2023/03/14

Daughter of Gloriavale: My life in a Religious Cult by Lilia Tarawa

 




Audible sample

Follow the Author

Lilia Tarawa

Daughter of Gloriavale: My life in a Religious Cult by Lilia Tarawa (Author) 

 Format: Kindle Edition

4.4 out of 5 stars 382 ratings

====

9 hours and 10 minutes

Switch between reading the Kindle book & listening to the Audible narration with Whispersync for Voice.

Get the Audible audiobook for the reduced price of $4.49 after you buy the Kindle book.


-------------------------
In this personal account, Lilia Tarawa exposes the shocking secrets of the cult, with its rigid rules and oppressive control of women. She describes her fear when her family questioned Gloriavale's beliefs and practices.

When her parents fled with their children, Lilia was forced to make a desperate choice: to stay or to leave. No matter what she chose, she would lose people she loved.

In the outside world, Lilia struggled. Would she be damned to hell for leaving? How would she learn to navigate this strange place called 'the world'? And would she ever find out the truth about the criminal convictions against her grandfather?


'A powerful and revealing book...' Kirsty Wynn, New Zealand Herald

'An affecting parable and testament, in the most commendably secular senses.' David Hill, New Zealand Listener
--
320 pages
23 August 2017

Product description

Review
"A powerful and revealing book." --New Zealand Herald

"An affecting parable and testament, in the most commendably secular senses." --New Zealand Listener --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
About the Author
Lilia is a health and lifestyle business mentor who lives in Christchurch. --This text refers to the paperback edition.

Customer Reviews:
4.4 out of 5 stars 382 ratings

Lilia Tarawa

Lilia Te Aroha Māia Tarawa is a bestselling New Zealand writer, keynote speaker and educator on self-care, liberation and empowerment.
She is a member of the Māori Ngāi Tahu tribe.
Lilia was born in New Zealand's infamous religious cult, Gloriavale, and broke free with her eleven family members at eighteen years of age.
Her extraordinary life experience compelled her to a career promoting human rights and welfare.
The author's written works address human rights topics - free choice, religious oppression, and well-being.

Visit the author's websites:
www.liliatarawa.com
www.facebook.com/liliatarawa
www.instagram.com/liliatarawa
-----
Top reviews

Gena Drinnan

5.0 out of 5 stars Highly recommend!!Reviewed in Australia 🇦🇺 on 22 May 2020
Verified Purchase
I read this book in just three days and could not put it down. If you're interested in inspiration, sociology, psychology and kick ass women standing their ground and evolving into their highest selves then this is the book for you!

A beautifully honest, raw and authentic book written by Lilia. The way she writes makes you feel as though you know her. She has an amazing way of respectfully honouring herself and her loved ones in this book.

It’s almost unbelievable to think that there are cults out there that can get away with what they do and heavily influence and manipulate the lives of such beautiful people. Lilia is a WARRIOR and I love seeing her journey unfold.

Highly, highly recommend reading!



HelpfulReport abuse

Laura Broadway

5.0 out of 5 stars Fantastic!!Reviewed in Australia 🇦🇺 on 17 April 2021
Verified Purchase
I Literally couldn’t put it down, beautiful and sensitively written insight into the Gloriavale community! Highly recommend, loved it so much i finished it in 3 days!!



HelpfulReport abuse

Amazon Customer

5.0 out of 5 stars Compelling ready, a journey to healingReviewed in Australia 🇦🇺 on 30 September 2017
Verified Purchase
Excellent book which gave a very good insight into mind control of cults. It was nice to follow the author's path of healing and to be given the story of both sides of the fence in a more factual rather than emotive manner.

2 people found this helpful

suze
5.0 out of 5 stars InspiringReviewed in Australia 🇦🇺 on 24 November 2017
Verified Purchase
This journey from repression and total domination to being free and responsible for your own life is exceptional - as is your immediate family who are very brave. Thanks Lilia, for sharing your journey.

-----
Translate all reviews to English

Mum to girlies
5.0 out of 5 stars Fascinating readReviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on 25 February 2019
Verified Purchase

Really interesting and chilling read. Could not put it down!

One person found this helpfulReport abuse

Genevieve lutton
4.0 out of 5 stars Well writtenReviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on 26 March 2021
Verified Purchase

Well written heart wrenching story of a one brave girls journey out of a religious cult

One person found this helpfulReport abuse

Leanne
5.0 out of 5 stars An unforgettable readReviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on 19 September 2018
Verified Purchase

The journey that this woman has had, and the hurdles that she has overcome are spectacular. The fact that she has managed to surpass the hurdles that her upbringing set for her is unbelievable.

2 people found this helpfulReport abuse

nicola carroll
5.0 out of 5 stars A great readReviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on 4 January 2019
Verified Purchase

Fascinating

One person found this helpfulReport abuse


Sitty
5.0 out of 5 stars A wonderful autobiography!Reviewed in Germany 🇩🇪 on 9 September 2019
Verified Purchase

Lilia Tarawa writes captivating and emotionally about her life in Gloriavale. I could barely put the book out of my hand!

It describes very appropriately the conflict that one experiences when one tries to question views that were otherwise regarded as uncontroversial truth. Unbelievable is how she describes her time after the cult in which she first has to learn and understand that one can question worldviews at all.
It's hard to summarize right after reading how she sees her former life in Gloriavale, but she writes of memories full of joy and love but also the worst moments of her life so far. 

So I can only recommend reading it myself...
The conclusion she draws is beautiful... “Transformation and healing don't happen overnight. They take baby steps and a sound of love and heaps of honest self-exploration. You have to be willing to get uncomfortable, stay open-minded and speak up for what you believe in. It's the best rebellion.”

Translated from German by Amazon
See original ·Report translation



=====
Goodreads
=====

Daughter of Gloriavale: My Life in a Religious Cult


Lilia Tarawa

4.03

1,368 ratings149 reviews

In this personal account, Lilia Tarawa exposes the shocking secrets of the cult, with its rigid rules and oppressive control of women. She describes her fear when her family questioned Gloriavale's beliefs and practices.


When her parents fled with their children, Lilia was forced to make a desperate choice: to stay or to leave. No matter what she chose, she would lose people she loved.


In the outside world, Lilia struggled. Would she be damned to hell for leaving? How would she learn to navigate this strange place called 'the world'? And would she ever find out the truth about the criminal convictions against her grandfather?


261 pages, Kindle Edition


Published August 23, 2017


Lilia Tarawa is a New Zealand Māori #1 best-selling author and transformational speaker whose personal story has inspired millions of people around the world to speak their truth and claim their power.


Her #1 best-selling memoir Daughter of Gloriavale: My Life in a Religious Cult, was written in 4 months, part-time around her day job.


Her TEDxTalk, 'I grew up in a cult. It was heaven—and hell.' rocketed to over eight-and-a-half million views on YouTube, achieved 2018 Top Five most-viewed TEDxTalks in the Worldand is transcribed into six different languages on TED.com


The 5’44 curly-haired brunette passionately tells inspiring stories to anyone with listening ears and to her surprise, she’s managed to get quite a crowd to listen, including the Guardian, Life Matters, TVNZ 1 SUNDAY, Listener Magazine, Radio NZ

and many more.


She is a an artsy, bookish type who lives in Ōtautahi/Christchurch.


============

Mauzi

213 reviews

8 followers


Follow

August 26, 2017

I liked this a lot more than I thought I would - it didn't feel sensationalist at all, and I thought she did a fantastic job of depicting her life in Gloriavale. It was an intriguing insight into the community, and overall, it's a book about overcoming difficulties, rather than something written for shock value (which, I'll admit, is what I was expecting going into it).

rumour-has-it


16 likes


Like


Comment



Profile Image for Andrea.

Andrea

378 reviews

53 followers


Follow

September 2, 2017

A gem of a book. Lilia writes with deep honesty, exposing herself to the world with great courage. She describes vividly the metamorphosis from servitude and fearful self-doubt, to freedom and self-love. The pain of breaking the physical, emotional and mental chains must have been enormous. I certainly could not have had the strength to do what she did and not shatter.


I hope your story gives strength and hope to others who are striving for freedom of any kind.


Te Aroha Maia indeed Lilia. You deserve much happiness and peace and love.


11 likes


Like


Comment


Profile Image for Jessica Gillies.

Jessica Gillies

197 reviews

34 followers


Follow

September 3, 2017

I admire Lilia for having the courage to speak out about her experiences at Gloriavale , both positive and negative- as well as their real consequences as she left and adjusted to life outside the community. This book certainly both inspired and challenged me.

favorites

 

memoirs-and-biographies

 

new-zealand


8 likes


Like


Comment


Profile Image for Melody Schwarting.

Melody Schwarting

1,391 reviews

82 followers


Follow

August 13, 2021

Taking the Lord's name in vain is a little bit less about OMG and a whole lot more about using God's name to justify one's own desires.


