In Their Own Words: Angie Carpenter

Arlene - you make me remember when my father sent Social Services to the The Land in Delta Junction because he was so desperate to try and get his kids. He says that his heart told him we were being abused. Now that I've been able to get the information from his court cases, the Elders who participated actively in writing letters on behalf of my mother (they were determined, it seems, to take possession of us kids), it makes me so sick to my stomach. They also had their sights set on my mother's child support money (anyone's money, for that matter) which they took for 10 years. My mother never even saw it. They went through the mail and swiped it.

Before this Lady from Social Services came to the Land, two elders came to our cabin to speak with my sister and me. By this time, my brother had ran away. That's a VERY interesting story as well - what happened after he desperately told the police in Delta Junction to please save his sisters and call our father.

The Elders told us exactly what we should say. They presented everything as "the outsiders wanting to infiltrate God's mighty work" that they were evil, and it was just Satan trying to wage war on our Mother. One of them let us know that to tell the Social Worker about discipline would only make things bad for our Mother. So they used extreme fear methods to keep us quiet.

The day the social worker came, She took us each out by ourselves outside. I remember staring at the ground (I was around 10) and everything inside of me wanted to drop to my knees and beg her to take me out of there. But I was too scared of what would happen to my mom, or leaving my poor sister there alone or worse of all what might happen to me if the Lady didn't take me after I told.

One of the worse beatings I got in The Land was from Marilyn Hagley. My sister had to go get Rick Alloe to break the school door open, which she had locked, and she was holding me by one arm and beating me with a paddle in front of the whole class. I was 8. That woman hit me every chance she got until my Mother finally told her if she put her hands on me again, she was gonna put Her hands on Marilyn. By this time, my mother, Peggy Alloe, Ruth Earnshaw, and Judy Seymour were regularly questioning the methods of the Move, which is why the Elders took Ruth and Daryl and dropped them in town with nothing and kicked them out. My mother was not fully aware of what happened to us at Ware. In fact, she went to her grave not knowing all of the truth. None of us could bear to break her heart more than it already was. The isolated her at Ware and practically almost starved her to death at the "fat table".

These are not false stories. There are witnesses to them. These are just a few - there are many many more - and the problem is how all of these people, these abusers, still walk around today denying what they did. That denial drives my urge for exposure even more. It is time to uncover what is going on. Sequestering children on farms even today, and shoving religious ideals down there throats is still abuse, even if they're not beating it into them with two by fours.

I, Like you, arlene, give little regard for those who lash out in Denial. Nothing they say can make the stories, the memories, and the daily images untrue. Oh if only they could. But no, the truth lives in the minds and souls of every adult who was a child tortured by the Move.

As the Bible states, the day of reckoning for all people comes, and there is nothing in life or death that they can do to avoid it. Forgiveness comes easier when abusers man up to their actions instead of saying "oh, just let it go.".

I believe there are good hearted people right now in the Move who have no clue about the history of what they follow. I am sure if they did, they might step back and question some of their choices. Every day they walk through the ghosts of those who were beaten and molested on the very ground they so proudly proclaim to be God's chosen place.

If it was God's chosen place, it stopped being so after the first child was hurt.

Angie C


Posted: 04 Oct 2011 10:50 AM PDT
I asked once if the memories would ever return. 
She asked me if I wanted them. 
I shuddered. 
There are five, 
one tied in a chair, 
the others, belts and showers, 
being tickled on laps 
where hard objects poked my back, 
and there, Cascadias flew. 
picking me up I spiraled looking down, and 
I watched the terror in surround sound. 
"No," I replied. "Keep them. 
I'll retrieve them when I get to heaven." 
It's an angry ride, 
somewhere between live, die and survive, 
where darkness continually 
chips away at the light. 
They say that hell rides 
in chariots with gleaming eyes. 
I say it lives in the hands of every man 
who pushes his way 
between a child's thighs. 
Shocking it seems, 
to be this undone, 
to let the words out 
in whispers instead of shouts. 
Don't cover your ears 
or live in fear of truths, 
there are thousands of them 
just like you. 
I see what fuels the wicked, 
the absence of forgiveness 
and the forgotten purpose 
where hunger replaces thirst. 
"Sometimes being a warrior 
feels like death." She said. 
"Like the words never reach their head, 
until their souls are dead." 
The pictures arrive like gradients, 
as I shake and scatter 
like etch-e-sketches. 
Sometimes peace comes in forgiveness. 
Sometimes it comes in revenge, 
but everything comes full circle 
when we finally arrive at the end. 
Mercy comes in knowing, 
that they carry the memories instead 
when the tears turned to liquid 
on an angel's haloed head. 
There's comfort in the distance 
with the images in the fray. 
They chase me down like ghosts, 
as I scramble to get away. 
Memories float like diamonds 
leaving blood stains in the mine, 
and I am left to wonder 
what the past has left behind.