New Beginnings, After Seven Years

I grew up learning to hate the media.

According to the religious doctrine of the Exclusive Brethren, the sect in which I was raised, the media represent a direct instrument of the devil. Leaders issued dire warnings about a “pipeline of filth” that contaminates all those who draw near.

Television and radio were banned. Newspapers were mostly avoided, and we were told to read them standing up so we didn’t get too comfortable engaging with the world. Access to the Internet was tightly controlled by the church.

Thou shalt not… Hundreds of Exclusive Brethren were punished for sneaking a peak at Charles and Diana’s wedding on TV in 1981.

Hundreds of Brethren were punished in 1981 for watching the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer on TV. As a young child years later, I remember standing in front of a shop window to block a friend’s view of the television inside – I was concerned he’d be tempted to watch the screen.

My own punishment arrived in 2009, when the church threw me out for being gay. I’d come out to the priests a few years earlier, and subsequently endured their attempts to change my sexuality. Those efforts included sending me to live in Australia, where I was placed under the watchful eye of world leader Bruce Hales and drugged by a church doctor.

At the age of 19 I realised I had no future with the Exclusive Brethren and announced I was leaving. The church then “confined” me – the first stage of excommunication – and when it became clear I wouldn’t repent they moved to wash their hands of me entirely. The Brethren carried out the final stage of excommunication and “withdrew” from me on the 31^st of October; that’s seven years ago today.

Learning how to engage with media played a large part in my life for those first few months outside the church. I learnt how to tune a radio dial, and figured out using a TV remote for the first time. It was like learning a foreign language. Yet now, seven years later, my life is bound up with the media in ways I could never have imagined.

Leaving the Brethren was a giant leap into the unknown. However I knew that the way I’d been treated was wrong, and I was determined to speak out for those who were suffering similar treatment at the hands of the church.

A few months after I was thrown out, a 60 Minutes reporter made contact and asked if I’d consider sharing my story. She was researching the Exclusive Brethren, and looking for someone who had recently left the sect to describe what life was like inside.

After some hesitation, I agreed. It was a chance to shine a spotlight on the terrible way the church was treating young people. But it wasn’t an easy call. I knew that going public would sever any chance of maintaining contact with my family; a sacrifice I ultimately accepted.

Speaking to Sarah Hall from 60 Minutes in 2009.

Working with 60 Minutes was my first real introduction to the media world. The reporter and producer on the team went above and beyond to make me feel comfortable, and took a genuine interest in my struggle to establish a new life. They quizzed me about my strengths and goals and later introduced me to their executive producer. Together they recommended I consider becoming a journalist, and offered to support that journey in any way they could.

Being a journalist wasn’t something that had crossed my mind. Yet the more I looked into it, the more appealing it seemed. The following year I enrolled at Auckland University of Technology, armed with a sterling letter of recommendation from 60 Minutes. A few months later I was offered part-time work on the programme. Within the space of two years I’d somehow gone from never having watched TV to working in a TV newsroom.

On the job as a radio reporter for Newshub.

60 Minutes was part of the TV3 stable owned by Mediaworks, and I couldn’t have asked for a better place to explore the outside world. It was a crash course in life. I knew almost nothing about things like politics and popular culture, and became the world’s largest sponge as I soaked up a dizzying array of new information.

My colleagues played a large part in helping me adjust to a new reality. Reporters opened their homes, and became friends and family. Managers offered support. A producer took time one afternoon to teach me about David Bowie; he was horrified when I admitted I knew nothing about the music legend.

Mediaworks offered opportunities I would never have imagined possible when leaving the Exclusive Brethren. From my beginnings with 60 Minutes I moved to the digital news team, and later became a radio reporter. Radio segued into television, where I learnt the ropes producing and reporting for TV. It was a far cry from the days where I felt a duty to “save” my friend from the screen.

Press badge while on assignment in Armenia as a producer for TV3.

Being a journalist has greatly expanded my mind. Over the past five years I’ve been encouraged to challenge and question things – the complete opposite of my upbringing in the church. I’ve watched the newsroom dig into issues that didn’t seem right, and hold the powerful to account.

Today, as chance would have it, isn’t just the anniversary of my final excommunication from the Exclusive Brethren. It’s also the day I begin a new role as Senior Reporter with Fairfax NZ. Moving on feels strange, but it’s time once again to go exploring new horizons.

I’ll always be grateful for the part that Mediaworks has played in my life over the past years. Working in the newsroom restored my faith in humanity, and taught me that the world is full of people who care. (Despite my frequent bouts of workplace cynicism.)

That’s my main message to any Brethren reading this blog. The world is not a cold, dark place, despite what your leaders say. It will not “chew you up and spit you out”. Rather, if you take that leap into the unknown, there will be a great number of people waiting to help and support you in any way they can.

After seven years, I can assure you it’s well worth it.

Drink Makes A Strong Man Stronger

“Drink makes a strong man stronger, and a weak man weaker.”

“These great men, they knew how to handle their drink.”

