#JehovahsWitnesses

[wisteria-grows-here]

In light of the new announcements made by the Governing Body, I wanted to share a few reminders. If these changes bring anyone hope for a better future within the religion, I am not trying to take that from you. I believe we are all allowed to be happy.

Women are now allowed to wear pants to meetings - But we are still not allowed to divorce abusive spouses. We are forbidden from having any position of authority within the congregation. We are still considered the "weaker sex" who must submit to their husband's. There is still the pressure to have sex with one's husband because it is a "marital duty."

Witnesses are now allowed to speak to disfellowshipped individuals - But only to try and convert them back. Not to reconnect with old friends or to even ask them how they are doing after losing everything. Witnesses still cannot talk to us as people, but only through the means of conversion.

Men can grow beards - but still lack basic autonomy over their bodies. Still no tattoos or piercings. Still no "flamboyant" attire that might label them as homosexual.

All in all, I see these changes as new manipulation tactics. As a way for the organization to say, look how progressive we are being! Look how welcoming and supportive we are! They are trying to deflect from the long list of constraints against the members. Trying to hide the irreversible pain and trauma that is still inflicted upon disfellowshipped individuals. These changes are breadcrumbs. They do nothing to reverse the institutionalized horrors of Jehovah's Witnesses

For anyone reading this: may you go in peace and happiness 🩷🩷

[driedlavenderandsage]

(Ephesians 4:24)

I am putting on my new self.

One in likeness of God's will.

I still struggle with the tight sleeves of righteousness, the suffocating collar of loyalty.

And walking in the boots of subjection, still breaking in the soles.

[enbydumbass]

Here's my Ex-JW bingo card of all the stuff I want to do now that I've left the cult!

[someblogorsmthidk]

Timeline of events leading up to Morris' deletion

Last updated: 15 December 2023

August 2020: Paul Gillies testifies at the Independent Inquiry into CSA, in the UK.

5 December 2021: In an interview conducted by Lloyd Evans, former bethelite Daniel Graves says that Mark Sanderson is quote "Probably the one that's driving the ship the most right now..."

March-April 2022: Paul Gillies, Jeffrey Winder, Gage Fleegle and Jonathan Smith are appointed as Helpers to the Governing Body, Gillies to Coordinators', Winder to Personnel, Fleegle and Smith to Service

c. 6 August 2022: Troy Snyder, Nicholas Ahladis and Kenneth Godburn are appointed as Helpers to the Governing Body. Snyder to Coordinators', Ahladis and Godburn to Writing.

October 2022: Pennsylvania Attorney General, Josh Shapiro, announces charges of CSA against 4 Jehovah's Witnesses.

8 November 2022: Josh Shapiro is elected Governor of Pennsylvania

c. 2 December 2022: Anthony Griffin is appointed as a Helper to the Service Committee.

c. 6 January 2023: Per Christensen is appointed as a Helper to the Writing Committee.

17 January 2023: Josh Shapiro is sworn in as Pennsylvania's 48th Governor. Michelle Henry becomes acting Attorney General

18 January 2023: Gage Fleegle and Jeffrey Winder are appointed to the Governing Body, having served as helpers for around 10 months.

7 February 2023: Five Jehovah's Witnesses, including an Elder, are indicted by the Pennsylvania Grand Jury investigating CSA in the Witnesses.

19 February 2023: All JW Congregations in Pennsylvania are subpoenaed.

22 February 2023: Anthony Morris ceases to be a Member of the Governing Body, no reason is given for his deletion.

9 March 2023: A Kingdom Hall in Hamburg, Germany is attacked. Eight people (including the perpetrator and an unborn child) were killed.

June 2023: Secret boxes are distrbuted to JW congregations and elders are instructed to not allow anyone to see its contents until 6 November 2023.

153rd Gilead Graduation (released in June 2023): Jesse Morris (Son of Anthony Morris) gives a talk. This is the first time he has spoken on camera.

7 July 2023: Five more JWs are charged with CSA in Pennsylvania.

7 October 2023: WBTS Annual Meeting: The 103 year old policy of publishers reporting hours spent preaching per month is ditched.

29 October 2023: Several IEDs are detonated at a convention in Kerala milling 6 people. A man claiming to be the perpetrator says he carried put the attack because of the Witnesses “anti-nationalist” views. He is arrested the same day.

