Justice vs. YWAM
Last night I had a dream about YWAM. I was back on the base in South Australia with my own team, my own people, in our own quarters. When I walked around there were so many new faces, faces that broke my heart because YWAM was still enlisting new naive recruits and yet all these faces knew me and whispered under their breath a hushed recognition that I was the great "troublemaker".
In the dream there were also familiar faces- people I was betrayed by- and voices of my abusers echoed in the hallways. Panic tried to grip me, people tried to push me out- force my hand to act out in anger, but I kept moving.
The dream then cut to a familiar hall and a familiar stage where Pablo Nunez was giving some kind of sermon and I rushed the stage and took his place wearing a robe with a long train and every inch of that train signified a testimony of abuse within YWAM. I began to speak to the new recruits, imploring them to think about the kind of God they serve and to think if what YWAM was asking of them fit with the image of a loving paternal/maternal figure. People, people I knew, began to rush the stage to push me off, carry me off, I don't know; but I threw them off the stage and continued speaking as if my life was on the line.
Then the dream cut to me back at home, starting to draw up a document- a petition of sorts- asking for people who had been abused by YWAM, particularly YWAM Australia, to document their stories that it might be used to demand reform.
In the dream there were also familiar faces- people I was betrayed by- and voices of my abusers echoed in the hallways. Panic tried to grip me, people tried to push me out- force my hand to act out in anger, but I kept moving.
The dream then cut to a familiar hall and a familiar stage where Pablo Nunez was giving some kind of sermon and I rushed the stage and took his place wearing a robe with a long train and every inch of that train signified a testimony of abuse within YWAM. I began to speak to the new recruits, imploring them to think about the kind of God they serve and to think if what YWAM was asking of them fit with the image of a loving paternal/maternal figure. People, people I knew, began to rush the stage to push me off, carry me off, I don't know; but I threw them off the stage and continued speaking as if my life was on the line.
Then the dream cut to me back at home, starting to draw up a document- a petition of sorts- asking for people who had been abused by YWAM, particularly YWAM Australia, to document their stories that it might be used to demand reform.
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Reform...what might that even look like? It might look like accountability. Someone checking in, keeping track, and removing those who abuse from positions of power. It might look like rules and regulations being set in place to ensure that people are not overworked, there being enough food for everyone, living conditions being up to code. It might look like government getting involved. It might look like the collapse of an international organization.
I can confidently say that I have healed from the trauma I incurred during my time in YWAM. But where is the justice? What was done to me was an injustice. What was done to so many others was an injustice. And the fact that it continues on going unchecked is the greatest injustice. To what am I referencing? How bad was it actually?
I've heard stories of thick chains and padlocks being put on fridges. I've heard stories of there only being so much food to go around and mass percentages of people going without food at their base. I've experienced what I termed as "mandatory fasting". I've experienced living conditions that put one at serious risk; the 8ft stain of black mold in my room that was left ignored, and the extra charging of space heaters I couldn't afford even though temperatures were well below freezing and we were living in a building built in the 1800s. I've heard stories of people being forced to walk barefoot in the streets of Paris, shit in the streets and beg for their food to humble themselves. I've experienced being placed in dangerous villages run by the Russian mob tasked with the job of "finding out information", us a bunch of foreigners in our 20's, in order to humble us. I've heard stories of people being forced into non-consensual exorcisms. I've experienced the withholding of food as punishment. I've seen people be forced to confess their sins in front of crowds to publicly shame them. I've seen a gay couple sent to opposite corners of the country and forced to receive "counseling". I've been forced to drink unclean water to humble myself. And I've heard far far worse and I know that far far worse has gone on. This is only the physical side of it, this doesn't even begin to cover the spiritual, emotional, mental, and verbal abuse that goes on.
It took me a long time to break free of my own case of Stockholm syndrome, to stop defending my attackers and call them what they are- "Abusers"- and call my experience what it was- "abuse". How much longer would it take for those still trapped? How much longer would it take for those who have been in power in YWAM to acknowledge the countless stories of pain and suffering? And in the end... what does justice look like after all?
I've healed, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten. I so badly want it all to end. I confess, I'd love to see the collapse of the organization. I'd love to see it taken before a court and called to account for its years of abuse. Many will say, and indeed have said, that one cannot forget the countless good that has come about because of YWAM. Yes, but for all the good a father may do, for all the love he imparts to his children, it only takes one rape or one act of molestation to sentence that man to prison. In the eyes of the law, no amount of good undoes or discredits the crime. And crime deserves reckoning.
I don't know where this goes. I don't know if I'll attempt to act upon my dreams of reform. I don't know if I'll start a petition or attempt to collect stories, or what I'd do with them if I got them. All I know is what I'm going to continue to do with my story. I intend to share it. Let them say I am The Great Troublemaker. I welcome it.