Silenced by Contract: The Alabama Priest Case and the Misuse of NDAs

An Alabama priest is at the center of a growing investigation that highlights how non-disclosure agreements continue to be used to conceal abuse. Father Robert Sullivan, a Roman Catholic priest, is accused of engaging in a sexually exploitative relationship with a young woman that began when she was 17. Now 33, she has come forward to disclose not only the abuse but also the NDA that was meant to keep her silent, along with nearly $400,000 in financial transfers made over the years.

The facts are stark. At the age of 17, a teenager became entangled in a relationship with a man nearly three decades her senior, a man in a position of both religious and community authority. What followed was not a story of consent, but of manipulation and control. As so often happens in cases of institutional abuse, secrecy was maintained through the use of a legal instrument—a contract designed not to protect the vulnerable, but to protect the perpetrator.

Her decision to break the terms of that NDA is both an act of defiance and of truth-telling. It illustrates why NDAs are so dangerous when used in cases of sexual abuse. They silence survivors. They preserve the reputations of those in power. They enable institutions to deny, delay, or bury accountability. And they strip survivors of their autonomy, forcing them to live within the confines of someone else’s narrative.

This case in Alabama resonates deeply with the wider conversation about NDA reform taking place across the United States. Earlier this week, Trey’s Law came into effect in Texas and Missouri, making NDAs unenforceable in child sexual abuse cases. That legislation, named after Trey Carlock, a survivor who was silenced by an NDA and later died by suicide, acknowledges the obvious truth: survivors should never be bound to silence in exchange for safety, support, or settlement.

The contrast between Alabama and states that have passed reforms could not be clearer. In one, a survivor is forced to defy a legal contract and risk consequences simply to tell her story. In the other, survivors are now protected by law, free to speak without fear of reprisal. The lesson is straightforward. When NDAs are allowed in cases of sexual abuse, they become tools of exploitation. When they are banned, survivors regain their voices and institutions are forced into the open.

There is a broader cultural reckoning underway. Survivors are refusing silence, legislators are beginning to listen, and public awareness of how NDAs have been misused is growing. But for every state that takes action, there are many more where survivors remain trapped by these contracts. Alabama now has a choice to make. Will it continue to allow NDAs to function as weapons of secrecy in abuse cases, or will it follow the lead of states that have recognized the injustice and outlawed their use?

The Restitution Project exists because stories like this are not isolated. They are part of a pattern that stretches across borders and institutions, from churches and schools to workplaces and sports organizations. Survivors deserve restitution, not repression. They deserve legal protections that prioritize healing and truth, not documents that enforce silence and shield predators.

What happened in Alabama is another reminder that the fight is not over. Survivors should never have to break the law to tell the truth. Legislators should never allow secrecy to override justice. And institutions should never use contracts as substitutes for accountability. Until that changes everywhere, the misuse of NDAs will continue to cause harm.