For eight long years, silence was not just imposed on her – it was sanctified.
The recent interview of a Keralite nun, Sister Ranit, to Asianet TV has once again torn the veil off one of independent India’s most disturbing institutional scandals: the alleged sexual abuse of a nun by a powerful Catholic bishop and the systematic effort that followed to crush the woman who dared to speak. Her words are not merely testimony; they are an indictment of power, patriarchy, and an institution that chose reputation over righteousness.
Long before mainstream media woke up to the gravity of the allegations, GoaChronicle.com was at the forefront of exposing the Bishop Franco Mulakkal case when it first surfaced several years ago. At a time when many newsrooms hesitated, hedged, or hid behind euphemisms, GoaChronicle named the rot for what it was – abuse of power cloaked in clerical authority. That early reporting came at a cost, but truth always does.
“My Hands and Legs Are Tied”
Sister Ranit’s description of her present life is chilling in its simplicity. “My hands and legs are tied,” she says – not physically, but socially, emotionally, and institutionally. Even after the filing of a formal complaint, even after national outrage, the punishment has not been meted out to the accused alone; it has been systematically transferred to the accuser.
This is the unspoken doctrine of institutional abuse: speak up, and you will pay – not the perpetrator.
After she raised the allegation within the Church, Sister Ranit says she was immediately isolated. Support did not come from the pulpit, but pressure did. Three other nuns, she alleges, were forced to leave the congregation after sustained harassment that included stone-pelting. Yes, stone-pelting – a phrase more commonly associated with mob violence than with convents.
Those who stayed behind were not protected. They were abandoned. Reduced to surviving on tailoring work within the convent, Sister Ranit says the diocese’s continued silence pushed them to the margins, as though justice itself was an inconvenience best starved into submission.
Power Protects Power
The accused, Bishop Franco Mulakkal, was eventually arrested by Kerala Police in a case that sent shockwaves through the Catholic Church in India. Yet, arrest alone does not dismantle power. It merely pauses it.
Sister Ranit alleges that the bishop attempted to implicate her family members and fellow nuns in false cases – a classic tactic used by powerful men cornered by truth. Weaponise the law, intimidate the vulnerable, and exhaust them into silence.
Even more damning is her claim that some nuns within the convent actively supported the bishop. This is perhaps the most uncomfortable truth of all: patriarchy does not survive on male complicity alone. It thrives when women, conditioned by hierarchy and fear, become its foot soldiers.
When critics attempted to discredit her complaint as financially motivated, Sister Ranit responded with brutal clarity: she has not received a single rupee – not from the diocese, not from the bishop. There was no payoff. Only a price.
The Fear That Enforces Silence
Why did she remain silent for years despite repeated abuse? Her answer should haunt every institution that claims moral authority.
Fear.
Nuns are taught that moral purity is paramount. Once society learns it has been violated – regardless of consent or coercion – expulsion from the congregation is almost inevitable. The victim becomes the transgressor. The sinner wears the shame; the sinner-maker keeps the seat of power.
Sister Ranit speaks of women she knows who were forced out under similar circumstances and later branded as having “run away from the convent.” In deeply religious communities, that label is a life sentence – not just for the woman, but for her family. It is social death masquerading as moral judgment.
This fear is not accidental. It is structural. It is how silence is manufactured and maintained.
The Church and Its Deafening Quiet
Perhaps the most damning aspect of this case is not just the alleged abuse, but the institutional response – or lack thereof. Silence from the diocese. Silence from Church authorities. Silence that stretched into years.
Institutions love time. Time blurs outrage, exhausts victims, and normalises injustice. In this case, time was used as a weapon.
Sister Ranit says similar experiences exist in other convents, largely unspoken due to social pressure and fear. That single line should send a chill through the conscience of every believer. Because if one voice survived eight years of suppression to finally speak, how many never did?
Why GoaChronicle Spoke First
When GoaChronicle.com began reporting on this case years ago, it was not fashionable journalism. It was necessary journalism. The story was uncomfortable, powerful interests were involved, and the institutional backlash was real. But journalism that waits for comfort is not journalism – it is complicity.
This case was never just about one bishop or one nun. It was about whether truth can survive inside institutions that demand obedience over conscience. Whether faith can coexist with accountability. Whether women in religious orders are citizens with rights or subjects without voice.
Beyond Faith, Toward Justice
This is not an attack on faith. It is a demand for fidelity – fidelity to justice, to truth, and to the dignity of human beings. Faith that protects predators is not faith; it is ideology. Silence that shields abuse is not humility; it is cowardice.
Sister Ranit’s courage does not lie only in speaking out – it lies in surviving the aftermath. The isolation. The whispers. The economic hardship. The social exile. This is the price women pay when institutions close ranks.
India must ask itself hard questions. So must the Church. Accountability cannot be selective. Justice cannot be delayed into irrelevance. And silence cannot continue to masquerade as sanctity.
Because when institutions fail the vulnerable, it is left to individuals – and independent journalism – to speak.
And speak, we must.
