Faith Healing Fail

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Sorry I Knocked

These videos aren't new. I found them the same week I stumbled across WhyWontGodHealAmputees.com and bought a copy of "God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything" by Christopher Hitchens. I found them a month after I realized I'd been raised in a cult, and they were profoundly helpful to me. I think just about everything I've done in the past year and a half can be credited to those sources of inspiration and more. I'm awed by the strength and grace of Aayan Hirsi Ali, of Carolyn Jessop, of Astra & Jenna Miscavige. I'm thankful for the four horsemen, for their thinking and analyzing, for the beautiful words and illustration they've crafted. I'm thankful to the Atheist Community of Austin, for being such a positive example of how atheists, with our disparate views, can work together to provide social opportunities for a marginalized minority.

So here they are, the Sorry I Knocked videos that lit the anti-theist fire in my belly.

I gotta say, the Bengal tiger does sound cool. Also, this poor woman has a ton of JW spam in her comments, so show her some love from ATAT, okay?

Hope everything is going well in Internet World. I'll have my very own wifi connection (instead of the neighbor's hacked one) on the 24th so prepare to be tweeted! (@antitheistangie for those of you not already following)

Cheers!

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Not how I want my story to end

These songs are all about drugs, but they express how I feel about my eating disorder.



I have binged on eggnog and buttered bread multiple times this week. I'm feeling a real loss of control in life, a side effect of all the (positive) changes going on. I've been pushing myself a lot in terms of making hard phone calls and just dealing with hard painful shit and trying not to lose my mind. I don't seem to be winning that battle at the moment. I've slammed my head into the wall twice now. That was something I had really hoped was behind me (although, it is the back of my head that I jerk backwards into the wall.) I know how dangerous and destructive it is, but my anxiety just gets so bad I have to do *something* to bring myself back down to reality, back to a physical reality. I've pinched my arms black and blue this week, and I had muscle tics so bad the other night while running errands I hurt my shoulder from the severity.



I have a feeling everything will be better in a couple weeks. Little Man will be attending his new school; I'll have full internet function (instead of the neighbor's wifi, which I am stealing by sitting in the yard in the rain, with an umbrella between my knees as I type this); I'll be more used to the idea of living with another adult. Specifically a male one.

I don't want to have to talk about my eating disorder with him. It's such an ugly thing. Sometimes I feel very removed.





Goodnight my dear, beloved Anteaters and online friends. I have felt too ugly the past few days to seriously consider a video. I hate what my brain does to my mind. Mental illness fucking SUCKS.

I'm gonna call the doctor and find out if we need to up my pills or change them or *what* but I don't wanna get so skinny I'm ugly again. I don't want to eat through my new dental work with bile. I don't want to exercise till I tear a muscle, or get shin splints, or collapse. I don't want to live on energy drinks, weed, and cigarettes again. I don't want to weigh my worth as a human being on a fucking bathroom scale. But I don't wanna go a pound over 110 either. This blows, but I'm hoping being real about all of this with all of you will help keep me acountable for not screwing up my life again. You can remind me how much I have to live for, and that I'm not just a body, and that I have to stay healthy so I can live, for my kid. You won't be like my mom and just let me starve myself to death in front of your eyes.



...Right?

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Adam & Eve Sought Morality

Hey Anteaters. At least until after the move and getting myself set up in the new place (and setting up internet service there) I'm going to be sticking to video posts, because they are so much faster to make. Let me know what you think of these, any topics you'd like me to cover, or any tips you have for volume/recording that doesn't require me to buy equipment. (If you want to buy me equipment, I will totally let you.)

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Gig's Stroke

Found this while sifting through old diaries and blog posts.


May 7th, 2006 (community post) "life & death"
So, a bunch of family went to my grandmother's this morning, to do some home repair and other chores for a Mother's Day gift. When my Aunt B and Uncle D got there this morning, however, my Giggy was barely coherent, couldn't get out of bed, and had soiled herself. We think she had a stroke. It took a lot to get her to the hospital (she hates doctors), but she's there now getting a CT scan and a spinal tap.

Now, here's the scary (to me) part: All the responsible people can't help. My Aunt S, brother, and mom are all in Mossouri, where my grandfather is dying (in the next day or so) of Stage 4 Lung Cancer. My sister is at work. My Aunt Z, oldest of my grandmother's children and usually the one to do these things, is bringing home her newly adopted baby boy today, who was born Friday. So, she's a bit busy. Uncle D has to leave town for a week-long business trip. That leaves my Aunt B, who is a lot like me in that we pretty much suck at being the people to make the decisions. We call our older siblings and leave them with the burden of responsibility, of choice. This sucks.

Please pray. Love you all.