“You’re not drunk until you can’t walk.”

These were just some of the phrases we heard bandied about while growing up in the Exclusive Brethren (who now refer to themselves as the Plymouth Brethren Christian Church). The sect placed a strong emphasis on the consumption of alcohol, elevating it to a level that was almost spiritual.

Police examine the mangled wreckage of the crash. (Newshub)

It came as no surprise to hear a few days ago that a member of the church has been charged with drink driving over a fatal car crash. A mother and two teens died in June this year when the 4WD they were travelling in veered off the road and hit a tree on Baylys Coast Road in Northland, New Zealand. Four other passengers were injured.

Witnesses suggested the vehicle was driving erratically on a nearby beach a short time earlier. The 49-year-old driver now faces seven charges of drink driving, and one charge of failing to remain at the scene of an accident. He will appear at the Dargaville District Court next week.

L-R: Sadie Stewart, James Wearmouth and Susannah Stewart all died in the crash. (Fairfax)

Susannah Stewart, Sadie Stewart and James Wearmouth appear to be the latest victims of a pervasive culture of drinking that has overshadowed the Exclusive Brethren church for half a century. Yet it hasn’t always been this way.

Until the 1960s, the Brethren were generally teetotallers. Like those in many other conservative religious groups, most members saw alcohol as a vice that was to be avoided. But the rules changed once James Taylor Jnr assumed leadership of the church.

The New York businessman was a shy person, thrust into the limelight following the death of his father, James Taylor Snr, who had led the church for nearly 50 years. Leadership did not come naturally. Shooting back some whiskey helped calm his nerves before leading church services.

Exclusive Brethren behaviour can be like a giant game of “Simon Says”. If the leader cries “jump!” members reply “how high?” When it became clear the new world leader was a drinker, everyone else followed suit. It ushered in an extraordinary period of alcoholism for the church.

James Taylor Jnr photographed at his home with a young Brethren woman. (London Daily Express)

Taylor Jnr’s drinking came to a spectacular head when he slurred and joked his way through church meetings at the Scottish town of Aberdeen in 1970. He was then found in bed with the naked wife of another man. Thousands of Brethren left the church in protest. Unrepentant, Taylor Jnr invited the young woman and her husband to visit him in New York. There, a newspaper photographed him sitting with a drink in one hand while he draped the other over her breast. He died a few months later – a broken, alcohol-soaked shadow of his former self.

Taylor Jnr’s legacy reverberated within the Exclusive Brethren for decades following his death. Drinking became a firmly established part of the church’s culture. Ngaire Thomas describes in her book, “Behind Closed Doors”, how she was pressured to drink while pregnant. My great-grandfather’s brother was excommunicated because he refused to have alcohol in his house. And with good reason – his grandfather had been an alcoholic, and he’d seen how that ended.

We learnt to drink from a young age. Alcohol was a social lubricant, an anti-depressant, and a coping mechanism. A friend confided that he found it difficult to sit through church services unless he’d had a couple of stiff drinks beforehand. My cousins insisted you could tell the measure of a man by how strong he served his drinks. My uncle, who refused to pour a whiskey and coke any stronger than 50/50, was considered a scrooge.

Brethren often used to drive while drunk. It was common for members to have their licenses suspended after being caught driving under the influence. The Brethren were devious about covering their tracks. One crash involved two young men; a church leader whisked them from the scene of the accident, and plied them with more drinks at his home before calling the police. He then explained he’d given them a stiff whiskey because they were shaken by what had happened. It neatly sidestepped any chance of police being able to prove drink driving.

Bruce D. Hales, the current world leader of the Exclusive Brethren. (Sydney Morning Herald)

As in the 1960s, the drinking culture went right to the top. In 2008 I sat next to the current world leader of the church, Bruce D. Hales, as he threw back drinks at a dinner party. Tumblers filled to the brim with whiskey; no mixers, just a handful of ice. I counted at least five, and then we moved on to wine. Afterward, we marvelled at how much he could drink without appearing intoxicated. “It just goes to show the moral strength of these great men, you know.”

More recently, the Brethren have become aware of the dangers of excessive drinking. A string of alcohol-related deaths thrust the issue into the spotlight, and a number of people sought addiction treatment. The church took the unprecedented step of holding seminars to educate members on responsible drinking.

Yet the boozing persists. Earlier this year, Jill Moxham told the Sunday Star Times she knew she had to leave the church before she drank herself to death. That meant leaving behind her six children. And now, three people dead in a car crash.

The bottle is an easy solution for members left with nowhere else to turn. It eases pain, drowns sorrows, and helps take the edge off living in a cruel and repressive system.

What now?

Lives ruined, a community in denial.

The Exclusive Brethren drinking culture has no end in sight.

The Ghosts of a Brethren Past

A breathless humidity hangs in the air. Shoppers haggle for chickens at the market, and thousands of commuters rush to and from a nearby metro station.

Hong Kong couldn’t be further from my childhood in the quiet backwaters of New Zealand.

