Not Without My Sister

by Kristina Jones, Celeste Jones, Juliana Buhring

  I cringed at having to accompany him knowing it would not be pretty. My fears were not unfounded. As we sat in a McDonald's in London, Dad was confrontational and con-descending. "How could you persecute the Family?"

  Mum defended herself.

  "Celeste has been abused; I was concerned for her safety," Mum said.

  "Abused? Ridiculous," Dad retorted. "She's a virgin." I wondered why neither of them asked me that question directly as they battled it out.

  "No she's not. She's been made to have sex with men; it was the belief of David Berg. He molested his own grand-daughter, Mene."

  "That's ridiculous."

  The discussion made me uncomfortable and I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and came back twenty minutes later to find them still arguing. I saw that Mum was clearly unhappy but had to leave and get back home. She handed Dad a letter detailing her thoughts and feelings.

  Mum gave me a hug and handed me a bag with a couple of books about cults and the Children of God. "I've highlighted some parts that I thought were good. Please read them if you get the chance." I nodded. Of course, I didn't read them—I was too afraid that I would be poisoned by the Devil's doubts.

  As Mum walked away, I pulled Dad aside. "I can't believe you actually think I'm a virgin," I said.

  'Well, aren't you?" he asked.

  "Well, no actually, I'm not. You should have asked me before saying it. Things did happen."

  "Really?" Dad stuttered. "I...I didn't know."

  Dad did not pursue the subject further and I did not offer any more information. In fact, I realized that the only time we had talked about sex was once in India on my fifteenth birth-day. He told me he thought fifteen was a bit young to have children. There were quite a few fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds in the Family who were falling pregnant, and Dad didn't want that to happen to me. I agreed.

  Later that evening Dad called his parents, Glen and Penny. It had been fifteen years since they had seen him, when they visited us in Loveville, Greece. Glen invited us to stay over the Christmas holiday week, and Juliana and I met our extended family and relatives for the first time. My sister Kristina lived not too far away, and Dad and I went over to spend an evening with her and my brother David at her small, but cosy house. Her son Jordan was now three years old. "His curls are gone," I said, remembering his adorable ringlets from before. Kristina cooked us lasagne, and that night was the first time I truly enjoyed talking with my sister, reading her poems, looking at family pictures, and get-ting to know her. When we left, I told her I would stay in touch.

  A week later, I had to say goodbye to Dad and Juliana when they left for Japan. As I waited for clearance to join them there, I decided to start raising money for my fare. I was tired of busking or going shop-to-shop being a Family salesperson, so I did something daring. I persuaded Ricky and Elaine to let me join a temping agency, Office Angels. Before, under Mo's rule, this would have been unheard of. But now the group was more flexible. They agreed I could give it a try. The next day I was called to fill a PA position at JVC headquarters.

  Up to this point, I had not really known what it was like to interact normally with people outside the group. Instead of mean, backstabbing, evil people like the Traumatic Testimonies had said all Systemites were, I discovered that I enjoyed my conversations with my co-workers, who were considerate, decent, and hardworking.

  This was my first taste of freedom, of earning my own money and truly being appreciated for my work. I realized that I had skills that could support me, and my confidence grew.

  Something else happened too. For the previous six years, I had remained celibate. I was lucky that I had been able to avoid any unwanted dates for so long. But a few days before my flight to Tokyo, I ended up talking late into the night with Elaine's son, Richard. We had first met in Japan when I was thirteen. We got on well, and I found him cute and engaging. He also happened to be sleeping on his own in the living room that night. One thing led to another and we ended up having passionate sex until five in the morning. As the dawn broke, we were starving and snuck out to the kitchen for a snack.

  This was the sex I wanted—mutual attraction and true desire, spontaneous and enjoyable, not a physical chore that had to be scheduled. And when I arrived in Japan in April 1995, I had a new outlook and perspective on life. I tried my hardest to remain true to myself and my feelings and not just follow the dictates of others, but standing up for myself took every ounce of strength in me and I didn't always succeed. Sometimes the pressure would get to me and I would give in.

  * * *

  It was the most surreal feeling going back to the Heavenly City School I had left eight years earlier. Everything was the same as I remembered it.

  Over the next two years, I threw myself into my work, scripting Family Fun shows and planning the filming schedule. However, there were many things that unsettled me. I met again men who triggered painful memories from my childhood: Michael, Patience's husband, Jeremy Spencer, Peruvian Manuel and Paul Peloquin. I was disturbed that they still so brazenly flirted with me. I avoided them as much as I could but there was a part of me that was desperate to confront them about what they had done. I suffered from bouts of depression and often fantasized about killing myself.

  I desperately needed someone to talk to and I found an unlikely friend in Francis. He was fifty years old and a single father to his ten-year-old son. He was like a big teddy bear and I felt safe with him. This friendship was important because up until this point I had had a deep-seated mistrust of men, and thought all "older" men were dirty and sleazy with ulterior motive‘. But with Francis I could be myself completely without the fear of being taken advantage of. During my most difficult times, he was a shoulder to cry on.

