|
How
We Rescued Our Daughter
Arthur A. Dole, Ph.D., A.B.P.P.
This is the story of how Marjorie Dole and I arranged to
rescue and deprogram our daughter more than 25 years ago. It is adapted from a
chapter in my memoir, Senior Papers (Dole, 2002). In a preceding chapter
in this book I describe how lovely, idealistic, and naive "Carole" dropped out
of college at 19 "to find herself," was converted by the Unification Church, and
became a dedicated fund-raiser for five years.
In a concluding comment, I will briefly compare our
experiences in liberating a cult victim with contemporary exit consultation. I
share these reminiscences in order to give people new to this area some
appreciation of how far the field has evolved.
Rescue
It promised to be a hot day in Los Angeles that August
At 9 a.m the smog was beginning to lift in the empty mall parking lot. A white
van drove in; it dropped off a a tall young woman, casually dressed, then drove
away. Energetically the tall young woman set up five laser photographs for
business. Shortly a black van parked a few spaces away and a smartly dressed,
thirtyish woman strode toward the paintings. After a few minutes of
negotiations, the two women approached the black van, carrying all five
photographs. The young seller appeared jubilant. Then quickly two pairs of
brawny arms lunged out of the van and yanked her inside. Angry and frustrated,
the young woman screamed for help.
“I’m being kidnapped!”
Then she noticed a familiar figure inside the van.
“Mom,” she yelled, “You
promised not to do this!“
“I changed my mind.”
Meanwhile another car had entered the lot. A man ran
over to the black van and tapped on the door.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. This poor girl has
overdosed. Her mother’s right here. Thank you for asking, sir.”
“Oh. O.K.“ The fellow walked
away.
The black van sped off to a secluded house in Pasadena.
Two burley men dragged the tall girl inside and secured the exits.
“No harm will come to you. We
just want to talk with you privately.” Her captors assured her. Her mother
dialed a number and handed her the phone.
“Happy birthday! I’m on my
way to see you.”
“Dad, how could you do this to
me? “
The young woman slammed down the phone.
She was angry and scared. She knew what was going to
happen to her. She prayed to Father Moon for inner strength.
Meanwhile, the white van returned to the mall in Los
Angeles at noon. There was no sign of the young woman and her photographs.
* * *
This event is pivotal for understanding what preceded and
what followed the rescue of Carole Dole[1].
Before
Our Search Continues
Once three years before "Jim Blue," a former Moonie, had
attempted a voluntary exit counseling, using a shock and awe approach. It
failed. Thereafter we rarely saw Carole and we were rarely sure of her exact
whereabouts. We realized with despair that the likelihood was slim that Carole
would leave her group on her own or that we could arrange another exit
counseling. We kept searching for solutions. We identified prospective
deprogrammers and secure residences in California. But the apparent
opportunities to rescue her vanished like smoke. At the suggestion of Judge
Eisen, we hired a lawyer and petitioned the Merit County Family Court for a
temporary guardianship. Although the Judge was persuaded, Carole always fended
off our warm invitations to come home for a visit.
We read with interest accounts of involuntary
deprogramming. Quite a number succeeded. At a meeting in Westchester County, New
York, we met a former high-ranking Moonie named Steve Hassan. While Steve was
driving a Church van one night, tired from a heavy day of fund-raising, he fell
asleep, crashed, and was hospitalized. His parents arranged for a deprogramming.
Since Steve was in traction, he could not escape. Eventually he decided to
resign from the Unification Church.
Other involuntary deprogrammings were less successful.
“Elsie Blue,” Jim’s sister, slit her wrists while a captive; several others
escaped and then sued the deprogrammers and the parents. Although juries and
police were consistently lenient, some judges were less sympathetic. When
communities and state legislators attempted to control cults--for example by
blocking real estate deals or requiring that “churches” file financial records,
civil libertarians and politicians pointed to the first amendment. Some of the
richer and more powerful cults joined together, hired lawyers and public
relations people, and mounted strong criticism. They alleged that deprogrammers
overcharged parents and abused cultists. Thus opponents of cult controls
steadily gained in strength.
Marj’s anguish about Carole intensified. “I’d do
anything to get her out!” My belief in the power of non-violence and in
freedom of religious choice further hurt her terribly. She was torn, as was I.
Rather reluctantly I relaxed my scruples. “O.K. Let’s do it right this time.
Forget the cost.”
“Enid Palmer”
From her irregular phone calls we knew that Carole was now
fund-raising somewhere in the Los Angeles area. “Evan and Betty Nordstrom,” as
I’ll call them here, were recommended to us as helpful resources, staunch cult
opponents. They had lost a daughter to the Unification Church and then rescued
her. We flew out and consulted. They were understanding, supportive, and very
consoling as they described their own experience.
