Notes from the abused at Kamp Kanakuk: ‘You know what Satan is doing, but you still let him in’

Editor’s note: Names of some survivors are omitted to respect their privacy.

Since the exposure of sex abuser Pete Newman at Kanakuk Kamps in 2009, a growing community of child sex abuse survivors and justice advocates has formed. In interviews with BNG, survivors, former campers and camp counselors and other Kanakuk attendees shared that over the years, efforts have consistently been made to sweep stories of abuse under the rug.

But years later, they are telling their stories.

The website “Facts About Kanakuk” serves as an online database of information about Kanakuk-related sex crimes and offers space for survivors to share their stories. Sources told BNG they have accrued child sex abuse allegations from more than 200 survivors or sources against “about 60 unique perpetrators dating from 1958 to today.” They know of at least 17 survivor suicides.

Multiple survivors emphasized that alongside the website’s activism, investigative reporting by journalist Nancy French beginning in 2021 has played a huge role in bringing light to abuse at Kanakuk. Survivors applaud French as a continuous advocate as they continue to find their voices and tell their stories, despite legal restrictions.

But aside from the horrific stories of abuse themselves, survivors and advocates alike insist there is a systematic nature to abuse at Kanakuk and other Christian institutions that must be addressed if abuse is to be prevented.

These are some of their stories.

A counselor’s nightmare: ‘You know what Satan is doing’

“You know what Satan is doing, but you still let him in.”

These words echoed through the dreams of David Tropp, former camp counselor who experienced vivid nightmares about camp in the weeks after his training sessions for Kanakuk para-organization Kids Across America. Tropp tells more of this nightmare, which served as a preface to the trauma he would encounter at Kamp, in a series of TikToks.

Tropp applied to KAA as an opportunity to minister to low-income campers. He was uncomfortable when superiors taught him to enforce military-esque leadership strategies, such as forcing students to do push-ups for poor behavior and requiring kids to walk in a pin-straight line, but told BNG counselors he could not say no to instructions. Tropp even recalled times he, as a counselor, was pressured into activities despite expressing hesitation and fear.

In his experience, saying “no” held no power at camp.

Despite feeling uncomfortable in the environment before camp even began, he remembers thinking, “These are people I can trust, and I can trust the way they do things is right,” because KAA was a Christian organization. Tropp told BNG he now realizes how the extent of institutional control and spiritual manipulation facilitated abuse.

Conversations with Tropp and others shed light on the lethal combination of ideologies allowing child sexual abuse perpetrators to get away with so much: Violent atonement theology, shame-based purity culture and institutional methods of control.

Penal substitutionary atonement theory

Penal substitutionary atonement theory is an interpretation of Jesus’ crucifixion emphasizing the abuse he endured during the event.

The theory asserts God was angry at humanity for its sinful behavior and demanded a violent, retributive punishment. Under this theological framework, human sin essentially gives God license to abuse. And because Jesus was sinless and innocent, his submission to this violence served as a substitute for the punishment humanity deserved.

Scholars such as trauma and pastoral care theologians have long since cited this framework as a common way abuse is justified and facilitated in Christian contexts because it glorifies suffering and victimhood as experiences that lead to spiritual flourishing. In fact, theologian Eleonore Stump calls it “the most disadvantaged of the variants” of atonement theology.

Pastoral care theologian James Poling, who worked for years counseling child sexual abuse survivors and perpetrators of incest, agrees. In his experience, this framework creates an image of God as a violent and controlling parent who has the license to abuse children (humanity) simply because they make God angry. In turn, Jesus’ submission to abuse at the hands of his angry father creates a model in which complete submission to authority is the only righteous choice one can make, even if it is submission to abuse.

Historians, as well as political, Black and womanist theologians, note the reality of crucifixion in its socio-political context, a state-sanctioned torture practice imposed upon Jesus and other criminals designed to dehumanize, not redeem.