  This is what I had missed and wanted in a father. For so many years I had missed my dad terribly and longed to be with him, but it was too late to regain what had been lost. Even though we lived together at the School, we barely saw each other. He was busy with his new family, and I had my own life and work.

  The only times I would speak with him were at the dinner table. One evening he told me that he had received a letter from Davida, our half-sister in Athens. The letter she wrote was angry and hurting. She felt abandoned by her father. I asked him what had happened.

  "Well, honey, she wrote to me a few months ago. She wanted to know why I never sent her birthday cards or letters," Dad explained. "I wrote back saying that I had a new family now."

  "You said that?" I was shocked at his insensitivity. "You should have let me help you write the letter to her, Dad," I said. "No wonder she was hurt! You should have apologized to her and understood why she felt that way."

  "Well..." He did not have an answer to that.

  "You need to write to her again," I said. "She needs to know that you care." Dad assured me he would.

  Two years later, I found out that Dad had not kept his word to stay in contact with Davida, and she had become severely depressed and had turned to drugs. I could barely look my father in the eyes. I was angry that he had neglected his children and refused to acknowledge that the children he fathered were his responsibility. All he had were excuses.

  "If this is what resulted from the Law of Love, then it was wrong," I told him, but he never took me seriously. Dad could not consider the possibility that anything our prophet said might be wrong.

  In reality, I found that I had little in common with him anymore. I was no longer daddy's little girl.

  Chapter 20

  Kristina

  My campaign continued. Together with Ian Howarth, who had started Cult Information Center, I was a guest on the Richard and Judy Show. As the camera turned on me, my heart pounded so much I feared the mike would pick it up; but once we started talking I felt more relaxed, knowing Ian was beside me.

  During the show Richard asked me why it was that the perpetrators of the abuse had not been jailed.

  "It's very hard to bring them to court," I answered, "because in the cult, they c
hange their names many times. The cult hides them from the outside world and moves them around within the communes."

  "Was it difficult to adjust to life outside the cult?" Judy asked.

  "I did not know what was right from wrong. Your whole foundation of life is suddenly taken from you and you don't know what to believe." Once I started talking, my nervous-ness faded.

  Richard ended the show by asking me, "Would you categorize yourself now as basically adjusted and normal?"

  "I'm a survivor," I answered smiling.

  After the show Ian commented that I had spoken with conviction and clarity. This gave me more confidence to con-front the Family's spokespeople, Gideon and Rachel Scott, alone on GMTV.

  To my surprise, a few days before the show, Dad called me. He was in England! I was pleased to hear from him and updated him on my latest news. Then the conversation turned to the inevitable—why was I persecuting the Family, his family?

  "Didn't you read my letters?" I asked.

  He skirted around the subject, so I asked about Celeste and his other children. I was delighted to hear that Celeste was also with him. I informed him that I would be in London to appear on a TV program and suggested we meet at my hotel for dinner.

  I put the phone down, very excited.

  The big day that I had been waiting for my whole life finally arrived. Before I left for London, I dressed carefully and stared into the mirror. I felt I was a daughter he could be proud of—and I wanted that so much. I checked into the hotel and waited anxiously for Dad in the restaurant, but I got a message to say he was running late, so I ate on my own. I hoped he wouldn't flunk this—I had waited so long.

  Wandering around the lobby I spotted him by the lift. I recognized him immediately. He apologized for being late and we hugged somewhat awkwardly. We sat down and I had so much to say, I cut to the chase. I explained—just as I had done in my letters to him—about my traumatic childhood. He looked genuinely upset when I described what Joshua and a lot of the men had done to me.

  "That's horrible, I am so sorry." He was shaking and said, "I could hit them." This reaction was the one I had hoped for.

  "But David Berg started the whole thing, Dad! He wrote it down in black and white in the Mo Letters!"

  Dad looked cornered and started to shake his head in denial. What I had learned about cult members was con-firmed when I saw how he had suddenly "switched" as soon as I accused David Berg and criticized the Law of Love. His loyalty to the leader was total and illogical. He would not accept his spiritual father was a pervert, insisting that he was motivated by love.

  "Love?" I almost spat. "That wasn't love. It was a per-version. You really have no idea, do you, Dad, because you're in total denial, what that type of 'love' did to me—how badly it damaged me." I broke down in tears and went to the Ladies to recover myself.

  When I got back, he had bought us both a drink. I stood just out of sight, watching him. His shoulders drooped and his head was forward—he looked so sad and alone. I saw then that he would find it almost impossible to deny what he had spent a lifetime defending.

  I sat down and picked up my drink and sipped a little. At some points, his own personality shone through, a funny, engaging man who was good company. But when I mentioned anything negative about the cult he would just shut down and trot out the party line, which was so ingrained in him.

