How the 2×2 sect silenced Central Valley sexual abuse survivors and their fight for justice across the globe

Fresnoland/September 24, 2024

By Gisselle Medina

What's at stake?

Advocacy efforts from some Central Valley survivors have become the catalyst for nonprofits, support groups and an ongoing FBI investigation into the secretive religious sect. Survivors now have avenues to seek justice, gain support, and expose a system that has long silenced them.

A global initiative, with roots in the Central Valley, aims to secure justice for hundreds of sexual assault survivors whose abuse was ignored for decades by a nameless religious sect.

The FBI is currently investigating child sexual abuse within a secretive religious sect that operates globally and is, “urging anyone with information about the sect or knowledge of abuse or criminal behavior to come forward by completing a brief online questionnaire.”

Sheri Autrey, a survivor who was part of the Visalia congregation in the 1980s, is now aiding the FBI in their investigation. She has also hired a PR team to secure media coverage, leading to an investigation by Nightline and ABC in the Bay Area, which later became a Hulu documentary on the sect.

Hundreds of reports have surfaced worldwide since 2023, from New Zealand and Australia to Canada and the United States, including the San Joaquin Valley. The exact number of reports remains unknown.

The nameless church, commonly referred to as “The Truth,” “Two by Twos (2x2s),” and “Christian Conventions,” operates without official registration, guided by hymns, Bible verses, and unwritten rules.

Its decision-making hierarchy is unclear, and membership statistics are not officially documented by the sect. The Truth is estimated to have fewer than 75,000 current members worldwide, with roughly more than 50 members in the Central Valley, according to Cynthia Liles, a private investigator specializing in child sexual abuse and assault cases. Liles is currently investigating the group as part of her advocacy work with survivors.

The estimate is based on an unofficial count of convention participants in 2022, shared with Liles by a member.

In 2023, Liles, along with Autrey and Lauren Rohs—both survivors of Lauren Rohs’ father, Steven Esteban Rohs—co-founded Advocates for the Truth (AFTT). Together, they work to identify survivors and perpetrators, provide support, and pursue justice, while also assisting the FBI’s investigation.

Before the investigation was announced in February, many sect perpetrators avoided legal charges due to statutes of limitation, leaving survivors without justice. In California, survivors can file criminal charges for child sexual abuse until they turn 40 or within five years of discovering the abuse.

At least 982 perpetrators have been reported to AFTT, and over 2,000 survivors have reported their abuse as of the most recent count in August, according to the group.

Lauren Rohs said survivors frequently experienced abuse from the same perpetrators. These perpetrators often move around and change locations within the community, making it difficult —and frequently impossible— to track reports.

“These people in power, which are by and large doing a vast majority of the abuse, are white men who have leadership roles,” said Lauren Rohs. “These are men of God.”

Liles said maintaining a record is crucial, even if the abuse falls outside the statute of limitations, as it may still aid future cases.

Survivors have reported a recurring pattern of abuse, cover-ups, denials, and victim-blaming by church leaders. This group, consisting of strictly male ministers, almost universally failed to report abuses to authorities for decades.

Survivors say the sect aggressively pressured survivors’ families to stay silent and forgive their abusers, often to protect the church’s reputation.  

Many of those involved in this work, like Autrey and Lauren Rohs, are survivors who seek justice for others, even though they know they may never see it for themselves.

Survivors have sharply criticized the hypocrisy of church leaders, saying they prioritize the institution’s reputation over the safety of children. They cite examples like Scott Rauscher, an “overseer” — one who manages regions—- in Montana and Wyoming. Rauscher once sent an email in response to abuse allegations that urged survivors to remain silent. The email was later published and republished online and sparked intense debate on online message boards and social media pages dedicated to survivors. The email quoted more than 20 Bible verses about the virtue of silence.

Yet, the same man who urged silence resigned on Feb. 21 following revelations that he had viewed  “soft porn” posts on Facebook—a scandal for which he profusely apologized. Rauscher did not respond to Fresnoland’s request for comment.

Some overseers have recognized their part in silencing members who have come forward. In April 2023, Darryl Doland, the overseer of Washington, North Idaho, and Alaska, emailed members apologizing “for the times I have ‘tuned out’ the muted cry of a wounded, frightened person and left their plea for help unheeded.” That email also was republished online earlier this year.

