In March 2020, the book “Souviens-toi… Sydney” (Remember… Sydney) was published, telling the story of Claire, a young Jehovah’s Witness prisoner of her faith. After three years of success, the novel has been finally translated into English.

Why do I need to read this book?

Because the abuse of minors is not a simple sin, but a crime that must be reported to the authorities;

Because the control of the Watchtower’s Governing Body over its followers is absolute;

Because the suffering of those who are rejected, cut off from their families, from their social fabric, without friends, is unbearable.

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Background

While the Catholic Church is often singled out for its handling of child sexual abuse, paedocriminality is a reality in other religious communities. In 2015, the dysfunction of the Jehovah’s Witnesses was exposed in a major scandal in Australia.

More than a thousand cases of pædophilia have been hidden from the public and the victims stigmatised into silence. The publicity surrounding the findings of the Australian Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse (ARC) has loosened tongues and brought many more cases to light.

Written in the wake of the findings of the Australian Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse, this book is not only a poignant testimony, but also a message of hope.

The authors, Baruq and his close friend Eneeh Quarter, know the Jehovah’s Witnesses well. They grew up in this environment and were deeply involved in the movement before leaving due to the many abuses committed by the organisation.

In this gripping and well-documented novel, they invite the reader to enter the closed world of this notorious religious community, the functioning of which is all too often unclear. The promised paradise turns out to be hell.

Nearly 500 screaming pages of truth to ensure victims are never silenced again

It took two years of writing and investigation, sleepless nights and wrist cramps, to write, “Remember… Sydney,” a title that evokes the Australian commission that brought the Jehovah’s Witness organisation to the fore.

Although fortunately, they had no similar experience, Eneeh and Baruq undertook extensive research and collected dozens of testimonies on the internet denouncing the policy of the Watchtower (the editorial entity that manages the activities of Jehovah’s Witnesses from Warwick, USA) in handling cases of sexual abuse of minors.

Rather than a collection of real-life stories, of which there are many on the web, they have imagined a compelling narrative in which anyone who has had similar experiences can find himself. “Remember… Sydney” is not intended to condemn any particular movement, as the events described are common to many other associations, both religious and non-religious (e.g. extracurricular). It has been written in a spirit of healthy and constructive criticism and not in a spirit of rancour, anger, frustration or hatred.

The authors are not in denial about their past, nor do they have any animosity towards their former co-religionists. It is therefore an objective work, written with a fresh mind and clarity of thought, which highlights the distortions caused by the directives of the Governing Body, which controls every moment of the members’ lives.

The authors point out:

“Despite the denials of its leaders, there is a real problem within this organisation. The repercussions could be far more serious than those that have affected the Catholic Church, mainly because members refuse to face reality. They have been instructed not to give credence to the accusations made by the victims. But through the web, the voices of the oppressed are getting louder and louder, and it will be increasingly difficult to silence them. It could be a rude awakening for millions of followers.”

Summary

Claire, 21 years old and newly married, grew up in Lausanne in a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses. She could be happy, but unusual events spoil her life as a couple. Her husband, Jérémie, tries to help her, but finds himself powerless to deal with his wife’s problems.

The young wife would have liked to find support from her mother, but her blind faith in the creed of her religion prevents her from helping her daughter properly. She has been remarried to Raymond, a Belgian Jehovah’s Witness, after Claire’s father left when she was seven. Her stepfather’s activities are mysterious, but does he really have something to hide?

She finds support in two people: Isabelle, her childhood friend, with whom she has planned a trip, and Éloïse, her work colleague, who makes her reason about her beliefs and encourages her not to put blind trust in men.

Two tragic events will once again turn her life upside down and separate her from those who are most dear to her. She will experience the pain of rejection.

Éléonore, a psychotherapist, and Anna, who practises gentle hypnosis, will go in search of the events of her past that she has forgotten and that certainly explain the inferno of her present life.

Excerpts

Huge revelations

“A Jehovah’s Witness is labelled an apostate in the same way that women were accused of being witches within the Church in past centuries. And the sentence is always a death sentence. What is the worst agony? That of the stake, or rather the anathema of the individual who suddenly finds himself excluded from the social fabric, rejected by his family and companions, deprived of everything that constitutes his reason for living?”

“A dozen masked men and women were gathered in a room in what appeared to be a castle or an old stone house. Young prepubescent boys, obviously drugged, were brought in and subjected to the worst atrocities. Between sodomy, fellatio, brutality, and other bestial practices of which I did not even suspect the existence, each and everyone sought to draw the maximum enjoyment from the bodies of these poor creatures. I could not imagine that human perversion could reach such a level of evil.”

