WINGS Note: This is a transcript of a video posted by Ted Harris, for those who prefer to read rather than watch. It details the systemic cover-ups (both historic and recent) that facilitated continued Child Sexual Abuse within the church.
In previous videos, I have tried to address the systemic corruption, abuse, and spiritual rot that is the 2×2 church by focusing primarily on individuals: workers who abused their immense spiritual and moral authority to exploit underage victims. Men such as Dean Bruer and Robert Corfield are important to examine not simply because of what they did, but because of what they represent. Their stories are not isolated scandals. They are windows into something much larger: hundreds and hundreds of credible allegations of sexual abuse, shattered lives, institutional failures, and a system that repeatedly prioritized protecting its image and status rather than the vulnerable.
As one survivor of abuse within the church recently commented that if there were workers on the Titanic, they would have gotten on the lifeboats first, and let the women and children drown.
But these men are no longer truly part of the system. Dean Bruer is dead and gone, the videos of his funeral—later scrubbed—showed a level of reverence that an outsider might assume the man had cured cancer, ended world hunger, and negotiated permanent world peace. Robert Corfield is out of the ministry and facing prosecution. It might be easy to conclude that while terrible things happened, at least the bad apples have been removed and change can finally move forward.
That would be a mistake.
Because predators alone do not explain systems. Removing predators does not necessarily remove the structures, leadership, incentives, and most importantly, the culture that allowed them to operate in the first place. In fact, as this system has shown, it simply makes room for others to take their place.
The larger issue is not simply the predator, but the people in positions of responsibility who made repeated predation possible. The people responsible for leadership. Responsible for decisions, information and most importantly, responsible for what happened after abuse was reported.
Predators are responsible for the abuse they commit. Leadership is responsible for what happens after they learn about it. Once the first credible report is received, every additional victim, every missed warning, and every preventable failure becomes a responsibility of leadership.
Because eventually the question stops being: “Who abused children?”
And becomes: “Who allowed the conditions in which abuse could continue?”
I talked in the last video about systems, and my friend Kyle has a great podcast episode exploring a similar idea. Check it out, it’s called cowtipper vern.
To fully explore the network of coverups and institutional failures across different eras of the 2×2 church, even a Ken Burns ten-part documentary probably wouldn’t do it justice. One series could be devoted entirely to the devastating impact of abusive workers in South America alone—and South America represents only a small corner of the broader 2×2 world.
You can almost picture how Ken Burns might present it though, the slow pan across a worker’s picture while a piano plays “We Love the Perfect Way” and a solemn voiceover reads these words from Leroy Lerwick explaining and justifying why multiple known abusers—men who were no longer allowed to continue in the work in their own countries—were sent to South America instead.:
“A few had not done well, and their testimony was such that they were not free to continue in the work in their home country. Many would have thought they should not have a place in the work anywhere… One such brother from Switzerland was given the opportunity to go to Peru, and we now can see that God’s hand was in that arrangement…”
God’s hand was in the arrangement.
That line deserves to just sit there for a moment.
People who had committed abuse and were no longer welcome in their own countries were sent to developing countries and the arrangement was later framed as evidence of divine providence. Sadly, the results that followed in South America were tragically and entirely predictable.
This is why I keep asking the “what kind of God?” questions in these videos. They are not rhetorical or flippant. I mean them seriously.
And so I ask again: what kind of God sends the only intermediaries between himself and people on earth—men entrusted to spread his message and represent him—who had sexually abused children, to another country, where abuse would continue and new victims would follow?
What kind of God sees a man abuse children, removes him from one country, places him in another, and then calls that arrangement his own handiwork?
These are not questions I ask lightly or impudently. They arise naturally from the church’s own words and actions, and they become unavoidable when that same church claims to be the only one on earth that truly knows God.
Because at some point, the questions are no longer about the God they profess to believe in. The real question is what kind of God a system like this requires to sustain itself—and ultimately, you cannot honestly escape the conclusion that they have created a grotesque and perverse deity in their image, then spent generations calling it God and demanding subservience to it.
But I’m not talking today about Leroy Lerwick—maybe another time I will. Today I want to focus on a particularly revealing example of a system that repeatedly protected reputations, concealed abuse, and treated the preservation of the image of the ‘One True Way’ as more important than the protection of children: worker and overseer Dale Shultz.
