The soldiers came at night, without warning. They kicked in doors, they screamed and shouted, and they even shot those who resisted. We were dragged from our homes for what our government assured us was our safety. We were loaded onto buses and hauled off into the darkness. When we arrived, we were forced into lines like livestock, yelled at, and hit when we stepped out of line. There was so much yelling and fighting that night. My father tried to keep me and my brother calm, reassuring us that everything would be ok as my mother held us tightly, but he ended up catching the attention of a soldier who decided to beat him half to death as a lesson for everyone else. I screamed and I cried as my father was dragged off. My mother screamed so much that another soldier slapped her across the face, she fell and then she too was dragged off into the darkness. My brother and I were grabbed and held firmly by the other adults. They tried to comfort us as they were crying.
We were walked into a green tent where we were given a number and an orange cloth bag that coordinated with that number. At that moment I learned my name would forever be Refugee #134. I was given a full set of clothes including underwear, slippers, a jumpsuit… all of it marked with #134, the clothing of a prisoner. We then were marched into another tent and forced to strip naked and put our bags off to the side. Every one of us stood there naked, crying, and humiliated. Men and women, the old and young standing naked in a poorly lit tent. In walked a soldier with a container of some powder he started to throw on everyone, the powder irritated the skin, and I cried even harder. Then another soldier came in dragging a firehose, this was to be our shower that night and everyone screamed during it. Shivering, hurt, afraid, and angry. One by one our numbers were called. We had to find our orange bag and dress in our new clothes in front of everyone. We were forced to leave our clothes behind. We were finally shown to our beds. Simple thin mattresses with our assigned numbers on them. No one slept that night, no one was allowed to sleep that night.
The next day our heads were shaved, and we were put into classes. The first class was given by an over-enthusiastic woman who acted like we were happy to be there. Her clothing and hair were without flaw. She smiled as she informed us of the expectations of the refugee camp and how we were all being kept safe. She said everything was for our good. At this point, I think I had started to become numb from the shock, fear, and loss. The woman smiled as she went to tell us how we would do well to forget our old lives and ourselves. She preached how individuality has led to the fall of civilization. She beamed with joy when she preached the importance of collective identity and purpose. She laughed as disruptive members were dragged outside and beaten; she said the beatings were important lessons that could only benefit us. Our meals were announced after a large siren went off. We were being trained like dogs.
I saw my brother from time to time. The first time I saw him I screamed his name and tried to run to him, only to be kicked in the stomach by a nearby soldier. My brother tried to step in and protect me but we both ended up getting hit repeatedly for the crimes of using our old names, for the crimes of stepping out of line, the pain was for our good. After that, neither my brother nor I acknowledged each other’s existence. It was best to forget I had ever had a family.
This went on a countless time, the days ran together. Everything we did was controlled; conforming was the only relief we could find. The siren announced when we ate, we were told when and how to shower, and we were allowed to own nothing except what was given to us. Many of us tried to end ourselves but were stopped and punished every time, those who tried to escape were killed. One man, the father of a school friend, managed to attack and kill a soldier, he was hung in front of everyone as a lesson. Sometimes people, regardless of age or gender were taken into a small blue tent, they would be brought back out later, looking horrified as they were forced to walk naked through the camp while carrying their clothes.
Eventually, the work started. We were informed that another town was going to be rescued and that we must expand the encampment. We worked long hours, and anything seen as weakness or laziness was punishable. Several people died from exhaustion or injury. Once the new section of the camp was finished, we returned to our daily routine of classes and indoctrination. When the next round of refugees was brought in, we were lined up outside the fence. The lights in our camp were shut off and, in the darkness, we were ordered to observe. The new camp’s flood lights turned on as the buses rolled in. Soldiers swarmed out of the shadows and surrounded the buses. The doors opened and screaming started. People were dragged, punched, thrown, and occasionally shot. Some form of order was established quickly as the new refugees were put into processing lines. I saw a father try to calm his two children. He caught the attention of a soldier who immediately started to beat him without mercy. The man’s wife was screaming, and another soldier backhanded her across the face. Both the man and woman were dragged off into the darkness while their children cried. We were ordered to return to our beds, and I fell asleep easily. I felt nothing.
