When I was twelve, my bishop asked me about masturbation.

I didn’t know the word, so, there, alone in his office, he educated me.

For the next twenty-five years, I felt my body was not my own; I always owed an explanation to whichever man was in a position to judge my worthiness. My physical self had become the custodial property of priesthood authority.

After recent events, many in our Mormon communities are emotionally exhausted. News of the adjusted interview policy came as a relief and joy to some. For others, like me, the response was mixed. The change is one added sentence. It refers to children, youth, and women: “If the person being interviewed desires, another adult may be invited to participate in the interview.” Even baby steps are steps forward, but is this change a success? Is it enough?

My main concern is abuse. There are many who can not speak for themselves; the costs may be too high or the risks too great. I feel for the fury and struggle that goes unseen in many of our brothers and sisters.

As a Primary president, I looked into dozens of bright, trusting faces and saw in them a love for the gospel and a desire to do what is right. New generations of children continually celebrate the rites and rituals of Mormon life, blossoming with the love and support that surrounds them. But not all. Some are hurt by abuse, and too often that abuse is magnified by irresponsible church practices.

We expect that our leaders are called of God. We expect them to be worthy. We expect them to act righteously. But we have a problem judging when they don’t.

When Joseph Smith put heavy pressure on a fourteen-year-old to marry into polygamy, we didn’t judge him for it. Not in the 1840s and not in 2018. When he sent men away on missions and married their wives in polyandrous unions, we didn’t judge him for it. Not then. Not now. As a church, we still don’t call these things “wrong.”

This demonstrates how difficult it is for us to judge the actions of respected leaders. We believe that because they are called of God, they must have their reasons. We hope that their motives are pure, even if inexplicable.

This also relates to how it feels to be abused by a priesthood leader. You believe that he is good. You accept his words and actions because of his authority and position. You assume that because of who he is, he knows more than you. You give in because you trust. You recognize that you are small and he is strong.

If judging a leader’s behavior is difficult for adult members, it is nearly impossible for a child. Who can blame a child for not recognizing abuse? Who can expect children to grasp the potential for ecclesiastical misconduct?

Yet the church has just passed this responsibility to children. It is now up to a child to assess the need and to make a request for protection. Will our children do this? Will our youth feel it is important for their safety? Or will they worry about showing mistrust? Will asking for that second person feel like a failure to show a bishop due respect?

Is this a good change? Almost. It could have made my interview at twelve less traumatic, if having a second person meant that one question had not been asked.

But please, let’s not pass responsibility to children. Let’s not expect them to evaluate risk or to appreciate the importance of a second person. Let’s not expect children to ask for something inconsistent with the traditions they have known. And let’s not pretend that this solves all the problems and patterns of mishandling abuse. A lot more is needed.

I want to rejoice in baby steps toward a safer church, but I am sad that, of all people, it is children we are asking to take those steps.

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Tatiana Scoll grew up in Kansas in a faithful Mormon home, studied at BYU, and served a mission in Ukraine. For fifteen years she lived with her husband and three sons in southern California, where she served many years in Primary, Young Women, and Relief Society. She and her family now live in Connecticut, where she enjoys gardening, playing piano, reading, and writing.