Tarawa grew up in the Gloriavale cult of New Zealand, living in a commune with her and many other large families where they labored without receiving wages* and held everything in common. Gloriavale was founded by Tarawa's grandfather, Neville Cooper, an Australian evangelist, who later called himself Hopeful Christian. He briefly served time for sexual abuse charges, but that never affected his standing in the cult, because they interpreted it as religious persecution.


Tarawa clearly explains why the cult grew so large, and why her family stayed in it for so long. Deep community bonds formed even with harshly punitive systems keeping everyone in line. Families grew large, children were joyfully welcomed, everyone knew his or her place in the community, and individual futures seemed secure when all the rules were followed.


Tarawa always struggled with the rules; the last third of the memoir details how she handled living outside Gloriavale restrictions. There seems to be no concept of eternal security in Gloriavale, so every action was weighted with salvation or damnation, and its effect on a creative child like Tarawa is chillingly detailed. As a Christian myself, it was excruciating to read how the cult leveraged literalist misinterpretations of the KJV to manipulate its members. Tarawa eventually left the faith altogether, though she did attend church after leaving Gloriavale. However, it was a Scripture verse that eventually gave her the courage to agree to leaving with her parents. Colossians 2:8 convinced her that Gloriavale was built more on the whims of her grandfather and less on Scriptural principles, which is completely true. (The Bruderhof comes to mind as a network of similar intentional communities, with better principles and opportunities for their members, and less of a separatist mindset.)


There's a portion where Tarawa discusses how Gloriavale tried to erase her Māori heritage, and notes the aggressions Māori members like herself experienced. Opposed to the Christian vision they were supposedly living toward (Revelation 7:9, 21:24), this tells much more about Neville Cooper's anti-indigenous streak, and the racist leanings of a prominent member from the American South, than what is truly Christian. This, alongside the cult's treatment of women, was the most disturbing to me: using the name of God to create abusive systems that directly contradict the vision of the Christian Scriptures.


I recommend Daughter of Gloriavale to anyone interested in Gloriavale or Christian-affiliated, extreme patriarchalist cults. To those looking for an ex-community memoir, Tarawa's is refreshing in that she still longs for her friends and the community she had at Gloriavale, rather than bashing it and its members completely. It's kind of like the Marie Kondo of ex-cult memoirs: thank you for the good things you gave me, cult, now get out of my house.


Content warnings: discussions of physical and sexual abuse of children (not suffered by the narrator)


*Because they don't receive wages, Gloriavale families qualify as low-income and receive government assistance, which goes into Gloriavale's coffers.

r-2021

 

r-nf-memoir-essay


5 likes


Like


Comment


Profile Image for Fiona Mackie.

Fiona Mackie

593 reviews

34 followers


Follow

September 7, 2017

Enjoyed reading this as it is such a contrast to the very saccharine tv documentaries that have aired in New Zealand. I admire Lilia's determination to dismantle the indoctrination she received, and to make a life for herself, outside the strictures and restrictions that she had absorbed growing up in Gloriavale.

I think a family tree or list of people mentioned and their relationship to Lilia would have been very useful though, as the families are very big and keeping track of how people were related required a bit of effort!

1point10

 

adult

 

biography-autobio-memoir

 

...more


5 likes


Like


Comment



Profile Image for chooksandbooksnz.

chooksandbooksnz

150 reviews

12 followers


Follow

July 21, 2021

Daughter of Gloriavale - Lilia Tarawa


Gloriavale is a closed Christian community based in the isolated Haupiri Valley on the rugged West Coast Of New Zealand. To this very day, the Gloriavale community is still going and according to google has up to 500 members.


Lilia is the granddaughter of Neville Cooper (a.k.a Hopeful Christian) who established Gloriavale and is the cult leader. Gloriavale is only a few hours drive from where I live and it is not unusual to see ‘Cooperites’ in town. They are not hard to spot as Cooperites are only ever permitted to wear the distinctive, modest, blue uniform.


Cooperites are taught solid values. They are extremely hard working, community driven and 110% dedicated to their faith. These are some of the wonderful values Gloriavale is built on.


Unfortunately there is also an extremely ugly side too. The power and control held by leaders is scary. The level of brainwashing has members unreasonably terrified of the consequences of sinning. Bear in mind a sin in Gloriavale could be anything from disobeying leaders to chewing gum or listening to music.


Lilia is of Māori descent. Her birthright is not something that was accepted in Gloriavale and the leaders basically stripped her of her identity. The leaders denied diversity and believed everyone was all one race with one set of beliefs.


Every role is strongly gendered. As a woman your value lies in domestic duties, serving your husband, baring children and not being heard.


In the last half of the book Lilia talks about her families decision to leave Gloriavale. Leaving behind family, friends and everything you have ever known was bittersweet. It’s hard to appreciate how difficult it must have been coming into a whole new world, creating a new belief system and unlearning everything you were previously taught about life in general. Lilia’s life after Gloriavale could not be more different to her time in the community.


Over the years the cult has been no stranger to controversy and being in the media. Lilia’s extremely personal account of Gloriavale added a lot of detail to all of the above.


This book is extremely difficult to do justice in such a short review as it covers so much. Lilia’s journey is one that will shock you. An incredible read by an inspiring and brave wāhine.


5/5 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️


4 likes


Like


Comment


Profile Image for Cynthia.

Cynthia

273 reviews

9 followers


Follow

May 15, 2019

Another intense story of a young woman (and her family, in this case) escaping the bondage of a "Christian" cult, in New Zealand.


I saw Lilia Tarawa's TEDX presentation and was impressed with her poise and ability to explain about the conflict she felt between the beauty of the Gloriavale locale and her idyllic childhood experiences with a loving extended family, and the oppression she felt and observed as she grew up into an adolescent.


The book had what I consider a good pace, and was well planned and set up. There were no lengthy rehashes of situations, and the history and daily workings of Gloriavale were very interesting. As with Tara in "Education" (about a young woman whose parents were fundamentalist Mormon), Lilia was a bright, sensitive young woman who noticed increasingly the impacts of power and control of the all-male leadership upon the followers of the Church, and more significantly, upon herself. Access to the outside world through the Internet and a renegade cousin were highly influential in her developing understanding of what she wanted her life to be like.

auto-biography

 

history

 

religiousabuse

 

...more


4 likes






1 comment




Like




Comment




Profile Image for Smokerjoerabbit Tong.

Smokerjoerabbit Tong

62 reviews

8 followers




Follow

December 4, 2017

Everyone in New Zealand should read this book....Lilia writes with honesty and clarity about the confines of the religious cult of Gloriavale on the West Coast of NZ. I think many Kiwis can say after watching the TV documentaries also, this particular cult has been of huge interest to the public in general. I loved her writing style and that she has gone on to live a successful life despite what she's been through. Highly recommend




4 likes




Like




Comment




Profile Image for Miz.

Miz

1,343 reviews

37 followers




Follow

October 18, 2019

I enjoyed this book as a bit of voyeuristic 'not in my back yard' type of read.

It's so strange to think that there is this extreme pocket of conservative religious sect on the West Coast. The abuse is awful and I like how the author didn't shy away from that, but also focused on the good parts.




I did find the writing very simple and stilted at the beginning of the novel. When recalling the community and her life at Gloriavale, the story just didn't flow as well as in later chapters. I realise it might be because she was recalling times from childhood but for me there was a big change after she left and was able to reflect. The latter part of the book was better written but felt almost rushed... And I know that most people would read this book for the cult part, it still felt like it needed a good edit to flow a bit better.




But ultimately this is a book about triumph, about female power, and about not letting your past dictate your true path. I couldn't help but feel a bit of pride for Lilia and I hope our paths cross one day so I can tell her how inspirational she is.

non-fiction




3 likes




===

Melinda

969 reviews

11 followers




Follow

June 19, 2022

Contains A+ cult quote: “Thank god for the chance to gawk at yummy church boys on the weekends because I still had a crush on Willing Steadfast.”







3 likes

====
My life in a religious cult: 'The most dangerous place in the world is the womb of an ungodly woman'


After her childhood in a secretive cult founded by her grandfather, New Zealand woman Lilia Tarawa risked hellfire and damnation to escape. In this book extract, she shares a slice of her life at Gloriavale Christian Community


Lilia Tarawa
Wed 30 Aug 2017 

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/aug/30/my-life-in-a-religious-cult-the-most-dangerous-place-in-the-world-is-the-womb-of-an-ungodly-woman

302

---------

On the west coast of the South Island of New Zealand, a religious cult named Gloriavale Christian Community closed itself off from the rest of the world in 1969.

Founded by the self-styled and self-named Australian religious leader Hopeful Christian – who was convicted and jailed on three charges of indecent sexual assault of a young woman in 1995 – the 500-strong community was run according to a strict and oppressive interpretation of fundamental Christianity.