Before I go any further, I want to make it clear that, given the serious nature of what I’m about to discuss, I made an effort to contact Mr. Shultz and give him an opportunity to comment and respond to the material covered in this video.
I sent him an email on May 17th of this year that clearly stated the subject matter I intended to discuss and invited a response that could be included or referenced in the video. No response was received.
Dale Shultz, the man I’m about to discuss, and whose breathtakingly callous actions have caused irreparable harm in so many lives, is not an aberration or a one-time failure. He is not some bizarre exception to an otherwise healthy system. He is an example of what this system produces again and again and again.
During his decades as a worker and overseer, Dale Shultz has been involved in a number of abuse cases—some well documented, and likely others known only to a small circle of leaders. In recent years, wherever an abuse scandal has broken open, he seems to be there.
Shultz served as an overseer in multiple regions over the years, including parts of Canada and California. Throughout that time, he appears repeatedly in connection with some of the fellowship’s most significant abuse-related crises: developing guidance for California workers following the Ruben Mata scandal while serving as overseer there, traveling to South Africa to address the fallout surrounding Johan Marais, and involving himself in other high-profile cases as they emerged. Whether by assignment, reputation, or inclination, he repeatedly found himself in the role of managing institutional crises, or what’s often known in organized crime as, ‘a fixer.’
I want to examine several of those cases, because together they reveal just how egregiously he has handled matters of sexual abuse.
And across these situations, some far more egregious than others, a pattern begins to emerge. The goal does not appear to have simply been keeping matters quiet. In multiple documented cases, the response escalated into emotionally and spiritually coercive behavior directed at victims and those raising concerns, and in at least one case, allegations of physically abusive conduct as well.
As we work through these cases, I want you to pay attention not only to what Mr. Shultz did, but to what he never seems to do.
Look for evidence of concern for victims. Look for evidence of genuine accountability for abusers. Look for evidence that protecting children and vulnerable people was his highest priority. Look for evidence that lessons were learned and meaningful changes were made to prevent future abuse.
I have looked.
In the letters bearing his name, the policies he helped craft, and the abuse cases he was brought in to manage, I do not find those things.
What I find instead is a recurring concern for protecting the institution, controlling information, managing fallout, and preserving the reputation of the church
This is not some obscure church member. This is a man presented as a servant of God, one of the highest-ranking leaders in what members believe is the New Testament church—the one true way. And yet, across decades of documented abuse cases, I can find no evidence that his priority was ever the protection of children or accountability for abusers. What I find, over and over again, is the protection of the system.
Before going any further, it is important to remember that unlike Bruer or Corfield, Dale Shultz is not a figure from the past. He remains a worker in good standing and continues to serve in a position of leadership in Eastern Canada. In most institutions, the pattern of conduct we are about to examine would be career-ending. Within this system, it appears to have been treated as a résumé.
Again, what kind of God creates and watches over this kind of system? Or the real question, is what kind of system creates the kind of God that would allow this.
It is Dale Shultz and many other men like him who have built this system, maintained it, and given flesh and blood to the god they require their members to obey.
I have been told of another credible account dating back decades, involving allegations against Canadian overseer Willis Propp. According to that account, after an individual reported what Propp had done, Dale Shultz’s response was not to seek accountability from the alleged abuser, but to require the victim to apologize to him.
I have not been able to independently verify every detail of that account, and I present it as such. But if true, and I believe it to be if for no other reason then it fits the pattern that by now should feel painfully familiar.
Earlier, we heard Leroy Lerwick tell us that “God’s hand was in the arrangement.” I think it is safe to conclude that God had nothing to do with this arrangement. The hand of Dale Shultz, however, was very much involved.
Around 2010, Dale Shultz traveled to South Africa to deal with the fallout surrounding Johan Marais, a South African worker who had spent years as a worker in South America. Matthew 10 records Jesus sending his disciples out to preach the kingdom of God. Dale Shultz’s mission was somewhat different.
After being confronted with allegations that he had sexually abused a nine-year-old girl, Marais admitted to the abuse and was returned to South Africa.
One might assume that would be the end of the story. It was not.
According to the survivor, when Marais returned to South Africa she asked him whether there had been any other children. His response was chilling: “What do I consider a child, as they differ so much in maturity.”
Yet even after that, senior workers were still exploring ways to restore him to the work.
