Post from Zuly Pastrana, a survivor from Peru.
I’m in shock. Devastated and heartbroken, I find it deeply disappointing that nothing has changed. The numerous testimonies that have surfaced in recent years leave me appalled and infuriated. Reading about the experiences of others years after what happened to me breaks my heart for them and, inevitably, for myself. It feels as if my testimony from back then meant nothing, exactly as they intended. They wanted it to be meaningless, buried, hidden, erased, twisted—and so they succeeded.
What I went through has been reduced to mere gossip, something deemed inappropriate for discussion. It transformed into a private matter meant for God alone, declared disrespectful to bring up in a sacred place. It even mutated into a twisted form of sexual intimacy that should remain undisclosed, resulting in my silence. During my research, the most disheartening discovery was realizing I wasn’t alone. Many came before me, and I had unearthed an utterly disgusting secret. Those who spoke out before me were silenced as well. When they decided to leave the so-called “sacred place,” they were labeled as mundane, crazy, liars, and gossipers. Our brothers and sisters in the meetings were quick to support these false narratives, even though many had known the truth for years but chose silence in a misguided attempt not to discourage the rest of us.
Now, I have a question for you: How do you feel in the aftermath of this revelation? Do you believe your silence was helpful? Let me make it clear; your silence makes you just as guilty as those who committed these acts. As a result, many victims left, relocated, and started new lives far away from the place that caused them harm because merely avoiding the meetings wasn’t sufficient. How do I know? I’ve reached out to them, talked to them, and their reactions ranged from heartbreak to disgust upon hearing that it happened to me. Some were enraged to discover it was the same man who had hurt them, mirroring my own feelings now that I know there were many more victims after me. I’m certain they felt their testimonies did not matter because, like mine, they had been distorted into something other than what they really are: child sexual abuse.
Shockingly for me, many of them were still very faithful to the Truth and believed in it passionately. They knew in their hearts that this was not God’s fault but man’s. However, that was the only thing they could do, to put their trust in God because when they have trusted men, the ones who were supposed to protect them, they had protected the rapist instead, and when they looked for comfort in the arms of the community, the community accused them and whoever supported them of betrayal. They were so blinded they could not see this was not God’s doing and that those workers weren’t working for God. And so the cycle repeated itself and I was on my way to start a new life far away from the place that hurt me and from the community that turned its back on me, just as many had done before me because there was no one else who could help us.
I refuse to divide the community into those who were aware and those who weren’t, those who took action and those who didn’t. I understand that some were aware and actively fought against it, and it’s thanks to them that I have the opportunity to share my testimony again today. I recognize that some of you refused to believe it, not out of malice, but because it’s something we don’t want to accept. As long as you resisted and fought against it, believing that God would never allow such things to happen, I empathize with your struggle. We are not simply black or white; we exist in shades of grey. Unfortunately, those who fought against it were very far away from our meetings. In my hometown, the workers are revered like royalty. They’re given the best table, the finest food, the most comfortable seats. I recall attending annual meetings and noticing the special treatment they received, contrasting sharply with the rest of us. The way they’re idolized in the community, as if they were saints or divine, is bewildering. People line up to greet them as if it were a celebrity meet-and-greet, and everyone falls in line. I don’t blame them—the community members, that is, not the workers Many of those who attend are from low socioeconomic backgrounds and are easily influenced by the workers. However, susceptibility to manipulation isn’t limited to socioeconomic status. It’s worth mentioning because many lack access to the internet, cell phones, or social media. They struggle with literacy, speak minimal Spanish or dialects, and reside far from urban areas. The workers are well aware of this, both the good and the bad ones. The latter make use of this vulnerability to keep them misinformed and manipulate them exploiting the hierarchical structure within the community. Younger workers, in particular, have little authority and are expected to comply without question. They may be unaware of the full extent of what’s happening or feel powerless to act. However, when it comes to workers who engage in child sexual abuse, there appears to be a different set of rules. They enjoy certain privileges, such as frequent travel and opportunities for international trips, even after committing wrongdoing. They retain their positions and continue teaching, but don’t you dare marry outside the faith, you risk losing your standing, and is only then that they draw the line. Once their transgressions are exposed, they’re sent to secluded locations where their past is unknown, while the others work to rebuild their reputation, all the while perpetuating their dishonest practices by abusing more children. That’s how I met my abuser.