James Cone, for instance, compares the practice of lynching African Americans to Roman crucifixion practices. These theologians argue this event in Jesus’ life should be understood as an experience of abuse in which he was tortured and intentionally humiliated (and likely sexually assaulted) by those in power, and that glorifying it only masks the injustice taking place in the narrative.

In contrast to penal substitutionary atonement, many theologians argue it is more helpful to recognize Jesus’ suffering as an experience of solidarity with the world — God’s incarnate at-one-ment with the human experience of pain, injustice and death — and look forward to the resurrection as a vision of hope and survival.

Cross-talk: ‘If you flirt with sin, it will rape you’

But at Kanakuk, the violence was preferred.

Due to his masculine build, Tropp was told he “needed” to play Jesus for “Cross-Talk” sessions — highly emotional and violent re-enactments of the crucifixion — and be “crucified” in front of campers.

“I didn’t feel I had any room to say, ‘Hey, I’m uncomfortable with this,’” although the re-enactment was both spiritually and physically intense. In fact, he recalls having physical symptoms of anxiety each day the sessions occurred, every four days.

The sessions intensified in passion and violence if camper behavior was poor, and were seen by directors as essential, albeit unsafe. On one particularly terrifying occasion, he remembers being “crucified” outside during a thunderstorm, placed on a wooden cross while it was actively lightning.

Re-enforcing themes of penal violence, the counselor said his director would always preach, ending with the line, “If you flirt with sin, it will rape you.”

Taught they were inherently sinful and deserving of abuse, campers listening to this lesson were being groomed into submitting to abuse in spiritual settings.

Purity culture

The accompanying theology prominently mentioned by survivors and former camp attendees is purity culture, an evangelical ideological framework asserting the importance of sexual abstinence prior to heteronormative marriage.

According to purity culture, physically intimate actions — such as sex, romantic touching or kissing — are considered spiritually degrading prior to marriage, creating a binary segregating the sexually abstinent, who are “pure” or “clean,” from all others, who are “impure” or “dirty.”

This is often taught, especially to children, with imagery likening bodies to dirty, broken or gross objects such as chewed pieces of gum. However, purity culture’s binary focuses entirely on whether one’s body has experienced another’s sexually — especially through touch and penetration — and the perceived “dirtying” which results, failing to address properly the concept of consent. Bodies that have experienced sex, whether it was consensual or not, are considered spiritually degraded.

“Sexual abuse is equated with sin and shame, understood as sin in need of atonement instead of crime in need of justice.”

Religious scholars, such as Heather Hendershot, cite this framework as a common factor in the likelihood a victim will submit to an abuser, as well as the inability to disclose abuse later. This is because sexual abuse is equated with sin and shame, understood as sin in need of atonement instead of crime in need of justice.

This failure to properly identify experiences of abuse leads to its repetition, and in turn, sexually transmitted infections, unwanted pregnancies or a variety of mental health issues related to body image and autonomy — and ultimately the protection of abusers.

Sexual purity and shame

Multiple survivors described teachings at Kanakuk as “purity culture,” some even recalling camp having a strange “obsession with virginity.”

Mallory Korte, former member of K Life ministries, was sent to Kanakuk Kamps one year by parents who hoped to “whip her into the perfect Christian girl” in response to “behavioral problems” — such as having a boyfriend and not attending church every Sunday. She likens her experience to the Troubled Teen Industry, which is well known for facilitating abuse.

And while she was not sexually abused, she calls upon theological frameworks of atonement theology and purity culture as part of Kanakuk’s overarching method of institutional control.

“If you were sexually impure, you were less than,” she said as she described feelings of sexual shame. Although she did not engage in sexually risky behavior as an adolescent, she reflected, “I felt like I was a bad person because I had sexual desires.”

