By Ruth Graham
In the story Defense of Swami Chetanananda From a Mysterious Source, an anonymous commenter named me, but Frank redacted my name. Here is what the mysterious commenter said about me in the unredacted version:
Ruth Graham was allowed to live there because her father was Andrew Bonner’s cousin. He begged Andrew to let her move in because he feared for her life and safety. She was a cutter, homeless, jobless and living out of her car. Ruth also lived for free and was asked to do some seva every day. That rarely happened. She couldn’t get out of bed many days and could manage to focus on work for very short periods of time.
She tried to join the army at the recruiting station in Portland but could not pass the mental health section of the interviews. “If” she was encouraged to apply for SSD it most likely because she did not seem capable of managing her life or holding a job.
I suspect Sharon Ward, or someone in the circle, wrote this. J. Michael Shoemaker may have dictated it to Moni or Jen. Regardless of authorship, let’s check this for accuracy.
Swami Chetanananda with Sharon Ward
My father helped me… the commenter wrote:
Ruth Graham was allowed to live there because her father was Andrew Bonner’s cousin. He begged Andrew to let her move in because he feared for her life and safety. She was a cutter, homeless, jobless and living out of her car.
This refers to my second stay at the ashram. The ashram kicked me out because I owed $600 in rent. I wound up homeless, and lived out of a car. That part is true.
I did have a job or various jobs.
I was not a cutter. A cutter (I assume most know, but just in case) chronically self-harms, sometimes daily, usually cutting themselves with a knife, razor, or glass.
Here is what bodies of cutters end up looking like:
Here is my photo.
Here’s another one:
Now let us examine the claim about my father.
Ruth Graham was allowed to live there because her father was Andrew Bonner’s cousin. He begged Andrew to let her move in because he feared for her life and safety.
My father was physically abusive until I moved into the ashram, the first time, at age 19.
One day witnesses saw him grab me in public and shove me to the ground. They called the police.
But this comment about my father refers to the second time I lived at the Movement Center. My father knew I was homeless. He didn’t do anything to help. I talked to him three times in three months, telling him I was homeless. He had money. He had space in his home. His child was homeless. Possibly in danger. When I called, he yelled on the phone. He did not lift a finger. Instead, he actively sabotaged my access to resources.
Still, I paid the back rent of $600 that got me kicked out, working as a cashier.
After being homeless and living in a car, Sharon told me she let me back because I was one of the rare people who paid them the back rent. She never mentioned my father.
Years later, Andrew Bonner told me my father asked Sharon to “let me” move back. But no one told me about it when I moved back.
Andrew Bonner is my father’s cousin.
If my father had begged for my return, I should have been told. I was still in sporadic contact with my father. Why did Andrew, Sharon, or anyone keep this rare, almost unique act of paternal solicitude from me?
Do I believe my father “begged” Andrew to get the Swami to let me back, or that my dad asked Sharon, and that’s why I was allowed to return? No. I don’t.
Let’s continue:
Ruth also lived for free and was asked to do some seva every day. That rarely happened. She couldn’t get out of bed many days and could manage to focus on work for very short periods of time.
At the ashram, I had a work schedule. I logged my hours. Jimi kept the reports of my hours. Michael Bazzani kept them when I worked for him. Doreen or someone on her behalf kept them when I worked for her.
I logged my hours on a piece of paper pinned to a wall for everyone to see. So were the kitchen prep schedules. Everyone could see their assigned jobs.
For years, I was assigned to work in the kitchen on certain days and later in the maintenance “team.” I had to report to Jimi at 9 am every morning. If I was a little late, I got hell for it. It didn’t matter that I showed up time and again, but Jimi wouldn’t be on time, and I would have to wait for him.
I wanted to go to college. But I had to take night classes to finish my Associates Degree, riding the bus late at night, because I was never given any leniency on my kitchen hours.
It would have been much easier if they had let me take classes during the day and work at night.
Jim Brissette, a caporegime for the Swami
I used to cry over it, wondering why I was not given flexibility, since I was attempting to be a successful person in the world. Other young female students were.