But also a message of hope

“Life is like a rose, and we often get hurt by its thorns. But we know that this is the price we have to pay to enjoy the beauty of the flower. So, to paraphrase someone, instead of complaining that roses have thorns, let us rejoice that thorns have roses. Yet, after all these trials, I was rather inclined to observe that when the rose was wilted, only the spines remained.
‘You’re right. But if you take care of the rose bush, feed it and water it, when the season comes, it will bloom again.’”

A book of solidarity

The authors and their family support various associations to help victims, so that the clergy (of all religions) can no longer hide behind the secrecy of confession and are obliged to denounce to the authorities the crimes of which they become aware, whatever their nature, but especially those which affect the integrity of children.

What readers think

Victor Bouadjio (from the magazine Écrire Aujourd’hui):
“I am writing about Eneeh Quarter’s famous novel which, when read in this finished and edited form, I rediscover its quality and scope. It is truly a success and should definitely be given the success it deserves.
Moreover, the editor’s work has resulted in a beautiful object, attractive, pleasant and makes you want to open it. Everything is there, not to mention the prologue and the beginning which leaves no ambiguity as I would have feared. You can be proud of your book.”

Christophe Baroni (from the Élise Lucet support group):
“In addition to the various investigations carried out by Élise Lucet and her team on paedocriminality, a social scourge that is rampant in many sectors (the Catholic Church, sport, private music lessons, certain tourist sites…), I would like to draw your attention to the recent book by Eneeh Quarter, ‘REMEMBER… SYDNEY.’ Everything is true in this well-written book – a testimony that would make an excellent film script…”

Manon Boyer (reader from Canada):
“You should be proud. An extraordinary novel that I enjoyed reading, a must-read.”

Éric Gris (reader from France):
“I am very happy for your courage and tenacity to see that your efforts and fight against these despicable acts committed against many victims are successful. Congratulations on your work.”

Morganne d’Arcourt (Paris, France):
“This book is absolutely indispensable.”

Dominique Reynaud (YouTuber):
“A first novel that is a masterpiece.”

Margaux, from margorotsuki.wordpress.com
“A tragic but instructive story.”

Michel (from France)
“For those who are not familiar with the Jehovah’s Witnesses, this is a good way to discover how this movement works. Between the control over the life of the members, the ostracism towards those who leave, without forgetting the management of the paedophilia cases, everything is clearly exposed in the form of a novel that one does not let go until the last page. Moments of strong emotion (a few tears torn away) punctuated by a touch of humour.”

Bill Bowen (USA)
“Thank you very much for sharing your story, it’s very important.”

Réau M.
“A poignant, gripping and very moving novel. I liked the fact that each term of the community is explained at the bottom of the page, which allows us to find our way around. A very nice discovery, the author managed to take me totally into a world I didn’t know.”

About the authors

Eneeh is the second child in a family of four. When she was in her third year, her parents, who were living in a small Alpine community, were visited by a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses and, seduced by the message of a better future, joined the movement. She has therefore spent most of her life within the group and knows its inner workings.

Although she distanced herself from the Jehovah’s Witnesses several years ago, she does not deny her background. The harshness of her upbringing, especially by her father, has made her strong and ready to face the ups and downs of life, which she approaches with philosophy. Paradoxically, this has also led to a difficulty in assessing herself, always afraid of making the wrong choice or failing, and reluctant to put herself forward.

Baruq, a great lover of books – the family library was well stocked with classical authors and he did not lack the children’s literature that his father, a publishing representative, regularly supplied him with – developed a taste for reading as well as for writing at an early age. He wrote his first poem at the age of nine and it was highlighted in the class he was attending at the time.

His dream was to write a book, but his early commitments to work and family – and to religion, in which he was deeply involved – meant that this dream took a back seat.

In their fifties, disappointed by the direction of the organisation to which they had dedicated their lives, Eneeh and Baruq began to investigate the Jehovah’s Witnesses, a group with which they felt less and less comfortable. Doubts began to arise, especially when they compared the teachings they were receiving with the personal Bible study they were engaged in.

It was at this time that the ARC, the Australian Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse, began its sessions in Australia.

It followed reports of the movement of abusers of minors over many years in various groups, such as the Catholic Church, the Scouts, schools, without any action being taken to stop the phenomenon, on the contrary, an attempt was made to conceal it. Local representatives of Jehovah’s Witnesses were interviewed, as well as one of the senior officials of the American headquarters.

It was this dramatic episode that inspired them to write, “Remember… Sydney.”

Eneeh adds:

“We have been pleasantly surprised by the response to this book. The first edition, published in March 2020 at the height of the COVID-19 crisis, sold out in just one month and received excellent reviews from the public. Today we have decided to increase its distribution so that as many people as possible, whether Jehovah’s Witnesses or not, can understand the workings of this organisation and its control over its members.”