In the same email, Doland explicitly states that members of the overseer’s staff and elders will undergo training courses on child sexual abuse to learn how best to support survivors. Doland writes that any violations involving a current minor will be reported to authorities immediately, in compliance with the law.     

In a statement shared with Fresnoland, Doland echoed the points he made in his emails.“Briefly, we actively address all abuse allegations involving participants in our fellowship. Our utmost concern is that victims receive the professional help that they need. We take all allegations of abuse seriously, strongly recommend mandated reporter training to all, and encourage everyone to report issues to the proper legal authorities as soon as possible. This is my only statement at this time.”

How the sect abused survivors

When Autrey turned 14 in October 1982, a 28-year-old sect worker named Steven Rohs asked to move into Autrey’s family home in Visalia. In The Truth, it’s standard practice for workers (ministers) to live in member’s homes. For two months, Autrey and Steven Rohs would visit each other’s bedrooms every night.

“My molestation was very much a seduction,” said Autrey. “It was never scary or forceful. He was 6’6, a minor league baseball pitcher, charismatic and good-looking. And here I am, this tiny, scrawny 90-pound child who hadn’t even thought about starting puberty yet. All the girls would always talk about him at the annual convention. He was the heartthrob, and here he was, paying attention to me.”

Autrey said that she and Steven Rohs discussed marriage and their future relationship, but he insisted they keep it from her parents because she was too young. Autrey believed him but was constantly terrified that if they were caught, she would be the one in trouble. He was highly respected, and the workers were seen as infallible.

The abuse continued until December 1982, when he moved out, but even after leaving, Autrey said he frequently called her house, believing it was to check if she had told her parents, before her family relocated to Bend, Oregon. Autrey felt like the jilted girlfriend, especially when he announced his marriage to an 18-year-old and invited Autrey’s family to the wedding. They married in November 1983.

The news was unbearable for Autrey, who became so distressed that, at the age of 17 in 1986, she felt compelled to tell her parents about the abuse she had endured at the hands of Steven Rohs.

Her parents arranged counseling, where Autrey realized a crime had been committed against her. Autrey asked her parents to look for other survivors but they never did.

In August 1986, Autrey and her mom visited the District Attorney’s office in Tulare County. When they explained what pressing charges and going to court would involve, Autrey declined because she felt uncomfortable detailing her abuse and unprepared to tell her story publicly. At the end of the year, Autrey, who was 17, moved out and left the sect.

Between 1987 and 1988, two workers brought Steven Rohs to Autrey’s house to apologize. Autrey confronted him, saying he wasn’t truly sorry but only regretful for getting caught. Autrey’s parents shook Steven Rohs’ hand and thanked him for apologizing. Fresnoland reached out to Autrey’s mother for comment, but she declined. Autrey’s father passed away in 2022.

“Looking back now, it’s like, why in the world would you bring a fucking pedophile into a survivor’s home, which is supposed to be a sanctuary from the world?” said Autrey. “That’s where you’re supposed to be protected. That’s your forte. I ‘F-bombed’ him, and it was liberating—it felt good.”

Autrey said that in The Truth’s eyes, Steven Rohs had been forgiven. In the early ‘90s, he was promoted to elder, a prestigious title that allowed members to host meetings in their homes, despite Steven Rohs admission in writing to the overseer in 1986.

Steven Rohs did not respond to Fresnoland’s request for comment. During an investigation by Nightline and ABC, the I-Team located Rohs at his Farmer’s Insurance office in Minnesota, where he declined to comment. The insurance office is now permanently closed.

Autrey said her abuse was documented by her counselor in 2012. The counselor sent written reports detailing Autrey’s abuse to law enforcement in Kern County and Idaho, where Steven Rohs was living with his wife and children at the time. But those reports were filed after the statute of limitations.

Despite this, Autrey said her goal was to ensure Steven Rohs’s name was recorded as an abuser, so that if anyone else came forward, his abuse would be documented. With no charges brought against him, Steven Rohs faced no legal consequences and continued his life with his family in the Midwest.

Survivors say that lack of accountability only adds to the growing list of ways in which Steven Rohs and other alleged perpetrators are being protected—not just by the religious sect, but also by a system that continues to fail survivors.

