KMSP: Cult leader Victor Barnard captured in Brazil
***
[Scroll down this blog post for updated links as the story develops.]
***
On Friday, 2/27/15, Victor Barnard was apprehended in Brazil by authorities. According to reports citing Globo.com, Barnard’s extradition papers to the United States have already been signed by the Brazilian courts.
Barnard is a former follower of The Way International and a Way Corps 14 graduate. He left The Way around 1990 and launched his own small Way spin-off group, River Road Fellowship, around 1992. (Link: VICTOR BARNARD: Timeline of a cult leader)
Beginning in 2000, Barnard hand-picked a group of girls and young women, ages 12 to 24 years, from his congregation. The group was called "The Maidens," and was sometimes called “Alamoth,” a biblical word referencing virginity. After moving the Maidens to a camp where they would serve God as virgins, Barnard manipulated them into having sex teaching them that since Barnard was Christ, the girls would remain virgins even if they engaged in sex with Barnard. Barnard taught them that it was normal practice for men of God to get their sexual needs met by loyal followers*; after all, Solomon had his concubines and Jesus had Mary Magdalene along with other women. (Link: Minister raped 'Maidens' in Minn. camp for years)
In 2012, two of Barnard's victims came forward and reported what they had endured for some ten years at the hands of Barnard. They were only around 12 years old when Barnard had handpicked them and began abusing them.
On April 11, 2014, a warrant for 59 counts of sexual misconduct was issued against Barnard.(Link: Alleged cult leader Victor Barnard charged with molesting 'Maidens')
*[From at least the 1970s until around 2000, The Way had a similar inner-circle doctrine (hidden from many followers at the time) that included handpicked female followers meeting the sexual needs of certain men of God. The Way's inner-circle doctrine did not include that those men were Christ nor that the women would remain virgins. To my knowledge, most of the Way leadership who engaged in that abusive doctrine did not coerce minors.(Link: Minnesota cult leader called the girls 'brides of Christ' - and he was 'Christ')]
___
Links to posts on toss & ripple about Barnard:
3/01/14: Victor Barnard and River Road Fellowship
4/19/14: More thoughts regarding Victor Barnard...and influence...and The Way...and...
8/18/2014: Victor Barnard: "Preaching Lies" to air on "The Hunt," Sunday, August 24, 2014
2/28/15: Victor Barnard is apprehended in Brazil...
6/11/17: Docudrama: "Deliver Us From Evil"
___
Below are links to media stories as they develop after Barnard's arrest on 2/27/15. To access media links prior to the arrest, click here: Victor Barnard and River Road Fellowship
March 1, 2015: What's next for Victor Barnard?
March 2, 2015: The Brazilian accomplice who helped Victor Barnard hide
March 3, 2015: River Road cult came between family, daughter
March 4, 2015: Victor Barnard has Brazilian lawyer, road to extradition could be long
March 5, 2015: From the Daily Beast: Inside the Sex Cult of ‘Christ’
March 7, 2015:: Minneapolis StarTribune: Brazilian 'maiden' spent years aiding fugitive cult leader Victor Barnard
November 18, 2015: Cult leader Victor Barnard attempted suicide in Brazilian prison
June, 2016: Everything You Need to Know About Victor Barnard, the Creepy Cult Leader Accused of Sexually Assaulting Minors
June 18, 2016: Minneapolis StarTribune: Cult leader Victor Barnard back in Minnesota to face charges
June 20, 2016:: Minneapolis StarTribune: Bail set for cult leader Victor Barnard in Pine County court hearing
October 9, 2016: Thirty-minute video compiling five different news clips from KMSP Fox 9 out of Minneapolis. The compilation goes from when the story originally broke in 2014 through the manhunt in early 2015.
October 17, 2016: KMSP Fox 9 video on Youtube, Cult leader Victor Barnard pleads guilty
October 28, 2016: Minneapolis StarTribune: Pine County cult leader Victor Barnard sentenced to 30 years in prison
January 25, 2017: KXLY TV our of Spokane, WA, video on Youtube, Cult sex abuse survivor worries group still operating in Spokane
January 26, 2017: KMSP Fox 9 video on Youtube, Civil lawsuit filed aginst cult leader Victor Bernard's religious group
March 31, 2017: Minneapolis StarTribune: Inmate charged with severely beating imprisoned cult leader Victor Barnard, causing brain damage
___
February 28, 2015
February 10, 2015
Urine bags and heroes....
I was just reading from an Amazon "look-inside" excerpt from the book Ensouling Language by Stephen Harrod Buhner. The topic was "heroes."
My self to my self:
Who are my heroes?
The so-called little guy who helps out another so-called little guy.
I guess I should say "guy or gal."
Independent acts of compassion, kindness, empathy.
Acts that don't make headlines.
Deeds that receive little-to-no public recognition.
Earlier this week, I told Hubby that my mom is a heroine.
Even with her faults.
Maybe they weren't really faults; but rather, quirks.