”'Enid Palmer' (not her real
name) is a fine, reliable, mature, and experienced deprogrammer. She’s a former
Moonie. She knows them inside out. She lives in Pasadena. Check her out.”
We did check her out—very thoroughly. We flew her to
Philadelphia. She was a poised, self-assured, affable but business-like woman in
her early thirties. We liked her immediately. We told her about Carole as a
person. She told us how she conducted a rescue. She stressed respect and
kindness toward the cultist. No Ted Patrick shock treatment. She relied heavily
on presenting facts about the Unification Church. We checked out her references.
We were satisfied. Let’s give it a try.
The Plan
It took several months for us and Enid to develop a plan.
To start with, Enid knew where the Moonies owned a house in which Carole might
be staying. Armed with a picture of Carole Dole, she staked it out. On several
mornings she spotted a tall young woman who along with other Moonies climbed
into one of several vans. This girl resembled the picture of Carole.
Next Enid lined up two more deprogrammers, “Mike Inscom,” a
former Moonie, and “Ted Savage,” once a member of the Church of Scientology.
Mike lived nearby, Ted in Minnesota. “George,” a security man she trusted, was
in Buffalo, New York, and “Mohammed,” a second experienced guard, lived in
Canada. We learned later that Muhammad had once been bodyguard for an Arab
leader until he was overthrown. George was a professional wrestler.
Enid had the use of a large house while her parents were on
vacation: A window of opportunity. She laid in a supply of food for eight people
and rented two vans.
When Carole called in July, her mother said,
“How about giving me a phone
number so I can call you on your birthday?”
Amazingly, after consulting her supervisor, Carole,
pleased, agreed. Carole’s birthday is August 13.
A flurry of phone calls followed. From Marj to her travel
agent. From Enid to Buffalo, Minnesota, and Canada. From Art to the bank and the
kennel. The logistics were too complicated to recall in further detail here.
For the plan to succeed we needed to be sure that on her
birthday Carole was indeed at the Moonie house and that Carole and her
chaperones thought her mother and I were in Ardmore, Pennsylvania. In case the
wary Moonies checked out our whereabouts I stayed home to answer the phone and
Marj flew alone to Los Angeles. The rescue team was ready. Our hearts
accelerated.
The Snatch
Waiting for the Call
Anxiously I eyed the phone and paced the house all day on
August 13. It did not ring until dark. Marj had mixed news. She had reached
Carole early that morning from a public phone in a noisy hospital waiting room.
After she heard the conventional birthday greetings, Carole asked suspiciously,
"What's all that noise?"
"Oh, I'm calling from the
hospital. That's the cleaning woman.”
That was not entirely a lie, since she knew that Marj was
chief microbiologist at Pennsylvania Hospital. Carole had no idea her mother was
in a hospital 3000 miles from Philadelphia. Or that an actual cleaning woman was
vacuuming near the telephone Marj was using.
A few minutes later, Marj told me, the rescue team sat in
two parked vans, where, inconspicuously. they could observe the Moonie house and
talk via walkie talkies. Several vans filled with Moonies drove off to breakfast
at a Jack in the Box. No Carole. So the rescue crew drove all the way to
Riverside where Carole had said (lied) that she was going. Again no Carole. Marj
was disappointed, upset to the point of tears.
The next day, as I learned later, Marj and her team set up
again near the Moonie house. Here’s her recollection.
”We were pretty sure we saw
Carole get in a white van. The two black vans followed it, making many turns,
going on a freeway and then taking an exit. But Carole’s van driver was clearly
lost and he was winding over many back roads with little or no traffic. The
driver of my van, George, was petrified that he would be obvious in the rear
mirror of the white van so he decided he would have to drop out and go back to
Enid’s place—which he did. I was beside myself: All that time, effort and money
to no avail. In tears I sat with George in the living room.
“Suddenly, the phone rang. It was
Enid. She had been able to follow Carole’s van to a shopping mall where Carole
was let off to sell paintings. George and I quickly drove to the mall, parked at
some distance from our quarry and peered through a telescope. Sure enough, it
was Carole and she was by herself.”
* * *
I was sitting in our bedroom about one p.m. with the air
conditioner mulling and Kala panting beside me, when the phone rang.
“The rescue worked! Would you
like to talk to your daughter?”
Bingo!
