Rodolfo Soriano-Núñez Lunes, 11 de Agosto del 2025
Diego Pallares Contreras is the victim’s confirmation godfather and was the pastor of the church where the victim’s family used to attend Mass in Izcalli.
Bishop González publicly exonerates Pallares but removed him from his position. Meanwhile, the bishop of Izcalli privately claims he filed an official report of the sexual abuse of the underage male victim.
By Rodolfo Soriano-Núñez
A new file has landed on our desk, detailing yet another case of clergy sexual abuse at the diocese of Izcalli. The documents, received in the final days of July, reveal a story that is, unfortunately, becoming familiar in this diocese, an exurb on the northern tip of the Mexico City metro area, one where a pattern of abuse and institutional cover up is alarmingly clear.
The diocese of Izcalli falls under the authority of the archdiocese of Tlalnepantla, not the Archdiocese of Mexico. And even if that distinction is significant, it does not put Cardinal Carlos Aguiar Retes, the current archbishop of Mexico City off the hook, as he was precisely the head of the archdiocese of Tlalnepantla in 2014, the year Pope Francis created Izcalli as a suffragan diocese of Tlalnepantla.
While the appointment of a new bishop rests with the reigning Pope, Metropolitans or heads of an archdiocese, play a key role in the selection process. That role is particularly influential when, as was the case with Izcalli, a newly minted entity.
For the new job, Rome, Aguiar Retes and the then nuncio to Mexico, current nuncio to the United States, French Cardinal Christophe Pierre, went deep into the Catholic Mexico heartland, to the diocese of Irapuato, where they got the current bishop of Izcalli, Francisco González Ramos.
Currently 67, González Ramos has followed the template one finds in most other Mexican dioceses, especially those in the so-called Bajío (Lowlands), the Mexican Catholic heartland from where, through the 20th century, upwards of 60 percent of all Mexican bishops came from.
The template comes straight out of the 1917 Code of Canon Law featuring: secrecy above all else, denial whenever possible, a deaf tone defense of the predator priests, the gaslighting of the survivors and their relatives, while attacking whoever talks about the issue, discrediting him or her as “enemy of Church”, “communist”, “anti Catholic”, and other niceties from the play-the-victim routine performance so common in Latin American Catholicism.
More recently, after Benedict XVI’s reform of the seminaries, it has been coupled with a model, copied from Mexican soap operas scripts, of presenting the Church as an entity under siege, attacked by “gender ideology,” LGTBQ groups, and even the United Nations, among others.
It does so while pretending full compliance with civil law and Church rules and performing the “liturgy” of alleged consideration to the wellbeing of their flock.
Izcalli has been the subject of this series here at Los Angeles Press at least twice. One dealt with Morseo Miramón Santiago, a priest accused by the mother of an underage male of sexually abusing her son.
The second was a case of repeated sexual abuse of a visually impaired Mexican nun, who spent some time in Izcalli during a tour of duty as a member of the Missionary Servants of the Word order. Priests associated with that order, active in Izcalli and other nearby dioceses repeatedly abused her. Tha case turned into Breaking the silence, a bilingual, Spanish-English book you can download in the story linked before this paragraph.
The charm of thirds
The specific new case involves Diego Pallares Contreras, who used to be in charge of a structure similar to a parish in the Nicolás Romero municipality. This district is the westernmost of three municipalities shaping the diocese, as the map after this paragraph shows.
This “parish” is the “Iglesia Misión Granjas Guadalupe” or Mission Church Guadalupe Farms. Technically, the structure is known as a pastoral mission, and not a full, official parish. The figure is relatively frequent in the outskirts of Mexico City, and it reflects both the frailty of the local Church structures there, and the way the Catholic Church figures out how to offer religious services to rather new and still unstable populations, lacking spaces such as temples and other facilities to perform their activities.
Diego Pallares Contreras has been at that Mission Church at least since 2019, although there is no official record of it, as the diocese of Izcalli, as the vast majority of the Mexican dioceses, does its best to keep the records of priests’ appointments as secret and confusing as possible.
Neither their page at Catholic Hierarchy or its corresponding at GCatholic report an official URL for the diocese, as they usually do when one is available. Their Facebook profile page actually has a link to what used to be a working URL, but when one clicks it no website ever loads.