15 December 2023: Ban on beards is lifted.

[anthropomorphique]

[exposejw]

I remember attending a convention when I was younger and this was probably just before I started questioning things more. A couple that my family knew came up to us. The man was in his 40s and the woman was 20. She was closer in age to me, a child, then her husband. I was, naturally, shocked about this and I remember asking about it, but no one else thought it was a problem.

[phinnneganawake]

This clip from Doctor Who played a big part in my life, I feel

I was always The Weird Kid. Maybe one too many head injuries (I had a penchant for bouncing my face off of things) or maybe growing up in a cult, maybe genes, idk. I was weird. I didn't fit in anywhere and I still kinda don't

But I am, despite my mum's best efforts and thanks to my dad's genetics, autistic and I fixate on the number 4. I have since I was a small child. I like things to be in multiples of 4. I don't know why. But my entire life, inside my head, constantly counting, 1234, 1234, 1234

And then add in the niche trauma of growing up in a cult. For years, for most of my life, it was normal. I was just The Weird Kid. That was my role. It was just me and everyone else was so very normal

But the years went on. And the trauma got worse. And the autism went untreated. And it started to hurt. It hurt so bad. But it wasn't real. Nothing but a symptom of my own insanity. Nothing I couldn't cover up and smile through

Until it wasn't. It hurt too much. It was destroying me

And then I met someone. Someone who is now a very good friend. One of my best friends. She was the first person I told the whole story to. And she listened. Like actually listened

She heard it. And at first, she looked at me the same way the Doctor looks at the Master. But I could only react the way the Master does. Whatever it may be bringing, it's real! It's real! It's not just me.

Bear in mind TEOT aired in 2010 (I was 13) and I met this friend in maybe 2018? (I was like 21). I watched it a lot (yay for vhs taping off the telly) but not enough for it to live rent free in my head the way other episodes I've watched far less have (see Turn Left, that one holds and lot of real estate and I've watched it maybe 3x). I didn't even really think about that episode until like last year after like 2015 (and even before that I was more in other things)

My point being, that episode, that 2 or 3 minutes, really encapsulated what it's like to feel validated. Even though it's horrible news for everyone in the Doctor Who universe, it's literally the end of time itself, it's the worst thing the Doctor could have found....

An incredibly traumatised man finds his incredibly (differently) traumatised peer and is validated. A man who had spent his whole life thinking he was insane has been proved sane, it was never his fault, he was always just a pawn in a greater game, the pain was caused by someone else

And I had that moment. She could hear it. It wasn't just inside my head. It was real. The beat of 4 that has punctuated every second of my life has counted my pain and my healing. And the relief. It's real. It's not just my own insanity. It's real

Just listen. Really listen. It's always there

[cococowboah]

Hail Santa!

Chapter 2: Cowboys and Angles

My family considered all content not created by the Watchtower Organization to be “worldly.” This means it was made in Satan’s world, and therefore it was typically tainted with material designed to turn us away from Jehovah’s love.

Any media containing sex, violence, occultism, and homosexual themes (all the fun stuff basically) made the hit list on what not to watch on TV as a Jehovah’s Witness.

Granted, it wasn’t tightly enforced, just heavily frowned upon. Almost every Witness, no matter how devout, had at least one cheat show, movie, or song that they just couldn’t resist breaking the rules for. They do their little guilty sigh when “our choices in entertainment” are brought up from the podium, then once every-now-and-then they take a moment to indulge in their chosen media.

My mom’s favorite, and by extension mine, was a TV drama called SPURRED. Set in the 1800s, it takes place with a gang of outlaws as they muddle through life, love, and liberty.

It’s fun, action-packed, full-on frontal with the ladies and the guys; it was easy to see why I indulged alongside my mom, even with her skipping ahead on all the juicy bits to save her conscience just a tad.

If a scene she insisted on skipping looked particularly interesting, I’d typically just end up watching it again on my own later in the night on my phone. Usually I didn’t bother, the sex wasn’t interesting enough every time to warrant watching the episode again just to skip to it, unless Sally West was involved.

She was the womanly eye-candy of the show, but an excellent character regardless. She starts off as the daughter of an abusive farmer father, a real dickhead who uses his daughter as a slave since his wife passed. He molests her, beats her, calls her horrible names, and refuses to let her marry so she can leave him.

Eventually, the gang of outlaws the show follows take the man hostage after learning that he is actually a very wealthy guy despite his simple roots. Sally takes her shot at freedom and helps the outlaws find the money, on the condition that they take her along and teach her how to be a badass so she will never be victimized again.