  I told him with heartfelt sincerity how much I had missed him, how as a child I had treasured his letters and was proud when I listened to Music with Meaning I still had a copy of the Child of Love drama he narrated, which I played to my son at Christmas.

  He smiled and looked happy. "It's wonderful being a grandfather! I'd love to meet my grandson," he enthused.

  I sensed that he was vulnerable. He had devoted his whole life to the group. Part of me felt sorry for him. The other part was angry and needed answers. It hurt knowing that as an "enemy," he would always be two-faced towards me and I wished that he could be as honest with me as I was trying to be with him.

  I noticed that he did not ask too many questions. What I thought or felt did not seem to matter and he made it clear that I would never change his mind.

  At one point he said, "Can't we just agree to disagree?" I nodded. "Okay, if that's what you want."

  We showed each other pictures of our families. I asked if he had any pictures of David and me as children. Eagerly, he fished into his pocket—and it made me smile that he kept them on him.

  As I looked at pictures of Celeste, I said, "You know, Dad, it was really sad being separated from her for so long. We just weren't allowed to be sisters—and it's hard to undo the past. All those missing years will never be recovered."

  "I'm sorry," he said simply.

  "And you can have no idea how it hurt me to know that you didn't protest when I was put on a list to be prayed against. Did you actually want me to die or be harmed in some way?"

  He could not answer, and just gazed steadfastly at his feet. I wondered what he was thinking, what strange thoughts must be going through his mind—or perhaps he was thinking of nothing. Or he might even have been praying against my words.

  We lost track of the time. The hotel bar was closing. "Oh no, I've missed my tube," he realized.

  "You're welcome to stay in my room," I offered. I could not believe it when he agreed. On the way up in the lift, I said, "I'll sleep on the floor, and you can have the bed."

  "No, I don't mind sleeping on the floor," he replied. "I was a hippie. I'm used to roughing it."

  We laughed. He had twisted my arm. I was so happy to be spending time with Dad my head was spinning. Then he remembered, "I better phone Celeste or she'll be worried."

  He was on the phone with her for nearly an hour. He allowed me to speak with her and when he put the phone down he chuckled. "She's a bit worried and maybe a bit jealous that I'm here with you."

  He gave me the impression that they were as tight as net curtains and said that she and Juliana wrapped him round their little fingers.

  We laughed again and while we brushed our teeth he said, "You're a nice person."

  "So you don't think I'm a witch or a demon?" I raised my eyebrows.

  "I...never thought you were a witch...I didn't ..believe," he mumbled.

  "Don't believe if they ever say it again, Dad." I shook my finger at him.

  He said he wouldn't, hugged me—and said goodnight.

  Dad was up at 5 a.m. the next morning. Room service brought my breakfast of coffee and croissants. He asked if I would pray with him and I said yes. With his eyes shut tight, he started reciting whole portions of the Bible and Mo Letters for the next half an hour. I quietly nibbled a croissant and occasionally chimed in an "Amen." When he had finished, I complimented him on his impressive memory.

  "One day in the Endtime all that will be left of the Bible is what is hidden in our hearts," he said.

  The car was coming at 7 a.m. to take me to the studio, so we decided to grab a coffee in Covent Garden. I was tired and jittery. As we crossed the Strand, instinctively he took my hand. I smiled. At the age of eighteen I was finally holding my Daddy's hand.

  We said our goodbyes as I jumped into the car waiting to take me to the studios. I pondered how cults demand unconditional love for the group and leader, which takes the place of their own family, and it made me incredibly sad. But this meeting gave me hope. Before I went into make-up, an "excited little Nina" told Ian Howarth about the last four-teen hours with Dad.

  He knew how much this meant to me. "Does that mean you've changed your mind?" he half teased.

  "Don't think so," I said. I was happy to have met my father but I had not changed my mind about the Family. Bring it on I thought.

  That year I was awarded X5,000 by the Criminal Injuries Compensation Board for the abuse I had suffered in the cult whilst a child in the UK. The money did not matter

  to me as much as the precedent it set. This award was to be part of the discussion on the show.

  The h
osts of GMTV, Eamonn Holmes and Anthea Turner, opened the show with a picture of me on the front page of the Daily Mail and the Guardian.

  "The front page of the Daily Mail yesterday focused on the story of eighteen-year-old Kristina Jones. Kristina is here with us in the studio this morning," Eamonn Holmes introduced. "The leaders of the group, Gideon and Rachel Scott, are on the show with us too."

  He turned to me asking, "Will the money in any way go towards easing your pain?"

  "I don't think any amount of money will make up for the twelve years that I lost," I answered. I was nervous with Gideon and Rachel sitting so close to me.

  When Gideon was asked what he thought about it, he answered, "If s difficult for us to comment on Kristina's allegations, because even though she has been awarded this X5,000, these allegations have never been tested in a court of law"

  Eamonn Holmes thought this statement was bizarre, considering it was a court that awarded my compensation. "Surely there must have been some validity for the judge to make the award," he commented.