It is only when going through the Internet Archive that it is possible to get glimpses of what used to be the diocese’s website, as in this snapshot from 2017. However, even that access is heavily restricted, as there are limits to the Internet Archive’s model for this kind of snapshots of old websites.
Through searches over the Internet Archive it was possible to find a reference from that year to the previous manager of that pastoral mission, father Raúl César Casas Maza. Back in 2017, the mission used to be a part of the Saint Peter’s vicary, but that is all the information available there.
It was possible to know, after too much digging that Guillermo Rodrigo Ortiz Mondragón, the now deceased bishop of Cuautitlán, ordained Pallares Contreras back in June 2010.
Despite that, he was not registered officially at the national authority dealing with religious organizations in Mexico, an undersecretary of the Interior ministry in 2011. He appears only in the listing of registered ministers in 2014, still as belonging to the old diocese of Cuautitlán, as the image above proves.
New diocese, old vices
When Pope Francis created the diocese of Izcalli in 2015, Pallares Contreras was immediately transferred to the new entity, as the official newspaper of the Mexican government reported in its October 13 issue of that year (see the screenshot below). Ever since, Pallares Contreras has been appearing as a Catholic minister in Izcalli in the listings published by the authority.
Pallares attacked an underage male back in 2019, when he was that mission’s manager. The victim’s relatives were all in the community under his care.
What is worse, Pallares is the confirmation godfather of the victim. That detail raises all kinds of questions about whether his closeness, the interest, and care he provided to his “ahijado” (godson) was nothing but grooming.
It is a model similar to other cases. A Mexican movie dealing with the issue of clergy abuse such as Perfect obedience evokes how Marcial Maciel used to do it in the early stages of his criminal career.
English Edition
“Old” new cases of clergy sexual abuse emerge in Mexico City
It is a common practice for other predators who identify potential victims when they are in an age range that allows the predator to gain their trust, as in the case from Mexico City, early in this century, told in the story linked before this paragraph.
Pallares Contreras’s power there used to be displayed in the mission’s Facebook profile, where if one is willing to waste hours and hours in with the rather inaccurate and tricky search engine of Zuckerberg’s website, it is possible to find postings going back to 2020 where he is willing to sign as pastor (see the image above this paragraph), while in others he was willing to avoid using that title (see the image after this paragraph).
The victim’s parents brought the issue to the bishop’s attention several years later, when they were able to figure out what had happened to their son. As many victims of sexual abuse, clergy or otherwise, there are changes, all of them negative, in their behavior, creating issues in the household, but it is not easy to figure out what is the reason for those changes, as the victims are deeply shocked by the experience.
Once they gathered information on their own, they made what the Church probably will dismiss as an informal complain back in May 2023.
More than one year later, on July 4, 2024, the bishop himself admitted over a WhatsApp exchange with a third party, a layperson and advocate for the victim's family, an amicus curia of sorts, that the parents of the victim had informed him. After accepting he was aware of the case, the bishop refused any other contact over that medium with that third party. The third party kept sending messaged to the bishop calling him to act on the issue, as to protect the victims, and following the alleged approach of zero-tolerance embraced by the Church.
It would be one month after the rather laconic acknowledgment that he had been in touch with the victim’s father, that bishop González answered, on August 9, 2024, another WhatsApp message to the third party.
Working on the issue?
That time around his response was a bit more specific. He claimed there that he was already “working on the issue” (trabajando en el asunto). He also said that he had already appointed a couple of priests to address it. One is the so-called “instructor,” and the other is the “notary”. Those are the titles the Catholic Church itself, through its Canon Law, vests upon two key figures of their internal probes, usually known in Latin America as “probe commission” (comisión investigadora).
Although the bishop provided no details as to who would be fulfilling those duties, the names would be revealed later. At the time he said he would be in touch, stating. At the end of his message, he said “this process is starting”.
Even if there is no real reason for the “instructor” and the “notary” to be priests, almost always the appointments fall upon priests. And that is what González Ramos actually did. He appointed Epifanio Moreno Lemus as instructor or delegate of the probe and Horacio Cruz Hernández as notary.
In doing so, he did what most Latin American dioceses do: appoint their own priests, who have other duties and who would find hard to devote their full time to these matters, to carry key aspects of the process.
Moreover, besides some short course or a seminary, they frequently lack special training in forensic investigation or trauma-informed care. They will hardly have access to ways to procure evidence of sexual violence and, more importantly, to actually do the kind of forensic work required.
