This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the author Philipe David Garibay, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org
Tranquility Bay: the institution whose foundation was built on a manipulative mask of attractive lies.
My conservative parents never imagined dealing with problems like these.
These were Jamaican citizens offered a job by an American man.
She said I would be there at least a year.
Never did I feel like people were against me until that first day.
I sat in an isolated room staring at the wall.
My dad signed rights for them to treat me however they like, anything to get me to follow the rules.
A woman staff ripped open the shower curtain... she just stood there staring at me.
Memories were no longer clear solid images but a haze of wishes.
He pulled a can of pepper spray from his side, lifted it to my face and pushed hard on the trigger.
No one would stand against the authorities.
Coerced into good behavior
An upper-level screamed at me “how did it feel when he raped you?!”
It appeared I made a complete turn around. I felt sad, battered and hopeless.
I believed my body was lying in a hospital bed and this program was a dream.
$40,000 a YEAR my dad spent $80,000
Late July of 1997 until Late June of 1999 I was held against my will in a corrupt Children's Behavior Modification Institution referred simply as- “The Program” 23 months of my adolescence was shared between the isolated tropics of Jamaica and behind the high concrete walls in Ensenada Mexico. I was a 15 year old in a whirlwind of trouble; akward in my new shaping body;depressed for various reasons;became more involved with drugs;unabale to communicate with either parent;ran away from home and dropped out of my first year of High School. My conservative parents never imagined having to face problems like these and they had to act fast. Tranquility Bay was advertised on the net after my searched for trouble teen help and seemed to him like the solution of a lifetime!
My Dad sent a Private Investigator out to search for me. While I was hiding out in a friends house, Sacramento P.D. Came and escorted me away from my brother and friends and into a patrol car which was driven a couple of blocks and I was then handed over to a child escort. I had not met this man, the escort used often by Tranquility Bay and other residential facilities to take children out of their homes and bring them to the program of their parents choice. I spent two nights with this stranger before arriving in Jamaica. He handed me over to my new guardians, Jamaican women who spoke Patois in a thick accent and had no experience in caring for children; these were jamaican citizens offered by an American man, Jay Kay.
The first morning I was assigned a buddy to tell me the rules. I heard her say I would be there at least one year. My heart sank. I couldn't believe my dad thought this was a good idea. She began telling me Tranquility Bay is a program based on levels (1-6) and utilizes a point system along with several seminars to move ahead in levels. “You earn points by following the rules, you lose points when you break the rules” She continued telling me about the 5 categories the rules were separated amongst.
- Examples of CAT 1's : neglect talking without permission sitting/standing without permission non-verbal communication
- Ex CAT 2's: major neglect insubordination meal violation talking back to staff not following instructions not following directions rude act disrespect to staff crossing ankles /legs
- Ex CAT 3's: touching without permission lying
- Ex CAT4's: Major rude act refusal run plans major lying
- Ex CAT5's: AWOL Major sexual misconduct
CAT3 and up will make you lose all your points and drop you back to level 1.
She continued to tell me we have group everyday for an hour except for Sundays. The next few things she told me about were our daily schedule, not being able to talk with our parents until we reach level 3 and no off grounds privileges until level 4. She told me about security guards around the clock keeping us in. There was no option of using the phone, it was in the office which was prohibited by students. Staff is to be present at all times, should i need to use the bathroom, id need to wait for an available staff to escort me.
My first day I was an observer, I kept to myself and witnessed girls telling on each other. I asked my buddy what that was about. She let me know if you see someone break a rule it is your responsibility to correct them, otherwise you will be lying – lying to yourself and lying by omission.
I couldn't believe these girls bought that, and acted on it. I felt completely out of place. My situation at home touched many friends and their parents, one specifically was working towards adopting me. Never did I feel like people were against me, until that first day.
During group I was asked to share “my name, where I'm from and why I'm here.” My response was, “My name is Beck, I'm from Sacramento, California and I'm here I guess because I dropped out of school, I was doing drugs and I ran away from home.” Hands shot up and one girl was called on by our “family” case manager. She told me her experience of me is a liar, a manipulator and out of touch with my femininity. Her experience was followed by a unanimous “ditto” by the rest of the family.