Women had to cover their heads, show no flesh so as not to tempt sin from the menfolk, do all the domestic work, submit to their husbands and birth as many babies as they could.

Eight years ago, Lilia Tarawa – granddaughter of Hopeful Christian – escaped with her family into what she had always believed to be the evil, wicked world. This is an extract from her memoir about her life in the cult.
-----

“Take out your Bibles.”

Every day began with a Bible reading.

I lifted my desk lid and removed the thick King James Bible that had been issued to me. It was an old book that had been rebound in the community print shop. I stroked the dull-red cover and held the book to my nose. I loved the musty smell of the pages.


Inside the bizarre 1960s cult, The Family: LSD, yoga and UFOs

Read more


“We’re reading from Hebrews 13:17,” Peter pointed to the boy closest to him. “Nathan, read one verse and then you others continue around the room.”

Pages rustled for a brief moment before Nathan began in a clear voice. “Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves ... ”

The boy beside Nathan picked up the next verse. After each of us had read aloud, Peter finished the chapter. For the rest of class we were taught that to sacrifice one’s self-will and serve the church was the only way to salvation. There was a godly order established in the church – the highest power was God and then Church leaders. Husbands were to submit to the church and wives must submit to their husbands. Children came last and were expected to obey their parents who served the Lord.

“The leaders watch for our souls. If you are obedient to the church you will live long on the Earth and the Lord will bless you,” Peter told us.

He began to pray for our salvation and we clasped our hands and bowed our heads. He thanked God for the wonderful place the leaders had built for us and prayed that we would be saved from the lusts of the world.

We had two more classes after that and I was impatient for them to finish. Today was Friday, PE day, and I couldn’t wait to be out on the field, kicking a soccer ball around.

Peter dismissed us and we tore down to the field, with Jubilant messing around as always and making us laugh at his jokes.

Gloriavale didn’t allow competitive games because it was cause for people to be lifted up in pride. We had to play soccer without keeping score, which I thought was stupid because the whole point of sport was to win. The long dresses were so frustrating to run in but I tackled the football off Jubilant anyway. I didn’t care if my dress flung up, there was no way I was going to let our team lose.
I couldn’t see how beating a child because you felt angry and full of rage was a demonstration of God’s love

Our teacher for the session was Nathaniel Constant so I knew to be careful not to make him angry because his fuse was extremely short. Grace and I called him “Nathaniel Constantly Annoying” behind his back. We kept our distance from his aggres­sive temper. It didn’t deter Jubilant though. He kept on with the jokes, kicking the ball to the wrong player – anything for a laugh.

Nathaniel yelled at him, then he yelled again. Jubilant cooled it for about five minutes but it wasn’t in his nature to behave even though Nathaniel’s anger was building.

It only took one more smart remark before his temper erupted. “Get out! Leave! Now! Get up to the main building. Go!”

Jubilant grumbled and left the field, but not without throwing a last snide comment. Nathaniel tore after him, caught up and kicked him, then bashed him across the head.

The game halted and the class watched, stunned into silence as Nathaniel kicked our classmate again and then again. He forced him to walk and kept smashing him across the head and kicking him for the entire 30 or so metres to the main building. Jubilant was sobbing and trying to protect himself as he stumbled up the road.

Even though the church taught that it was godly for disobedient children to be beaten, this was so wrong. I was only 11 years old but as I stood there, helpless and watching, my hands to my throat, I knew with every fibre of my being that this was wrong. It was the most shocking thing I’d ever witnessed.

I couldn’t keep playing and neither could the other kids. We were numb from the shock of what had happened. All of us left the soccer field and returned to the classroom. I couldn’t concentrate and after school I found Grace and fumed in disbelief about what had happened.

That evening I poured it all out to Mum. She was furious, both at what Nathaniel had done but also because she couldn’t do anything about it. She was a woman and had little power to intervene in the men’s realm. Both of us waited to see what punishment the men would give Nathaniel. Nothing happened and he continued teaching us. I was disgusted.

The incident fanned my loathing for Gloriavale’s stance on child discipline into a raging furnace. The leaders called it godly, but I thought it was abuse. I couldn’t see how beating a child because you felt angry and full of rage was a demonstration of God’s love.

Some leaders not only encouraged violent beatings but scolded parents who were lenient. This was a church that preached non-violence and was anti-war, yet it saw fit to punish their young for minor errors. The leaders defended their philosophy based on the scripture “spare the rod and spoil the child”. Some men took this literally, using weapons like polystyrene pipe to beat their sons. Certain other members rebelled against the impositions and refused to treat their children badly, and I witnessed loving relationships between many parents and their children.

A wife would, in strict confidence, show me her young children, who had horrific marks on their legs, bottoms and backs where her husband had beaten them. Rage boiled in my chest when I saw those poor children suffering. I vowed to unleash the fury of hell if any husband of mine ever laid a finger on a child of ours in malice.

One quiet morning I was in the high school with my head down studying, as were my 30 other classmates. I was having trouble with a difficult maths problem and bit my lip in deep concentration.


Suddenly a loud noise jolted me out of focus. We looked up from our books, all of us startled. It was Shepherd Fervent bursting into the room.

Fervent was dragging his son Willing by the collar of his shirt and he yanked him to stand before the class. I cringed.

“Children look here!” Fervent commanded.
Bile rose in my throat and I turned away from the appalling scene. How dare a leader treat a child this way?


We didn’t want to look. Willing’s eyes were puffy and red. He’d been crying and he hung his head to the floor.

Fervent puffed out his chest and threw back his shoulders. His balding head caught the light from the window and he smoothed down the sides of his oily hair. “The Bible says, ‘Children, obey your parents in the Lord’,” he shouted. His other hand held a limp leather strap. “Proverbs says, ‘Withhold not correction from the child: for if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die’.”

I couldn’t stop looking at the strap because it made me sick to the stomach. Fervent was going to make an example of Willing?

How could he do that to a boy of 13?

“What do you have to say, son?” Fervent poked his son.

Willing stared at the ground and mumbled an apology for being disobedient to his father. I felt a sliver of hope. Maybe the apology was enough to clear him?

Fervent spat a lecture of how godly parents beat their children to submission.

Then he turned to his son.

I screwed my eyes shut, thinking Fervent was going to strap Willing’s hand, but my stomach dropped with horror at his next words.

“Pull down your pants. Bend over.”

In that moment I wanted nothing more than to kill Fervent. To my eyes he was scum of the earth. Willing looked shocked, but obeyed his father.
Lilia Tarawa, aged 16, with her grandfather Hopeful Christian at her Commitment ceremony at Gloriavale Christian Community

Fervent took a wide stance and drew the strap back over his head. Without warning the belt flashed down and bit into Willing’s flesh. He moaned and whimpered with pain. Fervent didn’t stop. With all his strength he whipped the poor boy again, and again, and again.

Bile rose in my throat and I turned away from the appalling scene. Fervent was a pig and no man of God. My knuckles turned white and I gripped the desk in fury. How dare that man – a leader – treat a child this way?

I shut my eyes to block out the horror and covered my ears. I couldn’t watch even though I knew I risked punishment for showing disagreement. The whole time I prayed, “Please God, let it stop. Please make it stop.”

When the beating ended I still couldn’t look up. My heart knew it was disrespectful to gawk at Willing’s exposed flesh. At the very least, I’d offer the boy some respect in his shame.

I stared at the pencil groove on the edge of my desk, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. Fervent left his humiliated son standing at the front of the room. The room was deathly silent. When the overseeing teacher gave him a curt nod, Willing stumbled to his desk and buried his sobs in his hands. The class ended and I stumbled to the lockers in a daze.

From that moment I had nothing but love and compassion for Willing. I was popular and loved at school because I was a gifted student of high-status birth so I did my best to include him in my social circles.

An exclusive group of us would meet in the evenings to play basketball or soccer. We were the misfits and the ones who thought outside the box. Willing hung out with us and I developed something of a crush on him which I dared not tell anyone for fear of punishment.


The rules, though, didn’t change my feelings. What I believed was that all children deserved love.

Babies were a big part of life in Gloriavale. Birth control and abor­tion were strictly forbidden and we were proud of how we didn’t murder children in the womb like so many people in the world.


Grandad was very fond of bragging that we had the biggest families in New Zealand. He liked to show visitors a photo he’d taken of all the children who were number three or more in birth order, saying, “None of these children would be here if their parents practised birth control and didn’t have a faith in God.”
Lilia Tarawa after she left the religious cult

A favourite sermon of his was to preach about how lucky we were to have been conceived by Christian parents. He’d say, “Guess where the most dangerous place in the world is? It’s not on the road in cars. It’s not flying through the air in planes. It’s in the womb of an ungodly woman.”

My grandmother bore 16 children to Grandad Hopeful before her death and I grew up surrounded by cousins’ babies. Grandad Hopeful would say, “Children are an inheritance of the Lord. The fruit of the womb is His reward.”

