Saturday, December 6, 2008
Occult Roots of Modern-Day Slavery
I just finished reading "Restoring Survivors of Satanic Ritual Abuse" by Patricia Baird Clark. She deals with modern-day survivors of ritual abuse in the United States, but many of the themes and the methods are exactly the same as what I see in the idol shrines of West Africa. Clark talks a lot about "the chosen child" who is a living sacrifice to Satan (exactly the terminology I've chosen to describe what I see in the trokosi-voodoosi system). The chosen child is subjected to many rituals, sometimes even before birth, to impart as many demonic powers as possible. She is then kept isolated and dehumanized in every way possible (same as in the trokosi system). People use her to obtain her demonic powers for their own ends, and these powers are accessed through rape. (Same, same, same.) Lord, guide your church into helping these poor victims both here and around the world, wherever these ugly systems manifest themselves. I pray that victims will begin to seek help and that you will raise up an army of Christians who are equipped and unafraid to help them get free. Thank you, Jesus! Amen.
Friday, November 21, 2008
William Wilberforce's Abolitionist Tactics
Last night a brief preview of the movie "Amazing Grace" pulled my heart again toward the movie I have enjoyed seeing over and over again. The life of British Christian abolitionist William Wilberforce continues to inspire me anew every time I see it.
I draw these two conclusions from Wilberforce's life:
- We who are fighting slavery must NEVER GIVE UP. The battle may take a lifetime and it may extend beyond our lifetimes. Feelings of discouragement are inevitable, but we cannot give up. The cause of right will prevail, must prevail, if only we will continue no matter how dark the night.
- We must use many avenues, many strategies all at once. Wilberforce introduced legislation against slavery, but he did not do that alone. He educated people to the need, he gathered signatures, he collaborated with other abolitionists, he introduced other laws that undermined the profitability of slavery.
God give us strength to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. May every person now in slave bondage know that he or she is a valued and deeply loved creation of God, made in His own image and therefore with great dignity.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Day I Became an Abolitionist
The date was 1999. Boy, was I naive. I was training Sunday school teachers in Ghana with Every Child Ministries. At break time, a young man walked up and handed the members of our team t-shirts saying "Stop Trokosi Now" or something like that.
"OK, what's trokosi?" I asked.
He explained that it was a practice of slavery in his country whereby girls were given as slaves to priests in traditional shrines.
I hardly believed him. I thought slavery ended with the American Civil War. I didn't know there were slaves still today. Certainly not in a modern country like Ghana. Boy, was I naive!
When I got home, I began checking out "trokosi" on the internet. I was surprised by the amount of information I found. I made a trip back to Ghana and investigated the matter for myself. I talked with a former trokosi and with a priest who until recently kept trokosi slaves.
Since then I have talked with many former trokosi and many priests who have kept such slaves. I have learned that trokosi is only one form of slavery and that there are more people in slavery today than ever before in history.
But the day I become an abolitionist was the day I sat in Anna's* bamboo shelter and heard her story. She was 13, attending school and living a happy, normal life in the village when her parents announced that they'd be going to visit another village. It was a long walk, but as they got closer, Anna noticed that they were not really going to the place her parents had mentioned. Instead, somehow they ended up at a shrine. Her parents told her to wait outside. She was not too frightened until she overheard her parents talking with the priest and realized that she was going to be left there. Her parents left by another way without saying goodbye or giving her any kind of explanation. But then, what could they really say to explain what was about to happen?
The priest was an old man. He called her in, told her she'd be staying at the shrine, and ordered her to strip.
Now, I remember how shy and confused I was at 13. If the things that happened to Anna had happened to me, I don't think there's a chance in the world I ever could be normal once again.
Anna was paraded around naked and ashamed--a new wife of the gods. Her duties were to put white powder on the idols every morning, sweep the compound, work in the priest's fields all day, and serve him sexually at night. At least, whenever he wanted. There were lots of other trokosi, too.
"Anna, didn't you ever just tell him no?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," she said. "We all told him no."