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Prodigal Daughter

My suicide attempts were never about me being in so much pain, or so miserable. They were about me being dirty, disgusting; it being unbearable that someone as worthless as I dared to breathe and complain, and wouldn't the world be better off without me?

And then of course I felt ashamed for feeling that way. I'd heard that suicide was the single most selfish action a person could ever take, that it was "a permanent solution to a temporary problem", and that it was short-sighted. I'm glad my suicide attempts failed, but I don't think anyone was really trying to help me with the underlying pain and mental abuse that led me to take such extremes.

I rebelled as much as I could. I was the prodigal daughter, only instead of moving out ,I just snuck out the window.I couldn't figure out the balance between the Law and Grace, legalism and hedonism, being washed clean from my sins, and just using my salvation as a "get outta jail free" card. I wanted God to like me, and I wanted to make him happy, but I'd been told time and time again that I could never be good enough. "All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God."

I was a stealth perfectionist. I knew that failing - coming in second - was pathetic. Gig treated consolation prizes and self-esteem with equal measures of scorn and disdain. You only got credit for winning; trying my best wasn't good enough if it still meant I was a loser. So why bother trying? There was no way I could be the pious Christian teen to perfection. For one thing, I had started smoking cigarettes, occassionally at 12 and regularly by 14. Then there was the matter of my long-gone virginity. Hell, I hadn't thought of myself as a virgin since I'd been molested as a little girl. And I was told I could never have children, so clearly I was a failure as a Christian woman.

So I quit. If I couldn't be perfect, I wouldn't play the game. Which kept me safe from teenaged legalism, but also kept me from growing, from changing, from learning, taking risks, or trying anything new. When I did take risks, it was usually in poorly conceived reactionary ways. I still felt spiritually convicted about taking Midol for cramps, but I ate xtc and smoked weed with my friends and lovers. There was this huge disconnection. No one had told me how to be moderate in secular life.

The only picture I had of the world outside my narrow religious upbringing was the parable of the prodigal son. I could either stay in the home, in the family, in obedience to my elders and working in the fields OR I could run out and party for a few years, then when times got rough, crawl back home to my family and be cared for. Fecklessness clearly resulted in greater rewards for the prodigal son than for his steadfast brother. It was a combination of teen lust, rebellion, curiosity, and fear of failure that made my teen years so rocky. A lack of a stable home didn't help.

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Squinch & Oral Surgery

My first nicknames as a child were "Squinch" and "Nuke". Giggy gave them both to me. She would take our first names and extend them past reason, adding funny sounding morphemes. Then she'd take one of these random extended pieces, and use that as a nickname. For example, a guy we knew named Jared was called "Root", short for "Jaredarooter." A Sara was known as "Sponder", short for "Sarasponder". Nuke came about the same way, (with "nucleosis" added after my given name) but Squinch was a nickname I got for being small.

I remember helping my ballerina aunt move her cigarette-smoke scented scarves and mirors and exotic tropical fish and several persian cats from one apartment to another. I sat in the backseat, over the hump, holding stacks of boxes steady on either side, and a cat carrier on my lap. "Look at her," Giggy commented happily from the driver's seat. "You can just squinch her on in anywhere and she'll fit."

I've been trying to decide when my eating disorders really started. Was it the first time I threw up in 5th grade, when I just wanted to get out of class and wasn't yet concerned with thinness? Was it the first time I specifically took an action - a diet pill, an exercise class, a skipped meal - towards weight control? Or did it start earlier, in my formative years, when I decided the way I was, scabby kneed, tow-headed with bangs I'd cut myself, energetic and smiling, was inherently sinful, evil, and wrong? I think Squinch has something to do with it, but I haven't had the major "click" insight yet that makes it all fall into place neatly in an autobiographical timeline (which would really help make organizing the book easier, if it did.)

I'm about to go have a pudding cup for breakfast, because the thought of chewing after yesterday's dental assault (7 cavities filled and 2 bad teeth extracted - in two hours) makes me want to cry. Plus, I'm not sure if it's a side-effect of the novacaine or the antibiotics, but I woke up puking for about an hour last night. No fun. :( I always feel really odd about throwing up now that I've decided not to be bulimic anymore. For awhile, a few years ago during a prior attempt at health and recovery, I started accidentally-on-purpose giving myself food poisoning, so that I could purge the calories without having to admit to myself that's what I was doing. So now, even though I *really* didn't do a damn thing to make myself throw up, I feel guilty for it. I feel like I benefited from something destructive. Granted, I didn't really eat anything yesterday because my mouth was still bleeding for several hours and the sleeping pills let me knock out for awhile, so it's not like there are any food calories I expelled. I just feel guilty that part of me likes throwing up. (The rest of me is much wiser and recognizes that stomach acid hurts like a mother, and it's what screwed up my teeth in the first place.)