Mum taught me to knit all sorts of babywear – cardigans, booties, hats; I always knitted a matching set for each of Aunt Patie’s babies. Some of the women could knit a whole garment in just a few hours.

Childbirth was highly celebrated and parents were expected to prepare their children for the practicalities of having a large family. Boys and girls aged 10 and older would often attend their mother’s births to assist and learn about the procedure.

We birthed our children at home. There was no need to visit a medical institution for something that was a purely natural part of life.
 God had promised us that women who continued in holiness and faith would be saved in childbearing. But if there were problems with a birth then a birthing mother would be taken to Greymouth hospital.

The district midwife made regular visits to pregnant women and attended the births to ensure nothing went wrong.

The first baby I ever saw born was my Aunt Patie’s second son when I was 10. When he came out he had the umbilical cord wrapped round his neck, he was blue and wasn’t breathing. He was fine once the midwife got him breathing. Afterwards she asked me if I was OK, but to me this was normal because I’d never seen a baby born before, so I was blissfully unaware of how severe the situation was.


I was there to observe and help with my mother’s next four births: Asher, Judah, Serena and Melodie. Because I was now the oldest girl I learned all the child-rearing skills too. I bathed my younger siblings, changed nappies, helped with potty training and when the babies cried in the night I would climb out of bed to attend to them to relieve my exhausted mother. I watched the women help each other breastfeed, if one mother had an abundance of milk she would suckle the child whose mother didn’t have a good supply.

Women were allowed about two weeks off after giving birth but then they were straight back into the workforce. I always wondered how some of the ladies did it. They would birth during the night and the next morning be at the meal table to present the child to the community. The husband would make a big announcement: “The Lord has blessed us with a new baby boy and his name is Courageous.” Everyone would clap and cheer.

When Patie had her fourth child, complications arose after she’d gone into labour. Her waters had broken, she was fully dilated but the baby wasn’t coming. I was rubbing her back, giving her sips of juice and bathing her face with a cool cloth. The midwife decided she needed urgent medical help but we were so far away from any hospital with no time to wait for an ambulance. We would have to transport Patie ourselves.

The boys brought round one of the stripped-out vans, threw down a mattress, blankets and pillows and we helped Patie lie down. I sat by her head and held her hands as her body was being wracked by gigantic contractions. About 20 minutes into the journey we went over a sharp bump. Patie groaned and gasped out, “Something’s moved. I can feel the baby coming. Right now!”

I shouted, “Stop the van!”

Patie was clenching my hand, almost breaking it. I ignored the pain of it and repeated over and over, “It’s OK. Just breathe through it. Go with the pain.”

She was bearing down. The back doors of the van flung open, I scrambled out, the midwife climbed in and a few minutes later my tiny, screaming cousin Submissive was born. The midwife handed her to me after her mother had a cuddle. I cradled her squawking body in my arms. “Welcome, little girl. You’re going to be so loved.”
----
This is an edited extract from Daughter of Gloriavale: My life in a religious cult by Lilia Tarawa (Allen & Unwin)

===

The Family Inside the bizarre 1960s cult

 


The Family
Inside the bizarre 1960s cult, 
The Family: LSD, yoga and UFOs

A new book and film reveal secrets of the mysterious cult once known as the Great White Brotherhood


James Robert Douglas
@jamesrobdouglas
Mon 13 Feb 2017 

111


How do you make the leap from taking classes with a fashionable yoga teacher to accepting she is your spiritual master and Jesus Christ reborn? It seems far-fetched, but it’s straight out of recent Australian history.

In 1960s Melbourne, Anne Hamilton-Byrne – a glamorous purveyor of yoga to bored, wealthy suburban mums – began to form a cult around herself, gathering her adult followers (who numbered perhaps 500 at its peak) into a close-knit community in the Dandenong Ranges, and maintaining a property at Lake Eildon for her “children”.


Those children – a passel of cherubic kids, many with dyed blond hair, and some of whom were adopted under suspicious circumstances – became the most resonant image of Hamilton-Byrne’s organisation, The Family (originally named the Great White Brotherhood) when it entered the public consciousness. But their neat Von Trapp family appearance concealed a fearful existence.

The Family review – riddle of a Melbourne cult goes largely unanswered

Read more


“It’s a quantum leap, isn’t it,” says journalist Chris Johnston, co-author of a new book on the group. He says the success of Hamilton-Byrne’s bizarre gambit, and her group’s unlikely half-century-long existence, comes down to a “perfect storm of factors”, not least of which is the eruption of new age-style soul-searching into the id of Menzies-era Australia.

Hamilton-Byrne’s creed was a hodgepodge of world religions and miscellaneous esoterica (including UFOs), but hinged mostly on her personal charisma – her sermons are unintelligible to the uninitiated. She collected 10% of her followers’ incomes and amassed a fortune – including homes in Britain and New York – while encouraging them to engage in frauds, forgeries, spousal swaps and scam adoptions. At her Lake Eildon property, Kai Lama (or “Uptop”), her enforcers, the fearsome “Aunties”, kept her children under a strict and allegedly abusive regimen until 1987, when police raided the home and removed the kids.
‘There are people out there who probably have a lot to answer for’: five boys with bleached-blond hair who believed they were Anne and Bill Hamilton-Byrne’s children. Photograph: Label Distribution

“I think LSD helped,” says the book’s other author, documentarian Rosie Jones. “That was a really big part of the cult.” One of Hamilton-Byrne’s important early acolytes was psychiatrist Howard Whitaker, a researcher in the use of psychedelics to treat mental illnesses, who helped funnel drugs to the group. (The Family eventually staged a silent takeover of a private hospital in Kew, where Whitaker worked.) Hamilton-Byrne herself supposedly kept a jar full of LSD blotters at her home in the hills, and would personally guide her followers through their “trips”, thereby ensuring their acceptance of her divinity.

Johnston and Jones’s new book, The Family, is a companion to Jones’s feature documentary, which arrives in theatres this month. The pair have delved into the history of the cult, collecting testimonies from former acolytes and associates, as well as the police detectives who laboured for years to defang its operations. Their reporting sheds light on how Hamilton-Byrne managed to collect followers and keep them in thrall, and what has become of her cult today.

Jones hopes the book and film will provoke a new public discussion about the cult – not just recognition (and perhaps compensation) for its victims, but a reckoning on the part of the authorities that let it flourish.


“The really interesting thing about this group is that it wasn’t a bunch of hippies with flowers in their hair: they were middle class; they were highly intelligent; they were successful in their careers,” Jones says. Hamilton-Byrne pulled prominent doctors, psychiatrists and scientists into her orbit. Another early follower was British-born physicist Raynor Johnson, master of Queen’s College at the University of Melbourne. His social circle included founders of the Liberal party and Ansett airline.

That high-society respectability lent an air of intellectual probity to The Family’s formation – and, in some instances, helped suppress public scrutiny. Jones and Johnston report that Sir Reginald Ansett is said to have quashed negative coverage of the group on his TV station ATV-0 (now Channel Ten), and there are intimations of conspiracy (or at least callous inaction) on the part of judges and even a state premier.

“The tentacles of this cult were incredibly wide,” Johnston says. “There were tentacles into pretty much every aspect of Melbourne society through the 70s and 80s, and there are people out there who probably have a lot to answer for.”
Anne Hamilton Byrne, her husband William (left) and a friend arrive at Melbourne’s county court in November 1993. Photograph: John Woudstra/The Age


Anne Hamilton-Byrne herself, now in her mid-90s and afflicted with dementia, lingers halfway between life and death, and beyond the grip of the law. But her affect on her followers is ongoing: not only on her former “children” who bear the scars of their traumatic childhood, but on those lonely few who still carry a torch for the Great White Brotherhood.

Jones and Johnston spent time with a man named Michael, who claims The Family is still a going concern. He says he visits Anne nearly every day in her nursing home, and that the group still holds weekly meetings at their headquarters, the Santiniketan Lodge in the Dandenong Ranges. But both authors find that hard to believe. “I think it’s probably 30 or 40 people in the hills, at the most,” says Jones. “And I don’t know how active they are. But there are certainly people who support Anne still.”

Johnson adds: “I think the corporate structure is quite active, in terms of people who have specific power of attorney and who have legal guardianship over her. That’s a very real thing, and that’ll come into play when she dies.”

If there’s an epilogue yet to come in the story, it’s the looming legal contest over Hamilton-Byrne’s substantial estate – valued in the multiple millions – which is sure to flare up in the wake of her passing. That death, says Jones, “can’t be too far away. Unless she is Jesus Christ, as claimed”.