She shoots her own pa in the back of the head as she leaves, and from then on she metamorphosizes into a strong, independent person capable of holding her own far beyond what she ever thought she could.

Sally ends up falling in love with Pete, and they have a multiple season long affair. It looked like they’d always be together, Sally even got to talking about them running off away from the life and starting a family together, but Season 5’s ending revealed a bombshell.

Pete ended up having an affair with Ulysses, the gang leader’s right hand man. Or at least, it surely seemed that way. Sally is out hunting rabbits when she happens to notice her husband’s horse, Glory, grazing alongside Maybell, Ulysses’ horse. There’s only one tent in the field, and a small long-forgotten fire in front, but no sign of the two men.

Sally kicks her filly into a trot to go investigate, and around the campfire lay clothing and liquor strewn about haphazardly. Moaning coming from the tent, she gulps and pulls the flaps open to reveal Pete riding Ulysses like his life depended on it.

The guilty parties quickly squirm into a more presentable position, Sally walks away, pulls her face into her horse’s mane, and cries.

And that’s how Season 5 ended, no explanation, not even a hint as to whether this had been going on the entire time or was just a fluke. Pete and Ulysses had a shit ton of chemistry together, but I never guessed they would end up as lovers.

My mom and I just sat there in shock as the credits rolled. I was hot-faced, expecting her to go on some rant about how “they just gotta put the gay agenda in everything now, don’t they!” But surprisingly, she was more shocked that Pete would cheat on Sally, her favorite character.

Mom looked around for the remote and let out a mumbling comment, “after all that poor girl has been through, now her husband is screwing his best friend.” 

“Least it wasn’t another girl, right?”

Mom gave a wide-eyed look. “Well from the looks of it, Pete would rather be the girl.”

“Him being a bottom doesn’t mean he wants to be a girl, mom.”

“Ulysses was on the bottom.”

“No, mom. The guy taking it is called the bottom, whether he’s actually on the bottom or not.”

“And how would you know this, Kai?”

I shrugged. “School?”

My mom couldn’t help but give out a chuckle. “Nice try. How about heading to bed instead of lecturing me on gay lovemaking. ”

“A much preferable act when compared to teaching my mom what bottoming means.”

“Much preferable to learning that you even know these things at all.”

🕮

Thursdays were my version of Mondays.

For others, Monday signaled the end of the weekend and the beginning of the work or school week. It was the end of rest and the start of the new, the longest day of the week and a harbinger of doom from the start.

Thursday was that for me, purely because it was a meeting night. I didn’t really get two days of relaxation, every moment I spent away from life essentials was a moment I could and should be dedicating to God.

I woke up, 6AM as usual. Family prayer, Daily Text, off to the Kingdom Hall, and out in service by 8:30. In service from then until 10AM, then it’s back home, books open, homeschool in session. 3PM, school is out, time for a handful of me-time until 6PM, where I’m getting back in my meeting clothes and getting all dolled up for the Kingdom Hall again.

It was grueling. I was a teenager who wanted to be living life, meeting girls, experimenting and trying new things and figuring out who I am and who I wanted to be. But instead, I’m in an itchy indigo suit with a tie tied too tightly around my throat, sitting on an ugly, red, squeaky retractable chair while JW original orchestral music plays throughout the stuffy hall. 

I look around for Alan, my saving grace, but he’s nowhere in sight. It’s incredibly unusual for him to be late, so it’s concerning, but then I catch his eye as he turns away from a tall, silver-haired and blue-eyed gentleman standing behind a doorway.

He’s flush red for some reason, and looks nervous as he walks over to me.

“Paul is the new Elder in our hall, did you say hi to him yet?” Alan asked me.

“Not really, doesn’t look like my kind of guy.”

“Well he’s an Elder, we should strive to get to know our spiritual shepherds, Kai.”

“Or should I, as Jesus might say, treat him as I would anybody else?”

“That’d be accurate if you had a track record of treating everyone with respect.”

“Respect is earned, not given. Only cult leaders, government officials and unqualified work managers demand respect where none is due.”

“Well a certain degree of respect for everyone is how you earn respect yourself.”

“I don’t need anyone to respect me. My ego isn’t that big.”

Alan smiled and shushed me.“If we’re going to talk about ego, maybe we could discuss that blog you had back in middle school. Remember the one? You made over a thousand fake accounts just so you could brag to the other kids in the congregation that you were some kind of niche celebrity?”

