I am looking for anyone who may have been on a farm in Ware, Massachusetts between 1972 until 1974 or 75. I also am looking for anyone who was at The Move in Delta Junction, Alaska or anyone who may have been a victim of "the Move" doctrine then AND now.
Please email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org
My Message to the Move and It’s Surviving Victims
I’d like to first address the current members of The Move. Everything you stand for, everything you own, the businesses and land development, everything you pound your chest with pride over was built on the swindle of our parents, and the blood (literally), sweat, heartache, physical, sexual and mental abuse of their children. Those children are we who stand here today speaking to you. You still follow at least one man, Buddy Cobb, who had full knowledge of the horrors going on in these camps yet he is still brave enough to hold a Bible in his hands. I recall your prophet Sam Fife, standing in the Tabernacle, weeping his false tears of apology to the congregation, of how he was a mere human and weak, using his same tactics to make the masses feel that he was just like them. Why did he do this, you ask? Because he’d been caught having sex with Marie White of I.S.O.T and Mrs. Fife ousted him. Your dear prophet who passed on to you the chaste ways of God, had another cult leader bent over like a slut, pounding it to her. The only credit I can give him was that at least that time, he was having sex with someone over eighteen for once. Your hypocrisy begins with your leader. Did you all think that this would stay in your past forever? To quote your own scripture, the sins of your fathers are coming upon you. There is a storm coming your way, and it is filled with truth and rage. Your day of reckoning is close at hand, and do not think that the crimes that were committed to create the businesses and churches you own under the safe umbrella of The Move will not be swept up in the whirlwind when your time to tithe arrives. This is not about any word of any God. This is about human vengeance wrought and executed by man. No invisible God you serve will be able to save you when the hour approaches, and this is not a threat. It’s a simple fact that what is in the dark will soon be shining in light. My voice has been quiet for twenty eight years, but not anymore.
To my fellow victims, even those who still try and wash their pain away with faith, we were enslaved. While families who consisted of a mother and a father and a nice pension were given comfortable accommodations on large pieces of land, we worker bees were huddled in Quanza huts, tents and poorly insulated cabins in the bitter cold. We rose at five am to cook, bake, sweep, till, sew, harvest, water, feed, brush and serve and went to bed in the evenings weary. We were cast down, cast out, beaten, smothered, fingered by grown men at the age of four, five and six until we wet the bed, then beat in cold showers for wetting the bed. We were separated from our parents, where heavy women were starved to death, teenage girls were the sex objects of comforting men, boys sodomized, and our whole worth turned to nothing, captured, beaten, torn and depleted.
We victims live with flash visions and abnormalities every single day; not having normal conversations with adults about simple things like televisions shows of the 70’s or fashion, or music, cast out, looked at oddly, like “where were you?” and you don’t dare tell them you were on a cult, because frankly they can’t wrap their minds around it.
Could I tell them about babies fighting for air under their mother’s firm hand while the mother was tranced in prayer? Could I tell them about the babies born that died and were just buried? Could I tell them how the Elders preached chastity yet took us in their bedrooms in the night to rub their fingers over us, and put our mouths on them? Should I tell them how the Elders bought their way out of state investigations, took us in rooms and let us know what would happen if we breathed a word, terrifying us, and letting us know that no one would hear our screams? Should I tell them how everything from our childhood was destroyed, our baby pictures, baby books, any memory of who we were before we were brought into their slavery? Should I go on, or are you cringing yet? Whose voice will be the first to be heard? Will it be mine? Will I successfully campaign my way through every city across the country with my fellow victims and our signs, blocking entrances to your now legitimate businesses, speaking to the news media about the churches who own those businesses so that the consumers know who they’re REALLY buying from? Shall I go on? This is truth, and there are hundreds of us waiting just for ONE of us to speak first, and then the multitudes will be heard. We are the lost children, and we have been found.
I don’t feel any innocent sympathy for the people currently involved in this movement. Their claim of how wonderful life is for them is just an age old refrain played for the last forty years. Believe what you will, but do not ever make the mistake of believing that your religion makes you exempt from answering for your deeds whether it be on earth, or in the heaven you cling to.. It does not. The consequences for slavery, abuse, sex with minors, hidden deaths, murder, rape, starvation, isolation and torture never run out.
The truth has arrived...
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