This led Korte to struggle with an eating disorder to suppress the biological effects of puberty, a behavior often used as an attempt to take back control over one’s body within controlling or abusive environments, especially among adolescent girls in evangelical purity culture, research has found. Having been taught so aggressively that any connection to sex was shameful and sinful, she was “trying not to cross the line into a sexual being.”

Contributing to her feelings of shame, she says camp leadership asked her “very sexually explicit” questions about her relationship with her then boyfriend, sometimes so explicit she didn’t understand them. She thinks these conversations were attempts to identify sinful behavior and now understands them as wildly inappropriate, especially at a teen sports camp.

Atoning for the sins of perpetrators

“I remember thinking, ‘If I had been trusting God, I wouldn’t have gotten raped’,” a survivor and former Kanakuk camper and staffer told BNG.

Abused outside of camp, she disclosed the abuse to Kanakuk counselors, but recalls being met with a similar framework of shame and blame during individual sessions and other interactions with staff. Rather than properly reporting the crime, she says Kanakuk focused more on how the event negatively affected her spiritual purity, and conversations with staff only traumatized her further.

Because her abuser was a woman, she says there was an added sense of “humiliation of the fact it was gay.”

Because her abuser was a woman, she says there was an added sense of “humiliation of the fact it was gay.” She recalls feeling as though the homosexual aspect of the abuse was perceived as worse than the abuse itself. Because purity culture only affirms heterosexuality and rejects all sexual experiences prior to marriage, it was twofold treated like a sin in need of atonement.

She recalls much of Kanakuk’s teachings in general centering on sexual purity and sinfulness — an obsession with sexual shame — framing sex as a “horrible sin that would ruin your salvation.” At one time, she was asked in reference to her rape, “Do you really want people to know you’re not pure? Men of faith won’t want you” while being discouraged from talking about it with others.

She says these sentiments contributed to difficulties in processing how her experiences of abuse aligned with her experience as a Christian, eventually leading her to leave faith entirely.

Institutional methods of silencing and control

A number of survivors and former campers told BNG, in addition to these harmful theological frameworks, Kanakuk went to great lengths to control campers during their days at camp.

Utilizing religious themes of submission and shame, leadership created what some described as “cult-like” environments of manipulation and control. According to them, Kanakuk consistently discouraged conversations about sexual abuse, even among campers who were abused elsewhere. Conversations about sexual abuse in any capacity were treated as matters of sin or poor behavior and were quickly silenced.

Former campers also shared with BNG that military-esque methods of leadership, like those mentioned by Tropp, trickled down to every aspect of camp. Upon arrival, campers were immediately encouraged into uniformity which, of course, further normalized complete submission.

Controlling talk: ‘A camp without abuse’

Multiple survivors told BNG that Newman’s abusive behavior was made to seem like the first instance of abuse Kanakuk had ever dealt with, including the aforementioned survivor who disclosed her own experiences of abuse to Kanakuk staff years prior.

After trying to discuss the abuse, she was increasingly isolated, asked to stop talking about it and eventually pushed out of the Kanakuk community entirely, rather than introduced to legal or psychiatric resources that could help. On these efforts to ignore her experience, she explained, they silenced her intentionally because “they wanted to be a camp without abuse.”

Her abuser continued to have access to her for years after she disclosed it to Kanakuk.

She believes Kanakuk’s tendency to emphasize the sinfulness of her experiences, coupled with their failure to properly acknowledge the situation, ultimately contributed to a prolonged experience of abuse. She told BNG her abuser continued to have access to her for years after she disclosed it to Kanakuk.

She also recalls a phone conversation about the situation with Joe White, Kanakuk CEO, years later. White cried while admitting their blatant failure: “We didn’t think we could handle anything else, and you were the collateral of that.”

Brushed under the rug: ‘It was easily forgotten about’

Blake Fusch, former Kanakuk camper and survivor of child sexual abuse, says years earlier, his story also got brushed under the rug.