After Carole hung up on me, I called American Airlines, was
able to book a flight, phoned Marj to arrange to be picked up in Los Angeles,
locked up our house, stopped the mail, placed a big fat envelope in my breast
pocket, and rushed to Philadelphia International Airport. I was nervous about
that envelope because it contained a huge wad of crisp new bills--the payroll
for the rescue team. As the continent passed below me in the perpetual sunset, I
worried about all the things that might go wrong in this crazy adventure. I felt
like a CIA agent.
The Deprogramming
The involuntary deprogramming in Pasadena was completely
different from the one near San Francisco three years before. Carole was scared
and defiant, so angry at us she barely spoke. She refused to eat, even her
birthday cake.
Enid reassured her. “What you’ve been told about
deprogramming is false. We won’t harm you. Your parents will be right here. As
former Moonies, Mike and I have a lot of information to share with you. Ted was
in Scientology; he’s going to tell you about brainwashing.”
“I’m not brainwashed. This is
illegal. Let me go. I suppose these guys,” pointing to Muhammad and George, “are
here to make friends.”
“They won’t harm you. They will
make sure we aren’t interrupted while we discuss what we have to tell you.”
That night Carole slept in a room with her mother. When she
used the adjacent bathroom, Marj watched to guard against self-harm or escape.
Carole wept and prayed for strength from Father. Meanwhile Muhammad stretched
his muscular frame across the stairs. George guarded the downstairs and the
grounds from intruders. The following morning Carole and her three
deprogrammers sat together in Enid’s comfortable living room. Marj and I read
(if we could) on the pleasant patio; we could make out the Rose Bowl in the far
distance. Muhammad and George lounged near the exits.
We could hear the even tone of conversation in the living
room but not the words. Sometimes there was laughter but no screaming or crying.
From time to time Mike or Enid emerged to give us a progress report. They were
reviewing Lifton’s chapter on the essential characteristics of brainwashing
(Lifton, 1961). They were discussing Moonie doctrine and practices. “But we
don’t criticize Rev. Moon directly.”
As we ate dinner together, Carole broke her fast and
finished with a piece of the birthday cake. Though serious and pensive, she
became involved, seeming to realize that Enid, Mike, and Ted were genuine and
that perhaps she could trust them even though they were wrong. We were cautioned
that sometimes cultists at this stage feign cooperation in order to grasp an
opportunity to escape when the rescue team is off its guard.
The next morning Marj reported that Carole had cried during
the night.
“I was wrong. I’m a fool.”
She was especially perturbed by discrepancies Mike and Enid
had pointed out to her in Moon doctrine; his divinity was perhaps questionable.
As the discussion continued in the living room Carole decided she would resign
from the Unification Church. Within 36 hours she had changed from zealot back to
college girl. As she sat down to write her letter to the U. C., Marj and I were
jubilant; our daughter had been rescued.
After
Floating
The repercussions of Carole’s rescue both for our daughter
and for us continue to this day. For Carole the first major step after the
successful rescue was to make sure she did not return to the Unification Church.
The rescue team advised us that ex-cultists experience frightening flashbacks,
called floating, after they have been deprogrammed. A reminder such as the
thought of Church teaching about those who leave—terrible punishments, severe
illness, satanic fire—trips a terrifying flashback. Hearing a casual dirty joke
or drinking a glass of wine can return the ex-cultist to her former conscious
state—guilt.
The rescue team took us and Carole to a local diner for a
victory breakfast. There was much joking with waves of laughter. Suddenly Enid
and Mike got up from our booth and rushed outside with Carole.
“What’s happening?”
“She’s floating,” Ted explained.
“It’s very common after a successful deprogramming. Something caused a
flashback. Enid and Mike will help her to regain control.”
The three returned. Carole looked scared. But then she
seemed to perk up. And we all returned to our hashed browns and wise cracks.
Rehabilitation
Enid recommended a farm for cult victims in Boise, Idaho.
With Mike as chaperone Marj and I and Carole flew to Idaho. Mike, a small dark
haired, personable young man who was studying social work, was good company. He
told us something of his days as a mid-level U.C. administrator. Carole was
shocked to hear about the hypocrisy and male chauvinism of Moonie leadership.
Money, not doctrine, was what mattered. Her long dormant passion for feminism
began to return.
In Boise, Mike left us, Marj, Carole and I moved into a big
two story farm house with a large lot and swimming pool. A high wall discretely
hid the lot from outside view. The manager, a retired minister, and his staff
were warm and friendly but alert for intruders or unplanned departures by their
guests. Food was ample . Guests could sleep late in the morning. One or more
staff were always present during the day and chaperoned on scheduled excursions
to the city. For two weeks Carole relaxed, rode horses, bought new clothes,
went to a bar, drank a beer, danced, and played games with the three other
guests. She was beginning to relearn the basics of adolescent life. The farm
staff counseled her in individual and group settings. They encouraged intensive
reading about cults and mind control in the center’s carefully selected library.
