As an altar boy in the late 1990s, Michal Gatchalian spent almost every Sunday at a centuries-old Roman Catholic basilica in Cebu City, the Philippines. There he met a fun-loving priest who gave the boys rides on his motorcycle.
On Jan. 11, 1998, the priest, Apolinario “Jing” Mejorada, invited the then 17-year-old Mr. Gatchalian and another altar boy to the movies. At the theater, the teenagers said, he molested them. About 20 months later, Mr. Gatchalian said Father Mejorada sexually abused him again. That episode, he said, occurred at the home of the priest, who demanded oral sex from him. Mr. Gatchalian said he refused.
A month later, Mr. Gatchalian complained to church leaders. His efforts went nowhere and he decided to take his case to the courts, in what was a remarkable act at the time. He was the rare abuse victim who publicly fought for accountability in the Philippines, a devoutly Catholic country, before the Roman Catholic Church’s clergy abuse scandal ricocheted across the globe.
But even after Father Mejorada admitted in court proceedings that he had “fondled and touched” the boys’ thighs, justice remained elusive.
Now 45, Mr. Gatchalian is a lawyer and has started a group to help other survivors of clergy abuse with legal advice and moral support, becoming the public face of victims in the Philippines where so few have dared to come forward. The church in the country, critics say, continues to close ranks to protect its own.
“Despite the reforms made by the Vatican, the church here still employs the same methods in handling abuse cases,” he said in an interview. “They’re more focused on protecting the priest rather than the complaining victim.”
Father Mejorada, the priest accused by Mr. Gatchalian, belonged to the Order of St. Augustine, which helped spread Christianity in the Philippines starting in the 1500s. More recently, from 2001 to 2013, the order was led by Robert Francis Prevost, who is now Pope Leo. As the head of the Augustinians he visited the Philippines at least nine times.
Father Mejorada has now been defrocked, which has not been previously reported. The Augustinians declined to comment, but the move was confirmed by two employees of the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño in Cebu, where the priest once served as a rector and Mr. Gatchalian was an altar boy, as well as by an official at the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines. The action appears to have been taken before Leo became pope.
Only a handful of priests are known to have been defrocked in the Philippines, according to the U.S.-based watchdog group BishopAccountability.org.
The Vatican has said nothing about the abuse allegations against Mr. Mejorada, and it is unclear whether the pope knew about Mr. Gatchalian’s case. It did not respond to a request for comment. Mr. Mejorada could not be reached for comment.
Mr. Gatchalian’s case illustrates the power the church holds in the Philippines, where about 80 percent of the population is Catholic and the church influences everything from government policy to judicial appointments.
Back in October 1999, Mr. Gatchalian said he told his spiritual director of Father Mejorada’s actions but, he said, the church did not do anything. Father Mejorada offered him 80,000 Philippine pesos, or roughly $2,000 then, in exchange for a promise that Mr. Gatchalian would not sue, according to court documents. He took the money.
Later, Father Mejorada’s younger brother, the Rev. Mar Mejorada, told Mr. Gatchalian and two other altar boys, who also had accused the older priest of sexual abuse, that the priest had “volunteered to continue his ministry” in Africa. Father Mar Mejorada offered another 120,000 Philippine pesos to Mr. Gatchalian and the two other boys, which they took, according to an affidavit filed by Mr. Gatchalian.
But soon after, Mr. Gatchalian saw the priest he said had abused him at their church in Cebu. Incensed, he wrote to the archbishop in Cebu at the time, as well as the local newspapers and radio stations. The archbishop ordered an investigation, Mr. Gatchalian said, but it is unclear whether Father Mejorada was disciplined at the time.
In an affidavit in 2003, Father Mejorada admitted that he “fondled and touched” Mr. Gatchalian’s thighs at the movie theater, saying while those were “wrongful and shameful acts” they were not criminal. He admitted that at his house, he had hugged Mr. Gatchalian from the back, wrapped both hands around his abdomen, kissed his nape, and started to move his hand toward the inside of Mr. Gatchalian’s underwear. At that point, Mr. Gatchalian held his hand and pulled it away. The affidavit did not address the accusation of demanding oral sex.
Prosecutors refused to follow up on Mr. Gatchalian’s complaint, saying that he had taken a “huge payoff” and had therefore damaged his legal standing.