“And nobody cared! That’s how it should be! That should be a lesson to learn from, not an example of egomania.”

“Recently then, last week at the mall you asked me to put your initials on my high score.”

“You never put your own name anyways!”

“I play for fun, not for glory.”

Brother Ichabod began his short ascent up the stage steps, a black tablet in his hands as he readjusted his glasses and looked out at the faces of everyone in the hall, some smiling, some neutral, most of them tired-eyed and secretly wishing they were at home watching TV.

His presence on stage encouraged those still standing and talking to run off and find their seats. “Good evening to you brothers and sisters. If everyone could just finish taking a seat, we are going to begin the meeting now with song…” He trailed off, looked down, took a second to unlock his tablet screen and struggled with it for a few seconds before finally continuing with, “song number 54, We Must Have The Faith.”

That annoyingly cheerful, disney-esque tune played through the Kingdom Hall, bouncing off yellow-wallpapered walls and through the ears of everyone unfortunate enough to think this music is divine.

I mumbled along, Alan sung proudly and loud. Part of me was jealous that I didn’t share his zeal, surely the meetings wouldn’t be such a bore if I actually believed anything I was being taught.

The song ends, my sister Loretta holds my hand as Brother Ichabod leads with a prayer, “dear wondrous, powerful, and loving God Jehovah, we come before you, bowing our heads, as humble servants of you, oh Lord…”

He continues, but I’ve already tuned out. I open my eyes, glance around the room, mostly at Alan.

He’s so tall next to me, his black curls gave off the illusion that they could graze the ceiling once he raised his head again.

Maybe he wanted to hold my hand during the prayer. Maybe I wanted to. Maybe I couldn’t stop thinking about reaching out and gracing his fingers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze so he could know it’s all alright.

But he was the confident one here. He was the one holding his own hand, listening intently to the prayer; he felt comforted just being in this room at all. The Kingdom Hall was Alan’s home.

So, I deduced it must have been me who needed the comfort, me who needed reassurance that things were going to be okay, me who needed him to hold my hand.

Just as I went to reach out and slide my fingers within his palm, just shyly tickling the baby soft skin of his hands, the first “Amen” rang throughout the hall, signaling the beginning of the meeting, the opening of eyes, the unbowing of heads and the resting of asses in seats.

Many years of this routine gave me an excellent imagination. While the others took notes, listened intently to the brothers as they gave their presentations, and raised their hands to participate in the workbook discussion, I had a running daydream about being a cowboy.

Out in the wild west, living off my wits, riding my stallion across the plains. Rescuing damsels in distress, shooting bad guys, looting civil war treasure!

I wasn’t so sure about that last one but it’s my imagination and anything could happen.

Alan is the local pastor, of course. He guides others in spiritual matters and has dedicated his life to Jesus and to helping those in the community atone for their sins. But deep inside, he’s troubled. His romantic desires are wired for men. He struggles with this curse day in and day out, wanting something of which he can never, ever have.

Until he meets a cowboy, a short fella compared to the tall and lanky pastor. This cowboy takes him on a journey to see the new world, see the sights God created, help him realize that he doesn’t need books or bibles or a big fancy church to worship God and help others find spiritual comfort. Help him see that the rules are man made, that humans are meant to be free, and that religion is a tool designed to hijack human spirituality and make mindless drones who are more in love with their rules and church than God himself.

Maybe I’m getting preachy myself, but in my world of pre-1900’s America, Alan is a happy gay man, settled down in a log cabin with his romantic partner. I never really figured out what that romantic partner looked like, but I visit them often, hitching my horse out front and going inside for a nice hot cup of coffee before I’m off again on one of my many journeys.

By the time the adventure is over, we’re all getting up for the final song, Loyally Submitting to Theocratic Order. If you think that sounds culty, just go listen to it. You’ll be right.

The second prayer, I’m suddenly reminded of my attempt from earlier. I don’t even think twice, I go for it, reach for his hand, touch his skin again and I’m relieved when his tightly held palms fall away from each other just so he can intertwine his fingers with mine.

A smile arrived on my face, I looked up at him again and saw a smile on his face too. He was a beautiful creature when he smiled, enchanting. It was hard to take my eyes off of him, I barely knew why.

After the final amen, the brothers and sisters slowly dispersed into themselves. Sisters gathered in small groups to discuss plans for outings or service, brothers congregated around Elders in hopes that some of the superior spirituality would rub off onto them. I stood around talking to Alan, who went on about his favorite parts of the meeting and asked me mine, to which I replied, as I always do, “I was a pretty big fan of the entire meeting, honestly.”