I chose not to share the next day.
My second day in group I was asked if I wanted to share and I said, “No, thanks.” This response led a patriotic family member to bark at me exclaiming I disregarded the other sisters. My refusal to engage in what I felt was an undebatable conversation gave reason for the case manager to show me what “worksheets” was all about. I received a CAT3: Refusal.
A large Jamaican woman with cherry brown eyes and curly hair sprouting from her chin escorted me to the worksheets room. Upon entering the room a recorded man's voice described the life as Henry Ford. Each recording lasted on average 1 hour and 20 minutes and after the tape worksheets were passed out with 30 questions each. We needed to answer 80% correctly or that particular worksheet would not count toward the amount we were in there for. For example, CAT 2's had you doing 8 worksheets. CAT 3's had you doing approximately 20, CAT 4's about 36, and CAT 5's 50 or more.
During the tape we were to sit 3 inches from the back of our chair with our heads forward. If we slipped up, another work sheet would be added. If we hadn't completed our worksheets by the end of the day (8:00 PM) we would drag our mattress to the hallway and sleep under the fluorescent lights with huge tropical bugs flying around and on us all night.
My second day in worksheets I was talking without permission and was placed in what they had a couple names for: “RR” (Room Restriction) A.K.A. “OP” (Observation Placement) A.K.A. “Isolation” A.K.A. “SOLITARY Confinement.” Basically speaks for itself.
I sat in an isolated room staring at the wall while a staff member sat at the end observing me. They told me I would be in there from 3 days until whenever they thought I was ready to finish my worksheets. I had been quite rebellious, full of angst and was a starving free spirit. I felt trapped, locked up with no hope of freedom. I began thinking about what a decent kid I was and I felt with every piece of me this highly secretive program was sucking money from our parents at my expense. My mental, emotional and physical health were in the hands and control of inexperienced women in a third world country. I thought about our rights; freedom of speech for instance. We weren't allowed the freedom of speech, we had to ask for it. I wondered how we could be held against our will in a facility privately owned and operated with zero oversight. I became overwhelmed with fear that I was correct in thinking this is a money-making gimmick and we were just for show. I began pondering brain-washing cults and how successful they had been in ending people's lives, convincing them suicide is the answer. I could not understand how anyone would fall for any of that. I kept seeing the girls in my “family” behave like robots, unlike any kid out in the real world. I knew I had to get out. Since I was in the worse punishment department they had. I decided to act out.
I sang songs loud with profanity, banging on the chair as though the arms were drums. I talked to myself, I stood and sat without permission, went to the bathroom without permission. Several “managerial” staff along with the director of TB, Jay Kay, came in and ordered me to stop. They told me I was prolonging my stay by acting like this and the rest is a blur because at the time I had my mind set on getting shipped back. They told me I'd better start behaving. I informed THEM that I was already in their harshest punishment and I didn't have any interest in joining that whack family, so I'll just be as happy as a clam by myself in there, the isolated room
Jay let me know my dad signed for permission to allow them to treat me however they liked, whatever it takes to get me to follow rules. I asked what he meant, doubting he had permission to beat me. He left the room assuring me I didn't want to find out. I made up my mind that I would find out because this place needs to be found out about and parents need to know this place is a manipulative ploy designed to bring in money. This place cannot be the solution they are paying $40,000 a year for.
Later that evening Jay and some women staff instructed me to take a shower and a staff member would administer some lice shampoo while I bathed. I said, “No, way. I am not going to shower with a man in the room and no staff is going to administer anything when I'm naked.” Jay warned me if I didn't cooperate they would all hold me down and wash my hair with it. I knew they physically could and I was very self conscious about my body so I reasoned with them. I agreed to wash my own hair so long as no one came in the bathroom while I bathed. While I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair a woman staff member ripped open the shower curtain. I covered myself in shock, cursed at her, asking her what she was doing. Sh just stood staring at me. Seconds went by and she left. I was humiliated, disrespected and lied to. They asked me if I washed my hair with it when I came out of the bathroom. I didn't answer until the second time they asked. I responded, “What the fuck do you think?” I confronted their betrayal to the agreement. I told them I lost any bit of respect and trust I had for them. I should have known they wouldn't care.
