Cultic Studies Journal, Vol. 9, No. 1, 1992, Page 45
study group. Apparently I looked too much like a “dyke.” Again I was angry about the
imposition and also I thought they were being somewhat silly and overreacting. But they were
firm in their position and once more I gave in to the pressure to conform. I enjoyed leading
the study groups and decided that not wearing men’s T-shirts and blue workshirts was not the
end of the world. I told myself and also the others that there was just something about all this
that I wasn’t getting. The others assured me that I would. “Trust us,” they said. “We know
what we’re doing. We know what works.”
A little while later I was asked to give up some extracurricular sports activities. Then I was
asked to give up my job and work full-time for the organization so that I could be the
secretary to the Central Committee. They explained to me that since the CC met at a variety
of times it wouldn’t work for me to be at an outside job and therefore unavailable. My
assignment as secretary was to take minutes of the meetings, then type up the minutes and
have them delivered before six the next morning to the home of each of the seven CC
members. Some-times they met every day for six or eight hours. Very fast I got very busy.
Within about six months after joining, my free time was gone and my income was dependent
on the organization.
When I gave up my job and my income dropped, it was suggested that I move into a house
with other comrades to share expenses. Until then I was living alone --and sometimes I still
dared to unplug my phone so the party couldn’t reach me. Once in a house with other
members, my life-style became the party’s completely. Neither did I have any time for friends
outside the party. In the eyes of my nonparty acquaintances, I dropped out of sight.
From the start I worked with top leadership. At one point I was assigned to help Doreen
Baxter move to another house. I had only met her a few times previously. The first time was
within a few weeks after joining. I was invited to a “special” Sunday morning study class,
where about 25 or 30 of us gathered to hear her presentation on world history. I was told that
only select members were invited to this lecture. I sat quietly and glanced at the 25 or so
other people in the room. (Later I learned that, except for one or two members who weren’t
there, this group represented the entire member-ship at that time it was not a carefully
picked selection of members honored to be in Baxter’s presence on a Sunday morning, as I
had been told.) When the lecture ended, Sandra made a great fanfare about taking me up to
the podium to introduce me to Baxter. “So, this is the great Emma,” Baxter said. (Emma was
my party name.) Deep inside, I felt a recognizable burst of pride that others had been talking
to her about me. I didn’t really know much about who she was or her past credentials, but I
knew she was the leader of the organization I had just joined.
The day I was helping her move she seemed relaxed and friendly she started talking about
her past and showing me photo albums and news clippings in which she was mentioned. Out
of natural curiosity and a desire to be polite and make conversation, I asked a few questions,
such as what year something took place or where a certain snapshot was taken. The next day
I was called into a meeting before four high-level members. In a dark room with the curtains
drawn, I was informed that on Baxter’s orders I was under security investigation. I was
suspected of being an agent, they said. I was grilled and regrilled about my back-ground, my
personal life, how I earned my money, my friends, and about the questions I asked the day
before. I was told that others in the party, including my friends, were also being questioned
about me. (They were.) I was completely shocked, and I was terrified by this experience. I
was sure they were going to throw me out of the group.
Not long after that incident I was given the CC secretary job and also assigned to work with
Baxter on organizing her writing. This meant more access to “party secrets” and more
exposure to Baxter. I found this rather confusing, but I took it as a sign that I was now
trusted. However, for the remainder of my party years, the accusation of being an agent was
repeatedly thrown in my face and those episodes were some of my worst party experiences.
study group. Apparently I looked too much like a “dyke.” Again I was angry about the
imposition and also I thought they were being somewhat silly and overreacting. But they were
firm in their position and once more I gave in to the pressure to conform. I enjoyed leading
the study groups and decided that not wearing men’s T-shirts and blue workshirts was not the
end of the world. I told myself and also the others that there was just something about all this
that I wasn’t getting. The others assured me that I would. “Trust us,” they said. “We know
what we’re doing. We know what works.”
A little while later I was asked to give up some extracurricular sports activities. Then I was
asked to give up my job and work full-time for the organization so that I could be the
secretary to the Central Committee. They explained to me that since the CC met at a variety
of times it wouldn’t work for me to be at an outside job and therefore unavailable. My
assignment as secretary was to take minutes of the meetings, then type up the minutes and
have them delivered before six the next morning to the home of each of the seven CC
members. Some-times they met every day for six or eight hours. Very fast I got very busy.
Within about six months after joining, my free time was gone and my income was dependent
on the organization.
When I gave up my job and my income dropped, it was suggested that I move into a house
with other comrades to share expenses. Until then I was living alone --and sometimes I still
dared to unplug my phone so the party couldn’t reach me. Once in a house with other
members, my life-style became the party’s completely. Neither did I have any time for friends
outside the party. In the eyes of my nonparty acquaintances, I dropped out of sight.
From the start I worked with top leadership. At one point I was assigned to help Doreen
Baxter move to another house. I had only met her a few times previously. The first time was
within a few weeks after joining. I was invited to a “special” Sunday morning study class,
where about 25 or 30 of us gathered to hear her presentation on world history. I was told that
only select members were invited to this lecture. I sat quietly and glanced at the 25 or so
other people in the room. (Later I learned that, except for one or two members who weren’t
there, this group represented the entire member-ship at that time it was not a carefully
picked selection of members honored to be in Baxter’s presence on a Sunday morning, as I
had been told.) When the lecture ended, Sandra made a great fanfare about taking me up to
the podium to introduce me to Baxter. “So, this is the great Emma,” Baxter said. (Emma was
my party name.) Deep inside, I felt a recognizable burst of pride that others had been talking
to her about me. I didn’t really know much about who she was or her past credentials, but I
knew she was the leader of the organization I had just joined.
The day I was helping her move she seemed relaxed and friendly she started talking about
her past and showing me photo albums and news clippings in which she was mentioned. Out
of natural curiosity and a desire to be polite and make conversation, I asked a few questions,
such as what year something took place or where a certain snapshot was taken. The next day
I was called into a meeting before four high-level members. In a dark room with the curtains
drawn, I was informed that on Baxter’s orders I was under security investigation. I was
suspected of being an agent, they said. I was grilled and regrilled about my back-ground, my
personal life, how I earned my money, my friends, and about the questions I asked the day
before. I was told that others in the party, including my friends, were also being questioned
about me. (They were.) I was completely shocked, and I was terrified by this experience. I
was sure they were going to throw me out of the group.
Not long after that incident I was given the CC secretary job and also assigned to work with
Baxter on organizing her writing. This meant more access to “party secrets” and more
exposure to Baxter. I found this rather confusing, but I took it as a sign that I was now
trusted. However, for the remainder of my party years, the accusation of being an agent was
repeatedly thrown in my face and those episodes were some of my worst party experiences.