And Alan didn’t seem to take that as a sign that I wasn’t listening, although he probably knew I wasn’t. He just took it as a sign that he needed to make an effort to make me interested.

It was impossible, but it was entertaining to see him try. “Maybe sometime next week we could catch the JW Broadcast together!”

There is nothing I’d like to do less. But this was Alan, so the invitation was still a pleasant one despite my intent to do anything else.

“Right, right, or, get this, we could hang out at the mall next week.”

“We always hang out at the mall, Kai. We never do anything spiritual together.”

“Alan, you and I both know that the only time two teenagers decide they wanna do something spiritual together it’s because they’re dating and they think that if they bring God into it they’ll be less likely to bang.”

Alan rolled his eyes at me. “I can’t make you do anything spiritual with me, Kai. But if you wanna go to the mall, I guess I’ll just have to watch JW Broadcasting on my phone while we walk around.”

“Suit yourself, Alan. But that’s gonna be pretty bizarre to the people in the dildo aisle at Spencer’s.”

Off in the corner of my eye, my baby brother instincts detected my sister Lorrie talking to a boy. Some big chubby kid, couldn’t have been much older than 20, so at least he was in her age-range.

But the look on his face was anything but age-appropriate, or Kingdom Hall appropriate to be fair. It might have just been my uncanny ability to sense a bad situation months prior to it actually occurring, but I had a bad feeling about that louse.

I hated him. Never spoke two words to the guy, never came face to face with him even, but I hated him.

“Alan, let’s go see my-” I turned to face him, and he was gone. Alan, my backup brother, was off talking to the new Elder again.

“Fine, guess I’ll deal with this douche myself.” I say without any reassurance that this guy was actually bad news. Maybe I was oversensitive, maybe it was just my primal desire to keep my family safe from intruders. Maybe I just needed to express some Christian Love  and get to know the guy before I judge him.

“‘Sup, name’s Hezekiah.” I reach out my hand to him, he stands about a foot taller than me but I refuse to break eye contact.

He raises an eyebrow at me and laughs. “‘Sup? We ain’t in the hood, friend.”

I scowled. Loretta put a hand on my shoulder. 

“Nathan, this is my brother, Kai.”

“Ahhh, well, nice to meet you then. You’re a lucky kid, ain’t you?”

“I’m 17, hardly a kid, kid. ”

“Well you didn’t set that up how I expected, you’re a lucky kid being the brother of such a beautiful thing like your sister here.”

Lorrie giggled, the girl was 18 and this was the first boy to ever notice her as a woman and not a child; of course she was going to be happy about it.

“Yeah, I know, right? Too bad she’s a lesbian.” Lorrie hit me on the shoulder in response, I accepted it.

“Lesbians.” Nathan made the most exaggerated face he could muster. “Ugh. They put the L in UGLY. What abominations to Jehovah’s purpose. You know, I can comprehend gay men to an extent, don’t agree with it, but I get it. Men were made first, we are independent creatures. But a woman needs a man. She was made from man, only with a man could a woman truly be complete. Plus, the pieces don’t fit! It’s like sticking two legos together on the hole sides!”

“Does your mom know you’re an asshole?”

“Kai, go talk to Alan or something.” Lorrie pushed me away. My sister pushed me away from her sexist love interest because I had the gall to say something about his bigoted remarks.

Women, am I right?

🕮

Thursday nights after the meeting were like a breath of fresh air. As much as I hated going to the hall, wearing heavy, itchy dress clothes and trying to act like I care about anyone or anything in the religion, there were few feelings that topped coming home and stripping off the Godly personality in the privacy of my bedroom.

There was nothing quite like feeling free of the burden of being a good Witness boy, to feel naked and alive for the next few moments before bed. The feeling was exceedingly rare as my family ramped up the dedication as I grew older. For my formative years, I went in service once a week and was allowed a paper pad and pen at the meetings to draw to my heart's content. Time flew faster, I could get lost in creating a story on a single page and before I knew it we were in the car and heading home.

The moment I turned 11, the paper was taken away. Instead, I was given a worksheet to write down what I was learning at the hall. I was forced to pay attention.

As time went on, the organization began phasing out physical books and notepads were discouraged. Witness families were encouraged to buy tablets and use the JW apps on their devices to keep up with the meetings.