I found myself in a strange place mentally. I was homesick for meals my mom made, I missed the smell of bagels on Sunday mornings. I missed hanging out with my brother on the couch watching morning time cartoons.
My mind kept bringing up images of my early childhood, from age 4 to 11. As the days and weeks went on my mind started creating false memories; I couldn't remember any real memories. The memories were no longer clear, solid images, but a haze of wishes. I didn't understand why my mind started conjuring up scenarios of a family and life I never knew. I felt hopelessly alone, isolated from safety, reality and any chance of a family.
My harsh reality of the moment was that my dad wouldn't see what happens behing those walls and I should probably try hard to race to level 6 so I could go home.
They released me back to work sheets so I could finish my set from before, along with the 53+ I acquired in OP. After a few days in worksheets I began feeling more comfortable with the worksheet staff. During meals they let us talk without permission. We talked about a range of things like witchcraft, what Jamaican city life is like, if everyone in Jamaica smokes Ganja (all their eyes were always glazed over and bloodshot). We also talked about what we wanted to do when we grew up. One of the girls, Wendy, said something about a rock star and I joked about being a stripper at her shows. The staff told us to stop talking and I asked if she had a problem with strippers. Without hesitation Ms. Vassel handed me over to the OP Staff, Mrs. King.
Since I was one of the first kids in Tranquility Bay, they hadn't figured out the exact way they would execute punishments. So, back in OP, I was instructed to sit on the floor, back straight, face the wall and be silent until my time had been served. Time wasn't exact either yet, but at this point the initial staff member who sent a “student” to OP had to release her. Well, I knew I'd be in there for at least a few days and my back hurt, so I laid down.
I grew angry. I became increasingly confused with how this program exists and how the other girls just went right along with it. I was angry that these cold hearted people imprisoned kids they'd never met before in an act to help them, yet in reality saw a good way to make money. I laid there steaming in the idea that my dad was at home belittling my intelligent mom and continuing to shut my sister out of our lives. I remembered how I'd sneak around to see her; to watch a little league ball game with her. I fought hard to keep in connection with her. She was my sister and she knew like my brother and I both that my dad was a disappointing abusive controlling (understatement) man whose main objective was to control the power, hold the power, release the power. He kicked my sister out after nearly breaking her arm and ribs. He beat up my brother pretty bad, and me. He smacked me in the face once and choked me until my brother came running in.
I was growing more angry the longer I stayed in that room knowing the real criminal was free and in control of me. I felt like I had nothing to lose.
I started talking to myself and Jay came in to tell me to stop. I finally listened and he left. Mrs. King allowed me to go to the bathroom. When I came out I sat and talked with her. Jay's assistant who followed him everywhere came in and ordered me to the window. I tried explaining I just wanted to talk with the staff. He said he's given me enough chances to behave. I instigated a “solution” to my behavior. I refused to move to the window. He pulled a can of pepper spray from his side and lifted it to my face. He followed me around the room until the can was empty.
I was crying hysterically. I began hyperventilating. Mrs. King helped me rinse the spray off my face. She cursed the man and later went and cursed at Ms. Vassel.
But these were the men in charge; unless the Jamaican women wanted to lose their jobs no one would stand against the authorities. Mrs. King held a paper sack to my face while I tried calming down. The man who sprayed me stared at me. I dug my pinky nail into my wrist, thinking about all the girls and boys being prisoners here, coerced into “good” behavior, essentially ridding us of independent personalities of which our parents would farcely see as improvement. This way they would keep faith in such an expensive investment. I knew my dad would never trust anything I said and I began to realize I would be captive for a long tune, I understood at that moment my livelihood for an indefinite time was ruled by these con-men. I decided then that I would have to wait until I got out to let the truth be heard.
Tranquility Bay; the institution who's foundation was built on a manipulative mask of attractive lies.