In 2012, nearly two years after Johan Marais admitted sexually abusing a nine-year-old girl and had been removed from the work, Ecuadorean overseer Leroy Lerwick wrote a lengthy letter to the survivor’s family. The purpose of the letter was not to explain how such abuse had been allowed to occur, nor to discuss safeguards for children. Rather, it was to make the case that Marais should be allowed to return to South America and resume a useful role in the ministry.
What makes Leroy Lerwick’s letter so revealing is not merely that he wanted Marais restored. It is the way he argued for it. Page after page is devoted to forgiveness, reconciliation, mercy, labor shortages, and the needs of “the kingdom.” The survivor is reminded of biblical examples, urged to consider the souls in South America who might benefit from Marais’s ministry, and asked whether she would object to his return. The fact that the discussion concerns a man who admitted sexually abusing a nine-year-old girl seems almost secondary.
This pattern should feel familiar by now. Again and again, when confronted with sexual abuse, leadership’s instinct is not to begin with the child, the victim, the family, or the prevention of future harm. The instinct is to begin with the kingdom, the ministry, the need for laborers, the possibility of restoration, and the institutional consequences of accountability. The burden subtly shifts from those responsible for the abuse to those who have suffered from it. Survivors are asked to forgive. Families are asked to reconcile. Everyone is asked to consider the needs of the kingdom.
In that sense, Lerwick’s letter is not an aberration. It is a remarkably candid expression of an attitude that has characterized leadership responses to sexual abuse for decades.
The tragedy is not that Leroy Lerwick wrote such a letter. The tragedy is that after examining case after case, the letter feels entirely predictable.
It is here that we begin to see the hand of Dale Shultz. I do not know what was said behind closed doors, what explanations were offered, or what assurances were given to the families involved. What we do know is the outcome.
While Marais did ultimately stay removed from the ministry, he was not removed from fellowship. He continued attending meetings, conventions, and church gatherings where children were present.
More than that, he was appointed an elder of a Sunday morning meeting.
Pause and think about that.
Although Marais was removed from the ministry, which is a remarkably low bar to clear when the alternative is allowing an admitted child abuser to continue representing God, we still need to consider how a man who admitted to sexually abusing a nine-year-old girl was not merely allowed to remain within the church community. He was entrusted with a position of leadership, influence, and spiritual authority. And, according to my understanding, he remains in that position to this day. Apparently, even removal from the work was viewed by senior leadership as a temporary setback rather than a permanent disqualification.
I don’t know what was said behind closed doors during Shultz’s trip to South Africa, or in so many of the other situations Dale Shultz has been involved in over the years.
Accounts such as this matter. In many cases, survivor testimony is all we have, and it deserves to be taken seriously. With Dale Shultz, however, we have not only numerous credible accounts from survivors describing how they were treated, but also letters, policies, and documented actions bearing his name. In several instances, the evidence is not hidden, disputed, or difficult to find. It is sitting in plain sight.
One example, that is quite illuminating along these lines, is a case that involved Ruben Mata, a California worker who, according to Shultz’s own letter, sexually molested young boys across multiple states over a period of at least twenty years. Multiple reports reached workers before 2000, yet no effective action was taken. By now, this pattern is not merely unmistakable—it is representative of the system itself: credible reports received, warnings ignored, abuse allowed to continue, and institutional coverup masquerading as inaction.
The letter does acknowledge that the ministry’s response was not, in his words, “quick, definite and adequate.” But it is difficult to accept, in any serious way, the sincerity of those words when the accompanying correspondence is so heavily focused on controlling information, limiting who receives it, and restricting what can be done with it. In short, doing everything he can to cover up as much as he still can.
This is, after all, what makes Dale Shultz such an effective fixer. In case after case, he projects the appearance of concern. He pays lip service to acknowledging failures. He claims to feel regret. He cosplays the language of accountability.
Yet behind the scenes as we will see, his priority is clear: Control the information, manage the fallout, and protect the institution.
That is what interests me here.
I’ll post links to both letters in the comments so you can read them for yourselves. In fact, I encourage you to do exactly that.
As you read them, pay attention to what receives emphasis.
Shultz specifically instructs workers, with all the authority he possesses, that the letter is not to be copied. It is not to be left with members. It should be read only in the presence of workers. It should be shown only to those who already have concerns. He warns that letters such as this can end up on the internet “for all the world to read.”