Their appointment often serves to create the appearance of action without any real commitment to a thorough and timely investigation, a flaw that is well-known within the Church's legal circles.
This deficit grows, as one takes into consideration the lack of accountability and precise record-keeping in the diocesan structures. That is hardly a note of local folklore.
The fact that one finds similar patterns in countries obsessed with record keeping such as Germany, and in others where that is not the norm, as most of Latin America, show this reflects a wider institutional pattern of cover up and gaslighting, a playbook of sorts.
This strategy, which prioritizes the reputation of the institution over the safety of the faithful, is well-documented in the internal handling of abuse cases within prominent organizations like the Legion of Christ, Opus Dei, and the Peruvian Sodalitium of Christian Life.
In the last case, when the leadership of that organization had a chance to conduct internal probes, they did so to downplay as much as possible the scale of abuse, and to limit their institutional liability.
Wearing down the victims
In that respect, the pattern seems to be to handle allegations internally, using canonical processes as a means to delay. If possible, to resort to the “geographic solution” and, above, to bet on their ability to wear down the will of the survivors and their relatives to actually achieve justice.
Even carefully elaborated analysis of the Church’s institutional behavior in the United States by Canon Law scholars such as Gabriela Hidalgo highlight the urgent need to lift the so-called pontifical secret and to transfer the probes to other-than-cleric persons.
She calls to appoint people able to carry the probe with the best interest of the survivors and not the clerics or the Catholic Church as an institution in mind. She even called, back in 2019, to boost the powers of the National Review Board, an entity associated to the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, giving it more authority over the clerics.
If that was required in a country that, at least until January of this year was well ahead of the curve as far as preventing and punishing sexual abuse, clergy or otherwise, one only can wonder what would be necessary in in Latin America when dealing with the need to carry probes regarding clergy sexual abuse.
The file also talks about a contact with the nunciature to Mexico, requesting information about a report sent to archbishop Joseph Spiteri, the nuncio to Mexico, on August 19, 2024, but up until April 2025, when the file sent to Los Ángeles Press ends, there had been no answer from the Pope’s representative in Mexico.
The file goes into the details of the kind of gaslighting the Catholic Church follows as a strategy when the victims, out of trust in the institution they have been raised in, decide to follow the rather tortuous path of the so-called “canonical” process. Sadly, for victims in Mexico and most of Latin America, the alternative, going through the penal process before the authorities, offers little or no comfort, as the process can be as taxing or even more than the so-called canonical process.
The fact, however, is that there are troubles with Pallares Contreras’s behavior. That was publicly accepted by the bishop himself. During a public activity where González Ramos presented the new manager of the Mission, the bishop tried to minimize as much as possible what is now a “silent scandal” of sorts in that corner of the diocese.
Bishop González Ramos addressed a congregation at the chapel of the Divine Child Jesus on September 29, 2024. His message has been available up until Friday August 8, 2025, as a video, over the mission’s Facebook profile here (audio available only in Spanish), rendering the event as a “Dialogue between the bishop and the community”, as the screenshot before this paragraph states in Spanish.
Over the less than an hour of recording, González Ramos does his best to portray Pallares Contreras “sudden” exit as head of the Mission as a “personal matter”. He repeatedly pushes to dismiss any potential wrongdoing, while encouraging the community to receive the new manager (administrador) of the mission. An excerpt from that video is linked after this paragraph. Audio available only in Spanish.
Video from a dialogue between bishop González Ramos and his flock. Audio available only in Spanish.
As it is usually the case, González Ramos renders Pallares Contreras’s exit as a “personal” matter, when it is not, as it already affected the life and future of a still underage young male who will have to reappraise the violence he was subject to without any actual support from an institution prone to grandstanding its support for the weakest, the meek, but actually unwilling to acknowledge the consequences of its own personal and institutional mistakes.
Secrecy and abuse
Those mistakes are amplified by the secrecy with which the bishop was dealing already then, in September with the issue. It should be noted that González Ramos had less than a year before in the same mission.
The main picture for this piece and the one displayed immediately after this paragraph come from an album of pictures the diocese of Izcalli published over its Facebook account to showcase González Ramos visiting the mission to express his “closeness” to his flock, “attentive to their needs, and praying for them”.
The effects of the pandemic are still noticeable in some of those pictures, as many of the attendees are wearing face masks, while others have true catharsis while receiving a blessing from their bishop going to that corner of the diocese, as the picture immediately after this paragraph shows.