Alfonso Quispe Gallegos was a Peruvian worker and I was just 5 years old when I met him. He had abused others before he had met me and I guess I was an easy target for him given the fact that I was a really happy sociable kid. My mother and I had just moved to one of these places far away from the city, she had chosen that place because it was quiet and nice, and also ironically because the workers were close to us and we could go to the meetings and engage with the community. We didn’t know he was hiding there from the atrocities he had done to others, and sadly that was the beginning of it. He groomed me first for over a year. He was never aggressive, unkind, or enraged; that’s one of the reasons I kept my silence. I considered him a friend and his actions seemed normal to me. When I turned six, my memories faded into being at the worker’s house, a common meeting place for all the workers in town. He held my hand and led me into a room. After that, my mind went blank, and I can’t recall anything more. It appears the experience was too distressing for me to remember, and a part of me wishes he had shown compassion and refrained from it. I was just a child and he was a sick twisted perverted person but there are sick twisted perverted people everywhere not just in our community, and it is up to the community how to handle this kind of situation once is outed. I stayed silent until I turned 17, and when I finally spoke up, I found myself regretting it. The aftermath was unexpectedly challenging. In 2016, my mother, determined to expose the truth, wrote a letter and shared it with friends, family, and Facebook groups. We thought we were the only victims and expected everyone to share our anger. She confided in the workers and the community, only to witness everything around us crumble in a surreal way.
The community’s response was disheartening. They urged her to stay silent, accused her of being a bad mother, and questioned why I hadn’t spoken up sooner or filed a police report. A worker named Ubaldina Saire even blamed me for spending time with him, insinuating that I wanted the abuse, even at the tender age of 5. Some workers claimed he admitted to it but expressed remorse, and they forgave him. I found it absurd that they could forgive a man who had harmed me so deeply. Despite that, he was told not to attend meetings until he “fixed” the situation. But how can you fix something like that? The emotional damage he inflicted would never be repaired, even if he wanted to make amends. Nevertheless, I turned 18 and I didn’t want to give up my faith. I loved being in the meetings, I was baptized when I was 12 years old even after everything that had happened because I wanted to. To maintain my connection to this sacred community, I joined a trip with all the workers for the annual meetings in Brazil. It was a delightful experience, and for a moment, everything felt like it would be okay. This was the sacred place where I belonged, or so I thought. However, on our way back, a female worker approached me and said: “Hey Zuly, I have to tell you this because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Once we land, Alfonso is going to be waiting for us because he is our designated driver”. It felt like a sudden slap in the face, leaving me shocked, confused, and incredibly vulnerable.
The man who had abused me seemed to have more value in the eyes of others because he owned a car and could drive them around. Despite being a known child sexual abuser, he freely associated with the workers, seemingly unconcerned about the consequences of his actions. Not having seen him for a long time, I was naturally fearful of the potential harm he could cause me. I couldn’t believe the workers would put me in such a vulnerable position, and this sense of betrayal shattered my trust. As a result, I eventually stopped attending the meetings. Friends and family who were aware of what had happened chose to pretend as if nothing occurred. My mother and I, feeling defeated, decided to move forward with our lives. Several years later, at the age of 22, my loyal grandmother, dedicated to The Truth, passed away. We all attended her funeral, including not just family but also friends from the meetings. To my dismay, the workers arrived accompanied by Alfonso, the man who had abused me. I had to take a stand and asked him to leave, outraged by his shameless presence at my grandmother’s funeral. My anger intensified because it wasn’t just him—why would they bring him here, knowing what he had done? It became a confrontation of myself against everyone, and the shock lingers to this day. Even when they hear other testimonies about child sexual abuse, their response is a casual “Yeah, I kind of knew,” accompanied by a shrug, as if it wasn’t a significant issue. In response, I chose to cut off all ties. To this day, Alfonso still attends the meetings, Ubaldina is a worker as well, and many other child sexual abusers play a role in the meetings.
The moment I stumbled upon the BBC article, it brought not only hope to myself but also to others. It sparked a collective courage to share testimonies that, much like mine, had been twisted, concealed, and silenced for too long. Now, these stories are resurfacing, determined to be remembered and told as they truly are, not as they were manipulated to appear ¿Remember when I said that my testimony meant nothing? Over the years, I’ve come to understand the deeper truth. It wasn’t just Alfonso; it ran much deeper. The overseers were involved, and many of them either participated actively or enabled such behavior. It turned out to be more extensive than I initially thought, a regrettable reality. These influential figures wield their power to suppress our voices. However, it’s crucial to remember they are not gods; there is only one God. Trying to assume such authority will inevitably backfire, as we can witness happening right now. As I read, they have tarnished the name of the congregation, it now seems like a big pedophile network, a cult instead of The Truth. For this very reason, I stand before you to recount my story once more, hopeful that this time will mark a true turning point. My desire is for a collective effort to unveil the truth, to expose the real adversary who lurks among us. My primary aim, however, is to share my testimony in its unaltered form, free from the distortions imposed upon it. As the saying goes, those who forget their history are bound to relive it. Let’s not forget! Let’s not conceal it! Knowledge wields great power, and now that we are armed with the truth, let’s reclaim our sacred ground and expel the wrongdoer who has shamelessly manipulated the name of God.
Zuly Pastrana
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First posted at https://www.advocatesforthetruth.com/
WINGS Note:
See also Pamela’s story
WINGS for Truth 