As the religion worked to go more digital, my family picked up the slack by tacking more onto our to-do list. Now, there isn’t a day that goes by without some sort of Godly dedication involved.

It was exhausting. The religion took over my life like a parasite I had no choice but to feed my life to. I felt like I was born just to be a slavemaker, a custom made creation designed and trained to break down the independent molds of outsiders and spread the parasite’s eggs with hopes that they blossom.

I never asked for this life, but ultimately, it wasn’t all bad.

I had my own little world to enjoy, to return to when the demands of Witness life had been sufficiently met. When I came home drained of energy, ability, and thought, I could plop down into bed, pop my earphones in, and engage in 2.5 hours of delicious debauchery before bed.

And in between the episodes of TV shows I was told to avoid, movies I was forbidden from watching, and the occasional guilty pleasure of porn, I had Alan to fall back on.

Sending memes back and forth or fun tidbits from our days, or even just making some future plans that will never come to fruition. I cherished him and all that he brought into my life.

Alan was the one good thing about being a Jehovah’s Witness.

[christianandnerdy]

What if Queen Esther was a Jehovah’s Witness? #queenesther #forsuchatimelikethis #jw #jehovahswitnesses #jworg #christianandnerdy #superbook https://www.instagram.com/p/CnsmB01v-rU/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[wisteria-grows-here]

🩷

[wisteria-grows-here]

[driedlavenderandsage]

1 Corinthians 13:4-7

It never felt as sinful as I begged it to be

loving her never felt like a sin

it is patient, and kind.

not jealous.

it does not brag, does not get puffed up,

it does not behave indecently, or look

for its own interests,

it does not become provoked.

I bear all things, believe all things,

she hopes all things, endures all things

[someblogorsmthidk]

Anthony Morris Deleted

Deleted always feels like a strange way to refer to someone leaving their position, but I don't know if he voluntarily resigned or was forcibly removed, so I'll just go with deleted.

Whilst I wouldn't rule out a scandal or him being forced out or, hell I don't know, him leaving and going apostate. Instinctively, I think this is a mental health thing, and if he has voluntarily resigned because of that, then all power to him, I'm certainly not going to complain. But bloody hell, this is the first time in 39 years that someone has left the Governing Body.

Although maybe he was becoming too much of a liability, i.e. giving ammo to the exjw movement, and was forced out. I wouldn't be surprised by that either.

[I wrote this before I noticed the bloody announcement: I don’t want to make any assumptions, perhaps it is a mistake. But as a heads up, Anthony Morris’ name has been removed from the list of members of the Governing Body. At the top of the page ‘What is the Governing Body of Jehovah’s Witnesses’ was a picture that showed Morris greeting Geoffrey Jackson, this has been changed to a silhouette picture of GB members.

I would expect some kind of announcement soon.

Nevermind they already announced it.]

[cococowboah]

Religion straight up destroyed my spirituality.

Which sucks. Because I feel like I want to be spiritual. I wish I could have done the exploration of religion and spirituality on my own as an adult.

But no. I was raised religious. "This is the truth" I was told, until one day I woke up and realized it was in fact just a lie.

And now I can't see any religion as anything but a big fat lie to hijack the deep need for spirituality that I believe is engrained in a lot of us.

I want to be able to be spiritual. Being forced into a bullshit religion ruined my ability to trust in anything spiritual ever again.

Fuck Jehovah's Witnesses is all imma end this with.

feel free to elaborate if you’re comfy with it

[exposejw]

Key paragraphs from the article:

The meeting venue had a dark kitchenette the size of one tatami mat. There was a rubber whip in the sink drawer. Parents would use that room to whip their child when they would not sit still during Bible studies.

Back then, it was a common saying among followers that "there's not enough whips." Followers even got involved in other family's whippings, as if they were keeping an eye on each other.

At first, Ryoko was very hesitant about the practice, and questioned why she had to hit her child. When she asked, "Is this really for the children's sake?" the elder leading all the followers admonished her, saying, "Not whipping them would mean that you hate your child."

Ryoko still has dreams of her stopping herself from hitting her young child, and thinking, "I'm so glad I didn't hit him," before waking up with a sense of relief. She then looks at her palm and comes back to reality. She told the Mainichi Shimbun, "My son forgave me, but the fact that I abused him can't be erased. I will carry this guilt with me for the rest of my life."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A religion that condones and encourages child abuse is not one that anyone should follow.