The book The Family is released by Scribe Publications on 13 February; the film The Family screens in select theatres in Melbourne from 23 February


===

Work, pray, fear: my life in the Family cult


Lauren Hough was raised by the Family, the global religious cult that started in California in the 1960s. Hough recalls a typical punishment and, in a Q&A, talks about the lasting effect of her experiences


Lauren HoughSun 27 Nov 2016 

“Do you remember me?” she asks, as a hopeful smile spreads on her face, like she’s trying to tease the right answer out of me. We’re not children any more. We’ve left. Some of us left with our families, some with our friends and some alone. Now we’re living in this other world where we keep having to explain – why we lived in so many countries, why our accents change when we talk to strangers, why we didn’t go to school, why we can’t sleep. But to one another, to those of us who grew up like me in the Family, we don’t have to explain.

Yet on message boards, on Facebook, and now, outside a coffee shop on South Congress in Austin, Texas, this same question – “Do you remember me?” – comes up over and over. It’s usually followed by the volley of questions we’ve tested to figure out who we were then.



“What was your name? Who were your parents? Were you in Osaka? Switzerland?”

Part of the problem with growing up in something so secluded as a cult is that our pasts are so unbelievable we need a witness for our own memory. And so we seek out those who remember.

When I met Ruthie, I was crossing the country in a tiny Winnebago because this is the sort of brilliant idea you get when you can’t sleep.

My trip stalled in Austin with a broken clutch, so I sent out a message on a board for cult babies: “Anyone here?”

Ruthie responded and I invited her for coffee. I didn’t need to figure out who this woman was, I knew. She was a frazzled German with an American accent who clutched her coffee, her fingers worn ragged. Those calluses and scars were a by-product of what our parents would call home-schooling, but whose curriculum was heavy on diaper-changing, cooking and the words of our prophet. With its lack of anything that might be considered a real education, some of us have difficulty finding work that doesn’t make our hands bleed.

We were 13 the last time Ruthie and I saw each other. Her name was Faithy back then and I wasn’t allowed to talk to her. In fact, I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone, because the last time I saw her we were both still in the Family and we were in serious trouble.


We lived in a huge, 10-bedroom chalet in Switzerland which had once been a quaint bed and breakfast. If it weren’t for the Family’s avoidance of even basic upkeep, it would have been like something you’d see on a postcard. Our window boxes were filled with rotting memories of carnations, the roof leaked and the floors sagged under the weight of all the people they supported. We’d managed to cram nearly 70 of us into this particular home. Its one virtue was that it was close enough to the American military bases in Germany that we could pick up Armed Forces Radio. That was important, because I had a radio.
Hough in Elgg, Switzerland in 1991 while she was living with the Family. Photograph: Courtesy of the author

One night, a home shepherd called Auntie Mercy shook my shoulder to wake me. My first thought was that the Romans were at the door. Romans were cops and we practised constantly for when they made their inevitable raid on our home. As Auntie Mercy put a finger to her lips to shush me, I looked around and saw that the other kids were still asleep. This was not a good sign. I followed her out on to the landing in my undershirt and panties because when a home shepherd summons you, you don’t stop to get dressed. She didn’t say a word, only turned, and I followed her down the stairs.
Punishments came and went like any fad in the outside world. Silence restriction and sign-wearing were the new tactics

The other home shepherds were in the dining room along with the shepherd for my age group, Uncle Stephan, who waved his weirdly hairless arm at me and said: “Have a seat, sweetie.” When a word like sweetie, so innocent and saccharine, slips out of the wrong mouth, you’ll wish you were wearing pants. I sat in the chair facing them, and rubbed my eyes, acting sleepy to buy time, like staring down a gun and pleading for a cigarette.


“Should we pray?” asked Auntie Mercy. We held hands, mine clammy, and we prayed as I flicked a hardened, yellow grain of overboiled rice with my toe. The eels began to turn in my stomach as I waited for the inevitable next line.

“Do you have anything to tell us?”

I started small with the confessions. I’d played this game before. “I haven’t been putting my heart into my chores,” I said. If I got it right on the first guess, they’d just keep digging for more. I would give them anything. I would have to. But I wasn’t giving up my radio.

One thing most cults have in common is that you have to give up everything to join. In that home, and every other home I’d lived in, there was a pile somewhere of random items someone had given up to follow Jesus. If Grandma or Aunt Nancy sends you a package, that goes in the pile too. Occasionally, all this crap is divvied out to those who need the supplies, or those with enough pull to get something they want. When I had been tasked to clean up the pile, I found the radio.

Faithy caught me listening the first night. She slept below me, in the middle bunk of the triple-decker. I was up top. Wherever we went, the bunks were built out of two-by-four and plywood. The mattresses were bare foam, but weren’t too bad. The foam was easy to cut into if you wanted to hide something – hard-boiled eggs, a book, a corner of a chocolate bar, or even a radio. Faithy and I hadn’t talked much because I had been on silence restriction and not allowed to speak to anyone but a shepherd.

Silence restriction and sign-wearing were the newest tactics in arbitrarily inflicted punishment. Silence restriction is pretty simple to understand. Then we wore signs around our necks made of cardboard or plywood with catchy slogans like “Silence restriction” or “I need to count my blessings” or “Please remind me to smile” – that last was being worn by an eight-year-old whose desire to smile remained unchanged. Punishments came and went like any other fad in the outside world but favourite methods included writing essays, memorising chapters of the Bible, a paper-clip daisy chain wrapped around your head and then hooked to each cheek to force a smile, running laps around a driveway, pointless manual labour, isolation, public beatings, bread-and-water diets. These, usually in some combination, could last days or months and there was no way to tell which way it would go.

Faithy was new to our home, louder than the rest of us had learned to be, and she had more than one pair of socks, a sign she’d been living in smaller homes where kids get things like socks. I met her the night I accidentally pulled out the headphone cord from the radio and she heard the static from the little built-in speaker. From that night on, when we were pretty sure no one else would check on us, she’d climb into my bunk. I snapped the plastic band attaching the earpieces, we’d each take one and huddle together under my blanket to listen.
Hough aged about five, in Chile. Photograph: Courtesy of the author


Since it was my radio, I got to choose between our only two English music stations. And for a few hours each night, we experienced a whole new world.

The Family produced their own music but their songs weren’t about love or loss or pain. Family songs praised Jesus, or our prophet, or the Family itself. The radio brought music and words that made us feel hope and loss. I could live another life in the radio’s music, another life where I wasn’t so afraid of everyone. Sometimes we’d hear the Cure or the Smiths. I loved the angst-ridden, painful voices I didn’t understand but felt pouring into me. Faithy wasn’t as enthralled. She liked Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson. We’d tap our toes against the footboard until we remembered that we weren’t alone, and stopped for fear of waking up the kid in the bottom bunk.

Our secret created a bond and we started talking during the day.

We talked about places we’d been and told stories from before, when the cult had been just hippies, travelling in caravans and living in camp grounds, and we remembered being happy. There wasn’t much else to talk about. She saw and did everything I saw and did. She was good at remembering movies and as she’d lived in some of the more liberal homes, she’d seen more than I had. She’d tell me the movies, scene by scene and sometimes line by line, like they were stories.
After the first hour, I ran out of things to confess. I was tired and confused. I didn’t know what they wanted

I hadn’t made many friends, or at least didn’t keep them. I was in trouble a lot and few of the children around me were stupid or brave enough to be friends with someone on the shepherds’ radar. Friends in the Family were a liability, but now I had a friend, or something close to it, and I liked having someone to talk to.

Then a few weeks into our nightly listening party, Auntie Mercy caught Faithy in my bed. We’d accidentally fallen asleep. Auntie Mercy didn’t see the radio, but she told us she’d better not catch us again. When she didn’t say anything to us the next day, we thought she’d let the infraction slide. If she had, it would have been the first and last time she’d shown anyone mercy. I didn’t know her well enough yet to fear her as I should have.

“What else?” asked Uncle Stephan. His eyes were cold and blue and he had this German accent, which was perfect, really.

I had tried to avoid him, but avoiding him was impossible. I hadn’t seen any Nazi movies or I might have known that he fitted the mould, like a caricature. His eyes terrified me.

Despite only wearing a thin undershirt, I wasn’t cold. Still, I folded my arms over my chest and shivered.


“I was foolish. I told some jokes I know,” I said.

“What else?”

After the first hour, I ran out of things to confess. I was tired and confused. I stopped talking. I didn’t know what they wanted. I closed my eyes and I was quiet when I heard his boots on the tiled floor.

Uncle Stephan always wore boots in the house. No one else ever did.

Grandpa didn’t like wearing shoes indoors because shoes dragged filth inside and evil spirits could hitchhike on shoes and clothing.

Grandpa was David Berg, the founder of the Family. The adults called him Dad, which was as confusing as it sounds. In another reality, another time, he’d have been locked up in an institution. In my reality and time, he founded a cult.

I felt Uncle Stephan’s breath on my face for a moment. Then he slapped me hard across the face. I heard the shepherds praying for me again, or maybe they were praying against me. I felt my lip with my tongue and tasted blood. I didn’t know where my parents were or if they knew what was happening. I didn’t dare ask.