One cannot help but think of the biblical admonition against hiding one’s light under a bushel. Yet throughout these letters, the recurring concern is not how to bring truth into the light, but how to keep it from spreading too far. The bushel remains in regular use, and it would seem, an essential tool for workers in managing the affairs of their church.
And then there is one phrase that, at least to me, speaks volumes.
*Shultz explains that the purpose of the letter is not to “advertise a kingdom problem” to people who are unaware of it.
I think that phrase tells us far more than Shultz intended it to.
Because a “kingdom problem” is not the language of transparency, accountability or protecting children. Rather, it is the language of institutional protection at all costs.
The issue being discussed was not a misunderstanding or a rumor. According to Shultz’s own letter, it involved decades of child sexual abuse, multiple missed opportunities to intervene, admitted offenses, victims, families, and eventually a criminal prosecution and conviction of 35 years to life with no possibility of parole.
Yet the concern being articulated is that people who do not know about the problem should remain unaware of it. Even the people in the so-called kingdom are not to be warned that a prolific predator has been in their homes unless they come to the ministry and ask. Some of the children in those homes may be struggling through serious crises while their parents are left searching for answers, yet according to the fixer, they should remain unaware of the “kingdom problem.”
That is not just a revealing phrase. It is a revealing mindset and more importantly, a culture.
A culture in which information is carefully controlled. Where the reputation of “the kingdom”—”the one true way”—is treated as something to be managed and protected quite literally at all costs, even if the price to pay is the safety of children, the ability of families to protect them, the recovery of those who have already been harmed, and the truth itself.
Dale Shultz attempts to explain away the uncomfortable fact that reports about Ruben Mata existed as early as 1996, ten years prior to this letter, he writes:
” One case came to the attention of a brother worker through a third party as early as 1996. This worker was inexperienced in handling this kind of problem and didn’t fully realize its seriousness and magnitude. No follow up action took place. Word of another case was conveyed to sister workers but, again, they didn’t follow through with any definite action that would have brought the problem out into the open.”
Perhaps. Let’s just, for the sake of argument, grant the most charitable interpretation possible. Let’s assume that Shultz isn’t just throwing them under the bus and that these workers truly were inexperienced. Let’s assume they genuinely failed to grasp the seriousness of allegations of child sexual abuse. Let’s assume that within the 2×2 church there is no culture of silence, no pressure to protect the ministry, and no reports made to overseers that were subsequently ignored.
Even if we grant every one of those assumptions in the most generous, albeit unlikely altogether implausible light, what remains is still an extraordinary and inexcusable failure of leadership.
If workers did not know what to do when confronted with allegations that a young child was being sexually abused, whose responsibility was it to ensure they did? If workers were incapable of recognizing the seriousness of such reports, who was responsible for training them? If warnings failed to reach the people whose children were at risk, who was responsible for creating a system that ensured they would?
And if that explanation were true, one would expect it to have been a watershed moment. Discovering that ministers did not know how to respond to reports of child sexual abuse, and that as a result abuse continued for at least another decade, should have triggered a system-wide reckoning. There should have been an acknowledgment that something had gone terribly wrong, clear instructions for handling future reports, training for workers, accountability for failures, and an unmistakable commitment that such a breakdown would never, under any circumstances happen again.
Instead, of course, there was no such reckoning. No admission that the system itself had failed. No indication that leadership examined how reports could be made safely, how concerns could be escalated, or how families could be protected. And most importantly, an honest reckoning of how the very doctrines and culture of the church itself contributed to, if not entirely created the conditions for this catastrophe, like so many others, to occur. The lesson seems not to have been, “We must make sure this never happens again, under any circumstances” but rather, “The real mistake was allowing the problem to remain visible enough that questions eventually had to be answered.”
Perhaps most tellingly, there are verified accounts of families with young boys who were around Mata during this period and were never warned. They never saw this letter. They were never given the information necessary to make informed decisions about the safety of their own children.
Which suggests that the workers may have followed the advice they had been given all along: keep the “kingdom problem” inside the kingdom. After all, the families who were never warned seem to have received that message loud and clear. The only difficulty with that approach is that predators rarely limit themselves to becoming a kingdom problem.
And once again, we see the same pattern.
The system is protected. The victims, accountability, and transparency appear much farther down the list of priorities.