Autrey said that, at least in her case, those protections included church leaders failing to turn over letters that could have been considered evidence against Steven Rohs in the 1980s.

For 37 years, letters from Autrey’s parents, Eldon Tenniswood, the California overseer at the time, and Steven Rohs concerning Autrey’s abuse gathered dust in a file cabinet belonging to Tenniswood at a convention house in Buttonwillow.

The correspondence began with Autrey’s parents who wrote a letter in April 1986 to Tenniswood asking for guidance on the situation.

One month later, Tenniswood wrote a letter to Steven Rohs, telling him what he learned and asked him what he was going to do about the situation. Five days later, Steven Rohs wrote back to Tenniswood that he and Autrey “did kiss and touch each other intimately,” and that “this did not happen with anyone else.”

“I did not intend to cover this up, but I did not know how to handle it other than to leave the area and beg God to forgive me,” Steven Rohs wrote in the letter on May 11, 1986. “I was old enough to know better, but still weak in the flesh.”

In April 2023, Rob Newman, the current California overseer, handed the originals over to the Tulare County Sheriff’s Office, which later contacted Autrey and provided her with the original incident report documenting the submission. This is around the time that Autrey discovered the existence of the letters.

Fresnoland confirmed with the sheriff’s office the authenticity of the report, the transfer of the original letters to Autrey, and the contents of the letters.

Autrey has taken matters into her own hands. She hired a PR team to get media coverage for her and other survivors’ stories and created Facebook pages like Exposing Abuse: 2x2s for people to have a collective space to talk about their experiences.

“I want to get as many people connected,” said Autrey. “I’ll use my voice, obviously, but my thing is, let’s get a lot of these survivors who have been silently screaming for so long and give them an opportunity.”

The sect’s beginnings and beliefs

The Truth is an evangelical Christian group founded by William Irvine around 1897. At the time, Irvine was involved with the Faith Mission, an evangelistic movement in Scotland, when he began preaching a new doctrine inspired by Matthew 10 in the Bible.

The Truth takes many beliefs from the Faith Mission: ministry conducted in pairs, a rejection of material possessions, and the formation of communities that avoid church buildings, formal names, and paid clergy.

In The Truth, members hold meetings in their homes twice a week, on Sundays and Wednesdays, using “Hymns Old & New” and the King James Bible for worship.

Sandy Egge, a former member of The Truth in Fresno, hosted union meetings at her home, serving the Fresno, Clovis, and Kerman areas. These gatherings took place on the first Sunday of each month from 1977 to 1981, during Egge’s teenage years.

The meeting would include around 30 members who read hymns, shared insights from their readings that week, and drank grape juice representing “the blood that was shed from Jesus so that our sins could be washed away,” along with bread to represent the body of Christ. In many protestant Christian churches, this is standard communion liturgy.

During the years Egge was there, she estimated there were about 50 members combined from those communities.

Cherie Kropp-Ehrig, born in California and raised within the sect in Mississippi, spent her life questioning its origins and rules. Her curiosity drove her to conduct extensive research, which she shared through multiple websites and in her book “Preserving the Truth.”

Kropp-Ehrig said that The Truth upholds two authorities: the New Testament and the workers, whom they regard as modern-day apostles with authority equal to that of the Bible. Members were taught that The Truth is the one and only authentic church that Jesus started when he was on Earth.

“It was put into us, when we were born and raised, that this is God’s only true way,” said Kropp-Ehrig in an interview with Fresnoland. “All other ways are false. All other churches and preachers are false and that people in them are going to hell. We were brainwashed with that. That’s why we stayed in.”

In this ‘one true way,’ members must follow various unwritten rules that are not from the Bible: Women are expected to wear their hair long and up, while men should keep theirs short and without facial hair. Jewelry such as necklaces and earrings are prohibited, but watches and wedding bands are allowed. Recreational activities like dancing, television, mixed-sex swimming, and participation in sports are limited or not allowed, with variations by area.

Egge wore Gunne Sax dresses, clear slippers resembling Barbie doll shoes, and styled her hair like Charlie’s Angels-era Farrah Fawcett. She said she felt like she didn’t fit in and was unsure whether to be proud or ashamed because her classmates would constantly ask why she wore a dress all the time.

