Father Camille Leger of Sainte-Thérèse-d'Avila parish.
When I was 11 years old, my parents made the decision to move our family back to their hometown along the east coast in Cap Pelé N.B. What they couldn’t have known at the time was that this small coastal village concealed a disturbing secret: a community steeped in fear, controlled by a man who wielded extraordinary power over its people–Father Camille Léger. For decades, this priest had been more than just a spiritual leader; he was an unchallenged authority figure, deeply feared and disturbingly revered.
My father, a man who made no secret of his disdain for me, ruled our home with a heavy hand. Abuse was his method of control, and there’s no way to soften the truth–he was capable of unimaginable cruelty. At eight years old, he shattered a pool cue over my head. By ten, I was left bruised and terrified after he slammed my head in the fridge door for daring to seek food when I was hungry. And on more than one occasion, he strangled me into unconsciousness simply for showing fear in his presence.
Home was never a sanctuary; it was a place of relentless torment. Desperate for help, my mom turned to the only authority she believed might intervene–the church. But what she hoped would be an answer to her prayers became her deepest regret, a regret she carried with her until her death just a few years ago. The sanctuary she sought offered no salvation. Compared to what Father Camille Léger would unleash on me, even my father’s violence paled in comparison.
Father Camille Leger convinced my mom that I should join the Altar Boys and the Boy Scouts of which he also was the primary leader. He used his position to abuse me sexually, physically, and psychologically for more than 2 years. And it could've been avoided if even one person in that church had the courage to tell my mom and dad, that that man was going to sexually abuse me. Members of the congregation, numerous former members, and the RCMP, all knew about this before we even moved to that town. Nobody was reporting it.
If the name Father Camille Léger sounds familiar, it’s because his crimes were widely covered by major media outlets, including CBC, NBC, Global News, and The National Post. Investigations estimate that he abused more than 250 boys, though some accounts suggest the number could be even higher. A quick Google search of his name brings up headlines like “He was a Monster,” detailing the decades of abuse he inflicted upon children in Cap Pelé. Between 1957 and 1980, during his time at Sainte-Thérèse-d’Avila parish, Father Léger left a legacy of trauma that still haunts countless lives.
They Knew The Danger I Was In
At 11, I was a late bloomer, noticeably smaller than my peers, earning me the nicknames Ti-pint or Ti-boy ("Ti" meaning Tiny). Despite my size, I held a prominent role as an altar boy, often seen by the townspeople seated next to Father Camille Leger during the service. But here's the thing; many of the townspeople knew that Father Camille Leger was sexually abusing children. It had been going on for decades. Some parents were pulling their kids out of Boy Scouts because they were hearing rumors, years before we even moved to Cap Pelé. But do you think any of those people would do so much as even say something to my mom or dad? They stood, knelt, and sat in the pews beside my parents, their eyes practically fixed on me as I sat next to Father Camille Leger. They knew the danger I was in, yet not one of them warned my parents. Countless people were aware and remained silent.
Terrified of both my father and Father Camille Léger, I felt completely trapped, with no safe place to turn for help. For two agonizing years, I endured relentless abuse, powerless to escape the grasp of those who were meant to protect and guide me. The very people entrusted with my care were the ones stealing my childhood innocence. When my mother eventually discovered the horrifying truth of what Father Léger had done to me, her devastation was matched only by her fury. In that moment, I truly believe she was capable of killing a priest if someone hadn’t stepped in to calm her down. Her anguish was palpable–a reflection of the betrayal and helplessness that had shattered our family.
She approached others in town, pleading for support to bring this man to justice, but no one would stand with her. The response was always the same: “You can’t go against the church.” Within a few short months, her hope and determination faded. Not even the RCMP officers stationed in Cap Pelé were willing to help. Nobody cared. The weight of that betrayal broke her. For months, she was a shadow of herself, consumed by grief and helplessness. Eventually, the pain overwhelmed her, and she suffered a nervous breakdown, requiring hospitalization for a short time.
In 2012, more than two decades after the death of Father Camille Léger, the Catholic Church reached out to me to begin a conciliation process regarding the harm inflicted by their complicity. But what I uncovered during that process was even more devastating. The Church had known about his actions long before my abuse began. Father Léger had committed similar offenses at another church less than 15 kilometers away. Instead of stopping him, they simply transferred him to Cap Pelé, where he continued his predatory behavior unchecked.
The RCMP’s role in all of this is another chapter in this tragic story. The two Catholic RCMP officers stationed in Cap Pelé acted as Father Léger’s protectors. When my mother sought justice, they advised her not to press charges, claiming it would only cause embarrassment and lead nowhere. Sadly, they were right about the lack of justice. The system failed us–just as the church and the community had.
My sources for this story are my own lived experiences with Father Camille Léger, but for those seeking further details, major outlets have reported on his crimes. You can find coverage in Global News, CBC News, The Toronto Star, The Globe & Mail, and CTV News, among others.
It took me a while to see this so plainly, but if truth and justice doesn’t matter more than your beliefs, there’s something terribly wrong with your belief system. In fact; it's fair to say that if your belief system is prioritizing your faith or opinion over truth, it can lead to dogmatism preventing you from actually maturing in your faith. In the end, this is why Father Camille Léger was allowed to commit such atrocities against the children of Cap Pelé–their parents valued their faith more than the truth.
The love, power, and mercy that Jesus’s followers are supposed to embody are the true measure of their faith. If those who claim to represent Christ cannot show even a fraction more love, power, and mercy than the rest of the world, why should anyone believe them? Matthew 18:6 of the NIV Bible states: “If anyone causes one of these little ones–those who believe in me–to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.”
So Who Is Guilty?
No, Father Camille Léger was never–even once the only guilty party. Ultimately, the Catholic Church and the people of Sainte-Thérèse-d'Avila parish chose to be complicit in crimes against their own children. Their fear of a priest, gave license to a child molesting monster to stain their town forever. This is just one of those things that stays in the history books.
My point is simple: there’s often little difference between those who claim to be Christian and those who don’t. “The world,” as they like to call it, has often done far more for humanity than many Christians. For some, “Christian” is just a name or a title they give themselves without living up to its meaning.
In fact, the next time someone tells me they’re a Christian, I might just ask them to prove it.
Seriously,
– Don