González Ramos paraded the streets of the Guadalupe Farms section of Nicolás Romero’s municipality, right next to Pallares Contreras on March 28 and 29, 2023. The diocese’s account published them on April 9, and they were still available by August 8, 2025, here.
The unwillingness to actually explain what forced bishop González Ramos to send Pallares Contreras out of the mission, a place where he had been working the last six years is more troubling when one takes into consideration the secrecy about the appointments of priests to other assignments, and even more when one takes into consideration how that relates to a pattern of institutional cover up.
This is more troubling since the bishop acts in this case following what seems to be a pattern already displayed in Tepotzotlán when Morseo Miramón Santiago disappeared from the face of the Earth. The scarce information about Miramón Santiago also talked about personal matters the priest had to deal with, but no official information.
It is also noteworthy that González Ramos has talked repeatedly about reporting Pallares Contreras to the authorities in the State of Mexico, a pattern one also finds in what he told to the mother of Morseo Miramón’s victim.
That should put González Ramos in a difficult position since he is not only going against his law-prescribed duty to report sexual abuse to the authorities, but also against what seems to be, at least in Rome, the best practices adopted by the Catholic Church.
Epifanio Morales, the instructor tried to get a signature from the parents of Pallares Contreras acknowledging they have received an “invitation” from the diocese to file an official civil report. As it is usual, Morales was unwilling to offer a copy of said invitation. The fact reveals how contradictory is the behavior of Catholic dioceses in Mexico and other Latin American countries when dealing with these issues.
It is noteworthy that canonical filings exist in the other two cases Los Angeles Press has reported from González Ramos’s diocese. In at least two of them, Morseo Miramón Santiago’s and Diego Pallares Contreras’s, the response has been eerily similar: pretend some will to address the issue, even as to report it to the authorities, even by the bishop himself, while quietly removing from public ministry the priests involved, but without any accountability.
More so when one takes into consideration the lack of any actual record of when and why priests, deacons, and other religious personnel in the diocese of Izcalli are moved by their superior.
The geographic solution, again
It is the most basic, local, version of the so-called “geographic solution.” That is an easy “exit,” as it simply takes one priest from a place where he has abused to the next. How far this can go is anybody’s guess. That “solution” has been the subject of several installments in this series, one of them linked a after this paragraph.
In that case, the attempted “geographic solution” was a long-distance assignment. Back in March 2024, the relative of a Paraguayan victim revealed the transfer of a Paraguayan priest with standing accusations of clergy sexual abuse in his country, who was already deployed in Mexico.
Juan Rafael Freitas is a member of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, an order with a rather long record of abuses in Canada and other French- and English-speaking countries. The Paraguayan Oblate was about to join a parish in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec region of Mexico, as the story linked before this paragraph proves.
English Edition
Seven stories of clergy sexual abuse
The use of the “geographic solution” is clear in some of the most notorious cases of the clergy sexual abuse crisis, such as in the Archdiocese of Boston. The story linked above provides examples, including the cases of Ecuadorian priest Franklin Cadena Puratambi, French priest Aymeric de Salvert, and Boston’s John Geoghan. This solution is also central to the ongoing trial of two Spaniard Jesuits who were superiors of their order in Bolivia.
That is why it is troubling to hear reports from witnesses who claim having spotted Pallares Contreras still performing duties as priest in some secluded locations, out of public sight, out of the territory of the diocese of Izcalli, but within the boundaries of the so-called ecclesiastical province of Tlalnepantla, encompassing most of the dioceses in the State of Mexico, the most populous in the country, with almost 17 million inhabitants per the 2020 national census.
It is a “solution” that simply moves a predator priest from one context where he is comfortable enough to attack his flock to another.
The bishops’ and superiors’ expectation is that the predator cleric will draw some lessons, but in the end the issue is not solved. It simply proves how willing is the Catholic Church to dismiss any warnings about the potential risk of keeping clerics who have already raised concerns in the dioceses of origin.
That is what explains what happened with Morseo Miramón Santiago, who had an assignment in a parish in the municipality of Tepotzotlán, but who was more than willing to go to another parish in the same diocese, in the municipality of Nicolás Romero, to abuse the underage son of a single mother there.
Nightmares in Acapulco
Concisely, it is a story about a priest who attended seminary formation at the archdiocese of Acapulco. Ultimately, he was accepted by the diocese of Izcalli where he abused a few years later an underage male.
