Five years after the escape from Ruinerwold, Israel van Dorsten has a new mission: helping fellow survivors escape sectarian environments more easily than he did. Together with two other experts by experience, Joel Crosby and Jan van der Winden, Van Dorsten founded a training and consultancy firm called Vrijhartig. The goal is to help governments and care institutions better recognize the signs of sects and respond more effectively to those affected.
Israel van Dorsten now lives in Utrecht, where he studies sociology. Nearly five years after escaping the farm in Ruinerwold, where he and his eight siblings grew up under the rule of a fanatically religious father, Van Dorsten reflects on his life, saying it’s now “pretty normal.” He feels “happy.” He finds it extraordinary how quickly he adapted to his new life, noting that his previous life seems distant. The freedom and happiness he now experiences is something he wants for others who are trapped in sects or other closed communities. That is why he, alongside Joel Crosby and Jan van der Winden, established Vrijhartig, aiming to ensure that governments and care institutions are better equipped to recognize the signs of a sect.
Defining what exactly constitutes a sect is challenging for the trio. While they all grew up in radical environments, it’s not easy to say with certainty that they were part of sects. Van Dorsten’s story is well-known after his escape from the Ruinerwold farm made global news, followed by a highly-praised documentary and his book Wij waren, ik ben, Weg uit Ruinerwold. He comments: “I think you could call the place where I grew up a sect. But you could also call it a family with an extremely manipulative father. I think the two can look very much alike.”
Crosby, an American Dutchman, grew up in the evangelical church “De Deur” in Zwolle, a church with numerous branches. While a church isn’t typically labeled a sect, Crosby notes that at De Deur, pastors had near-absolute control over the members. “You had to ask permission to marry, and you couldn’t move without approval. The leader of De Deur abused several young women in the church, including a relative of mine. Eventually, he was removed from his position, but he was allowed to appoint his own successor, who then covered everything up. They made my life hell when I stood up against the injustice. My marriage was forbidden (Crosby later married his girlfriend anyway). I think you could call that a sect.”
Van der Winden grew up with strict followers of anthroposophy, a spiritual philosophy centered on the connection between humans and the cosmos, from which the Waldorf schools originated. Was that a sect? “It’s hard to say for sure. For me, a key factor is how difficult it is to leave a movement. In my case, it was extremely hard. And there are many more issues I could mention.”
According to the official definition in Van Dale (the authoritative Dutch dictionary), a sect is described as “a spiritual movement that deviates from a larger movement from which it originated.” Whether the experiences of Van Dorsten, Crosby, and Van der Winden fully align with this definition is questionable. “It doesn’t really matter,” says Van Dorsten. “Call it closed communities if you prefer. What’s certain is that we are all experts by experience.”
The trio, who met over the past few years, wanted to do something with their shared experiences. Initially, they considered setting up a new reporting center for sect victims, something that no longer existed after the government shut down “Sektesignaal” in early 2020. However, since Stichting Fier will be stepping in to fill that gap next year, the trio shifted their focus. This led to the founding of Vrijhartig. “We focus on youth care, child protection, the police, and local governments,” says Van der Winden, who also works part-time as a sect specialist with the police and authored the book Gekke Jantje last year. “We aim to teach them how to recognize signs of potential sects and then offer advice on how best to assist.”
Due to the lack of specific legislation and the closure of Sektesignaal, sect-like groups have been flourishing in the Netherlands in recent years, Van der Winden, who lives in Amerongen, observes. “Under the guise of religious freedom, a lot is possible in the Netherlands. If you let this happen, you can be sure there will be many perpetrators and victims.”
Van Dorsten adds, “There’s nothing inherently wrong with a closed community. A group that isolates itself from the outside world can lead a wonderful life. But when things go wrong, they can go very wrong. Just look at my story. What’s important is that you maintain contact with people in such a closed community.”
Van der Winden points out that it’s often difficult to keep that contact alive. “You may only get a few chances, and you could lose contact quickly. If you immediately pass judgment or say, ‘You’re in a sect,’ the other person will naturally resist that. It’s much more effective to ask questions, which encourages victims to form their own thoughts. By asking questions like, ‘How do you feel about what’s happening? Isn’t that intense? Didn’t the same thing happen last week?’ you can get someone to start thinking for themselves, which is what you want to achieve.”
Van Dorsten notes that other countries like England and France have laws that make psychological manipulation easier to prosecute. “In the Netherlands, that’s not possible. Not that it’s easy to prove, but simply having it in the law would help raise awareness: it’s not allowed.”
Van der Winden agrees: “In the Netherlands, you really need cases of physical abuse or sexual assault to take action. But by the time you reach that point, so much other damage has already been done.”
Crosby left “De Deur” about five years ago. “When I left, I realized there was very little help available for people like me. I would really like that to change so victims know where to go when they leave a sect.”
Van Dorsten adds, “When I published my book, I received an overwhelming amount of messages from people who related to my story in various ways and who were struggling. There should be much more support for them. If that support existed, they wouldn’t all be turning to me.”
Crosby reflects on the fact that many of his family members are still in “De Deur.” “I would love for them to see that there’s a life outside the sect, and for our relationships to heal. Maybe that’s the main reason I’ve decided to step forward. I also wrote a book about De Deur (Achter gesloten deuren). I’ve received a lot of messages from fellow survivors who are very grateful for it. It cost me blood, sweat, and tears, but it had to be done.”
Van Dorsten concludes, “Of course, I could say: I’ll just live my own quiet life, I’ve been through enough. But I can’t sit still; I have a strong sense that I want to do something with this. I could wait five years, but in those five years, I could also become a wiser person by working on this and helping others.”
Crosby admires how positively Israel has embraced his life over the last five years. “My personality is such that I have a harder time letting go of the past.”
Van Dorsten responds, “Personality definitely plays a role, but I’ve also had people around me who helped me a lot. The media attention around us as the children of Ruinerwold might have opened doors for us that remain closed for others. That’s unfair, but it could be part of why we’ve moved forward. Ultimately, though, I think it’s also about resilience. Humans are resilient. It’s about how you deal with the situation.”
Van der Winden agrees, “It’s all about what you do with your experiences. There have been moments in my life when I was in deep trouble, but my will to survive was so strong. Looking back, I almost consider everything I’ve been through as a gift. It was tough, but it enriched me. I don’t feel traumatized, even though I’ve certainly been through traumatic events.”
Source: Algemeen Dagblad