"What happened then?" I asked.
"Then," she said, "he laid two items in front of us--a leather whip made from the dried penis of a bull, and a bunch of sharp, broken bottles. That was the only time we had a choice in the shrine," she said.
"A choice?" I asked.
"Yes, we could be whipped. When they whipped us, several of the shrine elders came in and held us down. He whipped us long and hard, but it was forbidden to cry. If you cried, you just got more punishment."
"Or?" I asked.
"Or, we could kneel on the broken bottles and hold our hands up in the air for hours." She showed me cuts on her knees from doing so.
Anna's story was horrific, but the worst thing was her face. They had carved her cheeks at the shrine to show their ownership, but worse than those scars was the pain that still showed through so clearly.
When I went back to my hotel room that night, I sat in the dark and tried to absorb it emotionally. I felt as if I had lifted just a corner off the lid of the pit of hell and looked in.
I didn't immediately see how I could get involved with all my other commitments, but I knew I had to do something. That was the day I become an abolitionist.
by Lorella Rouster
Every Child Ministries
www.ecmafrica.org
"OK, what's trokosi?" I asked.
He explained that it was a practice of slavery in his country whereby girls were given as slaves to priests in traditional shrines.
I hardly believed him. I thought slavery ended with the American Civil War. I didn't know there were slaves still today. Certainly not in a modern country like Ghana. Boy, was I naive!
When I got home, I began checking out "trokosi" on the internet. I was surprised by the amount of information I found. I made a trip back to Ghana and investigated the matter for myself. I talked with a former trokosi and with a priest who until recently kept trokosi slaves.
Since then I have talked with many former trokosi and many priests who have kept such slaves. I have learned that trokosi is only one form of slavery and that there are more people in slavery today than ever before in history.
But the day I become an abolitionist was the day I sat in Anna's* bamboo shelter and heard her story. She was 13, attending school and living a happy, normal life in the village when her parents announced that they'd be going to visit another village. It was a long walk, but as they got closer, Anna noticed that they were not really going to the place her parents had mentioned. Instead, somehow they ended up at a shrine. Her parents told her to wait outside. She was not too frightened until she overheard her parents talking with the priest and realized that she was going to be left there. Her parents left by another way without saying goodbye or giving her any kind of explanation. But then, what could they really say to explain what was about to happen?
The priest was an old man. He called her in, told her she'd be staying at the shrine, and ordered her to strip.
Now, I remember how shy and confused I was at 13. If the things that happened to Anna had happened to me, I don't think there's a chance in the world I ever could be normal once again.
Anna was paraded around naked and ashamed--a new wife of the gods. Her duties were to put white powder on the idols every morning, sweep the compound, work in the priest's fields all day, and serve him sexually at night. At least, whenever he wanted. There were lots of other trokosi, too.
"Anna, didn't you ever just tell him no?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," she said. "We all told him no."
"What happened then?" I asked.
"Then," she said, "he laid two items in front of us--a leather whip made from the dried penis of a bull, and a bunch of sharp, broken bottles. That was the only time we had a choice in the shrine," she said.
"A choice?" I asked.
"Yes, we could be whipped. When they whipped us, several of the shrine elders came in and held us down. He whipped us long and hard, but it was forbidden to cry. If you cried, you just got more punishment."
"Or?" I asked.
"Or, we could kneel on the broken bottles and hold our hands up in the air for hours." She showed me cuts on her knees from doing so.
Anna's story was horrific, but the worst thing was her face. They had carved her cheeks at the shrine to show their ownership, but worse than those scars was the pain that still showed through so clearly.
When I went back to my hotel room that night, I sat in the dark and tried to absorb it emotionally. I felt as if I had lifted just a corner off the lid of the pit of hell and looked in.
I didn't immediately see how I could get involved with all my other commitments, but I knew I had to do something. That was the day I become an abolitionist.
by Lorella Rouster
Every Child Ministries
www.ecmafrica.org
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