Yet my upbringing has been playing on my mind for the past few weeks. Today, it’s six years since I was “withdrawn from” – the final stage of excommunication from the Exclusive Brethren church. The frenetic sensory assaults of an Asian metropolis jostle against unexpected flashes from the past. I think of these memories of family and friends as the ghosts of a Brethren past.

The young Brethren in Invercargill, 2008. I may not ever see any of these people again, but they were an important part of my life for nearly 20 years.

It’s almost impossible to fully escape an Exclusive Brethren background. I’ve been told many times to “move on”; usually by other former members. Some believe that successfully building a new life means you should stop talking about the church. We’re urged to bury our past, and avoid criticism of the Brethren lest we be seen as bitter and disenchanted. Much better to avoid, deny, and pretend there’s nothing wrong.

My experiences over the past six years have convinced me otherwise. Everyone’s journey is unique, and anger and grief affect us in different ways. Many of us will face emotional trauma for the rest of our lives. My family remains in the church, and what little I hear of them now comes to me second or third-hand via the ex-Brethren grapevine. I may never see them again, yet there they are, carrying on with their lives as though I don’t exist. It’s like a slow, painful, living death. How can I be expected to forget?

Leaving a group like the Brethren is an emotional nightmare. To be betrayed and abandoned by those you love causes psychological damage that can take years to reverse. You don’t trust people. Friendships are dangerous. Opening up means exposing yourself to the risk of further betrayal. It’s happened once, your subconscious warns, and it could happen again. You question people’s motives. No matter how much they love you, you’re prepared for a life without them. There has to be a Plan B.

Counselling helped me address some of these issues after leaving the church. It took more than a year before I opened up to my counsellor. I didn’t trust her either. Then the floodgates opened. She listened patiently to my angry outbursts and sat beside me with a box of tissues as I wept for the people I loved. Life can be so unfair. She helped process the trauma, and coached me toward building relationships. I’ve successfully built a new circle of family and friends, but there’s a lingering echo. What if it all happens again?

I’ve spoken publicly about my experiences dozens of times over the past six years. There have been radio interviews, magazine spreads, and television reports. I’ve appeared at schools, universities and even a juvenile detention centre to talk about my sectarian fundamentalist upbringing. Doctors ask how they should approach an Exclusive Brethren patient. Police ask how to deal with a Brethren member in trouble with the law. Politicians ask what really goes on behind closed doors, and whether the church can be trusted. Reporters ask how I feel. Members of the public want to know if I miss my family. I answer as best I can.

There’s tremendous pressure to build a positive narrative after leaving the Brethren, especially when everything is in the public eye. People love a success story. I’ve rebuilt my life. Travelled the world. Excelled at university. Studied overseas, launched a career, and landed my dream job. That’s what people want to hear. It’s much less acceptable to talk about the pain. I’m damaged, but that’s not a sexy part of the story. It’s been six years and I should be over it by now.

Looming over all this are the threats made by the Brethren when a young person leaves. Your life will be a disaster, they warn. Nobody will accept you. You’ll never fit in. I lost count of the number of times I was compared to the biblical prodigal son, who partied his life away and ended up eating with the pigs before crawling back to his parents for forgiveness. Becoming a success proves the church was wrong. It’s the ultimate middle finger. But failure, on the other hand… What if that proves they were right?

Graduating from university has been one of my proudest achievements since leaving the Exclusive Brethren.

It would be much easier to walk away and stop talking about it. Sometimes I do. But there are frequent reminders that other people have had it much worse than I ever did. Someone I knew in the church killed himself. Rumour has it he was gay. I hear horrified whispers about a young woman who was sexually assaulted, then encouraged to marry her rapist. And a young man who finally mustered the courage to reveal he’d been sexually abused as a child, only to be dismissed as a liar.

Hearing about these victims spurs me on. It may have been six years, but I remember all too well the cruelty of a life within the confines of the Exclusive Brethren.

If speaking out helps save even one person, then it’s worth it.

A Tale of Two Uncles

This is a tale of two uncles. They’re similar in a way, yet very different.

Charles and Norman were born within a few months of each other in 1943. Both were the children of devoted Exclusive Brethren families. Charles was the younger brother of one of my grandmothers, Norman the younger brother of my other grandmother. Their childhood was happy, if restrictive.

Norman – top right, at the back – was the third of five children.

Both Charles and Norman fell afoul of the Exclusive Brethren rules as young men. Norman took a fancy to a non-Brethren girl who lived next door, while Charles questioned the church’s recent ban on sideburns – Brethren founder John Nelson Darby had sported an impressive pair, so why shouldn’t he? The change in rules made no sense.

It is here their tales diverge. Norman was thrown out of the Exclusive Brethren for his teenage sins, but persuaded his non-Brethren flame their best future would be with the church. She agreed to join, promising to leave her own family behind, whereupon the Brethren welcomed them with open arms. They went on to have ten children together.

Charles – on the right – was the second of three children. His older sister was my grandmother.