I want to sit down the two overweight women who convinced me I was fat and tell them to fuck off. And I wish I had eggs this morning so I could make soft scrambled eggs with cheese for a gentle-chewing breakfast, instead of jello pudding (yummy though.) I'll try to organize my thoughts for a better post later today. I think the Tylenol PMs are still making my brain all fuzzy. Oh well. I'm going to the doctor's this afternoon to talk about my trouble sleeping. (Boyfriend Dave is concerned I never actually reach REM sleep, with all the trashing about and making funny noises I apparently do in the middle of the night.) Good day, good luck, and I'll do a better post later. Cheers, Anteaters - soon I'll be all better, with healthy teeth, a healthy head, and maybe even 8 hours of sleep in the same night!

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God of the Gas Tank

I remember the night I Googled "Carol Balizet" and found cults. I read about the Attleboro sect, and this one strange incident where they ran out of gas and spent three days "laying hands" on the car, praying the Lord would fill their tank. This was at the beginning of my process, and I was still in a lot of denial about how bad my grandma's teachings really were. Then a couple weeks ago, during my first bout of "no internet", I read this in her book "Born in Zion":

There was really no gas at all. The needle was way down past the "E" and even with the great milage the van gets, there was no way we could make it to Lakeland. Bertha closed her eyes and put her hand on the dashboard.

"We're your servants, Lord, and we want to go where you send us, but we can't make it without a miracle. We ask you to meet our need now. In the name of Jesus, let there be gas," she prayed and the needle on the gas gauge jumped up past the quarter-full mark. Glory! Then she put a paper napkin over the gauge so we couldn't see it, and we started out. We drove all the way, singing and laughing, both of us absolutely positive we'd make it to Lakeland without a problem. We did.

The Attleboro followers were no crazier than my grandma, and in fact they were basing most of their lives on her teachings. I just hadn't realized she'd taught "God will fill your gas tank" so explicitly. She also promises that labor will be painless (throughout the book, she refuses to refer to a laboring woman as in "pain"; she prefers the word "discomfort"), that having a homebirth will strengthen your marriage (despite half the people mentioned in the book going through divorces by the time the second and third editions were printed), and that - as long as you are in a "blessable" position - God will give you absolutely everything you need, right down to gas in your tank.

In many ways, fictional god was the most loving parent I had, or thought I had. My mother was extremely detached during my early childhood, and I barely have any memories of her at all prior to moving away from Gig when I was 9. She swears she was around more, but I don't remember it. I remember her being busy writing her dissertation, and I remember standing outside her bedroom, staring at the closed door.

Gig was insane. She was also a lot of fun, and I enjoyed running errands with her and just sort of basking in her presence. She was so charming and disarming, she could insult you and get you to laugh right along with her.* She would hold me in her rocking chair and sing "Peace, Peace" to me when I had nightmares or was upset. Yet I know she didn't love me, or anyone else. She made a deal with God to kill my mother during her labor with my brother (he reneged). Just as my mom watched me struggle to walk with a limp and a cane, so did she. Just as my mother ignored all my emotional, mental health, and physical needs, so did Gig. The difference was that Gig drank her own Koolaid, but my mother didn't; she just served it to us.

No one made sure my teeth had been brushed, or my homework had been done. I could scarcely get the adults to notice me, but they told me that God loved me, that he was always with me, and that he knew me intimately. The illusion of god was more loving than the reality of either of the women raising me. God was supposed to do everything for me that they didn't - care for me, heal me, comfort me, love me. I can't be the only one that held onto God because he was better than the alternatives I'd been given.

A lot of times people make comments about religion being for the poor, but for me religion was for the poor in spirit.** "A broken heart and a contrite spirit, you have yet to deny" I sang in church and "He's got the whole world in his hands". So I believed and I prayed for the things I needed, instead of finding them some other way. I prayed for money, for a boyfriend, for a better car and better job. I prayed for my hip to get better, for my suicidalism to fade, for god to take my freewill away from me, so I wouldn't offend or disappoint him further. And when god failed to do those things for me, I turned the blame inward and sought out - How am I not blessable? What am I doing wrong that is preventing God from moving in my life?

I thought if I just got right with God, I'd have enough gas to make it home.

* Example: Gig told an African-American nurse she worked with during the 60s "Well, they say black is beautiful but you're kind of brown, so I guess you're just pretty."

**There are atheists in foxholes and below the poverty line.

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Rough Draft

Hi Aunt Z,

Let me start off by saying that I love you and your family as well. You covered a lot of different ground in your email. As I see it, you brought up
1) Your perception of me as "wounded" and in pain
2) Me calling Gig a cult leader and holding her responsible for dead babies
3) Atheism and anti-theism
4) The history between Gig and Asshat (I'm not using my ex husband's real name)
5) How I raise my son
6) Peter and the prodigal son idea
7) The role of mental health

Let me get the shorter responses out of the way. I'm sorry Asshat stole from Gig. He stole from everyone, even cashing in Little Man's change jar when he was a month old to buy drugs. He had serious substance abuse problems and was not a nice person. Last year I had to file a restraining order, after he threatened to kidnap my son and kill me. How I raise my son, in a single parent home and outside of a church, is not up for discussion. I haven't provided any insights or suggestions on what I think would be best for your children, and you will do the same for me.