The archdiocese of Acapulco has never explained why they denied Miramón Santiago a chance at becoming deacon, with the rest of his cohort, and later at ordination as presbyter, what most Catholic priests are actually.
The fact remains: there is a digital trail of pictures where Morseo was celebrating his accomplishments in the archdiocese of Acapulco, and then, all of the sudden, he disappeared to reappear, a few years later, as a deacon and later a presbyter of the diocese of Izcalli.
Was bishop González Ramos aware of the kind of risk he was taking when he admitted to his diocese’s seminary a former seminarian with a questionable past in Acapulco? It is impossible to know at this point.
What is a fact is that the seminaries of the Mexican dioceses, despite the frequent activities they hold together in Mexico and elsewhere through their network of relationships with the so-called CELAM, lack records of seminarians dismissed.
Why there is no such record? Although there is no official response from the Mexican Catholic hierarchy, looking at how the same model emerges from the Argentine and Chilean Patagonia to the Mexican desert in Baja California and Sonora, it is very hard to dismiss the notion that the model fits their needs.
It very hard to not think that they lack such mechanisms to keep records of former seminarians dismissed by other dioceses or religious orders, because it fits a model that, at the same time, sets—at least on paper—notions about rejecting potential risks. A prime example of it is Morseo Miramón’s case.
There has been, by the way, no movement in that case, as the judiciary system in Mexico is about to reboot, rising hopes about a potential change in the role the courts play in actually prosecuting sexual predators, clergy or otherwise.
As far as it has been possible to follow what the diocese of Izcalli does, he remains an active priest. In the priests listings published by the Mexican authorities back in February and earlier in August of this year, Morseo Miramón Santiago still appeared as a priest under the authority of the diocese of Izcalli, as the third page in the image after this paragraph proves.
The listings from the Mexican ministry of Interior are available, as a pdf file here, although the site is not compliant with current standards of security, so there is a chance some browsers will prompt a warning when requesting access to the file.
Murder at the vicary
Granted, there is a lag in the records between the diocese’s internal rulings and the changes made in the official listings acknowledged as such by the Mexican federal government, but Morseo Miramón Santiago’s victim was an underage male as it is the case with Pallares Contreras’s victim.
That is already telling something about how the diocese of Izcalli is unwilling to actually address the roots causes of the crisis they are facing, is not limited to these two cases. As noted in the first paragraphs of today’s piece, there is the case of the repeated attacks by priests having some formal official duty in Izcalli, although associated to a religious order of sorts against a visually impaired nun.
In these three cases, bishop González Ramos has been unwilling to actually acknowledging that something is wrong in his diocese. One cannot dismiss the fact, that Izcalli has the distinction of being one of the few dioceses where a priest was killed in his parish in what remains, after seven years, an unsolved murder.
Although that homicide has been rendered as a reflection of objective patterns of violence existing all over Mexico, it is almost impossible to question if the kind of violence used to attack the priest, who was in charge of dealing with sexual abuse cases in that diocese, was not related to a case affecting that district of the Catholic Church in Mexico.
Back in April 2018, bishop González Ramos signed what has to be one of the hardest statements ever signed by a bishop in Mexico. He acknowledged there the assassination of priest Rubén Alcántara Díaz, the vicar judiciary of his diocese. See the statement as an image in both Spanish and English before this paragraph.
Alcántara was killed with a knife. That detail raises all kinds of question as to what kind of motives were behind the attack, and how violent the attack had to be to actually achieve its goal and the root causes of such violence. As vicar judicial, he was a key figure in the handling of any allegation of clergy sexual abuse there
Was the attack because of something done by Alcántara Díaz himself or because he was actively covering up abuses perpetrated by other priests in that diocese?
The day after González Ramos statement, the team behind the communications at the diocese issued a press release where they explicitly acknowledge the rumors about the crime (see above) but, so far, there has been no resolution to this case.
Gaslighting galore
As bad as that crime was, there are other new crimes emerging in Izcalli, and despite the best efforts of some laypersons in that diocese, bishops González Ramos seems to be unwilling to change course.
At some point the narrative of the file delivered to Los Angeles Press its author emphasizes how him, as a third party, and other laypersons who perceived themselves as having some friendship with bishop González Ramos, actively tried to move the case only in the so-called canonical or Church route as to avoid the drag for the survivors, their relatives, and the Catholic Church itself.