Fusch was groomed and molested in the 1990s by Kamp counselor Paul Green. Although Green never was his cabin counselor, he was somewhat of an “icon” among campers and staff. “Everybody knew who Paul Green was, and it was cool if he knew you,” Fusch explained.

Convicted abuser Pete Newman has been described in a similar way by his victims.

At the time, Fusch says Kanakuk heavily encouraged counselors to stay in touch with campers throughout the school year. After seeking out and grooming Fusch, Green was eventually invited to stay with the family over Thanksgiving in 1994, and during the trip molested Fusch at least once during the night, making multiple attempts to continue until leaving early.

The Fusch family immediately reported the incident to the police, but Green died by suicide before the investigation was complete.

“Because he died, it was easily forgotten about.”

Fusch recalls members of Kanakuk leadership being aware of the abuse, including Joe White, and he was even given an opportunity the following summer to privately share his experience with other campers to see if there were other survivors. However, nobody came forward and the incident never was publicized, nor did Kanakuk ever take public responsibility for the counselor’s misconduct.

“Because he died,” Fusch explained, “it was easily forgotten about.”

But Fusch always wondered if there were more stories like his own. Decades later, after learning about the extensive community of Kanakuk abuse survivors, Fusch reentered the conversation.

When he reached out to staff members, he says many claimed they never heard of sexual abuse in the Kanakuk community until Newman was exposed. “They’re telling this story that Pete Newman was the first bad apple, but Paul Green was way before that,” he said, telling BNG he wonders how many more perpetrators in between were pushed under the rug.

Fusch hopes sharing his story will empower other survivors to come forward, even if they feel silenced or forgotten.

Controlling behavior: ‘Anything … was removed from you’

Shedding some light on just how far Kanakuk went to control campers, Korte says it wasn’t just their stories — every aspect of their lives were monitored during camp from the moment they arrived.

Bags were searched upon arrival and secular items were confiscated, such as makeup or hair products — even snacks. “Anything used to express yourself was removed from you.” Notably, campers were not allowed to have wristwatches because they were not allowed to know what time it was, even mealtimes. “Eventually, you also forgot what day it was.”

This was a disorienting experience, says Korte, in which campers were forced into complete dependence on the staff around them. And she can see how this environment would have facilitated experiences of abuse.

For instance, staff sometimes threatened to revoke food from campers for lack of submission to authority. And on one occasion, Korte recalls herself and another camper being met with a threat they wouldn’t be able to have dinner if they didn’t take a shower together, despite expressing discomfort at the instruction.

Once again, “no” never was a sufficient response to Kanakuk authorities, only submission.

Korte talks at greater length about her experiences with purity culture and Kanakuk in episodes 6 and 7 of her podcast, Mallory (Like Calorie), using the BITE Model of Authoritarian Control — originally created to identify and deal with cults — as a framework to understand her experience.

Hope for change

“Healing is telling my story.”

What these firsthand accounts tell us is this: The issue of child sexual abuse at Kanakuk results from a host of institutional and theological issues, especially the lethal combination of violent atonement theologies, shame-based notions of sexual purity and controlling power structures. The stories of former Kanakuk attendees offers just one deep dive into the world of institutionalized abuse across Christianity.

When asked what healing looks like for him, David Tropp told BNG, “Healing is telling my story.” The former counselor hopes his story will encourage survivors to come forward and seek help, knowing there is a community who supports and believes them.

Citing statistics on delayed disclosure of abuse — most survivors of child sexual abuse do not tell anyone until their 50s — Blake Fusch hopes structures will one day be in place to support survivors from the beginning and let them know it is OK to tell their truth. Telling his story is one step in the direction of systematic change.

“I want victims to feel the strength to speak out … and not let them feel the shame to stay silent.”

 

Mallory Challis is a master of divinity student at Wake Forest University School of Divinity. She is a former Clemons Fellow with BNG.

 

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Pedophilia at Kanakuk: Power, lies and evangelical values that cover up abuse