“We were very much not like the other kids in the way we dress,” said Egge.

During her junior and senior years, when her father got her a car, she began to lead a double life. She would pull over on the way to school to change into jeans and put on makeup, then reverse the process before going home.

LaNette Burrage Flanigan was born into the sect in Southern California. She briefly attended meetings in Visalia between the ages of 12 and 14 after the family moved north in 1979.

When Flanigan was 6-years-old, her mother experienced a mental breakdown, which Flanigan said was caused by the pressures of the sect and no one helped her. Her mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia, but refused medications, leading Flanigan’s father to file for divorce.

Flanigan said that members mistreated her father by blaming him for the divorce, failed to offer support, and avoided any interaction with him. Flanigan and her father felt unwelcome and left the sect.

At 19, Flanigan rejoined the sect in Southern California. Three years later, Flanigan learned that the origin stories she’s been told growing up in the sect were false. In the years that followed, Flanigan’s cousin, Lauralee Brown, disclosed that she had been sexually assaulted by a sect member and had received no support from other members. Flanigan left The Truth, and joined a new Christian church.

“The Truth will speak negatively of victims when they expose perpetrators of the abuse,” said Flanigan. “They see it as tainting their perfect way. They really demonize or don’t believe the victims, because a lot of the perpetrators are workers, elders or people in good standing.”

How members began to come forward

Efforts to seek justice for survivors began shortly after the death of a prominent sect leader in Oregon.

Dean Bruer, an overseer for Oregon and South Idaho, died at a Best Western Motel on June 21, 2022, in Government Camp, Oregon. Bruer, one of The Truth’s most respected leaders, had worked for the group for 46 years across six U.S. states. On March 20, 2023, his successor, Doyle Smith, wrote a letter, which was later published and republished online, stating that Bruer had a history of abuse, including “rape and abuse of underage victims.”

The following week, Smith wrote another letter explaining that he wasn’t aware of Bruer’s abuse until a survivor came forward three months after Bruer’s death. This prompted Smith to search Bruer’s computer, where he found an email exchange between Bruer and an adult victim.

In a statement shared with Fresnoland, Smith said that “we do take all allegations seriously, follow careful legal protocol reporting, and have help in place/available for the help of survivors. We made a concerted effort to report to our entire community the very unfortunate details about Dean B.”

Three days after the initial letter, a 24-hour hotline (1 (855) 477-2388) to support Bruer’s survivors was created by Autrey, Lauren Rohs and Liles. In 10 weeks, the hotline reported over 400 alleged perpetrators in The Truth. AFTT was then incorporated into a 501c(3) organization in May 2023.

“It’s naive to think a system that fails to hold accountable those who exploit its power structure can address issues in a society with little accountability for perpetrators,” said Lauren Rohs. “Even if survivors think, ‘I’m in a normal society now,’ they’ve often already lost family, been ostracized, and excommunicated. Our community struggles to articulate or use the right language to speak about their abuse.”

AFTT serves as a survivor-focused support system tailored to meet the needs of each survivor, including legal aid, trauma-informed services, and crisis support funding.

AFTT is also developing an accountability database that will list alleged perpetrators in a format similar to the posts on their Facebook page. The posts, titled ‘Alleged Perpetrator Disclosure,’ list the perpetrator’s name, their title, the types of allegations from members, their current status, and information on how survivors can report.

How a survivor has navigated life after abuse

Brown, who seeks justice for other survivors despite not finding it for herself, said she was abused by Donald Charles Ross III—a child of prominent sect members—over four years in 1977, between ages 9 and 13.

Although the statute of limitations bars Brown from pursuing a legal case, she believes it’s important to share her story publicly. Ross did not respond to Fresnoland’s request for comment.

Brown described the abuse that Ross inflicted on her when he was 28. She said Ross would join Brown and her family on 45-minute car rides from Sonora to Cold Springs in California every Wednesday to attend religious meetings. He would also join for car rides to Modesto for occasional gospel meetings. During these rides, Ross would have Brown lie on his lap, using either a down coat or a picnic blanket depending on the season, to cover her and force Brown to orally copulate him.