Charles, meanwhile, drifted further to the edges of the church. His father, a much-loved albeit troubled Brethren figure, died in the 1960s, loosening the family’s grip on their sons. Charles grew his sideburns, and started going to the disco and the cinema. He even took up dancing. His younger brother followed a similar path, and they eventually quit the church together to begin a new life in Christchurch.

Growing up, I only knew Uncle Norman. Charles was a hushed and somewhat abstract figure, who’d been missing from the family photographs for more than 30 years. When I asked questions as a child, my grandmother warned me her younger brothers were bad people who had gone their own wicked way in the world.

My first encounter with Charles was around the end of 2007. I couldn’t bear what I was being told to do by the priests, and in desperation packed a suitcase and ran away to Christchurch. I had nowhere to go and didn’t know a soul, but I did know I had a long-lost uncle. I found Charles in the phone book, and he and Aunty Lyn invited me for lunch then offered me a place to stay for as long as I liked. It didn’t matter that we’d only just met – the shared background of family and church meant there was an instant connection.

Uncle Charles and Aunty Lyn were very supportive after I left the Brethren.

As it was, I didn’t stay with Charles for long. The church persuaded me to return, and I abruptly cut off contact. It was another 18 months before I left for good. In 2009 I re-approached Uncle Charles, much surer now of what I planned to do with my life. Apologising for the way I’d suddenly disappeared was a humiliating experience, but he understood all too well what I’d gone through. I was welcomed back to the outside world.

While Charles supported my bid for freedom, Uncle Norman and his family did everything they could to persuade me not to leave. There were passionate conversations, and a heartfelt letter warning that remaining within the Brethren was the only way I could stay close to the teachings of Jesus Christ. It was to no avail. I walked away, and from that point there was no further contact.

Uncle Norman, just as I remember him.

Earlier this year, I was shocked to discover that my Uncle Norman had died. And not only was he dead, but he’d been dead for around two years. It turns out he’d also had a long and painful battle with cancer. My Brethren family had neglected to tell me both when he was ill and when he passed away. I wasn’t invited to the funeral, and there was no opportunity to pay my respects to someone I’d loved. It stung.

Not long after hearing of Uncle Norman’s death, I received a message from a non-Brethren cousin in Christchurch. Uncle Charles had had a heart attack and was in hospital. There was a group chat on Facebook, updating the cousins with his condition and what the doctors were saying. A week later he died. Three or four different cousins all got in touch to make sure I’d heard the news. It was a stark contrast.

I made a point of travelling to Christchurch for Uncle Charles’ funeral. He’d been very supportive of my journey leaving the Brethren, and I felt that in the few short years we’d been in touch I’d got to know him just as well if not better than Uncle Norman. It was a privilege to be able to spend time with his family remembering him for the wonderful person he was. And it meant a lot to be respected and included as part of that family.

For me, the stories of Norman and Charles are a snapshot of what it’s like to leave the Brethren. All my life I was warned that those outside the church were cruel and heartless, yet my experience has been the opposite. My Brethren relatives turned a cold shoulder while those on the outside have welcomed me with open arms.

I just wish those who are still in could understand the true meaning of family.

Rebuilding Family Ties

There’s a poignant silence as the elderly man pushes a McDonalds hash brown around on his plate.

Neither of us really know what to say.

Normally, I don’t share tables with strangers at fast-food restaurants.

But this is no ordinary meeting – the man sitting opposite is my grandfather, George, and I’m having a meal with him for the first time. George was thrown out of the Exclusive Brethren church in 1981, and I’m the first of his three children or nine grandchildren he’s seen for 28 years.

It takes a powerful belief system to divide families like this, and the Exclusive Brethren’s beliefs are among the most extreme.

Members in 19 countries are forbidden from watching television, listening to recorded music, owning pets, and interacting socially with outsiders. If, like George, you leave the church, the family you leave behind are forbidden from having contact. I grew up hearing my grandmother explain how she was a widow because the devil had “taken her husband”.

George, now 73, is one of many who have fallen foul of the church’s strict belief structure. Massey University history professor Peter Lineham has studied the Exclusive Brethren extensively and explains every aspect of life is controlled for the Christian sect’s 43,000 members worldwide, from education to employment to marriage.

“It’s highly sectarian; it’s one of the most sectarian groups that exists,” he says.

Behind the Exclusive Brethren; by Michael Bachelard.

Fairfax reporter Michael Bachelard wrote a book – Behind the Exclusive Brethren – on the church in 2006, and doesn’t mince his words.

“I would describe it as a cult, or what’s known as a high-demand organisation,” he says.

Recent research by British psychologist Jill Mytton revealed that members of the Exclusive Brethren face significant psychological challenges when trying to leave the church.

“Every single subscale was significantly higher [than the general population],” she says. “We’re talking depression, anxiety, paranoid ideation, psychoticism, OCD [obsessive-compulsive disorder], anger, hostility.”

David Ayliffe of Australian group Cult Information Family Support (CIFS) says most people are unaware of the consequences of becoming involved with such a group.