As for Baruq, he is the founder and administrator of the website baruq.uk (Food for Thinking Jehovah’s Witnesses)

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How can I contribute?

You have two possibilities.

• Generous contributor
  Maybe, for some reason, you don’t read books. But you still want to help denounce the actions of the Governing Body. You can make a donation of any amount.
• Ordering one or more copies of the book
  Order a copy of the book which will be delivered to your home address or to an address of your choice for more confidentiality. All you have to do is contribute 19.99 euros (or the counterpart in £GB, $US, $CA, $AU or CHF), plus delivery costs.

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Frequently asked questions

Purchasing the book

You can order the book by clicking on the “purchase” link.
If you do not want to buy the book, you can make a donation. There are two possibilities: a donation of 10 euros by clicking on the “Donate 10 euros” button, or a donation of any amount by clicking on the “Donate” button.
But if you don’t usually read, you can also order one or more books for people around you who might benefit from them, especially if they are involved in a high-control religion.

Is there any other way I can help?

Yes, of course! The work required to make the book known is colossal: contact with journalists, YouTubers, influencers, literary critics, religious forums, forums for victims of abuse and ostracism… If you know influential people, you can direct them to this page. You can also talk about it extensively on various social networks and forums. Your help will be welcome and much appreciated.

If you have any other ideas, please do not hesitate to contact us at the following address: harpitanja @gestap.sarl (please remove the space before @).

I am afraid that receiving the book at my address may cause me some trouble. My family is very involved in the Watchtower organisation

We are saddened that you have to deal with this situation, which is common to many Jehovah’s Witnesses or other people within high control groups who no longer recognise themselves in their organisation, but remain trapped within it so as not to lose family ties.
Many people have chosen to receive the book at an alternative address, such as their workplace, a friend’s house, a family member’s house, or a trusted shopkeeper’s house. Please remember to include their address on the checkout form. We hope you enjoy reading “Remember… Sydney” with no worries.

When will I get my copy of the book?

The book will be sent as soon as possible. Depending on your destination, there may be a longer or shorter delay, for which we cannot be held responsible. We are a very small team, so we ask for your patience and understanding if there is a slight delay. We promise to do our best.

Who is behind this website?

Gestap sàrl is a company based in the canton of Geneva, Switzerland, under the registration number CHE-412.034.663. Our legal address is Chemin d’Archamps 36, 1257 La-Croix-de-Rozon (Ge), Switzerland. Our e-mail address is harpitanja @gestap.sarl (please remove the space before @). We act as a service provider, we take care of the implementation of the book and have it printed and distributed by specialised companies. We also raise the funds for the project. Staff and employees of Gestap Sàrl are not involved in the writing of the book and do not act as a publisher.

What about my personal data?

None of your personal data is shared or resold to anyone. This is a firm commitment on our part. However, we do need to provide our service provider with your postal address so that you can receive the book. We do not have access to, nor do we know, your bank details.

Our site and our various e-mail services are hosted by Infomaniak, a Swiss company based in the canton of Geneva and registered under the number CHE-103.167.648. More information on their site: infomaniak.com.

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Prelude and prologue

The Killing Moon

He swore as he unlocked the front door of the villa. He had been so busy that he had not noticed the change in the weather. He opened the screen that protected the house from the many unwanted insects of these summer days. In fact, more than mosquitoes, he hated flies, especially the big black ones with their striped bodies. Then, there were the green flies, the shit flies, as he called them, that hovered over the meat when his wife took it out of the fridge and left it out for a few minutes, supposedly to tenderise it and make it taste better. He kept telling her to cover it up, but she regularly forgot. What was so complicated about a piece of tin foil on the plate? Once, he found worms crawling in the sausages. The female fly had undoubtedly landed on the sausages while his wife was picking them and had been trapped when she closed the package to put it away. He was so disgusted that he stopped eating meat for a month.

Outside, the sky was full of clouds. In the distance, the horizon blurred between plain and what had been azure blue just a few minutes before. The streetlamps were on, giving the second half of the afternoon a winter evening feel. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky and, immediately after, a clap of thunder that startled him signalled the beginning of the downpour. Within moments, the lawn had turned into a muddy field. The soil, which had been so dry in recent weeks, sucked up the water greedily and finally spat it out, like a drunkard on a month’s detox would spit out the bottle he had swallowed in one gulp on his first day of freedom.

But the man had no choice. He took a deep breath, put on the jacket hanging from the porch stand, pulled the hood over his head and walked quickly to the lean-to against the wall of the neighbouring villa. There, he grabbed a pick and a shovel and headed for the bottom of the garden at the back of the house. All in all, this rain was a blessing. No one would pay any attention to him. A high fence marked the boundary between the property and the communal cemetery. Besides, with all the water pouring down, there was little chance that anyone would think of venturing inside. As for the neighbours – a young couple with two children who had recently moved in – they were probably sunbathing on one of the crowded beaches of the French Riviera.