“Whenever he was around, I was sexually engaged with him,” said Brown. “He was my lifeline and the oxygen in the room. He was not mean or a threat. He became the love of my life, my father, my mother, my playmate, and everything to me. I lost my childhood from the time I was 9, because even when he left, I lost it. I mentally and emotionally shut down. I left school for a year and was basically catatonic, sleeping around the clock and not caring if I ever lived or died.”

When Ross stopped visiting Brown’s house as she turned 13 in 1980 and got married, Brown broke down, sifted through her parents’ albums, and removed every picture of them together to create her own photo album.

Brown still owns the album, filled with photos of them together, his gifted combs, and drawings he made for her.

“I was a 9-year-old mistress in my head,” said Brown. “I thought we were having a love affair, it was a little girl’s dream come true. I didn’t know it was a bad thing, and it took years of therapy to realize that, ‘Oh, you didn’t love me? Oh, I wasn’t the other woman?’ Even though I was just a kid, that’s how I spun it in my mind.”

After Brown left the sect at 19, she filed a felony report with Tuolumne County in 1987. However, due to the 10-year statute of limitations, the investigator could only take her statement and recommend that she seek help from the victim-witness department. Brown is one of thousands of survivors who have been sexually abused by perpetrators from the sect who have not been legally charged or arrested. Fresnoland confirmed with Tuolumne County the authenticity of the report and its contents.

Through the victim witness department, Brown became eligible for a fund that was placed in an account, which she used throughout her life for therapy sessions. She describes going through EMDR therapy, spent years with a few therapists trying to process and understand what happened to her.

At 56, Brown says that she can still hear the sound of Ross’ zipper being pulled down, feel the tight corduroys against her face, and vividly remembers the painful blisters inside her mouth that would last for about 12 hours.

After the surge of survivors came forward, Brown worked with AFTT to release a Facebook post about her perpetrator, along with a redacted felony report. The posts garnered hundreds of comments, and Brown has been sifting through them, searching for other survivors.

“My whole goal is to protect future victims and encourage existing victims to come forward,” said Brown. “It’s always been a he-said, she-said situation, which is why I’ve never spoken out publicly before. Now, suddenly, I have a platform and a peoplehood of others who are also saying, ‘I was hurt by this organization,’ that I was attached to since birth as well.”

Resources for child sexual abuse survivors

Amy Adams, the public affairs specialist at the FBI Omaha Field Office, shared a statement with Fresnoland from FBI Omaha Special Agent in Charge Eugene Kowel.

“The FBI encourages reporting from anyone who thinks that they may be a victim, or from anyone who may have information on this investigation. We also encourage victims outside of the United States to contact the FBI. In coordination with our Legal Attaché Offices around the world, we routinely share information and intelligence with our international law enforcement partners in an effort to identify and mitigate threats. Anyone with information on the investigation can provide it through the following link: www.fbi.gov/2×2.”

Other resources for child sexual abuse survivors:

• Family Healing Center is a Fresno non-profit that provides assessments and treatment services to women and children who are survivors of sexual and physical abuse.

• Rape Counseling Services of Fresno manages a phone line (559-222-7273) for sexual violence survivors where advocates provide short term crisis intervention and counseling. The organization provides support to survivors during sexual assault forensic exams, law enforcement interviews, and court proceedings.

• Centro La Familia Advocacy Services offers a broad range of programs designed to assist crime victims, support families and children, promote health and wellness, encourage civic engagement and more.

• Suicide and Crisis Lifeline connects you with crisis counselors for emotional support. Call or text the lifeline by dialing 988 in the U.S. or live chat at 988 lifeline.org/chat.

• RAINN is the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence organization. RAINN created and operates the National Sexual Assault Hotline (800.656.HOPE, online.rainn.org and rainn.org/es). They have resources that include, “Take steps to keep your children safe,” “Understand the warning signs of grooming,” “Identify signs of sexual abuse,” “Support your loved ones” and “Care for yourself.”

• The National Child Traumatic Stress Network (NCTSN) provides trauma education and treatment resources.

• Religious Trauma Institute provides research and workshops for religious trauma survivors.

• Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration provides 24/7, 365-day-a-year crisis counseling and support to people experiencing emotional distress related to natural or human-caused disasters.