Until we left, after the first week, we had time to become reacquainted with our
daughter. A heart-warming experience.
Among the other guests one had been in the Way, another in
Scientology, and a third had been a devotee of Hare Krishna. As trust and
friendships developed each told about life in the cult. Carole was impressed
with the similarities in recruiting, in deception, in mind altering methods, and
in doctrines among cults. Each of these ex-cultists had been deeply wounded. For
instance, “Harry Adams,” once a star lineman and honors student at Dartmouth,
could not concentrate, could not make sense of the daily paper. His cognitive
abilities had been addled by hours and hours every day of chanting his mantra,
“om, om.” He and the others made evident progress while we were there. But
floating and emotional outbursts were common.
One of the staff, I’ll call him “Adam Adonis,” guarded the
only exit at bed time and chaperoned nights in town. He had been a high ranking
official in the Canadian branch of the Unification Church for several years. He
also shared his experiences. Adam, a tall handsome blond fellow in his late
twenties, made a strong impression. He confessed that while his crew was
fund-raising in the streets and bars of Toronto, secretly Adam snuck off to
enjoy the good life—wine, filet mignon for lunch, and porno movies in the
afternoon, all paid for courtesy of his missionaries. The lesson: Cults are
corrupt and abusive. And even powerful adult men can be ensnared.
A week after our stay at the farm we drove to the airport
to pick up our daughter. We were apprehensive. She had to change planes in Fort
Worth. Would the Moonies find her? On her own for the first time, would she
seize the chance to go back to her former group? To our relief, she was first to
deplane.
For several weeks after she settled in, Moonie friends
telephoned, urging her to rejoin the Church. Politely she declined. And she
wrote the Moonie house in Los Angeles requesting the return of her personal
possessions. Finally they complied.
Victories for independence regained.
Toward Normalcy
The road back to normalcy was not easy for our daughter.
For a year she lived again in her old room. At 24 she faced the usual
developmental tasks of a late adolescent: Finding a vocation, finding a life
partner, finding a philosophy of life, finding confidence and autonomy, and
finding new social relationships. In addition to adapting to a world that she
had left for five years, she had to cope with intense feelings. She was angry,
angry at the Unification Church, angry at herself. And she was scared and
vulnerable. She felt guilty about using heavenly deception, about the dollars
she had conned from poor Latin Americans. As her parents, Marj and I represented
a sensitive problem.
On the one hand, she felt ashamed because she had failed
while on her own in California against our wishes. And now we were clearly
apprehensive that she would regress; her occasional floating was terrifying to
all of us. On the other hand, she craved full independence but realized she was
not ready. We three had many intense discussions. As parents we tottered to find
the balance between sensible protection, encouragement, and hands off. She
relived her experiences by writing them down. And therapy little by little
strengthened her. Good group counseling with social workers Linda and Bill
Goldberg and individual sessions with clinical psychologist Margaret Singer
helped immensely.
During that first year of her regained independence, Carole
became a professional exit counselor. She became an articulate expert on the
abuses of deception and coercive mind control. She was a dramatic example of how
a normal well-balanced person could get ensnared by an abusive group. With Steve
Hassan, Harry Adams, and others she learned how to help young women and men who
had been trapped by a cult. Our home became a center for former cultists. She
assembled her own library of counter cult material. And she flew off all over
the country to rescue victims of abusive groups, She joined us at local and
national counter cult meetings; she lectured at schools, colleges, and churches.
She appeared on radio and television. She earned enough to buy a new wardrobe
and small indulgences. She matured, learned how to speak to large groups,
acquired increased confidence and authority.
Mind Control
One lovely spring Sunday, Carole, and Marj and I were
driving home from Lancaster. We had made a presentation at a church. Carole had
recalled in vivid language the story of her sudden transformation from butterfly
to hustler
The nice kids at Berkeley
had been so friendly, so concerned with ecology (her college major), that she
was excited at the opportunity they offered her to visit their farm in
Booneville, 60 miles north of San Francisco, just for the weekend. At the farm
everybody was extremely friendly; they lavished her with praise and attention.
One girl, Amy, was almost like a big sister. Amy stayed with her during the
games, the singing, and the lectures that continued intensely from morning to
late at night. At the end of the weekend, Carole agreed when Amy suggested she
stay “a few more days.”