Lumping together points 1, 3, and 6: I'm touched by your concern I suppose, but I'm not in pain and I'm not blogging because I'm "wounded". Atheism has been a huge positive in my life, and is the second greatest thing to happen to me (after Little Man, of course). I did not become an atheist because I'm angry with God or with Gig, or in reaction to any of the aspects of religion I decry on my blog. If you'd like to talk about it, there are three scenarios I can work with.

1. If you have questions, I'll do my best to answer them. A lot of people don't have a clear understanding of what "atheist" means, but it just describes the fact that I don't believe that any gods exist. It doesn't say anything about my outlook or my values, which in many respects are the same as yours.
2. You and I can exchange books and talk about the issues that way. I'll read a Christian apologist book of your choosing, if you'll read something I choose on atheism in exchange.
3. We can agree to never directly converse with each other on the issue of god, religion, and religious education/indoctrination of children.

Now that I've set those issues aside, let me get to what I think was your main purpose in writing me. Gig was a cult leader. I know that this is hard to hear and painful to discover, but it's factually true. Just google "Carol Balizet" and "cult" and you'll be amazed at what you find, and not just on my blog. The International Cultic Studies Association, Apologetics Index, Childrens Healthcare is a Legal Duty, Concerned Christian Growth Ministries, and the Rick Ross Institute (all groups specializing in cults) recognize Gig as a cult leader and Home in Zion Ministries as a cult. (Which sort of answers your question of why I kept working for her even as an adult. Brainwashing takes time to reverse and I was still very much under her spell at that time.)

You didn't live with her during those years, so you may not be aware how crazy and controlling she really was. I don't know if you've read her books anytime in the last twenty years, but my mom and I have. She knows that Gig is a cult leader, too, and she's still a committed Christian. The atheism and the recognition of Gig as a cult leader aren't at all related. (In fact, Rick Ross Institute, CCGM, and Apologetics Index are all Christian cult-watch organizations).

I'm sorry if this wounds you or causes you pain. That's not my intention. It's just a fact, and in part because I did work for her and promote her crazed ideas for so long, I want to make amends to the world. I want to debunk the dangerous lies she told. Children have died, Z. And, sorry, but the facts say they *would* have lived if they'd gotten medical care. I know Gig always said each death she spoke of was unavoidable, but I've read about them now in news articles and cult watch websites. She brainwashed people into putting "faith" above all else, and told them it was blasphemous to respond "in the sight realm" to actual physical problems people were having, and that it was a sin to go to a doctor. In the end, when she was the one in pain, she did go to a doctor. By that point six children had already died as a direct result of her books and her dogma.

I don't know if you remember the story of Harrison Johnson, the little boy who was stung by all those yellow jackets and died from medical neglect in the HIZM office, but I used to babysit him. Gig was with his family that day, and advised them not to get medical care. He would be 16 now, if his parents had never read Gig's books. She killed him. It's taken me 14 years to get to the point where I can recognize that for what really happened.

Regarding the role of mental health in Gig's decisions and actions. I was diagnosed with OCD at 21 and have received multiple additional diagnoses since then. I've long suspected Gig had mental health problems, probably OCD and certainly NPD. However, a high-functioning adult with mental illness is not excused for bad behavior. I have mental health issues myself, and I can be sympathetic to the additional challenges that come with living like this. But I am responsible for my actions and words, just as as she was. If someone is found not guilty of a crime like murder by reason of insanity, we don't convict them of murder but we still do lock them up for the safety of others, in an institution rather than a jail. You can believe whatever you believe, but we have rules on how crazy you're allowed to *behave*.

You seemed to suggest that by simply being an atheist and talking about it on my blog, I am doing more harm than Gig, who directly contributed to the deaths of several children. I don't see how you possibly could make this statement "gently". The sweetest words won't hide the fact that you worship a god you think will send me and my friends to hell, simply for not believing he exists, and that you think he is the source of love, comfort, and morality, and that I'm depriving my son in some way by not teaching him about this deity. Do you really want to have this conversation with me? We can, but you almost certainly won't like what I have to say.