I opened my eyes and met his across from me. I hated him.

Uncle Stephan had already put me on silence restriction for a month. I’d only recently been allowed to talk again. We hadn’t seen a movie all year because we weren’t “following the spirit”. It’s not like we ever watched anything but musicals anyway, but those were better than the nothing we had now. He liked public punishments. And he used a bamboo cane he carried around with him. Spanking wasn’t anything unusual, but his cane, which broke skin, only happened behind closed doors. Most of the time they just used a belt or a paddle.

So I stared at his eyes and I didn’t blink and I wanted him to see I wasn’t crying. I knew he’d break me. They hadn’t broken me yet but it was inevitable. All I wanted in that moment was for Uncle Stephan to know that breaking me wouldn’t be easy. I looked above Uncle Stephan’s head and saw a poster of Jesus. This wasn’t the blond, friendly Jesus.

This Jesus was coming down from heaven on a horse, surrounded by the flames of a burning Earth.

If the shepherds had watched any cop shows before they dropped out to follow Jesus, they would have known the proper way to do an interrogation. While I sat in the dining room and tried to figure out what the shepherds wanted from me, Faithy was in the shepherds’ office upstairs and probably wondering the same thing. They didn’t know they were supposed to tell me Faithy was upstairs and I should tell them everything before she cut a deal. But then again, there were no deals in the Family. Confession, while possibly good for the soul, was not good for my immediate future.


I couldn’t think of any more small crimes. So I just started making shit up.

“I took some apricots from the pantry.”

“Why?”

“I was hungry and there were lots so I thought it was OK.”

“What else?”

“I murmured about having to watch the kids instead of going postering last Saturday.” That was a lie, but a lie that might work in my favour. I liked taking care of the little kids. Plus, my mom was in charge of them so being assigned to help with the little kids meant spending the day with her while most of the home was out raising money by selling posters or knocking on doors and asking for donations.

“What else?”
The Romans came that night. But they were too late. Someone tipped off a reporter who tipped off the home shepherds

Six hours later, the sun was up and I could hear the home stirring upstairs. The kids assigned to make breakfast walked around the circle of shepherds and me. The kids looked straight ahead as they passed. There was a time when I might have felt humiliated. But we were used to public punishments now so I didn’t mind them seeing me. We’d all been in this chair at some point. Those who hadn’t knew it was only a matter of time.

The shepherds either had what they wanted from me or gave up trying. Auntie Mercy wanted to pray again. This time I had to hold their hands and the words she prayed told me this was just the beginning of my ordeal.

A few weeks later, still in the attic where they’d decided to store problem kids like me, where we’d read the insane ramblings of our drunken prophet, where they expected us to report every thought that passed through our heads, where the beatings happened daily, I broke. It sounds more like a sigh than the shattering you feel in your soul. I remembered how it didn’t hurt when I broke, how it was easier after.

The Romans came that night. But they were too late. Someone tipped off a reporter at the local newspaper, who tipped off the home shepherds. Before the sun rose, we quietly crammed ourselves into vans, kept our heads below the windows, and our shepherds drove us to the next home.

Faithy didn’t come to the new home and I knew better than to ask where she’d gone. And now, this woman named Ruthie, with Faithy’s face and voice, was asking me about the radio. “Did they ever find it?”


“You didn’t rat me out,” I say. No, they never found the radio.

“But then why did you get in so much more trouble than I did?” she asks.

“I wondered about that for years. But you know how it goes, you just stop thinking about it. Then one day, I was telling my girlfriend about the radio and I finally figured it out. They thought I was gay.”

“Goddammit,” she says, smacking the table. The pearl snap-shirted Austinites stop to stare at the interruption of their peace. We both smile at the three Family sins she’s just committed – drawing attention, unwomanly loudness, and the greatest and least forgivable, taking the Lord’s name in vain. “How much did that suck?”

I laugh and shake my head and say: “Fuckers.”

This is the shorthand we speak because she knows, without me having to tell her, how hard it was to give them that one thing. To know they were right, even if only once. But at 13, I wasn’t yet a lesbian, or anyway I didn’t know it. Back then I was just an awkward tomboy.

She shows me pictures of her husband, her kids. I show her pictures of my dog. We talk all afternoon. She says she’s doing all right. Maybe we’re both grading on a curve, but I tell her I am too.

And we don’t have to explain. We remember.

The Shepherds by Lauren Hough first appeared in Granta 137 (£12.99). To order a copy for £10.65 go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Subscribe to Granta here: granta.com/137free
Q&A with Lauren Hough

Hough, 39, was born in West Berlin and brought up in the Family, founded by David Berg in 1968 in California and originally known as the Children of God.

Where do you live now?
In Austin, Texas. I’ve only been here a couple of months. I sold my house in Washington DC last year and I’ve been travelling in my camper. A couple of months in Portland, Oregon and Berlin and now I’m here. I’ve enjoyed it tremendously, but I’ve rented a house in Santa Fe and I’m moving there in a couple of weeks.

You moved around a lot with the Family?
We travelled around in campers, caravans, lived in tents. We moved to Chile for a couple of years when I was four. Japan for a few years too, then Switzerland and then Germany.


It must have been quite something when you left.
Oh God, yes. I was done. I just couldn’t figure out how to leave on my own. I would think about it… do I run to the embassy? How can I get my passport? Then one day Mom just told us to pack. There was absolute relief and absolute terror – we stayed in Munich for a couple of weeks and my brother and I were convinced we were going back in. But we didn’t. My grandmother took us into her little house in west Texas.

What made your mother decide to leave?
Mom was worried that we’d had absolutely no education and that she couldn’t protect me. My stepdad was just frustrated that they were never going to make him a leader.

Why did your parents join the Family?
My mom was upset about the Vietnam war. She was a hippy, protesting and everything else, and here were people who were actually doing something – dropping out, leaving society, following Jesus. The way she saw it was, yeah, a great, utopian thing. She met my father and he was there for much the same reason. He was travelling around so he wouldn’t get a draft card. My mom doesn’t talk about the Family and I don’t ask her about it. We’re close, but only so much. I only recently talked to my dad about it [Hough’s parents split up when she was 7]. We’re close now. We weren’t always.

You don’t blame them for what happened?
Well, I know what an idiot I was when I was 19, the age they were when they joined. It’s kinda hard to hold it against someone.

How have you felt since coming out? Have you had a lot of therapy?
Not so much and most of it wasn’t so helpful. I’ve had therapists cry and hug me and it was really strange. They just don’t really know what to do with it. I mean, I still hide things. I still have nightmares, I can’t deal with crowds. I will always feel kind of separate. For a long time, I just didn’t really have friends. In high school, I had no idea how to talk to people. I didn’t understand cultural references. Ninety per cent of conversations are: “Hey, do you remember that episode of Seinfeld?” and shit. And I was weird, I was just awkward. I read everything I could get my hands on. It’s just what I did, I hid in books.

Which books particularly?
On the Road: the book that made me want to write. The Liars’ Club by Mary Karr. The Glass Castle [by Jeannette Walls] – reading this, I realised you could take a terrible thing, that bad thing in every memoir, and make it worth reading. There’s no self-pity in it.

Do you know what has become of the so-called “Shepherds”?
Oh, God… thank God, no. “Uncle Stephan” – the last anyone saw he was holding a cardboard “The End Is Near” sign in Amsterdam. I mean, some of these people are my friends’ parents. We’ve all reconnected through Facebook. But… I stay away from the subject of whose parents did what to whom and I will meet them but not their parents. There’s a very clear line drawn between who we associate with. Second-generation people versus the people who joined. We have our secret Facebook groups where we can talk. We kind of provide our own free therapy.

What’s next?
I’d like to write more. I don’t know if I can support myself doing this but I’m working on a book – a memoir trying to put it all together.
Interview by Ursula Kenny


===

Introduction_to_A_Course_in_Miracle.pdf

Introduction_to_A_Course_in_Miracle.pdf
Introduction to “A Course in Miracles”


A Course in Miracles is a self-study spiritual thought system. It is published in
three volumes consisting of a Text, Workbook for Students, and Manual for
Teachers.
"A Course in Miracles" is a way to live with more peace and love by asking
the guidance of the Holy Spirit, the Voice of God to help us to remember
God. It focuses on the practice of forgiveness, to remind us that we are all
Spirits, One in God. The Miracle is when we choosing to forgive, that is when
we choose to change our mind, choosing to see Spirit, beyond the body,
choosing the Voice of God and not the ego.
Therefore "A Course in Miracles" teaches us to remember our Oneness with God and to go Home to
Heaven by healing our relationships with ourselves and others through forgiveness which leads to
the undoing of the ego and unconscious guilt.

"A Course in Miracles" maintains that it is one way to remember who we are and that there are many other valid spiritual paths. Although the language of the Course is Christian, it expresses a nonsectarian, non-denominational, non-dualistic spirituality which is presented in various other spiritual traditions such as in Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, Sufi and Zen.