Over time the message changed from the importance of collective identity and conformity to the acceptance of higher powers and the importance of giving to a more important entity. At this point, the concept of collectively serving an individual made perfect sense.
I’m not sure when it happened but somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I believed what I was told, I forgot about my previous life, I lost my personality, my dreams were gone, and I no longer had any desires or thoughts. I felt nothing when I saw my brother, I felt nothing when I saw others get punished and brutalized. I was Refugee #134 and though I did not know yet who it was that I was supposed to serve, I was ready.
It must have been a few months after the arrival of the new refugees that I saw something that started to shake the indoctrination. A man and woman were standing outside of one of the classrooms. Their hair, their uniforms, and their smiles were perfectly tailored. We filed into the room and sat in our normal seats. The one who sat to my right was familiar to me, the person had formally been my brother. I thought it was curious, but I still felt nothing. The class started with positive greetings and smiles. The woman turned on a film projector as the man assembled a white screen. The lights were turned off and brutal images started flickering to life. Scenes of violence, starvation, war, and fire played out before us while the woman excitedly talked about the brutality of humanity. Her voice was warm and comforting as the images changed to pleasant clips of horses and grassy fields. The film ended and the lights were turned back on. The man started talking then. He referred to someone as the Shepherd, He went on about how the Shepard guides those who serve him. The man was thrilled to finally unveil our purpose here. We were to learn about and serve the Shepherd who would in turn guide and protect us.
While the man kept talking, I started to become confused. I felt the slightest bump on my hand from my brother and it dawned on me. The man and woman were my parents, their personalities and mannerisms were completely gone. It was as though someone else occupied their bodies. I carefully bumped my brother’s hand back to show understanding. My father saw this exchange and happily informed a nearby soldier about our lack of discipline and our sin of individuality. My mother and my father had genuine smiles as they watched my brother and I get beaten in front of the class. I dared not scream or cry though, I just took the pain and the humiliation as it was for my good.
A few nights after that class I was awoken by a hand on my arm. My brother had somehow snuck out of his tent, past the soldiers, and into mine. He whispered as softly as he could about needing to escape and that I needed to follow him. I did so without thinking much about it. I found it strange that there weren’t any soldiers standing outside of the tents. My brother urged me onward and told me that this was the Shepherd guiding us. I felt a flood of fear and I yelled to alert everyone. Soldiers came running and tackled both of us. I quickly exposed my brother and his sin before I got hit. Someone started to slowly clap. It was my father; he smiled with pride and told me that I did a good deed. My brother started to cry as he stared at me in disbelief. He begged our father to remember who he is and my father simply informed him of who he was. Father motioned the soldiers to hold my brother up. I did my best to remain emotionless while our father explained how our relationship was part of an unfortunate former life. He talked about how we collectively serve the Shepard now. My brother cried as Dad slowly slipped a knife into his ribs. He screamed and asked where our mother was, she was busy pleasuring other important members of the flock. My brother screamed at me and my betrayal until he passed out. I was then beaten for my own good.
I’m not sure how much time passed between the death of my brother and the attack. It happened late one night. An alarm sounded through the camp and the sounds of gunfire drowned out the sounds of anything else. Explosions shook the tents and silence descended on the camp. Collectively we filed out of the tents into Hell on earth. Bodies lay on the ground, surrounded by burning debris. New soldiers walked through the camp, making sure that no one was playing dead. We refugees stood there passively as we watched the apocalypse unfold in our little world. I saw my mother’s body, broken and bloody, I still felt nothing.
The new soldiers informed us that we were being rescued, and they told us that we were being taken to a new camp where we would be helped. We were loaded onto buses in the darkness, this time though, no one cried or screamed. We went silently, passively, we went collectively.
That was eleven years ago. Thankfully we were helped. Countless hours of therapy and deprogramming. Countless hours of interviews and medical checkups. I’m constantly told how lucky I am… but I’m not so sure that I am. When I was serving the Shepard, I didn’t have so much uncertainty, I didn’t need to worry about reality or feelings. I struggle some days to know what is real and what isn’t, I struggle to think of myself as an individual… I feel like being told that the Shepherd isn’t real is just more indoctrination.