Mr. Gatchalian appealed to the Department of Justice and the courts, losing repeatedly.
‘Spirited Streak’
On the radio, Mr. Gatchalian heard people debate about whether he enjoyed the abuse. Mr. Gatchalian said that when his employer at a gas station heard about the case, he fired Mr. Gatchalian, who said he then contemplated suicide.
His father, Faro, a lay missionary in a Catholic order, said that someone screamed at him that he and his family were “the devil’s servants attacking the church.”
“That was injustice in the highest form that one could experience,” the younger Mr. Gatchalian said.
Last year, BishopAccountability.org issued a report accusing the church of having a culture of impunity in the Philippines.
“When we did an initial sweep of the Philippines, I said: ‘Who is this man and why is he so gutsy?’” Anne Barrett Doyle, a co-founder of the watchdog group, said of Mr. Gatchalian. “Because he was coming forward under his own name.”
Mr. Gatchalian had a modest childhood in Cebu and did not even have a television. He loved playing priest with his older brother, using a cardboard box as a tabernacle and banana slices as communion wafers.
His father said his teachers regularly complained that he challenged them with questions.
“He has a — what the ordinary person would call a rebellious streak,” the senior Mr. Gatchalian said. “I call it a spirited streak, and people do not understand that.”
After his legal fight against Father Mejorada, Mr. Gatchalian decided to go to law school. There, he met Christine Naranjo, who would become his wife.
They were studying for the bar in Manila in 2007, when Mr. Gatchalian learned that Father Mejorada was serving in a parish in the area. He said that studying for the exam had put him in a “prayerful and contemplative mind set,” which made him recognize that Father Mejorada was human.
He took Ms. Naranjo to see the priest and told him that he had forgiven him.
“It was something I don’t think I can do,” said Ms. Naranjo, who is now a public prosecutor.
They are raising their two sons, who are 11 and 6, as Catholics and attend Mass weekly. Mr. Gatchalian said he has told his elder son that he had been molested by a priest.
Not Losing Faith
In 2017, there was renewed interest in his case after Al Jazeera aired a documentary that included Mr. Gatchalian reiterating his accusations against Father Mejorada.
At the time, Father Mejorada was serving in the rural town of Gubat.
He was expelled from the Augustinian order at some point afterward.
In 2020, Mr. Gatchalian co-founded a group called the Catholic Independent Safeguarding Unit and started providing legal advice to victims of clergy abuse. So far six people have sought his help.
Jamaica Shane Abarquez Apas said she was 16 when her parish priest molested her in 2023. In a courtroom, she recalled, her fellow parishioners made snide remarks.
But Mr. Gatchalian was with her.
“I will be sitting beside you throughout all of this,” Ms. Apas said he told her. “Keep your head high. Look people in the eye every time they try to criticize you.”
(In February 2024, the priest accused by Ms. Apas was sentenced to four years, two months and a day in prison but was released on probation because of a plea bargain. He did not serve a day in jail, according to Mr. Gatchalian.)
In early 2025, Murray Heasley, a New Zealander who is a former board member of the global nonprofit Ending Clergy Abuse, approached Mr. Gatchalian to discuss setting up a survivor-led group in the Philippines.
“I was always interested in Michal Gatchalian because that was the name like a clarion call, the one person in a country of 100 million Catholics who had stood up,” Mr. Heasley said.
Last September, Mr. Gatchalian took a reporter to the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño, where he had served as an altar boy. He pointed excitedly at the bell tower as he recalled how he was invited to ring the bells for the Sinulog Festival, which honors the Santo Niño de Cebú, the crowned child Jesus. A young altar boy came up to say hello.
It was a stark contrast, he said, from two decades ago when security guards would follow him on the basilica grounds.
Mr. Gatchalian is sometimes asked how he stayed a Catholic despite the abuse.
“I stay because it’s my means to connect to my God,” he said, adding that the church could abandon him if it chooses to. “But you’re not going to expect that I’ll be the one to leave.”
Elisabetta Povoledo contributed reporting from Rome and Jason Gutierrez from Manila.
Sui-Lee Wee is the Southeast Asia bureau chief for The Times, overseeing coverage of 11 countries in the region.
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