"A Course in Miracles" is not a religion but a spiritual way of thinking about our self, the world and God which promote deep healing and inner peace.
"A Course in Miracles" was “scribed” by Dr Helen Schucman through a process of inner dictation she identified as coming from Jesus. A clinical and research psychologist and tenured Associate Professor of Medical Psychology, she was assisted by Dr William Thetford, her department head, who was also
a tenured Professor of Medical Psychology at the Medical Centre where they both worked.

The introduction to the text succinctly present a summary of what a Course in Miracles is about: “This is a course in miracles. It is a required course. Only the time you take it is voluntary. Free will does not mean that you can establish the curriculum. It means only that you can elect what you want to take at a given time. The course does not aim at teaching the meaning of love, for that is beyond
what can be taught. It does aim, however, at removing the blocks to the awareness of love’s presence, which is your natural inheritance. The opposite of love is fear, but what is all-encompassing can have no opposite.

This course can, therefore, be summed up very simply in this way:
  • Nothing real can be threatened.
  • Nothing unreal exists.
  • Herein lies the peace of God.”

The Perennial Wisdom of A Course in Miracles | Miracle Distribution Center

The Perennial Wisdom of A Course in Miracles | Miracle Distribution Center

The Perennial Wisdom of A Course in Miracles
by Roger Walsh, M.D., Ph.D.

Roger Walsh, M.D., Ph.D. graduated from Australia’s Queensland University with degrees in psychology, physiology, neuroscience, and medicine, and then came to the United States as a Fulbright Scholar. For more than thirty years he has been a professor of psychiatry, philosophy, and anthropology, as well as a professor in the religious studies program, at the University of California, Irvine.

Roger Walsh
When Frances Vaughan showed me the Christian mystical teaching, A Course in Miracles, I was hardly open minded. I opened the books, saw the words “God” and “Holy Spirit,” and refused to have anything to do with it for two years. But over those two years I kept running into people who would drop fascinating ideas or interesting one-liners. I’d ask, “Where did you get that?” and they’d say, “From A Course in Miracles.”

Eventually I weakened and took another look at the material. After a month or so, when I got past my resistance to the Christian language, I began to feel that this was a truly extraordinary work. Over the years I’ve studied it intently and my appreciation of it has continued to grow.

One of the hallmarks of a profound teaching is that when you go through it again, you find what philosophers call “higher grades of significance.” This seems to happen each time I go through the Course. I’m now at the point where I feel it’s on a par with any other material or discipline I’ve seen. Other people who are wiser than I agree. For example, Ken Wilber, who has read more widely in the world’s psychologies and spiritual traditions than anyone I know, says the Course is on a level with anything he’s run across. So I’m inclined to think that this document may be a spiritual masterpiece.

The Course and the Four Yogas

One of the Course’s unique features is that it seems to be especially well integrated. Most paths are the result of a variety of sages speaking extemporaneously to various groups with disciples taking down some of their sayings and forgetting others so that the collected writings are not terribly integrated. From the life of Jesus, for example, we have a few hundred lines; a few thousand may be directly attributable to the Buddha.

The Course, on the other hand, is clearly a well-integrated system starting with a beginning on page one and systematically running in a logical progression to the end. The sequence of lessons also has a logical coherence. They first run through a process of deconstructing our usual way of perceiving and then substituting or reconstructing a healthier way. Along the way all four key elements – ethics, concentration, emotions and wisdom – are given due attention and skillfully combined.

The Course seems to be the perennial wisdom (the common core underlying the world’s great religions) in Christian form. It embodies the millennia-old teaching about the nature of the universe, of humankind, of waking up – in Christian language.

Within that, it employs a variety of different techniques. One way of comparing the different religions is to use Hinduism’s division of spiritual paths into “the four yogas,” four types of paths that emphasize different aspects of training. The four classic yogas are Jnana yoga, the yoga of intellectual discrimination by which we use the intellect to pare away illusions and to see clearly; Bhakti yoga, the yoga of love and devotion, the emotional approach for those people who have a heartfelt stance toward religion, spirituality and life; Karma yoga, the yoga of work and service in the world; and Raja yoga, a primarily meditative path. The Course clearly has sophisticated elements of all four of these yogas or paths.

The Path of the Intellect

The Course is a Jnana yoga of extraordinary power. In fact, it is the most sophisticated cognitive behavior modification text I’ve run across. There are descriptions of the nature of identification, psychological defenses and perception that are on a par with anything in contemporary psychology or the traditional wisdom teachings. In my lectures at the university on these topics, I find some of the ideas from the Course very useful, although I don’t usually confess this.

The Course lays out a precise thought system, which it says is an optimal thought system for awakening. According the the Course, our thought system creates our world view and our sense of self and reality. Thus, our perception is a reflection of our states of mind and our thought system and we project onto the world much of what is within us. Ultimately, in a radical ontological sense, the Course says that the world is a creation of the mind. In this way it echoes the opening of the Buddha’s teaching (The Dhammapada), which begins by saying:

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make our world.

The Course, like Buddhism and other forms of the perennial wisdom, says our thought systems are insane and that we consequently create and are enmeshed in dreams and illusions although we don’t realize it. In other words, our dreams and illusions are self-masking and we mistake them for reality.

To help us understand this, the Course asks us to reflect on our sleeping dreams. These show us that our minds have the capacity to literally create worlds and bodies that seem totally real to us while we’re dreaming. We run into tables and they seem hard. We identify with our dream bodies and assume we will cease to exist if they are destroyed. Other than rare lucid dreams, we never recognize that we’re dreaming until we wake up. Yet, from our usual waking state, we can look back on our former dreams and see that our dream state of consciousness has less ontological validity or reality than the one we’re in now. Thus the Course suggests that:

Dreams show you that you have the power to make a world as you would have it be …. and while you see it you do not doubt that it is real. Yet here is a world, clearly within your mind, that seems to be outside …. You seem to waken, and the dream is gone …. and what you seem to waken to is but another form of this same world you see in dreams. All your time is spent in dreaming. Your sleeping and your waking dreams have different forms, and that is all.

The Course says that our usual waking state is also a dream, in fact an unhappy psychotic dream. It therefore offers an alternate thought system which can replace our negative dream with a happy one. It’s still a dream, but it’s the happiest dream we can create and one from which it’s easier to awaken.

But the Course’s ultimate goal lies beyond all dreams and aims at awakening. Its message is that there is another state of consciousness which is to our ordinary waking state of consciousness as our waking state is to our sleeping dream state. This is salvation, liberation, enlightenment or moksha. Hence, the fundamental message of the Course, like the other great spiritual traditions, is “Wake up!”

This waking up involves disentangling ourselves from the culture-wide illusion in which we live. This culture-wide illusion, or consensus trance as Charles Tart calls it, can be seen as a form of hypnosis. What we take to be normality is actually a form of culture-wide hypnosis. So say the great spiritual traditions (though they use other terms for it) and contemporary thinkers such as Charles Tart, Willis Harman and Ken Wilber.

So the Course urges us to wake up from our collective trance. The means it offers for this follow logically from its claims about why we’re hypnotized. If we are entranced by a collective deluding thought system, then obviously the solution is to substitute – à la cognitive behavior modification – another thought system: a thought system that dehypnotizes and awakens. This is what the Course claims to do. It claims to offer an alternative thought system that we can substitute, if we so choose, for the cultural system instilled in us from birth that has so successfully entranced us.

The Path of the Heart

The cutting edge of Bhakti yoga, the yoga of love and devotion, is this transformation of emotions. The Course also focuses on the transformation of emotions and the cultivation of love. In fact, it says that “this is a course about love” and that any course that seeks to teach us who we really are must teach us about love. The type of love that the Course emphasizes is a universal or nonexclusive, unconditional love, which the early Christians called agape and the Course calls the Love of God. Lessons that clearly focus on this include the one titled “I feel the Love of God within me now”. another example is, “Today the peace of God envelopes me and I forget all things except His love.”

One feature of the Course, which I have found in no other tradition, is its use of relationships – specifically peer relationships – as the primary vehicle for awakening. Bhakti yoga also uses relationships, but not so much peer relationships. Rather, Bhakti yoga usually emphasizes devotion to, or love of, a god or guru. It’s usually not a love relationship between equals. Many paths acknowledge the divinity in others, but the Course’s emphasis on using our peer relationship for awakening is unique in its detail and sophistication. It fills dozens of daily lessons and hundreds of pages with very precise instructions on healing relationships, practicing forgiveness, seeing each other as mirrors and mutual saviors, recognizing the divinity within each of us, letting go of grievances, taking joy in the joy of others, acknowledging our interdependence, relinquishing expectations and demands and cultivating the desire to love and serve. Many people, myself included, feel that it is perhaps the most sophisticated and profound approach to relationships they have seen.

