Free Not Without My Sister by Kristina Jones, Celeste Jones, Juliana Buhring

month later she disappeared. No one was told where she went. If someone "disappeared," it usually meant they had gone somewhere secret, such as to another World Services Home or to Grandpa's House.

One evening, I asked Armi, "Do you know where Mene went?"

She nodded. "She went to live with Grandpa."

At this time too, the larger families of our Home were asked to move to other regular communes. Fiona and Antonio left to set up a commune in Manila with all their children. I also had to say goodbye to my friends Renee and Daniella who left with their parents, Silas and Endureth. Even though they remained in the same city it was as if they had moved to the other end of the earth. No contact was allowed between the World Services elite and the rank and file Family members. There were only four children in my age group now--Armi and myself, and Michael and Patience's sons, Patrick and Nicki.

Although I was only nine, I was often entrusted with the care of the younger children on my own or with Armi while the adults had meetings, or during their Saturday-night movie—the one film they were allowed to watch a week. One evening, I was reading True Komix to my little sisters Mariana and Juliana before putting them to bed. For fun, I decided to play a trick on them. I slammed the book shut and sternly said, "Line up against the wall. You've both been very naughty and need a spanking."

They were good little girls and, obediently, they did as I had said. Taking four-year-old Mariana into the bathroom, I put her over my knee, put my right hand on her bottom, and then spanked my hand. Immediately, she caught on to the joke that I was not really giving her a beating after all and began to laugh. I had a chuckle with her and told her not to tell her sister outside. "Okay," she whispered.

When I came out to call Juliana in, she was already sobbing. I expected her to get the joke too, although she was only three. I brought her into the bathroom. "Right, now it's your turn," I said in my strictest voice.

"No, no, please no—" She started to get hysterical and broke out into a sweat.

I bent her over my knee and did the same as before. Only she did not get it. She screamed and begged me to stop. Immediately I stood her up and told her I was only hitting my hand and not her bottom. She kept crying and her heat rash became inflamed and her whole body slippery with sweat. I had seen her break out in the same sweat and hysterics before, when she got spankings, but for the first time I saw the panic and helplessness in her eyes. She was terrified at even the thought of another beating.

Ashamed of myself, I cooled her under the shower and then did my best to distract her and calm her down. Mariana told her that she did not get a spanking either, and finally she settled down. I felt terrible for what I had done and that night. I made a resolution that I would never be physically violent towards children when I grew up, no matter what. For the first time, I understood that even children had a right to dignity and respect and saw how depraved and abusive the treatment the leaders meted out to us was. Hitting did nothing but damage a child's fragile trust in those they looked to for love and care. I hated when I was hit across the face, knuckled on the head, or spanked, and I vowed that I would never forget.

Not long after this incident, our little family was split up. After Serena gave birth to her son, Victor, she was moved with the two girls to another World Services Home in a nearby subdivision of Manila. Victor was only three months old but he did not go with her. He was adopted by a childless couple in our Home.

I was never told the reason why Victor was given away or why Dad and Serena allowed their son to taken from them. We weren't supposed to ask questions, but it was terribly confusing. It seemed to me that Dad and Serena were in trouble for something and this was some form of punishment. I thought that maybe after Serena left it