“No-one ever joins a cult,” he says. “You don’t go along and see a sign that says: ‘Cult: We’ll control your money, we’ll control your life, we’ll tell you who to marry; come and join us’, because no-one would do it.”

Alf and Ruth Hayward with their three children; George at front left.

George’s parents joined the Exclusive Brethren in 1949 when he was just eight years old. His father was in the advanced stages of cancer, which George believes helped prompt the move.

“I have surmised that being confronted with his own mortality gave him reason for some soul-searching,” he says.

Mytton explains it is not uncommon for people to turn to religion at the end of their life.

“People quite often when they’re faced with death will seek something that they know offers security,” she says.

“The Brethren do offer security and stability; they take a lot of the decision-making away from you.”

Lineham says the Exclusive Brethren of 1949 were not as controlling as they are today. They followed a hard-line version of Christianity, but their interaction within society was largely normal.

George’s father Alf died in 1951, believing he was leaving his wife and three children somewhere they would be loved and cared for.

But things were about to change.

In 1959, international leadership of the Exclusive Brethren moved to New York businessman James Tayor Jnr – an alcoholic described by Bachelard as an “evil, megalomaniacal bastard”.

James Taylor Jr was a chronic alcoholic; photographed here at his home by a New York reporter.

Taylor brought in rule after rule, drinking scotch whiskey while giving orders to church members during meetings.

George suspects many did not realise what was happening.

“It was very subtly introduced, slowly and gradually,” he says.

The crunch came in 1961, when members were forbidden from having any further contact with non-members.

They were exhorted to follow their leader and leave behind the trappings of the world. Most followed gladly.

George’s mind, meanwhile, was elsewhere.

Living in Christchurch while studying engineering on a post office bursary, he had begun courting a young woman named Frances. She was the daughter of a Brethren leader, and wholly devoted to the cause.

After a brief courtship they became engaged, and an edict promptly came down from church leaders that they should marry as soon as possible. George thought it unwise, but Frances disagreed.

“She just pulled the engagement ring off and gave it back to me, and said something like ‘we’re not allowed to have a long engagement’,” says George.

“So I picked it up and gave it back to her and said ‘well, let’s get married then’.”

George and Frances married in Christchurch in 1961.

Married life was happy, if restricted. George’s work with the post office took them to Wellington a few years later, where they had three children.

Leader James Taylor Jnr died in 1970 of an alcohol-related illness, and religious power moved to North Dakota pig farmer Jim Symington.

Author Michael Bachelard says Symington promptly began a reign of terror over the Exclusive Brethren.

“He was ruthless in excommunicating people who challenged him, or who he thought had challenged him, or people who he thought could become a threat,” he says.

George says he saw dozens of fellow members abruptly thrown out during the 1970s.

“People displaying signs of dissent were shut up; that is, barred from church attendance or contact with any Brethren members other than priests, who would interrogate them.

“Eventually in many cases the person who was shut up would crumble, wilt under the pressure, and recant anything that they’d said or thought wrong.”

British psychologist Jill Mytton has studied the Exclusive Brethren extensively.

Mytton explains that members of high-pressure organisations will often go to these lengths to avoid exclusion.

“When you become associated with such a group the last thing you want is to be kicked out of it,” she says.

It was not enough to stop George’s disillusionment with the church. He was challenged by his wife as to why he wasn’t reading the leader’s teachings, and she subsequently reported his actions to the priests.

Ayliffe says betrayal of family members is a classic example of fear within a restrictive culture.

“If you look at Stalinist Russia or Maoist China, this sort of thing happened all the time,” he says. “I think there’s a psychology where fear is the predominant factor.”

When questioned by priests, George refused to retract his belief that the activities of the church were wrong.

Mytton says holding to personal convictions like this is key to avoiding cognitive dissonance – the inability to reconcile conflicting surroundings.

“A lot of people don’t voice it, they keep it inside themselves,” she says.

“I suspect that is what leads to people becoming mentally ill, and they develop depression and psychosis.”

George’s speaking out led to his excommunication a few days later.

“The last encounter was [one of the priests] coming to the door in the evening, to say the Brethren have […] judged that we can no longer walk with you in fellowship,” he says, “and the strangest thing happened.

“With him pronouncing those words, I felt a great load lift off my shoulders. It was like being released of a burden, and I suddenly felt free.”

But that freedom came at a terrible cost. George’s children, away on school holidays, did not return home while he was still in the house, and he was shunned by his wife of 20 years.

When he moved out of the family home a few weeks later, she didn’t say goodbye.

George and Frances with their three children in the late 1970s.

George says he decided not to go to court for custody or access to the children, which Mytton’s research suggests was a wise move.

“I think it is healthier,” she says. “It doesn’t mean that person is therefore going to be fine, but it does look as though that is more protective than having hostile contact.”

George’s relationship with his family ceased completely in 1981. He never had a chance to say goodbye to his mother, who died nine years later.

It took a full decade to accept that his wife wasn’t going to follow him out of the church.