It should go without saying, but needs to be highlighted anyway, that what resulted from this case was not accountability or transparency, but rather just another turn of the wheel, of life the destroying, soul crushing system that is the 2×2 church. The perfect way.
There is another document bearing Dale Shultz’s name that deserves attention as well.
Following the Ruben Mata scandal, guidelines were developed for California workers dealing with reports of child sexual abuse—apparently in response to potential legal liability, rather than a genuine commitment to protecting children.
At first glance, this sounds promising. After decades of abuse, coverups, and institutional failures, perhaps leadership was finally serious about protecting children and ensuring abuse was properly reported.
The document itself quickly dispels that optimism.
One of the more striking sections discusses the advantages of directing victims to licensed counselors. Not simply because counseling may help the victim, though of course it might. Rather, because therapists are mandated reporters.
The document explicitly notes that counseling can transfer the responsibility for reporting criminal conduct from the workers to the counselor. It recommends reaching an understanding that the counselor will assume responsibility for making the report. It even observes that workers are in a “better position” to help everyone involved if they themselves have not done the reporting.
Think about that for a moment.
This is a document written in the aftermath of a worker who sexually abused children for decades while reports made to legally designated mandated reporters repeatedly failed to produce meaningful action. Yet a remarkable amount of attention is devoted not to reporting abuse, but to identifying ways someone else can do the reporting.
There is another phrase that caught my attention. At one point, the document suggests there “may” be a moral obligation to report abuse.
May.
After decades of abuse, ignored warnings, criminal conduct, shattered lives, and institutional coverups, one might think the existence of a moral obligation would be the least controversial part of the discussion.
Yet even here, the language remains tentative. The obligation is treated as a possibility rather than a duty.
Taken together, the document reveals a mindset that by now should feel familiar. Responsibility is carefully managed. Liability is carefully considered. Reporting is something to be transferred, delegated, or placed one step further away, or best case scenario, avoided all together.
Once again, Dale Shultz appears to say the right things, but means none of it, and something else entirely.
And once again, the underlying concern seems less focused on protecting children than on protecting the people responsible for dealing with what happened to them.
On a personal note, I have held a California teaching credential since 2002. In 2006, when this letter was written, I was a legally mandated reporter working in California. I was operating under the very legal framework that these California workers were supposedly navigating, and I can assure you there was no ambiguity about what was expected.
I have personally made multiple reports of suspected abuse. The process could not be anymore accessible and straightforward.
Mandated reporters are neither trained nor authorized to investigate allegations. We are not tasked with determining whether a victim is credible. We are not tasked with weighing evidence, interviewing witnesses, or deciding whether abuse “really happened.” In fact, we are specifically instructed not to do those things. And we are most certainly legally required, not to pass the responsibility off on someone else.
We have one job: report it.
If we have a reasonable suspicion that a child may have been abused, we make the report immediately, or as soon as practicably possible, and submit the required written report within 36 hours. The investigation is then conducted by people whose job it is to investigate.
That is why the repeated appeals to inexperience, confusion, or uncertainty collapse under the slightest bit of scrutiny. Child sexual abuse is not a complicated theological problem. It is not a “kingdom problem.” It is not a matter requiring delicate internal handling by ministers. The responsibility is remarkably simple: when any suspicion of child abuse arises, report them to the appropriate authorities and let trained professionals do their jobs.
To claim that workers simply did not understand the seriousness of child sexual abuse is troubling enough. To invoke that claim as a defense for a system that failed children, while simultaneously attempting to disperse responsibility away from leadership, is not just immoral, but illegal.
And this is why I keep returning to the same point. Dale Shultz is not an aberration. He is not some uniquely flawed individual who somehow slipped through the cracks. He is an example of the values this system rewards, the instincts it cultivates, and the culture it produces. He may not have created the machine, but he has spent decades making sure it continues to run smoothly.
___
Not long after the Dean Bruer scandal exploded into public view, another overseer, Mark Huddle, was accused of sexual abuse by multiple children and women.
And once again, Dale Shultz appeared.
Once again, we see the familiar pattern. The right words are spoken. The proper concerns are expressed. Accountability is acknowledged. Victims are recognized. Professionals are consulted. Future reforms are promised.
