Opinion: Is there a white flag over New Orleans?

On January 8, 1815, General Andrew Jackson led his American troops to an unlikely victory over the British in the famous Battle of New Orleans. Two weeks later, General Jackson joined thousands of others at a Mass of Thanksgiving held at the city’s Cathedral in the French Quarter. Jackson is reported to have paid a special visit to the nearby Ursuline sisters, thanking them for their prayers during the battle, and for tending the wounded (of both sides) afterwards.

In the wake of a startling court filing made in mid-July, it is fair to ask whether the intrepid spirit of the Ursuline nuns died with them. Based on a recent court filing in its bankruptcy proceedings, it seems clear that the Archdiocese of New Orleans has decided to go down without much of a fight.

On July 15, 2025, lawyers representing the Archdiocese filed with the Bankruptcy Court for the Eastern District of Louisiana a list of non-financial commitments it is pledging to assume as part of its Chapter 11 reorganization. Such agreements are common in bankruptcy filings by Catholic dioceses that are largely the result of claims of clergy sexual abuse of minors. The particular promises made in these agreements, however, can vary in number, scope, and duration.

Those made by the Archdiocese of New Orleans should cause every member of the faithful there grave concern—especially priests, seminarians, and their families and friends.

For instance, lawyers representing the Archdiocese agreed to make public documents related to any claim of sexual abuse made in the bankruptcy, including the personnel files of the accused (p. 25). Thus included are the deliberations of the Archdiocesan “Independent Review Board” (IRB) that consider these claims, any documents they review, and even the Archbishop’s own “determination as to any discipline arising from” the claim (p. 4, App. E).

While there are certain provisions made for partial redactions and claims of privilege regarding these public disclosures, the breadth of the Archdiocese’s disclosure commitment is still remarkable.

For starters, it almost certainly jeopardizes the confidentiality requirements of canon law (cf. cc. 487-490) and the special requirements of the Norms for Sacramentorum Sanctitatis Tutela related to the most grave and sensitive canonical crimes. Violating such rules is a canonical crime that can be punished by the loss of one’s office.

Are the civil lawyers representing the Archdiocese aware of the predicament in which they have placed their clients? Are these lawyers sufficiently familiar with canon law requirements so as to assert privilege consistently and insistently?

One has to wonder, especially given the attestation that the Archdiocese “certifies” that the pertinent provisions are “compatible with the promulgated Canon Law,” (p. 36) defined (inaccurately) as the “Code of Canon Law (English translation).” By its terms, this truncated definition excludes not only the substantial canon law existing outside of the 1983 Code, but wrongly places the “English translation” (which one, one wonders?) above the normative Latin.

It is crucial to remember that a “claim” of sexual abuse means just that: it is an unproven assertion, made on behalf of someone alleging to be a victim and filed as part of the bankruptcy by that person’s lawyer. Plaintiff lawyers are hardly disinterested actors in this drama, as they stand to benefit financially from each and every claim made. Some claims may be true, others may be false. But civilized societies have a method for determining which is which, long known as the due process of law.

It is indisputable that the accused is not afforded the full right of defense against these “claims,” a right that is due as a matter of natural and canon law. Rather, the legitimacy of complaints is somehow determined by the aforementioned IRB according to the nebulous standard of “credible,” a term that is not even defined in the document. Nevertheless, this board of “lay experts” was somehow able to ascertain the legitimacy of a number of allegations, each one of which was then published on the Archdiocesan website (where they remain to this day). Among them are the following:

• Father James B., born in 1913 and ordained in 1939. He was accused of abuse in 2003, two decades after his death in 1984.
• Father Gorham P., born in 1929 and ordained in 1955. He died in 1993, but was accused of misconduct in 2002, dating back to the “early 1950s.”
• Father Malcom S., born in 1908 and ordained in 1934. An allegation of abuse was made against him in 2006, some twenty years after his death in 1987.

These men, long dead before any accusation was ever brought forward, were obviously unable to defend themselves. They are now well beyond the reach of worldly attacks on their reputations. But what does it say about the community they served—a Church ostensibly dedicated to truth and justice, not to mention charity and mercy—that they have been deprived of due process in the name of expediency? And what conclusions will be drawn by the living, whether by Catholic or non-Catholic observers, in the face of such radical aversion to risk on the part of the leadership of the Church founded upon the blood of the martyrs?

For a critical question—still open—is how a living person is going to be able to exercise his fundamental human right to self-defense once accused. How will anyone protect his good name when his own Archdiocese has pledged itself to follow the non-judicial process in front of the IRB and to ongoing public disclosure of lists of accused (p. 29)? Months ago, the Dicastery for Legislative Texts (DLT) once again strongly condemned the practice of publishing lists of “credibly accused clerics” as a violation of basic principles concerning the right to reputation and the presumption of innocence (cf. DLT, Letter, Prot. n. 18316, dated Sep. 5, 2024).

Are the lawyers who drafted this agreement aware of such authoritative guidance from the Holy See?

Beyond all this, the Archdiocese has also pledged, in the “Anti-Lobbying” section of the agreement, not to “lobby, support, or advocate” for any “loosening or otherwise weakening” of the existing mandatory child abuse reporting requirements under Louisiana law (p. 34). While that law (cf. La. Children’s Code art. 603(17)) presently references an exception for confidential communications to clergy, will future Archdiocesan civil attorneys have sufficient knowledge and will to assert the rightful claims of the Church in this regard?

There is reason to be dismayed in light of the self-imposed injunction, also included in the Anti-Lobbying section, promising not to fight any alteration of any period of prescription or statute of limitation regarding “Child Sexual Abuse.” This astonishingly vague provision could tie the hands of any successor archbishop with more will to fight against a future shake-down of the Church.

And a practical question: How can the Archdiocese promise to monitor and control the actions of untold numbers of future employees, especially when constraints on free speech rights are implicated?

Perhaps the most troubling of all the non-financial commitments is the one specifically restricting the religious speech of the Archdiocese. Pledging to design and install a “place of remembrance” in a “prominent location” at the archdiocesan chancery for all sexual abuse survivors, the Archdiocese then promises to hold a “dedication ceremony” there (p. 32). At such a ceremony, the Archbishop must be personally present, but it will be forbidden to have any “Eucharistic liturgy, celebration of the Mass, or religious discourse (such as a sermon or homily).” This gag order prevents the Church from accomplishing the very work entrusted to it by Christ Himself. It is difficult to imagine the heroic Ursulines ever complying with such a diktat, let alone voluntarily assuming it.

Anyone can read the public document described above. At present, it is only a draft, so there is (presumably) still hope that interested members of the faithful can make their concerns known to Archbishop Aymond, always in a respectful manner (cf. c. 212).