I have always been a tom-boy, always more interested in boy's clothes rather than girl's clothes, boyish hair cuts, etc. Though at the time I had an extremely unattractive eclectic style limited to a couple unique pants and a few vandalized work shirts; I still had a strong will about my freedom as an XX Chromosome to present myself in anyway I chose. The principle to me was freedom to choose.
I looked like a nerdy wanna-be tough white trash punk dude. Now, in the navy blue nylon skirt and white blouse uniform, I looked like a wanna-be tough sloppy androgynous angsty teen. I was super uncomfortable in the stereo-typically girly uniform and it showed.
Seminar facilitators were coming over in a few days and I was still in worksheets. The first seminar we all had to complete was called “Discovery.” Those who had completed Discovery the prior month went on to a Focus seminar and from there, Accountability. Graduates of this could start getting to Level 5, start the Parent/Child seminars and successfully graduate the Program. By the time I completed Focus the organizers added another seminar called Keys to Success.
Discovery seminar consists of 3 long days of emotionally draining workshops including a session of telling on ourselves and each other for any rule-breaking; admitting our rapes/molestation/abuse we'd suffered from; saying “You Die” to each person while looking them in the eye; standing before everyone and admitting it is our choice to be in this program based on our actions.
Stock affirmation propaganda decorated the large basement room (girls previous sleeping quarters) clogging the space with congesting permanent marker stench which always gave me a migraine. The propaganda posters were drawn up by the upper-levels (Level 4-6) early that first morning, saying things like, “That which is not acted upon is not learned,” and “ASSUME = Ass Out Of You And Me.” “Insanity = same thing over and over again expecting different results.” A poster drawn like this:
INSERT PICTURE HERE
The first day I went into Discovery Seminar, I had run out of clean blouses so I had to wear a white shirt my mom packed that had a picture of a bagel on it and marked me as a “bagel babe.”
Motion Picture 2001's theme song played over large speakers. Girls and boys filed into the basement and took a seat. When the music ended a short lady named Lou introduced herself.
She told us it is our choice to be here as it would also be our choice not to be here. I wondered if that meant I could leave and go home. I think she saw the question cross my mind so she asked me to stand up. I did and she studied me. She glared at me and walked up 'til her nose was an inch from mine and I had to look at one eye at a time. Spit flew from her mouth and landed on my face when she made reference to my appearance: “Bagel babe?! That's a joke.”
I felt my skin heat up, my face flushed, stomach turned. She continued attacking my hair style and how I presented myself. She commented on how my lack of self-respect shows with my acne problem and how fat I was. I held eye contact because I was a wanna-be tough chick, but inside I was breaking down, I was 15 and grew more confused everyday.
About an hour later I asked if I could use the bathroom. She said yes and while I was in there ask myself what I'm avoiding; suggesting I was hiding to avoid something. I felt like each minute longer she spoke, my spirit and beliefs broke down and I was becoming more impressionable.
She spoke very convincingly and with confidence. Everyone was going along with her procedures and turned on each other, girls shot their hands up to tell on other girls for the smallest things, things seeming irrelevant for anyone's benefit. For example: “last week Michelle was crossing her ankles,” “Sarah didn't bring her water bottle today.”
And after these girls made these confessions, the accused had to stand up and thank them for helping them stay accountable for their actions.
They were given self-correction forms to announce their violation, what led them to misbehave and what they would do to prevent that in the future. If they chose not to self-correct, they'd receives a staff-correction which was a CAT 2. Anyone with a CAT 2 in Discovery would have to choose-out and try again the following month.
By the third day of Discovery I was exhausted, hadn't eaten much, slept only a couple of hours each night and was emotionally drained from hearing and talking about all the sad things that happened in my 15 years. I was consumed with thoughts of my alcoholic mom talked down to and disrespected constantly by my dad, my sister running away when I was 8, my dad trying to beat her up at a little league softball game. I didn't think too much about the rape, it just seemed no bigger than the separation from my sister my dad forced on us. Or his lack of thought when leaving my mom behind during major Jewish Holidays. But for whatever reason, during the workshop on Discovery day 3, of beating a towel on the floor while picturing bad stuff, and upper-level screamed at me. “How did it feel when he raped you?!”