I'm more than willing to talk about Gig's effect on the world with you - or not. I do recommend you talk to my mom about it. She has a lot of insights about Gig over the decades, and was a lot more involved in Gig's personal satellite during the baby ministry days. She's also read a lot on abusive churches and Bible-based cults, written by Christians, on how to make sure the group you belong to is healthy and not heretical. Since I think you're more likely to respect what she has to say, both because she's a Christian and because she's your sister not your niece, I think you should probably talk to her. I know you don't like this, but I'm not making it up.

A Christmas present for Little Man would be grand, as long as it's not a Bible or something like it. I'll get your children religiously neutral toys in a similar respect of your right to educate and instruct your children as you see fit. I'm glad to hear you're getting treatment plan for Lil C and testing for Lil J. I only wish I'd had access to health care and mental health care as a child. Because of Gig and her beliefs, I didn't.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is what I'm thinking of sending. But on the other hand, I remember that I don't even really like her. Yes, she's my aunt and I love her in that obligatory family reflex way. But in 2006 when I was living in my car and asked her for money for diapers, she referred me to the homeless shelter for help. (She married rich, so it's not like she couldn't have spared a pack of Pampers.) She used to make sarcastic comments about me as a teenager that really enhanced some of my insecurities and certainly made my eating disorder worse. When I was a kid, in a cult, at that time being sexually abused by a neighbor, she would pinch my bottom and tickle me, after I'd scream for her to stop. And she'd laugh. (So did my favorite aunt. It's taken me a long while to realize that I'm not overly sensitive - they were just jerks.) I don't actually want to spend time with her or talk with her individually. We're not that close and I don't respect her opinion that much. Really, I just want her to recognize that her mom ran a cult, or just leave me alone about it. I don't want family guilt when this book comes out. If she never speaks to me again because of this, either because I'm an atheist or because I called a spade a freaking spade, it's not actually going to bother me.

So maybe I cut it down to simply the groups that called HIZM a cult and the recommendation to call my mom. Maybe I just pull myself out of it. Or send her an email that says, "You're a moron who believes a man lived in a freaking fish belly!" Probably not that last one.

I called my best girlfriend in the world last night to vent about all this. She's a hippie spiritual Jesus type, and dating a Satanist. She's gotten over my disbelief now, which is fantastic. I love this girl because she came up with the perfect solution to cheer me up.

"Chica, we gotta get together and stir shit up. Let's go to a bar and get in a chick brawl!" Just the thought of hitting somebody and pulling someone's hair made me perk right up. :)




The image for today's post is of the Jonestown mass suicide, which is probably what most people think of when they hear the word "cult".

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Intervention and Parents Rights

I've been listening to old episodes of the Non-Prophets Radio podcast. (If you're not listening yet, it's your own fault. I've linked and embedded tons of Atheist Experience videos. Okay, okay, I forgive you. Go subscribe to the feed now and let us never speak of this unpleasantness again.)

The issue of intervention keeps coming up. When does the government, or we the people, or the US, intervene in how a family raises its children or how another nation treats its citizens? One of the four hosts, Shilling, (no longer on - I told you, these were archives) essentially takes a non-interventionist stance the majority of the time. He suggests the long-range approach of educating a culture, and essentially waiting things out for self-correction. He cites the decrease in racism and homophobia in younger generations as an example of this working in practice. And I have to say I agree with him up to that point.

Because I think the long-range plan is important and I do think it will work. I think history in a large sense shows that, our culture at least, is getting progressively more liberal and egalitarian. Neato. Swell. But in the meantime, if we use only the non-interventionist long-range approach, kids aren't getting vaccinated. Unassisted childbirth is killing mothers and babies.* Honor killings are happening in the United States. Parents treat their kids with unproven "natural" remedies rather than with FDA approved medicines. A little boy gets named Adolf Hitler (and his sister is named Aryan Nation.)

When are we gonna stop talking about parents rights and start talking about kids rights? I think part of the problem with the debate is that we act as if the two interested parties were the parents and the government. And of course, we object to the idea of a government raising its children - that falls under the domain of parenting. But the real nature of the issue is between the rights of the parents and the rights of the children. The government acts as attorney on behalf of the child, not as a direct antagonist to the parent. I get that now.

I was raised to fear HRS, so when they came to do an investigation, I lied. When my friend's mother told my mom I wanted to live with them, my mom told me she was playing arm chair psychologist, and that it was a common problem among psych students. That it didn't mean anything (like trying to get hit by a car when I was six didn't mean anything; or saying I needed therapy or I was gonna kill myself at 14 didn't mean anything; or saying that I had an eating disorder and that I was going to die if I didn't get help at 25 didn't mean anything).

I have to intervene for the kids right now. Fuck the long-range-only plan. Well-meaning high-minded secular and moderate religious people who were trying not to step on anyone's toes or interfere with anyone's parental rights let me get beaten, brainwashed, and Bible-fed. I didn't get to form my own personality and identity as a human. I was raised in a cult, like being a borg or a clone. I'm having to figure this shit out (who I am, what I value, what my own personality is) now and I'm 26 and I have a 4-year-old kid. It's kind of terrifying sometimes to realize how little I know and how far behind I am. I got cheated out of a childhood and it's seriously affecting my adulthood. And now I find out there's no afterlife, so this is the only shot I'm ever gonna get.