Even for outside work, where the money would go to the ashram for my rent, there was no flexibility. I recall conversations where I begged for flexibility with my “hours” working for the ashram so I could just keep my job on the outside and pay the ashram rent.
I had to quit one of my part time jobs, because the ashram would not grant me flexibility with my ashram work hours. I lost a chance to make good money, because the ashram wanted me to work in their kitchens/yards.
Keep in mind, I paid them from my wages earned from outside jobs. It went towards my rent. They always told me money was short, and thus, my hours of cooking were always specifically logged, as well as the money I paid from outside jobs.
I did yard and maintenance, even operated equipment for a credit of $8 per hour.
If my work hours at the ashram were short, I had to pay more money. This is how I ended up owing $600 dollars. I lost my job, and the “balance” was short. I could not work enough hours at the ashram to make up for it.
Despite outside work, school and hours I worked for the ashram, I was never allowed to miss an evening meditation class. When Swami gave talks, he would drone on for hours. I was told I was not allowed to leave the room until he was done, even if I had to go to the bathroom.
One time, after hours in pain, while the Swami seemed to discourse interminably, I had an accident on a meditation cushion. I had no choice, for I was told adamantly, “you can’t leave even if you have to go to the bathroom.”
The law of physics suggests I was not the only one this happened to.
All the time I was there, I was hounded, while favored ones were not. While some could waltz in and do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, I was watched and given no leniency.
Was it because I did not have sex with the Swami or I could not provide drugs for him?
It is true, I got sick toward the end. I was no longer a teenager with boundless energy. I was underweight. The food was inadequate. I probably had low serotonin and melatonin levels from a deficient diet. I was hungry all the time.
Towards the end, I went on food stamps and bought sandwiches from the grocery store, devouring them in shame because people like Jimi liked to be diet policemen.
While I lived on food stamps, the money I saved them with my free slave labor helped Chetanananda buy international properties, first-class tickets, gems, fine wines, and drugs.
My illness continued unabated. I had kidney stones, infections, and anemia. I was depressed from the abuse. My body hurt. I had an ovarian cyst.
After the ashram assigned me as Phyllis’s caretaker, my ovarian cyst burst. Ruth Knight found me passed out on the floor. Nobody checked on me when I came from the hospital. Not even Andrew, my dad’s cousin, treated me like family. He must have considered me an unsightly burden, a threat to his status by association.
I was merely an object from which to extract resources. I was starving for love and support from anyone then, and willing to devote myself to a cause.
But the whole place operates as if it is the exact opposite of what it said to be.
If they had given me 1% of individual attention, I would have walked into flames for them.
Happily, my health issues are all gone. I eat adequate amounts of protein and fat and live free from the stress of the cult.
Lastly, this comment: about me
She tried to join the army at the recruiting station in Portland but could not pass the mental health section of the interviews. “If” she was encouraged to apply for SSD it most likely because she did not seem capable of managing her life or holding a job.
After I refused Sharon’s request to fraudulently apply for SSI, the discard phase began. Sharon started heavily implying the ashram can’t afford me, that I’m not a fit, that I “don’t care enough.”
I started playing to bide a little time. I said maybe I’ll join the army. I spoke with a recruiter, but never took the MEPS (the medical/physical exam).
Several years after I left the ashram, I planned to join the National Guard. I completed the days-long full recruitment process. I got a 98/99 on the ASVAB, which put me in the top 1% of recruits.
I chose not to join the National Guard. The day I passed my MEPS, news of a rape scandal broke from the fort I was assigned. It involved multiple officers and the gang rape of female recruits. I had experienced enough sexual assault and high control abuse. I didn’t want to go through it again.
As for the mystery anonymous commenter’s remarks about others, I cannot say anything. Perhaps you can judge the veracity of their comments by the yardstick of what I said happened to me.
But, really, it shouldn’t matter if I was a cutter. Or whether my father begged Andrew or Sharon to get me back in the door. It matters that I was raped and sexually assaulted, and verbally and physically abused for years.
But little lies are meant to strike at the reputation of victims, stroke by stroke, sullying them, leaving doubt, absolving the culprits. I hope you can see through them.