As though she was some crazy psychologist expecting to hit home. I'd grown from the rape; the person and I had talked about it and he apologized and I understood something important to help me not completely shut off. I understood I wouldn't forget and I wouldn't ever forgive the action or that part of him, and I knew he would live with guilt forever from it, but everything I witnessed as a little girl, watching my father's behavior and my mom's lack of presence hurt me more than anything. So when the upper-level screamed that at me it reminded me that this place is a torturing ground for young minds with vulnerable spirits.
When it came time to beat the floor while thinking about mommy's mistakes, I had a little bit on mom, but most everything seethed my dad. I was supposed to think about mom so I just laid on the ground, I couldn't beat the floor thinking about how she had already been beat. The upper-level came to me again and said if I don't beat the floor I will choose out of Discovery and wait longer to even be able to talk to my mom again. I switched my thoughts to my dad and beat the floor some more until it ended.
We were then instructed to play with play-dough and Tag and small children's games. If we didn't, we didn't find our magical child and would need to try Discovery the following month.
Finally Discovery ended and I returned to complete my worksheets. About a week later I joined the family. It appeared I'd make a complete turn around. I felt battered, lost, sad and hopeless. I started following the rules hoping I could go home soon. Everyone wanted to go home. Everyone followed the rules, but girls would accidentally forget their water bottle a few times and be sent to worksheets.
Many nights I'd hear my roommates cry themselves to sleep, many nights I'd be unable to sleep, I was unable to comprehend the reality of being so far and in isolation from the rest of the world. We had no access to news, no radio, no music, no stores. We had ice cold showers, fish eyes, chicken feet and goat bones in our food, and often had to use the bathroom over each other's waste. We did our laundry in buckets with a ½ cup of detergent. We filled buckets of pool water and flushed toilets with them. Sometimes we would have to use the pool water for bathing as well.
We were expected to be verbally abusive to each other in groups always challenging what the person is sharing.
“My experience of you is what you're sharing about is not real.” None of us knew what we were saying, just kids responding in hopes to be seen.
All these negative horribly lonely characteristics of the program were contrasted by the peaceful steady crashing waves of the Caribbean right outside the walls. So surreal I grew to encompass an idea I had smoked some weed laced with something that rendered me in a vegetable state. I believed my body was lying in a hospital bed and this program was a dream. I felt crazy.
Good things about the Program were: appreciating everything, name it and I still appreciate it whole heartedly 2 years without meth; I haven't touched it since. I swam in the ocean on Christmas day in 1997, it was wonderful. I met Jamaican women who taught me some about Jamaican culture. I wrote a book there – not work re-reading or publishing, but I wrote an 87+ page book. Heard girls' life stories, learned that everyone had skeletons. We made some creative haunted houses on Halloween. Celebrated Christmas for the first time. Experienced a Jamaican Patty, delicious.
We were told not to tell our parents in letters we wanted to go home. Even in the seminars, the facilitators mentioned that if we didn't graduate the Program it was as though we wanted to die because we surely wouldn't live if we didn't graduate.
Tranquility Bay: the institution whose foundation was built on a manipulative mask of attractive lies.
My conservative parents never imagined dealing with problems like these.
These were Jamaican citizens offered a job by an American man.
She said I would be there at least a year.
Never did I feel like people were against me until that first day.
I sat in an isolated room staring at the wall.
My dad signed rights for them to treat me however they like, anything to get me to follow the rules.
A woman staff ripped open the shower curtain... she just stood there staring at me.
Memories were no longer clear solid images but a haze of wishes.
He pulled a can of pepper spray from his side, lifted it to my face and pushed hard on the trigger.
No one would stand against the authorities.
Coerced into good behavior
An upper-level screamed at me “how did it feel when he raped you?!”
It appeared I made a complete turn around. I felt sad, battered and hopeless.
I believed my body was lying in a hospital bed and this program was a dream.
$40,000 a YEAR my dad spent $80,000
References:
Datasheet about Tranquility Bay at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com