We can't sit by and let other kids have their psyches destroyed. I can't really express enough just how crazy I am and how uncomfortable the inside of my brain is. I have a really high IQ. (I don't remember the number; it was over ten years ago. I was in Mensa but we quit paying dues.) If I'd been raised in a healthy home, I'd probably be a doctor or a lawyer or a civil rights activist or married. Not unemployed and semi-agoraphobic. This isn't a pity party. I'm good at getting through shit - I have a lot of practice. (And hey, unemployment checks are the bomb. I consider that my salary for writing on my book.)

It's just that I can't not care. I can't pretend kids aren't dying from medical negligence homicide (AKA "prayer"). I know there's this huge Quiverfull generation coming up now, and a lot of those kids are growing up in abusive homes; they're learning misogyny and rigid gender roles; and they're not getting a proper education. Let's stop that. Let's stop the people who do that. I don't want go so far as making people get a license to have a kid. I get why we can't do that (examples: majority Christian licensing board = no atheists getting baby licenses; eugenics). But we have to get these religious exemption laws off the books. We have to stop acting like it's okay for people to pray, when we know that prayer prevents positive action. We need to recognize and vocalize that faith is not a virtue. Faith is a vice.





* Both those stories are in Australia. The homebirth movement in Australia is largely due to my grandmother (and here)and Nancy Campbell. (On Nancy's Facebook she asks for money for a broken arm; yet she rolls with faith healers.)

** I have no idea what language the image captions are in. But it translates to: kids have a right to food, clean water, an education, passport or national identity (refugees), family, I think happiness?, exercise/entertainment, and to be clean; and a right to not be amputated, armed, enslaved, or abused. I think it speaks across culture and language - don't you?

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Senseless Tragedy

So my profile says that I'm a cult survivor, and that's true. My grandmother started a Word of Faith faith healing cult in the late 1970s. I was born (at home, with her as "spiritual midwife") in 1983, and grew up with her as our live-in childcare. I'm writing a book about all this and posting excerpts here. I've changed names in this posting, but real ones will appear in the final product. [EDIT: Names have now been restored. Whatever fear I still had, whatever concerns about staying anonymous, are gone by now, Jan. 2010.]

This excerpt begins with me watching 30 children for 3 days while their parents attend my grandmother's faith healing lecture, held in the clubhouse of a south Florida trailer park. This all happened in the fall of my Freshman year of high school.

Harrison Johnson was two years old, blond, quiet and sweet. He was one of the kids still in diapers, but he was the only one in cloth ones. I thought they were gross, messy, and more work; I was worried about sticking him with one of the pins.

Now that I have a young child, I know what a huge stress that weekend must have been for Harrison. He had never been left with anyone other than this grandmother before, and hadn't even gone to Sunday School with other children. He spent with 3 days in a strange mobile home, with 30 strange children, cared for by a strange teenager with purple hair who didn't understand his diapers. He did remarkably little crying for that combination.

Somehow I wasn't involved when the terms of my pay were discussed. Gig just told her followers to pay me whatever they felt was right, and these were not the kind of people who would fight over the honor of paying the check at IHOP. Left to the generosity of her followers, over the course of three days, for watching 32 children, I received a grand total of $40, or about $1.35 per kid (or an hourly per child rate of just 15¢).

Three months later Harrison's parents, Kelly and Wylie, brought him back to the trailer park, for a visit with my grandmother, and her ministry employees Van and Nicole. I wasn't there that day. I read about it the next day though, on the front page of four different newspapers. My grandmother was inside with Kelly and Nicole while Harrison, his dad, and Van were all talking outside, at the edge of the green belt - a swath of protected Florida woods running between the outer edge of the trailer park and a nearby water treatment facility. Somehow, Harrison fell onto a yellow jacket's nest in the ground. They swarmed and stung him, over 400 times.

The men took him inside Van and Nicole's red double-wide trailer, and my grandmother instructed them to give him a bath and make him comfortable. Gig later reported to police that Harrison seemed "fine", that he was watching television, and that he only asked for a glass of milk. Seven hours after Harrison Johnson was stung 432 times his parents called 9-1-1. Seven hours. Harrison wasn't allergic to stings, but the sheer volume of poison in his small body overpowered him, and his heart stopped. His parents, my grandmother, and her employees waited for over forty minutes between the time when Harrison stopped breathing, and when they called for help.

