Two Things Can Be True at Once

I've written about this before, but it feels like the right time to say it again. I'm going to use one of the most disturbing investigations of my career to explain what I mean.

I was the lead investigator on a case involving a youth pastor accused of sexually abusing boys from his church.

Before I go any further, let me be very clear.

I have investigated countless sexual offences involving children, youth, and adults—male victims and female victims alike.

Despite what the world sometimes says about "believing all victims," the role of an investigator is not to begin with belief or disbelief. It is to begin by listening, gathering information, and then looking for evidence that either corroborates or challenges what has been reported. Every fair legal system ultimately depends on evidence, and evidence comes in many forms.

The job of a police officer is not ‘just’ to arrest people. It is not even to convict people. Our job is to find the truth. That is where people become uncomfortable. Because two things can be true at once.

In this case, I immediately found the victim credible. He was in his twenties by the time the abuse was reported, but he wasn't the one who first came forward. His girlfriend and her mother did.

As their relationship developed, he struggled with intimacy in ways that were directly connected to what had happened to him as a child. He had never told her why.

One day, believing he simply wasn't attracted to her, she confronted him. In a moment of complete anguish, he finally blurted it out. He told her what had happened. He told her how it still affected every part of his life.

She and her mother spent weeks encouraging him to report it to police. He couldn't. The shame was simply too overwhelming.

But they also knew the accused was still serving as a youth pastor, still spending time with young boys. They believed they had a responsibility to report it. That's when they entered my life.

The girlfriend was able to provide considerable information because her boyfriend had eventually shared much of what had happened. It was helpful, but ultimately I needed to hear it from him.

I met him in his home. We spent time talking about the investigative process, what to expect, and what might happen next. I wanted him to understand that he was in control of what came next.

Eventually, he agreed to a formal interview. He was white as a ghost. His hands shook throughout. We stopped several times so he could regain his composure.

As I worked through what he had already disclosed to his girlfriend, his account remained consistent. Then he began telling me things he had never told anyone.

The details were graphic. They were horrifying. As he described what had been done to him, I watched a grown man relive the worst moments of his childhood. He talked about how it had changed the way he viewed himself, relationships, and the world.

Then, after describing one particularly horrific assault, he leaned over and vomited into the garbage can beside him.

I will never forget that moment.

During the interview I learned the names of other boys who had also been targeted. When I tracked them down, I discovered that two had already taken their own lives. The similarities were striking.

Single-parent homes. No father figure. Limited financial means. Families grateful that the church wanted to help.

The youth pastor repeatedly sought out boys with the same vulnerabilities, offering sleepovers, mentoring, weekend outings—giving exhausted mothers a break while quietly creating access to their children.

Then the investigation became even more disturbing.

As I researched the suspect's background, I discovered he himself had once been the victim of sexual abuse. His abuser?

A church pastor.

That pastor had eventually admitted to abusing dozens of boys—possibly more than one hundred. Police had located records he kept documenting many of his victims.

He had served a lengthy prison sentence and, by the time of my investigation, had been released on parole. Ironically, he now lived less than twenty minutes from where I worked. I asked if he would meet with me.

He agreed. I made it clear he wasn't in trouble. I wasn't investigating him. I simply wanted to understand. We spoke for hours. I didn't excuse what he had done. I didn't sympathize with his crimes.

But I wanted to understand how someone who had once been a victim became someone who victimized others. One thing became painfully obvious.

The methods he had used decades earlier were almost identical to those my suspect was now using. My suspect had learned the behaviour from the man who abused him. That explanation never excused his actions.

But it helped explain them.

Again...

Two things can be true at once.

When I interviewed the youth pastor, he denied everything. He refused a police polygraph. I then met with the senior pastor of the church.

I explained why I believed his youth pastor had offended. His response was immediate.

"He would never do that."

He told me the youth pastor volunteered hundreds of hours. He was always the first to help. The last to leave. Parents loved him. The youth adored him.

I agreed.

"All of those things may be true," I said.

"And he can still be abusing children."

Those statements are not mutually exclusive. I reminded the senior pastor that his responsibility was to protect vulnerable children—not the reputation of an employee. I suggested that, if he truly wanted certainty, he could ask the youth pastor to undergo a private polygraph. The police would never see the results. It would simply provide reassurance for the church.

The youth pastor declined. Charges were approved. The church erupted. Many rallied behind the accused. People insisted he would never do such a thing.

The victim was attacked instead. He was labelled troubled. Broken. Damaged.

Yes.

Those things may also have been true. And he could still be a victim of horrific sexual abuse.

Eventually, the victim decided he could not testify. He could not bear to publicly describe, as an adult man, what another man had forced him to do as a child.

The Crown stayed the charges. In an extraordinary step, the Crown issued a public statement explaining that the charges were not stayed because they doubted the victim.

They were not stayed because the evidence was insufficient.

They were stayed because, sometimes, protecting the victim's wellbeing becomes more important than continuing the prosecution.

I felt defeated. But I also knew something else could be true at exactly the same time.

His chance to survive. To heal. To keep living. Was more important than securing a conviction.

I hoped parents quietly paid attention. I hoped they remembered what had happened.

I hoped they never again placed another vulnerable child into a situation where this man could find another victim.

So let me leave you with this.

Stop believing people are only the version of them that you know.

Your best friend. Your coworker. Your neighbour. Your boss. Your spouse. Your pastor.

People are rarely just one thing. Some wonderful people make terrible decisions. Some terrible people spend years convincing everyone they are wonderful.

The fact that someone has always been kind to you does not invalidate someone else's experience of harm.

Both experiences can be genuine. Both can be true.

The next time you are tempted to say,

"That's not been my experience with them..."

...pause.

Because that sentence has silenced countless victims.

And finally...

To those who have survived abuse and struggled to be believed, I am deeply sorry.

The world is not always fair. Some people will believe you. Some won't. But never let someone else's disbelief become your identity.

What happened to you is part of your story. It is not the whole story.

Just as two things can be true at once...

You can have been abused. And you can heal. You can build a beautiful life. You can find joy again.

The person who hurt you does not get to write the ending.