After a week, Carole announced
that she needed to return to San Francisco. “Carole,” Amy accused her, “you’re
selfish.” Carole, shaken, decided to stay “just a little more.” In two weeks
of calculated and scripted pressure Carole heard not one word about Sun Myung
Moon or the Unification Church. She did hear a great deal from long and tedious
staff lectures and from Amy and her fellow campers about the importance of
leading a pure life and about the evils of society. Because of the long hours
and a bland diet she felt tired and fuzzy headed.
The Moonies encouraged her to
meditate alone on a hillside. In her words, “After so many days of endless
lectures, work, and scripted group meetings, always accompanied by at least one
group member, being alone was like that moment you stop getting hit on the head
with a hammer.” She broke down. She wept. See, the Moonies insisted, God is
telling you to join us in our important work. She was overwhelmed with love for
her fellow campers and with excitement at her new commitment. She would help to
build a better world.
For several weeks she joined
the camp staff in entertaining new “guests.” Then she was informed: Because of
your exceptional qualities you have been chosen to go to Barrytown, New York for
training as a missionary: Cheers, smiles, hugs all around. She had no idea what
a Unification Church missionary did.
“”Had I known before my
emotional breakdown that this camp was run by the Unification Church, “she
explained to the congregation, “I would not have touched it with a ten foot
pole.”
The Suit
We drove away from Lancaster. I broke the silence.
“You were quite eloquent today,
Carole.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Are you sure you did not know
when you went to the farm in California that your conversion was scripted by the
Moonies?”
“I wouldn't have touched the
Unification Church with a 10 foot pole!” She spoke emphatically.
“That’s deception in
merchandising. Why don’t you sue?”
And Carole did sue.
After years of lawyers, judges, depositions, hearings,
appeals, and counter suits, the Unification Church settled (Cf. Molko, et al,
vs. Holy Spirit Association, 1989, as cited in Abraham Nievod’s summary, 1993,
in contract and probate law of undue influence by totalistic groups.) Carole
now has a pleasant stock portfolio to show for her five years as an unpaid
missionary.
Consequences
Besides the Moonie settlement and the gratification of
helping other cult victims after her rescue, there were other positive
consequences for Carole. She capitalized on opportunities to give back to the
Latin American poor whom she had once scammed. When she resumed her higher
education, she chose Spanish as one of her majors and to satisfy a living abroad
requirement chose Mexico. After half a year living with a Mexican doctor and his
family, she became quite fluent; when she graduated she earned a master's in
Teaching English as a Second Language. Several years after she married Colombian
Santiago Ruiz, they moved with their two sons to a suburb of Bogotá. Together
they collaborated in founding AGUA, a non governmental organization. AGUA's
mission was to help campesinos help themselves and to promote sound agricultural
practices. In forwarding this enterprise, Carole capitalized on the skills in
fund-raising and in leadership she had mastered in the Moonies. Of course, she
abandoned deception in soliciting donors.
Also the healthy settlement from Moon helped Carole and her
husband to devote seven years to these ventures.
The Ruizes have moved to Minnesota, where Carole has
completed her doctorate. She is a research specialist for a national research
institute and an adjunct associate professor at a local university. Her current
professional concern is the education of Spanish speaking immigrant children. I
think she has much more than compensated for the phony crucifixes she once
palmed off on Latinas "for a donation." Thus, some of Carole's terrible
experiences as a Moonie many years ago continue to contribute positively to her
activities today.
Comment
Over the past three or four decades cultic groups, counter
cult organizations, victims and their families, scholars of cultic behaviors,
and supportive specialists have changed. One example of many, because of
litigation and official inquiries some intense religious groups have modified
their practices in recruitment and fund-raising, while deprogrammers (the term
has come to imply "kidnapping") have largely been replaced by exit consultants
and rehabilitationists. As described by Kent and Szimhart (2002) and Giambalvo
(1995), today parents like Marj and me, if their loved one appears to be the
victim of a controversial ideological group, can more easily find an
experienced, ethical exit consultant who will gently and respectfully and
without restraint encourage freedom of mind.
References
Dole, A. A. (2002). Senior papers. Haverford, PA:
Infinity Press
Giambalvo, C. (1995). Exit counseling. A family
intervention. Bonita Springs, Florida: American Family Foundation
Kent, S. A., & Szimhart, J. P. (2002) Exit counseling and
the decline of deprogramming. Cultic Studies Review, 1(3), 241-291.
Lifton, R. J. (1961). Thought reform and the psychology
of totalism. New York: Norton.
Nievod, A. (1993). Undue influence in contract and probate
law. Cultic Studies Journal, 10(1), 1-18.
|