Even then, I still believed that my grandmother was good, and that she was right about medicine most of the time. A little boy I had known, a toddler with the kind of face that makes the news if he gets hurt, died a slow, painful death, in my grandmother's presence. And he didn't have to. It saddened me, and it worried me, but I wasn't ready to rewrite my programming just yet.

My son got stung by a yellow jacket recently. We were on a walk around our neighborhood and he stuck his hand into a hole in a light post. He drew it back out quickly, screaming. I carried him - running - a quarter mile home. As I did so, I called a med-student friend and left a frantic voicemail asking for help. Then I called my mother and asked her to look up yellow jacket stings online, and tell me how to treat my son's hand. The whole time he was crying in my ear, and I was panicked and running home. I got him home, cleaned his hand, removed the stinger, and put Benadryl cream and a bandaid on it. The total time between my son being stung by one yellow jacket and having that bandaid on him was less than 15 minutes.

Yet I am descended from, was raised by, and was brainwashed to follow, a woman who would sit for seven hours and watch a toddler die. Gig's own fourth daughter, my mythic aunt Natalie, died at six weeks old of a congenital heart defect. I can't help but wonder sometimes, when I think about the children she knew were dying because of her teachings, if she wanted other parents to suffer as much as she had.

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Faith Healing = Epic FAIL

It's rainy season here in Florida and for me that can only mean one thing - hip pain. I dislocated my hip 12 years ago. At the time my family and I were members/followers of my grandmother's faith-healing sect, and so my mother and I didn't seek medical treatment. I spent my Freshman, Sophomore, and Junior years of high school walking with a cane, in pretty constant physical agony. The recurring pain I still suffer after extensive physical therapy is a personal reminder of the costs of faith and the failures of prayer. It got me thinking about my all-time "Big Issue" with religion - medical neglect of children.

About a month after my hip first fell out of joint, a 2-year-old boy I babysat was stung by 432 yellow jackets. He and his parents were visiting with staff of Home In Zion Ministries, my grandmother's group. She was also there, and told his parents he didn't need medical attention. So they prayed, gave him a bath and a glass of milk, set him in front of the TV. Seven hours later they called 9-1-1, after he'd been dead for half an hour. The parents were charged with

In the news right now is the story of Daniel Hauser. He is a 13-year-old boy with a learning disorder and a cancerous lymphoma. He was diagnosed in January and recommended 6 rounds of chemotherapy. After a single treatment, his mother stopped getting him medical attention. She insists she can treat him through "natural cures" such as herbs and vitamins, and cites religion as her reason. A Minnesota judge ordered her and her husband to treat the child with chemotherapy (as doctors say he has a 95% chance of recovery with it, and only a 5% chance of life without it). Now? She's skipped town and took her cancer-ridden, mentally challenged son with her. The FBI is looking for her across this country, and has issued a warrant for her arrest.

Man, when is this crap gonna end? I'm so sick of kids dying for their parents' faith. These children aren't martyrs - they're victims.

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$cientology

What is $cientology?
$cientology is a cult practicing in the US, Europe and South America. It was founded by science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard in the 1950s. The doctrinal text of Scientology includes the book Dianetics, as well as other writings of Hubbard (who is known within the cult as simply "Ron"). The basic premise of Scientology is that humans have a "reactive mind" that responds to stimuli and that this mind needs to be "cleared" for happiness. Through a series of courses, members travel along a "bridge to total freedom" to become "clear" and are promised all kinds of neat powers like telepathy and perfect memory recall once they've accomplished this. Scientologists believe in reincarnation, rather than in paradise or heaven. A great resource for general Scientology information is http://www.xenu.net/

How Does $cientology Recruit?
Members are usually brought in through one of their many front groups, through the book Dianetics: Science of the Mind by founder L. Ron Hubbard, or through the stress testing and personality testing $cientologists do at their orgs (organization centers) and on street corners. On my university campus we had an outdoor "market" two days a week that had a lot of student religious groups, the atheist group, $cientologists, military recruiters and a few actual vendors. $cientology claims that is compatible with other religions, meaning you can be an atheist $cientologist, a Christian $cientologist, a Jewish $cientologist, etc. This isn't really true, but it gets people in the door.

What Happens Next?
Next the new member will take classes and participate in "auditing" sessions. The classes are in actuality mind-control sessions where the member is put into a susceptible state of mind. Once in this state, they're taking to a registrar's office to purchase more courses and auditing sessions. Auditing involves the use of an "e-meter", basically a primitive electrometer lie detector device. The member will be asked question by a $cientology staff worker. The member will be required to relive a traumatic event over and over again, will be asked about their feelings on $cientology, and will be encouraged to have a "past life" experience.

Control of Information
$cientologists are not allowed to freely use the internet. They are not allowed to speak to any "Suppressive Persons" or "SPs" including journalists, psychiatrists, psychologists, from Church of $cientology members, or anyone who speaks out against Scientology. Children of $cientologists most frequently attend Scientology schools, where they are drilled on the writings of L. Ron Hubbard and deprived of a decent education.