The Course divides relationships into holy and unholy ones. The closest equivalent I know to this would be Maslow’s distinction between motives which are deficiency and sufficiency based. When we are motivated by a sense of deficiency and lack, we enter relationships to get something. However, in sufficiency-based relationships both people already have a sense of well-being and wholeness and desire to enhance and share that through a relationship. According to the Course:

An unholy relationship is based on differences, where each one thinks the other has what he has not. A holy relationship starts from a different premise. Each one has looked within and seen no lack. Accepting their completion, they would extend it by joining with another whole as themselves. They see no difference between these selves. For differences are only of the body.

The Course specifically advises us to take each relationship and view it as a means of awakening both people. It says that each of us is both teacher and student, patient and therapist. It advises us to approach a relationship with the realization that just as we embody the Divine within us, so does the other person. The Course says it is easier and more skillful to look for the divine core within both the other person and oneself because this divine core is transpersonal and no one person encompasses it.

The Course contains a number of very practical relationship techniques. For example, it suggests that any time “the holiness” of a relationship is threatened, such as in an argument, to proceed as follows:

Whoever is saner at the time the threat is perceived should remember how deep is his indebtedness to the other and how much gratitude is due him, and be glad that he can pay his debt by bringing happiness to both. Let him remember this, and say:

“I desire this holy instant for myself,
That I may share it with my brother, whom I love.
It is not possible that I can have it without him, or he without me.
Yet it is wholly possible for us to share it now.
And so I choose this instant as the one to offer to the Holy Spirit,
That His blessing may descend on us, and keep us both in peace.”

This leads to another major emphasis of the Course: forgiveness. While Christianity has traditionally emphasized forgiveness, the Course gives it a more psychological flavor. When we forgive others, it says, we are actually forgiving our own shadow and the projections that we have been unwilling to acknowledge withing ourselves. So the Course skillfully reframes forgiveness to make it apparent that forgiveness serves the person who forgives as much as the person who is forgiven. In fact it claims that forgiveness is a healing practice of remarkable power and that “forgiveness is the key to happiness.”

The Path of Service

Karma yoga is the path of service and work in the world. This is a strong emphasis of the Course, which says we don’t have to retire into a monastery to practice it. Indeed the Course emphasizes that the peace, love and joy we cultivate can be taken out into the world and increased by sharing. Indeed, the Course says that if we try to practice for ourselves alone, our efforts are actually counterproductive, because we are reinforcing the belief that we are separate from other people and denying the deeper reality of the unity of the One Mind. Thus the Course has parallels with Mahayana Buddhism. Both suggest that final liberation for any of us depends on liberation for all of us and advocates doing service to others as our essential means for awakening.

However, the Course draws a distinction between service and sacrifice that I have found extremely useful. It warns against serving out of sacrifice, because sacrifice breeds resentment and anger. The very idea of sacrifice is contradictory because if we’re doing something for others and viewing it as a sacrifice, then we’re again seeing ourselves as separate from them. The ideal is to understand that whatever we do for another is also for ourselves.

The Path of Meditation

Raja yoga emphasizes meditation and mind training. The Course states, “This is a course in mind training.” Like other meditative traditions it points out that the untrained mind has a mind of its own; it’s labile, has little ability to concentrate, is driven by desires and aversions, and overcome by fear and anger. The Course therefore lays out a variety of techniques for bringing the mind under greater control. One lesson affirms:

I have a kingdom I must rule. At times it does not seem I am its king at all. It seems to triumph over me and tell me what to think and what to do and feel. And yet it has been given me to serve whatever purpose I perceive in it. My mind can only serve … Today I give its service to the Holy Spirit to employ as He sees fit. I thus direct my mind, which I alone can rule, and thus I set it free to do the will of God.

Naturally, because the Course is such an integrated system, the four yogas overlap and are mutually supportive. For example, as we replace unskillful beliefs we are less likely to feel angry. This makes it easier to forgive and with forgiveness greater love arises which in turn enhances the desire to serve. All these leave the mind less agitated and easier to control, thereby making it easier to change beliefs, forgive, love and serve. Of course, this is not to deny that progress can seem very slow at times, but the Course also teaches patience.

Other Therapeutic Strategies

For guidance the Course recommends turning inward to our own deeper selves because the ultimate source of wisdom is within us. When making major decisions, the Course advises us to ask our inner guide what we should do. We thus gradually relinquish shallow egoic decision making and turn to deeper levels that tap more profound wisdom. Authority and guidance are not “out there” in someone else or even in the Course. Rather, the ultimate source of wisdom is within. This bears some similarities to other spiritual and psychological systems. For example, psychosynthesis advocates contacting the “higher self.” Jungians, the “Sage archetype;” Hindus, the “Sadguru;” the Naskapi Indians, “the inner man;” and the Quakers, “the still small voice within.”

The Course also devotes considerable attention to working with fear. Like many other paths, it points out how much our minds are dominated by fear and says that love and fear are two fundamental and mutually inhibitory emotions. Where love is, fear is not, and vice versa.

The Course emphasizes working with fear in a somewhat different way from the traditional psychotherapeutic methods in which we tend to examine the fear and what caused it. According to the Course, the only time that’s real is now. If there is fear, something must be operating now. It must have a present cause and can only be released in the present. To believe that we have to understand the past, go back into the past or remedy something in the past before we can release fear is self-limiting and a self fulfilling prophecy. Indeed, psychotherapists are beginning to better appreciate this trap. Psychoanalysts such as Silvano Ariete have called it “the genetic fallacy” and transactional analysts have called it the game of “archaeology.” When we do fall into this trap, we also fall into that transactional analysts call the “until game” in which we tell ourselves that we can’t be happy until we do something, such as find the original cause of our fears or problems.

An emphasis on relinquishing attachments is central to many traditions. The Course is very clear that attachment is a key cause of suffering. In this way it echoes the Buddha’s Second Noble Truth that “the cause of suffering is craving.”

One lesson states, “I will not value what is valueless.” Another says, “The world I see holds nothing that I want,” pointing to the idea that value is not something which inheres in objects or things outside ourselves, but is something which we project onto them. The true source of joy and well-being, it says, is within, because the mind is the source of both suffering and joy. To become attached to outer things is therefore to lose sight of the source of joy and to suffer when things change, as they invariably do.

An unusual feature of the Course is the perspective Ken Wilber has called “always/already truth.” One can divide the world’s religions and spiritual paths into two main types: paths of attainment and paths of recognition. Paths of attainment assume that we are fundamentally deficient in some way and/or presuppose that life is fundamentally a dilemma. Naturally they therefore assume that we must work to change ourselves into something different.

The paths of always/already truth start from the assumption that we are always/already who and what we’re trying to become. Consequently they view the fundamental spiritual task as one, not of change and improvement, but of recognition. As the Course says, “Enlightenment is but a recognition, not a change at all.” According to Wilber’s map, the always/already truth religions represent the acme of spiritual teaching.

Pros and Cons

I should point out several criticisms of the Course. The language is traditionally Christian and many people may find it a problem at first. The talk of God and the Holy Spirit may be difficult for some and many women find the exclusive use of masculine pronouns irksome. Some people translate for a while. I originally changed “salvation” to “enlightenment,” “Christ” to “Buddha mind” and so on. Some women have gone through scratching out His and replacing it with Hers. The Course is also objectionable from the fundamentalist perspective in that it disagrees at points with the Bible. In addition the profundity of the ideas makes some parts of the Course difficult to understand or even appear nonsensical at first. However, most people report that as they continue to study the material their understanding deepens and more and more of the obscurities become comprehensible. An attitude of open-minded patience may be the best stance.

As for its strengths, the Course is, as already mentioned, very well integrated. Many religions focus on one path, such as service or the cultivation of love. The Course seems to be particularly adept at using multiple approaches. Given how intellectually sophisticated it is, it is remarkable how wide an audience it appeals to. To date, it has sold several million copies by word of mouth alone to people ranging from the university-educated to those with very little education, and to all sorts of personality types. It has been translated into more than two dozen foreign languages. In a recent survey, Common Boundary readers rated the Course the most influential book they had read.

The Course is intellectually satisfying, psychologically sophisticated, positive and loving. It never judges, never condemns, never attacks and continually points us back to ourselves and the recognition that, at the most fundamental levels, we are always/already loving, joyous, free and divine. In short it says we are always/already not only more than we dreamed but more than we can dream. Ultimately it points beyond all dreams to the Self we share, to the Christ Mind, to God and to the recognition that They (We) are One and that this Oneness awaits our recognition in this moment and every moment.

“Let me remember I am one with God,
At one with all my brothers and my Self
In ever lasting holiness and peace.”

Respond to This Article

Support Our Work

Get Articles in Your Postal Mailbox

Read “Evaluating A Course in Miracles” by Roger Walsh

Gifts from A Course in Miracles Edited by Roger Walsh

The Universal Course by Roger Walsh