“It took me ten years to realise that my wishful thinking that she was going to follow me was just wishful thinking, and that it wasn’t going to happen,” he says. “So eventually I applied for a divorce, which came through about 11 years later.”

George’s memories of his children remain frozen in time. He now has at least nine grandchildren; maybe more – the lack of contact means he can’t say for sure.

When asked if he misses his family there is a long pause, then a wry smile.

“I feel sometimes I want to share the benefits of my life experiences with someone younger who would like to listen,” he says, “and then occasionally I think that’s what I could be doing with my grandchildren.”

That opportunity came in 2009 when I left the church, leading to our breakfast meeting at McDonalds on Jervois Quay in Wellington. We agreed we had no regrets.

Ayliffe says it’s important to focus on the positives after escaping a damaging cult like the Exclusive Brethren.

George has a number of grandchildren; I’m the only one he’s met.

“Life outside of a controlled group can be wonderful,” he says. “We have to keep looking for the good things in life to celebrate, and keep being grateful that we can wake up every day and be free to choose what we have for breakfast.”

George says in his own way, he has quietly celebrated finally being able to build a relationship again with someone from his family.

“I’m not an emotional, demonstrative personality,” he says. “I don’t jump up and down and say ‘at last, I’ve found my long-lost grandson’.

“It was more internal and settled and thinking ‘well, this is a development that’s worthwhile, I’m very pleased about this’.”

George raises an eyebrow, and we laugh.

It’s been a difficult journey, but being able to build a relationship as grandfather and grandson has definitely made it worthwhile.

This story was written as a university assignment in 2013.

Review: A Life of Unlearning

This post originally appeared on gaynz.com in 2015.

A Life of Unlearning is the autobiography of Anthony Venn-Brown, a former pastor at Australian mega-churches such as Hillsong. It tells the story of his rise to prominence in the evangelical Christian movement, and then a realisation in middle age that his sexuality was something he could no longer suppress.

Anthony’s story resonated with me in numerous ways. Like me, he knew he was gay at a young age, yet chose to lock those feelings away. Like him, I’ve known the pain and despair of feeling I’d never be accepted by those I loved.  And we’ve both experienced the cruelty of separation at the hands of so-called Christians.

A Life of Unlearning reinforced my fears of what could’ve happened if I hadn’t left the Exclusive Brethren when I did. I could see myself getting married, having a family, trying (and failing) to bury my sexuality, and then having it all rise to the surface and explode later in life. This was Anthony’s experience.

Born in an era when homosexuality was still illegal, he went through the process of coming out with little or no support from others. The AIDS crisis was in full swing, and he was damned to hell by church leaders when he announced he planned to live his life as an openly gay man. Yet for Anthony – and for me – coming out was a liberating experience.

Anthony has worked tirelessly as an advocate for the gay Christian community.

In his autobiography, Anthony describes how he re-discovered his faith after being away from religion for several years. Since then he has worked tirelessly to establish networks between the faith and rainbow communities. He’s acted as an advocate for those who have no voice, and has opened dialogue in an area deemed by many others to be a lost cause.

There’s a common perception that being Christian and being gay are mutually exclusive. At the time I left the church, I felt I had to choose one or the other. Anthony’s story shows that it’s possible to reconcile your sexuality with your faith. There’s an extensive network of gay Christians in Australia and New Zealand, and leaders such as Anthony are an inspiration to those seeking the courage to be true to themselves.

Even if you’re not gay or Christian, A Life of Unlearning is still a great read. It charts a story of acceptance and tolerance, and shows that if we persevere, love always wins through. It will make you laugh, and it will make you cry. When you finally put it down, you’ll be glad to be alive.

For more information about A Life of Unlearning, check out Anthony Venn-Brown’s website.

Religious freedom, but at what price?

This post originally appeared on gaynz.com in 2014.

Pastor Logan Robertson wants all gay people dead.

It may sound like something out of Africa, or perhaps the backward south of the United States, but it’s not. Logan Robertson lives right here in New Zealand.

Logan Robertson is the self-styled leader of the Westcity Baptist Church in Auckland.

The self-styled leader of the Westcity Baptist Church in Auckland has come out swinging, defending an email in which he called community advocate Jim Marjoram a “filthy child molesting fag”, and said he prayed Jim would commit suicide. He’s gone even further in an interview since, saying he believes the New Zealand government should be executing gay people.

“If we had a righteous government, that’s what we’d be doing, instead of letting them go out and pretend to get married when they’re not,” he said. “The Bible doesn’t even say anything about these fags getting married. They should just be stoned to death instead. That’s what the Bible says. And I hope they all die.”

It would be easy enough to shrug Logan Robertson’s hate speech off as the deluded ravings of a religious bigot. We have marriage equality now, and New Zealand is one of the best countries in the world for LGBT rights. Perhaps we should accept there will always be zealots on the fringes who disagree.

Many Christian churches are becoming more accepting of same-sex marriage.