Disconnection and Family Life in Scientology
$cientology has a policy of "disconnection" - if you leave the Church, none of your friends and family who are in, including your spouse and children or parents, are allowed to speak to you, or they risk being declared Suppressive as well. Children attending $cientology schools on $cientology compounds and properties are often forced to do extensive manual labor such as rock hauling, construction work, etc. Entire families are pushed towards entering the Sea Org, the elite staff of $cientology. Sea Org members sign a 1,000,000,000 year contract, promising to work for almost no pay for the rest of this life as well as future ones. They are paid about 50 cents per hour and given maybe 2-3 days off per year. Children as young as 12 years old are putting in 100 hour work weeks, maintaining grounds and doing administrative office work and sometimes being Auditors.

Money
$cientology (often written with the dollar sign by critics like myself) is all about money. In addition to paying their staff nearly nothing, $cientology charges them for food & board, and of course for the auditing sessions and classes, which are part of the Bridge to Total Freedom. In order to move to higher levels on the bridge and within the cult, you must pay. And pay. And pay. To get to the highest level of Scientology, OT8, a member will spend about half a million dollars. If a member runs out of money, and cannot beg, borrow, or steal anymore (which they are encouraged to do), they are put out on the street and no longer cared for, no longer housed or fed, and no longer allowed to see or speak with any of their friends and family still within the Church.

Medical Neglect and Death
$cientology hates psychiatry. This may be due to the fact that L. Ron Hubbard was diagnosed with Narcissitic Personality Disorder (freaking common as hell for cult leaders) and had a personal aversion to psychiatry. Propaganda videos within $cientology claim that the Nazi holocaust was brought about by psychiatrists. Members are encouraged to go off all forms of medicine while in the church, and to rely on vitamins and saunas for health. Stories of epileptics, schizophrenics, and diabetics dying as a result of this regimen are frequent and sadly preventable. There's also the infamous case of Lisa MacPherson. Lisa was a $cientology member at their spiritual headquarters, the Fort Harrison Hotel in Clearwater, Florida. In 1995 Lisa was involved in a minor car accident. When EMTs arrived she stripped off her clothes and began rambling. She told one EMT "I want you to think I'm crazy so you'll help me." They took her to the hospital where she was to be held for psychiatric observation. Church of $cientology members picked her up from the hospital, claiming she did not want to stay because of her religious affiliation and objection to psychiatry. What happened over the next 13 days is disputed and unclear. On December 5, 1995 Lisa was readmitted to the hospital, DOA. She was severely dehydrated and covered with bruises and insect bites and had lost 30 lbs in the intervening days. A memorial site covering her life and death, including autopsy photographs (graphic and sad) here: http://www.lisamcpherson.org/

Litigation and "Fair Game" Policy
$cientology employs a team of lawyers, almost all of whom are member of the Church. Any time someone speaks against the Church, attempts to sue for their life's savings back after leaving the Church, or sues for any other reason, $cientology will pursue them relentlessly. They have stalked journalists at their home, calling one St. Petersburg Times (of Florida, a neighboring city of Clearwater) journalist's husband to tell him she was having an affair. They have passed around fliers of outspoken critic Mark Bunker to his neighbors, claiming he was a pedophile and "religious bigot". L. Ron Hubbard endorsed this fully, in a Church policy originally named "Fair Game" which states:

The homes, property, places and abodes of persons who have been active in attempting to: suppress Scientology or Scientologists are all beyond any protection of Scientology Ethics, unless absolved by later Ethics or an amnesty ... this Policy Letter extends to suppressive non-Scientology wives and husbands and parents, or other family members or hostile groups or even close friends

In one case an author critical of Scientology was framed for murder. You can read more about "Operation Freak Out" (the name this plot was given within $cientology internal documents) here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Freakout

Help at Last - Anonymous
Fair Game policy and its league of lawyers made criticisms and lawsuits against Scientology difficult and dangerous. Over the past few years an army of internet activists have banded together in opposition of the slave labor, child abuse, medical neglect, and mental and emotional abuse of its members, as well as other illegal behaviors of the Church of $cientology. Known simply as "Anonymous" this group of protesters wear masks and gather in large groups for safety when picketing outside of $cientology orgs. To find an Anonymous group near you and join a protest, Google "scientology+anonymous+your state". They are separate groups, so I can't provide links to each.

Here's a video by Anonymous telling $cientology exactly what they think: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCbKv9yiLiQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCbKv9yiLiQ

Also this BBC special - Scientology: Inside the Cult (a journalist goes under cover to join Scientology) is excellent
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rD9bCdHqU3s&feature=related

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