Mom's diagnosis of "manic depression" (now known as bipolar disorder) in the early 1960s landed her as an inpatient in two different mental health institutions. Mental health has more awareness in the current day and time than compared to the 1960s, though there is still a cloud of stigma regarding mental illness. Mom endured 1960s shock treatments. I can only imagine the cocktail of drugs she was force fed. She was in her latter thirties to early forties at the time.
My self to my self:
Who are my heroes?
The so-called little guy who helps out another so-called little guy.
I guess I should say "guy or gal."
Independent acts of compassion, kindness, empathy.
Acts that don't make headlines.
Deeds that receive little-to-no public recognition.
Earlier this week, I told Hubby that my mom is a heroine.
Even with her faults.
Maybe they weren't really faults; but rather, quirks.
Mom's diagnosis of "manic depression" (now known as bipolar disorder) in the early 1960s landed her as an inpatient in two different mental health institutions. Mental health has more awareness in the current day and time than compared to the 1960s, though there is still a cloud of stigma regarding mental illness. Mom endured 1960s shock treatments. I can only imagine the cocktail of drugs she was force fed. She was in her latter thirties to early forties at the time.
I have no conscious recollection of that time in her life.
I was a baby when she was first hospitalized at Emory in Atlanta, Georgia.
I was a toddler when she was later hospitalized at Broughton in Morganton, North Carolina.
I was the youngest of three children.
Dad was our primary caregiver through those volatile years.
In spite of Mom's struggles with bipolar disorder, and later fibromyalgia and arthritis, she was successful in her career and as a mother and wife.
When she was 58 years old and Dad was 62, Dad was driving alone, taking a mountain curve in his mid-size car, when he engaged head-on, metal to metal, a large flatbed truck.
Dad's next conscious moment?
He was staring at a hospital ceiling.
Steel halo around his head.
Body stretched straight.
Unable to move.
Quadriplegia.
It must be one of the most traumatic diagnoses to process.
Dad had been an avid golfer.
An occasional snow-skier.
He loved to dance.
In his earlier years, he had hunted deer that provided meat for the family.
He had owned a small sailboat.
He had raised quail.
He had gardened.
All of it was stolen.
In one split second.
The snap of his spinal cord at C-4.
Mom cared for Dad at home for over 12 years.
Day in.
Day out.
Yes, she had help from family, friends, and hired aides.
For a few weeks each year, she received supposed respite when Dad would go the McGuire Veteran Hospital in Richmond, Virginia.
But those "respite" times allowed only minimal rest.
Mom, usually along with a family member or another caregiver, would make the five-hour drive to Richmond and would stay at least the first night, and often more, before driving back home.
Even then, Mom back at home alone, Dad's well-being was always on Mom's heart and mind.
The same is true with any caregiver, with the one who loves deeply the afflicted.
Whose soul is bound tangibly and intangibly with the one that appears to have the greater need.
Dad's greater need wasn't just in appearance; it was reality.
Physical needs for breath and nourishment and elimination and movement must be met to a certain degree in order for the seemingly less tangible needs of the soul to be known, expressed, embraced.
Mom wiped Dad's ass almost daily. About three times a week, she inserted her latex-covered index finger up Dad's anus to help excavate human feces. She'd plop the brown matter into a plastic bin. The bin would then be taken to the toilet and flipped, tapped, rinsed, wiped, and sanitized for the next round.
Almost daily Mom dressed Dad.
Part of the daily wardrobe included a condom held onto Dad's penis by a strap. A short, skinny, hollow, firm latex neck protruded from the end of the condom. A long, hollow, 1/4-inch-diameter, latex tube fit tightly around the short, hollow, firm condom-neck. The long tube extended downward and was strapped to the inside of one of Dad's legs. Right below Dad's knee, the tube fit tightly into another short, hollow, firm, latex neck which was the top end of a eight-inch long, six-inch wide latex urine-catcher bag that was strapped to the inside of Dad's calf.
When Dad's bladder needed to release, the urine would flow down the tube and into the bag.
From the bottom end of the latex urine-catcher bag, extended a 1-1/2 inch-long, 1/4-inch-diameter, short, hollow, firm, latex tube-neck. A plastic flip-clip closed off this short tube-neck to keep the urine in the bag. Flip the clip to open the tube-neck, and the pale yellow liquid would drain.
At times, Dad's external condom would slip off.
Dad couldn't feel the warm liquid or the release that comes to us feeling folks when we pee.
So we wouldn't discover the slip-off until Dad or any folks around him saw that Dad's pants were wet or smelled the urine.
This was terribly frustrating. especially in public.
We would have to get Dad home right away; usually not a convenient task.
The scenario would humiliate Dad.
But he took it all in stride and would often times try to find some humor in the situation.
Mom performed all this and more on a regular basis.
Yes, family and friends helped .
Yes, home health helped.
Yet, Mom was always there.
She wasn't always pleasant.
Who would be?
But she never gave up, not even when it was time to let that care be done by others.
