolizes authority and trust.

She goes on.

“The second was a Psychology Professor, the brother of a well-known Pastor. He sexually harassed me multiple times on campus. It didn’t stop there — he later visited my home country under the guise of conducting a seminar at my church and used that as an opportunity to threaten me by visiting my parents.”

The psychological toll of this kind of abuse – manipulation, intimidation, and the misuse of spiritual authority – cannot be overstated.

And then, the third man.

“A former Pastor in the Seventh-day Adventist Church from my country of origin. In Trinidad he became a tour operator. During that time, he was an uncle figure to me and other students from the same country. Someone I trusted. Someone who had been my bible study teacher when I was just ten years old. He raped me.”

Systemic Silence, Institutional Complicity

Her experience didn’t end with the assaults. In many ways, her second trauma was what followed: the institutional silence, the lack of accountability, and the thinly veiled dismissal.

She remained silent for years. Like many survivors, she carried the burden inwardly — believing she could “live with it,” bury it under the responsibilities of life and faith. But three years ago, after the birth of her daughter, the weight of her past came crashing back. Nightmares. Sleep deprivation. Mental and emotional exhaustion.

So she spoke up.

She reached out to church leaders, to pastors, to administrators. And she made her request clear: a formal apology.

That’s all she asked for.

Not revenge. Not legal retribution. Just an acknowledgment of the harm done. A shred of humanity.

And still, silence.

“I was advised to contact the perpetrators myself,” Carissa recalls. “I did — via email. I received no response.”

One of the men’s brothers – a pastor himself – responded with a vague message expressing regret that she’d “had such an experience.” It was the spiritual equivalent of a shrug. No accountability. No responsibility.

Eventually, the university’s president intervened and attempted to facilitate a conversation with the Psychology Professor. The survivor requested a neutral third party be present — a perfectly reasonable request. After that, communication stopped completely.

She has not heard from them since.

SANCTIFIED COVER-UPS? THE COST OF SILENCE…

“I now understand how this organization works,” she told Your Caribbean Guide. “These criminals are protected by the leaders of the church, which makes them complicit. They stand by and allow people to be raped and molested. How cold-hearted can these people be?”

Carissa goes on to say what many survivors, advocates, and whistleblowers have echoed:

“Parents must know -your children are not automatically safe in these institutions. Many are sent directly into the hands of abusers and rapists.”

It’s a chilling warning – and a necessary one.

Because too often, institutions — especially those cloaked in religious authority – protect their own before they protect the vulnerable. They prioritize image over integrity. Silence over justice. Reputation over repentance.

LIFE AFTER…

Carissa says her experiences caused her to doubt the very existence of “God.”

“Didn’t He see and hear what was happening? Why did He just stand by and watched? I attended church less and eventually I completely stopped.”

It wasn’t until two years ago that she found the courage to begin speaking out about her experience. The first person she confided in believed her immediately, offering a sense of validation she hadn’t expected. Yet, despite that initial support, almost a year passed before she reached out again, unsure of how to move forward. She was offered access to a psychologist, who was also a pastor, and though she attended one session, she found herself uncertain about continuing the process.

Beyond that, she carefully chose a small circle of people to share her story with-three trusted friends. Two were former students, the third an ex-colleague she described as always approachable and understanding. In time, she also worked up the courage to tell her mother and sister. Still, even then, she couldn’t bring herself to share the full details.

Her disclosure eventually extended beyond friends and family. The leadership within her professional and academic circles was also made aware. The head of the mission she served under, the university’s leadership, and the conference leader overseeing the university were all informed—and, importantly, they believed her.

For her, the path to healing and accountability began with a simple request-a formal apology. She followed the steps outlined by those within the Church. The first step was to reach out directly to the perpetrators, which she did via email. Her message, however, went unanswered. The next step required her to contact individuals close to them. She followed through on that as well, but again, was met with silence.

Sometime later, the University reached out, indicating that someone was finally willing to speak with her. Carissa agreed to the meeting and requested that another person be present for support. That request was accepted, and a date was set. But after that, communication ceased. She never heard from them again.

Today, Carissa defines justice not as something formal or delivered by an institution, but in the very act of speaking out. “This is the beginning of justice. More victims will begin speaking out” she says. She believes that by sharing her truth, other victims will also find the courage to come forward. In fact, she recently reached out to a pastor whose sermon on the same subject went viral-a sign to her that conversations around these issues are finally beginning to surface.

Sharing her experience has helped to stave off some of the nightmares. “They have become significantly less since speaking out. I am in the process of becoming myself again after so many years.”

To others who may be suffering in silence like she once did, Carissa says:

“I know and understand the damage: physically, mentally and emotionally. If you are in the same or similar situation as I was in, do all that is in your power to let someone (police, other institutions) know. Write about it. If it is going on now, collect evidence if you cannot defend yourself. Don’t pray about it, say something about it. There are people who will believe you.”

Carissa is determined to take pre-emptive steps to protect her daughter from suffering the same fate.

She told Your Caribbean Guide: “I will definitely make sure that my daughter knows about my experiences within the Church organization. People within and outside of religious organizations can victimize others. Even at her current age she is encouraged to speak her mind unapologetically no matter who she’s talking to. Its also important to teach both males and females that sexual assault is real and how to minimize the chance of that happening. Lastly, lets teach our sons and daughters to keep their hands off others too, this can help prevent future incidents of sexual assault.”

TIME FOR RECKONING…

This story, like many others, is not just a call for empathy. It is a call to action.

To church leaders: Your silence is violence. Your inaction is complicity. Your fear of scandal is not more important than the pain of survivors.

To congregations: Hold your leaders accountable. Demand transparency. Support those who speak up – even when it’s uncomfortable.

To survivors: Your voice matters. Even when it shakes. Even when it’s ignored. You are believed. You are not alone.

And to the institutions that have long operated without meaningful checks and balances – the time for reformation is now. No more whisper campaigns. No more quiet transfers. No more “biblical standards” used to silence victims.

True faith demands justice. Anything less is heresy.

EDITOR’S NOTE:

The name of the survivor was changed to protect her identity and that of her family.

If you have a story of abuse, cover-up, or misconduct within a religious institution (or otherwise) please reach out in a way that feels safe for you. Survivors deserve not just to be heard, but to be seen -and believed.