I don’t believe that’s good enough. Robertson’s outburst is a symptom of a much wider problem – the continued lack of acceptance of LGBT people in many religious communities across New Zealand. Granted, this is changing, as many mainstream churches widen their folds to include a more diverse range of people. Figures from the US show that 62 per cent of Catholics there now support marriage equality, which is great.

But there remain some hardcore churches that refuse to accept the legitimacy of LGBT people. It was something I was acutely aware of growing up in the Exclusive Brethren. (Who have now rebranded as the Plymouth Brethren Christian Church, in an attempt to distance themselves from their terrible track record.) The Brethren were staunchly homophobic, and have thrown their weight behind anti-LGBT movements and political parties worldwide.

In 1993, the Brethren submitted to the US federal government on the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell bill, and described gay people as deceptive, perverted and depraved. They championed anti-gay behaviour, stating “discrimination against perverse homosexual behaviour is essential to the protection of perpetrators and their fellow-citizens alike”.

Daniel Hales is a prominent leader in the Exclusive Brethren church. (Photo: The Age)

Then, as the movement for civil unions and marriage equality began in the 21^st century, the Exclusive Brethren launched a well-oiled campaign to fight back. Committees were formed in various countries such as the US, Canada and New Zealand, and memos were sent to Brethren members encouraging them to write to their local politicians in protest. Daniel Hales, brother of world leader Bruce Hales, said the church’s political actions were in response to increased sin in the world. In an interview with the Sydney Morning Herald, he reminisced “Go back 50 years when I was a boy, homosexuals went to jail.”

Logan Robertson’s views appear to echo those of the Exclusive Brethren. At the core of their faith is a belief that everyone else should be forced to conform to their idea of morality, their idea of marriage, and their idea of what constitutes good government. It’s an arrogant view, based on the idealist notion that their faith and theirs alone holds the key to religious truth.

Hillary Clinton addresses LGBT rights at a UN meeting in 2011.

Such views have no place in New Zealand society. We’re a secular nation, and the number of Christians here is dropping rapidly. Most Kiwis would agree with Hillary Clinton, who told the United Nations that personal freedom should always trump religious freedom. She said “being LGBT does not make you less human. And that is why gay rights are human rights, and human rights are gay rights.”

The victims here are the LGBT people who are raised in churches that still hold these extreme backward views. Since leaving the Exclusive Brethren I’ve come into contact with all sorts of people whose lives have been ruined by their church’s refusal to accept them as a person.

I’m talking about the grandfather who knew he was gay as a teenager, but has spent the last 30 years in an unhappy marriage to a woman while desperately hoping his sexuality will change. I’m talking about the father who left his church because he was gay, then committed suicide because the priests wouldn’t let him see his children. I’m talking about the teenager with scars over his wrists living rough, because his parents don’t want a gay son.

These are the people who Logan Robertson so callously brushes aside. I doubt he cares that their lives have been ruined. I doubt he cares that some of them are dead, having ended their lives after the torment became too much to bear. I doubt he cares that young gay kids are killing themselves. In fact if he did know, he’d probably celebrate.

I don’t think there’s much point in trying to change Robertson’s views. Some churches like the Exclusive Brethren still forbid interracial marriage, so it could be half a century before they come anywhere near accepting LGBT rights. But we as a community can show young people there’s a better way forward. That there are people who will love and accept them for who they are, and that the hatred and rejection they’ve been taught is wrong.

Because even one gay suicide is one too many.

Five years on, the scars remain

This post originally appeared on gaynz.com in 2014.

Recently I found myself back in an Exclusive Brethren meeting room.

Everything was just as I remembered it. It’s hard to forget those windowless brick buildings, with their uniform green carpet and black arena-style seating. All my friends and family were there, and as I looked around the room I recognised dozens of faces from my past.

Inside an Exclusive Brethren meeting room. I’ll never forget how it felt to be part of that circle.

But something wasn’t right. As church leaders preached their doctrine, I began to panic. Disapproving faces revolved around me. I knew what they were saying was wrong, but I felt hopelessly outnumbered. As the walls began closing in I wanted to scream and cry.

I have nightmares like this every few months. They aren’t all the same. In some I’m back with my family, about to be thrown out again. In others I’m desperately trying to persuade them to see my point of view, that they’re trapped in an abusive system and that the separation that’s been forced on us is unnatural and cruel.

It’s five years today since my final excommunication from the Exclusive Brethren. Earlier that year I’d told the priests I was leaving the church, and subsequently my parents threw me out of their house. I lost my job, and was cut off by everyone I’d ever known and loved. I found myself adrift in the world with no direction, no compass, no sense of identity, and no idea what the future held.

Berlin, April 2014. Travelling has been one of the best parts of my life since leaving the church.

Since then I’ve successfully rebuilt my life. I have a degree, a career, a partner, and I’ve travelled through nearly 60 different countries in the world. I have a great network of new family and friends who have replaced the support network I lost so abruptly five years ago. I have plans for the future, and I’m very happy with what I’ve achieved.