Taken at face value, the letter sounds encouraging enough. Read it for yourself. It speaks of learning from experience. It speaks of increased safety. It promises communication regarding child sexual abuse issues, mandated reporter training, and “other necessary changes going forward.”
The problem is what happened next.
Nothing.
Nothing remotely proportionate to what had been uncovered.
In the aftermath of the Bruer and Huddle revelations and all the others that came into the light once the dam finally burst, a large group of concerned members in the Northwest spent hundreds of hours developing comprehensive policies for the church that would address the many failures now unmistakably exposed. They consulted professionals. They researched best practices. They even carefully considered the unique structure of the 2×2 church. They attempted to create exactly the sort of safeguards, accountability measures, and reporting procedures that any responsible organization would have implemented on its own years earlier.
The resulting proposals were not radical. If anything, given the documented history of abuse within the church, they were remarkably restrained.
And what happened?
They were dismissed out of hand.
Not after a competing proposal was offered. Not after a better plan was developed. Not because the recommendations were shown to be ineffective.
They were dismissed by overseer Darryl Doland, who explained that he “didn’t have peace about it.” He further suggested that the proposals felt “too corporate” and that the church was a family, not a corporation.
And there it is.
All the promises. All the statements about learning. All the commitments to increased safety and necessary changes. When presented with an opportunity to enact meaningful reform, the system did what it has always done before.
Nothing.
Which brings us back to Dale Shultz.
Because this is what makes him such an effective fixer. As we see in other instances and in this case, the letter regarding Mark Huddle, where his name is the first signed, he cosplays the language of accountability. He says the right things. He signs the right letters. He promises the right reforms.
And then there is zero change.
And here we are, several years later.
The reforms never came. The comprehensive safety proposals were rejected. The promised changes quietly faded away. Nothing was learned. Once again, like everything else uttered from an overseer’s lips, Shultz’s words in the letter were empty, meaningless, as tinkling brass.
*The same institutional instincts prevail. At some point, these are no longer failures occurring under Dale Shultz’s leadership. They are failures for which Dale Shultz bears responsibility because they continued after he identified them, acknowledged them, and promised to address them. These are the fruits of his leadership. They are bitter, they are rotten and they are unmistakably real. And by those fruits, we can know him.
In fact, as I was finishing this video, another notice was circulated by Amy Thompson, a worker in Washington—the same worker who last winter shared the results on her blog of a bingo game in which workers apparently play during special meeting rounds, that openly mocked and and even denigrated the very people who feed them, house them, provide them with vehicles, and support them financially. But I digress.
The notice she sent out announced that the therapy fund for survivors of sexual abuse in Washington, Idaho, and Alaska is being shut down.
Read the notice for yourself. It acknowledges that recovery from sexual abuse is often a lifetime journey. It acknowledges the pain. It acknowledges the need. It acknowledges that healing can take years, even decades.
And then by clicking on send, it eliminates one of the few tangible forms of support that emerged from all of these empty promises.
The notice acknowledges that recovery from sexual abuse is often a lifetime journey.
Apparently the church’s obligation to survivors, meaningful reform, and institutional accountability is not.
The victims are expected to live with the consequences forever. The system, meanwhile, remains remarkably unwilling to live with any consequences at all.
At this point, some people may be tempted to view everything I have discussed as a story of institutional failure, bad judgment, and misplaced priorities.
But there is one more account that deserves mention. In fact it is the entire inspiration for this video.
This account, more than any other, tells us what we need to know about Dale Shultz and the system he has spent decades protecting.
When a young man who had been repeatedly raped by a worker during his youth began speaking out to some within the church about what had happened to him—and questioning the lack of accountability for the worker responsible, who has since admitted the abuse—Dale Shultz confronted him.
He then grabbed him, threw him against a concrete wall with enough force that his head struck the wall, leaving a significant gash on the back of his head and causing him to see stars, and then told him to keep his mouth shut.
I was not there. I cannot tell you what was going through Dale Shultz’s mind. I can only tell you what has been reported.
This account strips away all of the letters, policies, statements, promises, and carefully crafted language.
There is no discussion of accountability, no concern for healing, no institutional statement.
There is only a survivor speaking about abuse and a senior leader responding with intimidation and violence.
For me, that account encapsulates everything I have discussed in this video. Not because it is unique, but because it is so consistent with the pattern.
Protect the system.
Silence the problem.
Move on.
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