She simply couldn't let it go.
Was Dad a hero too?
In a sense, yes.
He was also the victim of a horrendous car wreck.
He was a hero in the sense that he found humor in every day life.
He was a hero in that he brought others laughter with his wit.
He couldn't use his hands and arms for much.
His legs were useless for mobility.
Still he tried to find purpose.
Even if that purpose was laughter.
Dad would cry regularly, often prompted by the goodness he found in others.
If gratitude were a fragrance, Dad was its flower; at least, in his post-wreck life.
I don't recall ever seeing Mom cry.
Sometimes I wonder if her tear ducts worked.
I was a baby when she was first hospitalized at Emory in Atlanta, Georgia.
I was a toddler when she was later hospitalized at Broughton in Morganton, North Carolina.
I was the youngest of three children.
Dad was our primary caregiver through those volatile years.
In spite of Mom's struggles with bipolar disorder, and later fibromyalgia and arthritis, she was successful in her career and as a mother and wife.
When she was 58 years old and Dad was 62, Dad was driving alone, taking a mountain curve in his mid-size car, when he engaged head-on, metal to metal, a large flatbed truck.
Dad's next conscious moment?
He was staring at a hospital ceiling.
Steel halo around his head.
Body stretched straight.
Unable to move.
Quadriplegia.
It must be one of the most traumatic diagnoses to process.
Dad had been an avid golfer.
An occasional snow-skier.
He loved to dance.
In his earlier years, he had hunted deer that provided meat for the family.
He had owned a small sailboat.
He had raised quail.
He had gardened.
All of it was stolen.
In one split second.
The snap of his spinal cord at C-4.
Mom cared for Dad at home for over 12 years.
Day in.
Day out.
Yes, she had help from family, friends, and hired aides.
For a few weeks each year, she received supposed respite when Dad would go the McGuire Veteran Hospital in Richmond, Virginia.
But those "respite" times allowed only minimal rest.
Mom, usually along with a family member or another caregiver, would make the five-hour drive to Richmond and would stay at least the first night, and often more, before driving back home.
Even then, Mom back at home alone, Dad's well-being was always on Mom's heart and mind.
The same is true with any caregiver, with the one who loves deeply the afflicted.
Whose soul is bound tangibly and intangibly with the one that appears to have the greater need.
Dad's greater need wasn't just in appearance; it was reality.
Physical needs for breath and nourishment and elimination and movement must be met to a certain degree in order for the seemingly less tangible needs of the soul to be known, expressed, embraced.
Mom wiped Dad's ass almost daily. About three times a week, she inserted her latex-covered index finger up Dad's anus to help excavate human feces. She'd plop the brown matter into a plastic bin. The bin would then be taken to the toilet and flipped, tapped, rinsed, wiped, and sanitized for the next round.
Almost daily Mom dressed Dad.
Part of the daily wardrobe included a condom held onto Dad's penis by a strap. A short, skinny, hollow, firm latex neck protruded from the end of the condom. A long, hollow, 1/4-inch-diameter, latex tube fit tightly around the short, hollow, firm condom-neck. The long tube extended downward and was strapped to the inside of one of Dad's legs. Right below Dad's knee, the tube fit tightly into another short, hollow, firm, latex neck which was the top end of a eight-inch long, six-inch wide latex urine-catcher bag that was strapped to the inside of Dad's calf.
When Dad's bladder needed to release, the urine would flow down the tube and into the bag.
From the bottom end of the latex urine-catcher bag, extended a 1-1/2 inch-long, 1/4-inch-diameter, short, hollow, firm, latex tube-neck. A plastic flip-clip closed off this short tube-neck to keep the urine in the bag. Flip the clip to open the tube-neck, and the pale yellow liquid would drain.
At times, Dad's external condom would slip off.
Dad couldn't feel the warm liquid or the release that comes to us feeling folks when we pee.
So we wouldn't discover the slip-off until Dad or any folks around him saw that Dad's pants were wet or smelled the urine.
This was terribly frustrating. especially in public.
We would have to get Dad home right away; usually not a convenient task.
The scenario would humiliate Dad.
But he took it all in stride and would often times try to find some humor in the situation.
Mom performed all this and more on a regular basis.
Yes, family and friends helped .
Yes, home health helped.
Yet, Mom was always there.
She wasn't always pleasant.
Who would be?
But she never gave up, not even when it was time to let that care be done by others.
She simply couldn't let it go.
Was Dad a hero too?
In a sense, yes.
He was also the victim of a horrendous car wreck.
He was a hero in the sense that he found humor in every day life.
He was a hero in that he brought others laughter with his wit.
He couldn't use his hands and arms for much.
His legs were useless for mobility.
Still he tried to find purpose.
Even if that purpose was laughter.
Dad would cry regularly, often prompted by the goodness he found in others.
If gratitude were a fragrance, Dad was its flower; at least, in his post-wreck life.
I don't recall ever seeing Mom cry.
Sometimes I wonder if her tear ducts worked.