But the scars remain. No matter how distant my past is there are always reminders of what I’ve lost. When I graduated last year it was cause for celebration. Yet as I stood in Aotea Square in my graduation robes and looked around at everyone else laughing and chatting with their parents, my past came bubbling back to the surface and smacked me in the face. I ended up huddled in a corner at the food court with tears rolling down my cheeks. Life can seem so unfair.

There are small reminders everywhere. The smell of a particular bread recipe baking in the oven reminds me of the communion loaf at church. The neighbour’s child practising the piano reminds me of my brothers and sisters. Seeing elderly people with hearing aids reminds me of my grandmother, and the way her hearing aid squeaked when I hugged her. Hearing certain songs on the radio reminds me of my Mum’s voice as she sang us to sleep as children. These memories are small and insignificant, but writing about them makes me cry.

Our last family photo, taken a few months before I left the church. Memories of my family are frozen at this point in time.

I don’t cry for the way things were. I have no regrets, and if I had my life over I would make the same decisions again. My life is infinitely better now, and remaining in the Brethren would have been a form of living death. Instead, I cry for the memories of those I loved. The people I grew up with and cherished, who shared my brightest and darkest moments for 20 years. The family I loved, the parents who brought me into this world, and the friends who were there for me. The people I haven’t seen now for five years.

Not long after I left the Brethren, I heard a song on the radio. It was Burning Bridges, by the Mike Curb Congregation. The chorus stung like salt rubbed into a wound. “All the burning bridges that have fallen after me, all the lonely feelings and the burning memories. Everyone I left behind each time I closed the door, burning bridges lost forever more.” It summed up my life. Burning bridges lost forever more. That song stayed at the top of my iTunes playlist for more than three years.

Leaving a group like the Exclusive Brethren destroys a part of your soul. When you’ve experienced being abandoned by every person you ever loved and trusted, the damage takes a long time to heal, if ever. It’s almost impossible to ever fully learn to love and trust again. I still don’t trust many people. At the back of my mind there’s always the fear I’ll be abandoned again.

Part of me died five years ago today. And for that, I cry.

Four Years of Freedom

This post originally appeared on gaynz.com in 2013.

Four years can seem like a lifetime.

It’s enough time for someone to go to university and get a degree, travel the world, fall in love, and establish themselves in a career.

It’s also enough time to deal with the grief and anger of past injustices. And, sadly, it’s enough time to forget the voices and faces of loved ones.

Today marks the fourth anniversary of my final excommunication from the Exclusive Brethren church. Leaving the church meant losing everything I knew, from family to friends to employment. My parents threw me out, I lost my job, and every person I knew abruptly cut me off.

I’ll never forget the pain I experienced when I said my final farewells.

The agony of holding my grandmother as we both wept, knowing this would be the last time. The way her hearing aid buzzed as it rubbed on my shoulder the way it always did.

The way my aunty cried “no!” when she heard me say I had come to say goodbye.

The heartlessness with which my father pinned my 9-year-old sister’s arms behind her back as she sobbed, to prevent her from running to my arms.

And knowing that as I walked out each door it would be for the last time. Ever.

It’s impossible to describe how that feels. By the end of it, I had nothing left to give. I had wept as much as was humanly possible, and all that remained was a cold, empty shell.

It took years to rebuild emotions and relearn to love and trust again. Now, four years on, my life in the Exclusive Brethren seems like a distant memory.

Last week I was sent a relatively recent family photograph of my family. Not from them – they’ve refused to send me any pictures – but from someone who still has contacts within the church. Trying to access such things is akin to engaging with the Gestapo.

I had to pinch myself as I stared at the faces of people I once knew. The faces were familiar, yet felt like strangers. I have thousands of memories involving them, yet now those memories seem distant and foggy; clouded by the passage of time.

The photograph is a telling sign of how records are erased once a person leaves the Exclusive Brethren. It’s taken from an official church book, and only six children are listed beneath my parents. I’m not mentioned anywhere, and future generations won’t know I existed. There’s also no mention of either of my grandfathers, both of whom were also thrown out of the church (long before I was born).

Seeing a picture like this produces a range of emotions. There’s a hint of grief for the loved ones I once knew, although not enough to produce tears or any real sadness. It’s more a nostalgic remembrance of what once was.

There’s also a trace of anger. I still strongly feel the injustice of the way I was treated, and it’s insulting to see the church air-brushing over the records to erase all trace of me. I’m still my parents’ child and always will be, no matter what the church says.

More than anything, though, I feel pity. Life within the system is all my family have ever known, and it saddens me that my parents and siblings will never have the opportunities I have. In many ways, I’ve accomplished more in the last four years than they will achieve for the rest of their lives. The saddest part is they can’t see they are trapped – a bird may seem happy in a cage, but if it lives its whole life in that cage it will never know how far it can fly.

In hindsight, I never really knew my family. Our lives revolved around subservience to the religious system, and everything else was considered unimportant. I have no idea where my mother would like to travel to, what movies my brothers would enjoy or what my sisters would study at university if they had the chance.

The thing is, none of them will ever have these chances.

That’s the real tragedy.