Since they had moved into the neighbourhood, he had not tried to make contact with them, apart from a few greetings over the hedge. André, the husband, looked friendly and well groomed, going to work in a three-piece suit and tie appropriate to his job as a bank executive. However, he definitely did not like the look of his wife, whose name he had not bothered to memorise, a yummy mummy with excessive make-up who seemed to have nothing to do all day but show off in ultra-short skirts and curve-hugging tops that revealed the absence of a bra – the height of vulgarity. She was the very kind of woman who thought she was free because she flaunted herself without modesty, and who made him uncomfortable.

The son must have been about eight years old. He was a small, fat boy who ate sweets and biscuits all day long. He had passed him on the street a few times, and the misbehaving youngster had not once greeted him. The girl was about the same age as his own daughter. She had long blonde hair and large blue eyes. He knew her name was Cassandra. He often watched her rocking on the swing in the garden while her mother sat by the pool, indecently exposed to the sun and passers-by in a tiny bathing costume. He would have liked the two children to become friends, and for Cassandra to come and play in the house from time to time. Unfortunately, his daughter was particularly shy and refused the company of anyone other than her parents. He had no idea how to promote the meeting. Only caution had kept him from being reckless and doing anything. People are so suspicious when it comes to their offspring!

One by one, facing the storm, he moved the stack of logs that were waiting for winter to burn in the cast-iron stove in the living room. Once that was done, he set about the hardest but most important task. With a pick and shovel, he dug a deep pit about the size of a large dog. Despite the increasingly heavy rain, he was sweating. Stirring the heavy earth was no easy task. Physical activity was not something he was used to, but it was not an option. Vivienne would finish work at half past seven, and it would take her no more than twenty minutes to get home. During this holiday period, she might even return earlier, not having to deal with the heavy traffic of the other months of the year. Everything had to be in place by the time his wife got home.

The operation took almost an hour. During that time, he cursed himself for his carelessness in the way things had unfolded. But was it his fault that the normally docile little girl had shown so much ill will today? If she had let him carry on as before, he would not have found himself in this situation. The problem with children is that their reactions are often unpredictable. The fact that she was recovering from a bout of chickenpox that had kept her in bed for the past few weeks was no excuse for her lack of enthusiasm for the activities they had always shared and which she seemed to enjoy.

Instead, she had preferred to play with the doll above her bed, a pierrot sitting on a moon, which she had treasured since she was a baby and which had been her companion during her illness. Faced with her reluctance, he had become angry and had broken the toy. The girl had cried hysterically, a crisis that had culminated in his temper tantrum and the fatal volley of slaps. These weeks of deprivation had stressed him. Still, it was not his intention to hurt her. But how could he have expected her head to hit the edge of the bed and knock her unconscious?

When he was satisfied with the size of the pit, he went home. He stripped completely on the landing so as not to muddy the place, which would have required a time-consuming clean-up. He would have enough to do in the bedroom! The child had woken briefly, vomited profusely, then slipped back into unconsciousness until she finally breathed her last and became still. He walked over to the girl and stood for a moment looking at her. Her long blonde hair, deep blue eyes and fair complexion moved him as they had for the past five years. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly. Then, he picked her up and left the room. The rain had decreased in intensity. He dressed and went back into the garden. He put his load on the ground, ran to the shed, took out a tarpaulin and returned to the yard. He unrolled the sheet and wrapped the child in it. Then, he laid the child down in the pit. He carefully filled in the gap, put the pile of wood back in place to hide the excavation, cleaned up and put away his tools, and went back into his house with satisfaction.

After removing the evidence of his crime and tidying the room, he took a long shower, went to the telephone and dialled the number of the gendarmerie:

“I’m calling to report the disappearance of my daughter ­Clara.”

Prologue

Through the window, I watch the lights of the city fade away. Seeing me gloomy, my dad asks for the reason. Faced with my silence, he doesn’t ask again. No doubt he thinks that my mood is due to our early return after an all too short stay. In any case, he has a hunch that, at the right moment, I will tell him what is on my mind. He puts his hand on my cheek, but I turn my head and close my eyes. In about fifteen hours, we will be in Singapore, and ten hours later, we will land in Zurich. Then, we will just have to take the train and go home.

The aircraft has now broken through the clouds. Above us, the twinkling of the stars has replaced the artificial glare of the metropolis. Morosely, I dwell on the circumstances that led me to undertake this long journey to the other side of the globe, the roots of which are deeply anchored in the years of my early childhood, events that will mark my life forever.