And the case contained in the file is not the only one. There is at least one additional reference to a second case, another male, underage victim, attacked by the same Pallares Contreras. And if that was not enough, there are allegations about other potential victims at the hands of other priests in the same diocese.
The strategy of silence, of wearing down, of exhausting the victims, as to break their will, becomes almost undistinguishable from a full-fledged campaign of systematic cover up, that the author of the file sent to Los Angeles Press aptly compares to the situation showcased by the blockbuster Spotlight about the abuse and the systematic cover up of such abuse at the Archdiocese of Boston.
And granted, the opacity in cases of clergy sexual abuse is not exclusive of Mexico. It is a pattern one finds, with very few exceptions, from Mexico down to Chile and Argentina. That is what explains the ruling of a Colombian superior court forcing the Catholic dioceses there to publish all the information about assignments of the priests, deacons, and other religious personnel associated to them.
Unlike Mexico, where the Churches as such were suppressed during the worst period of the Church-State conflict, in Colombia the Catholic Church is an established entity, as the Anglican Church is in the United Kingdom.
Despite the many advantages the Colombian Catholic Church has had, as there is no actual record there of the kind of conflict Church-State conflict in Venezuela or Mexico in the 19th and 20th centuries, there were voices of Colombian Catholic bishops and even priests in social media, playing the victim, complaining about the ruling of their country’s court, for no apparent or rational reason.
Gaslighting is not, by the way, an attitude Mexican bishops reserve for their exchanges over WhatsApp and similar apps with survivors of clergy sexual abuse. It is in full display in their relationship with their bosses in Rome.
Whoever pays attention to what the Mexican dioceses report to Rome in the so-called Annuario Pontificio, once a yearly book, hence its Latin original title, will notice the desperate attempts of the Mexican bishops to portray their dioceses as having much more inhabitants that those actually residing in their territories, and will notice how, in some cases, they pretend having more robust flocks of Catholic faithful.
A previous installment of this series, part of a comparison between the U.S. Catholic dioceses of California and the Mexican dioceses of Baja California and Baja California Sur, proved how far was the archdiocese of Tijuana willing to build that fiction of much larger numbers, with no support on any actual method.
And the same happens in the diocese of Izcalli. For reasons only known to them, they report to Rome having over one million and a half inhabitants, with one million 120 thousand Catholics, as the corresponding pages at Catholic Hierarchy and at GCatholic report. They only scrap the data from the aforementioned Annuario Pontificio, so it is never their fault; they simply copy and paste what the dioceses report to Rome.
There is no explanation as to how the bishop of Izcalli ends up having somewhere between 256 and 415 thousand total inhabitants more than the official record for the three municipalities integrated in his diocese, as the table before this paragraph shows, an example of how gaslighting goes both ways.
In Tijuana, that report found that the Catholic diocese there claimed having over 2’556,000 total inhabitants, with 2’427,000 Catholics. The Mexican census authority, INEGI, has Tijuana’s total population at 2’157,853, with only 1’133,539 Catholics.
To see the full scale of these discrepancies and how Mexican Catholic bishops report whatever numbers they can put on a spreadsheet, read the story linked after this paragraph.
English Edition
Baja California and the clergy sexual abuse crisis
Finally, it must be noted that the diocese of Izcalli is where the headquarters of the Mexican Conference of Catholic bishops are located. One would think that the diocese vested with the privilege of being the host of the whole bench of the Mexican episcopate at least twice a year in their Spring and Fall assemblies, in a gorgeous facility, called colloquially Casa del Lago (House-on-the-Lake), would have some interest in being an example to other Mexican dioceses.
That is not the case. Bishop González Ramos of Izcalli is still unwilling to comply with one an explicit request from the late Pope Francis: to set up a commission to prevent sexual abuse in his diocese. Despite his request, the official page of the Mexican Conference of Bishops had, up until Friday August 8, 2025, no reference of such commission in that diocese.
English Edition
Leo XIV appoints Verny at Tutela, new wine in old wineskins?
As far as Rome is concerned, there is no clarity yet about whether the appointment of French archbishop Thibault Verny as president of Tutela Minorum will actually provide a boost, a new era of increased enforcement to actually achieve zero-tolerance of clergy sexual abuse, or if issues such as the interest of Pope Leo XIV with the misuse of Artificial Intelligence will be more relevant for the Vatican.
