by Anonymous
Selah.
I don’t know how to begin this story, but I know in my bones that it needs to be told.
I’ll begin by saying that I don’t know how to keep myself safe by writing all of this down, but I know I have to confront this mountain. The threat of retaliation, of losing my livelihood, and of putting my friends and family in danger is enough to keep me silent for the rest of time. The fear is palpable, dear reader. I trust that you will be a good steward of these words and hold space for me over the next three days as this story unfolds in three individual pieces. And so, Selah.
In May of 2020, I received a letter forwarded to me from another colleague about Into Account’s impending investigation into the actions of David Haas (DH). To say I was blindsided would be an understatement. I lived with the reality of DH’s hold on my life for nearly two decades, but this was the very first time I was hearing that others had been victims of his actions too. While some colleagues and those in the industry were shocked and in disbelief, I was shocked and believed every word.
“…we’ve received reports from multiple individuals reporting sexually predatory actions from the composer David Haas. These individuals have asked Into Account to communicate our assessment of the information they’ve shared with us, which is the purpose of this letter.”
For over half of my life this man has consumed my thoughts, my spiritual life, and my profession. I hesitate to write the word “consumed” because that would probably delight him. It would delight him in a sick, perverted way to know that I spend so much time thinking about him. I have processed every piece of this from head to toe, forward and back, and I still discover something new each time. Like layers of an onion, the peeling back of sexual trauma and sexual violence takes layers to uncover and years to process. Especially when this man is in a position of such gravitas and power.
As a cradle Catholic, faith has been the throughline of my life. What you must understand is that running from this situation isn’t just running from one person—it’s running from my entire faith, my upbringing, and the faith of my future children. It’s running from the weddings, funerals, and life events of family and friends. There is no world, at least in my current headspace, that allows me to stay and support the Catholic church while being able to separate myself from the hold of this monster. He is in the very fabric of our worship. He is in the very fabric of our worship. His supporters, brethren, and contemporaries have inspired our ministries and enabled his actions. He is everywhere. He is everywhere.
I waited to share the details of my story for weeks, and even then I didn’t share everything. It wasn’t until the absolute powerhouse bravery of a fierce dear friend using her name publicly that I had the courage to come forward. Terrified of losing my job and the respect and reputation I had earned as an executive in the sacred music industry, I cautiously stepped into an interview with the National Catholic Reporter. My friend’s courage gave me courage. And that, dear reader, is why I write to you today. If even one person finds their own bravery in my words, it will have been worth it. My courage is because of her courage, hands down. My story is highlighted in the perspective of “Megan” in the article “Three women who accuse David Haas of sexual misconduct speak with NCR,” released on June 24, 2020. The nearly two-hour phone interview with Ms. Salgado, not to mention the panic stricken lead up to the call and the agonizing wait after the call, was hands down one of the most anxiety-filled experiences of my life. As a proud alumni of the Music Ministry Alive! (MMA) program, the grief, the sheer magnitude of the grief over this entire ordeal, is now etched into my soul.
I’m furious with those who enabled him. I’m furious with those who didn’t hold him accountable. I’m deeply disappointed with those who knew whispers. It seems like everyone knew something, but no one knew everything. But that’s just it—he was hiding in plain sight. Seen as a trusted adult, he was able to run a camp for young people without any shadow of a doubt. Oh how those shadows are speaking now, friends. As published in Into Account’s comprehensive report on David Haas, the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis received the first complaint about the sexual assault and rape of a 13-year-old child in 1979. That’s eight years before I was even born. That’s seventeen years before I would learn to sing his music in my parish children’s choir as a fourth-grader. That’s twenty years before MMA began and twenty-three years before I attended myself. All of this could have been prevented. When I think of the sheer magnitude of pain experienced by survivors who weren’t even born yet, I flood with rage. The system was never built to hold men accountable, but to keep the “economy of sexual secrets,” coined by Catholic studies scholar Natalia Imperatori-Lee. Instead of blindly trusting institutions, we need to trust our own guts. Normalize trusting your own gut.
A few weeks after the NCR article, I found the courage to submit my report to Into Account. I let the words pour and pour, and was shocked at just how long and interwoven the threads of the narrative turned out to be. I found myself mourning friendships that had lost touch and tearing up at old videos taken ages before iPhones existed. We were so happy—every single one of us—deliriously happy. How could it all have gone wrong?
I hope that the words I’m about to share help you understand my story. Out of respect to my many MMA friends, a large number of photos and screenshots from my original confidential report have been redacted from this public version of my story to protect their anonymity. I hope these words help paint a picture of how a young, bright, energetic young woman was manipulated, chewed up, and spit out to make sense of her life. The good news, the very good news indeed, dear reader, is that she did just that.
It’s important that when peeling back the layers of the onion of sexual assault that you remind your younger self that there are things you know now that you didn’t know then. Couldn’t have known then. Our younger selves deserve to be cared for, honored, and respected for the information they had at the time. So, I begin with a lament for my younger self and an appreciation for the work of the women who came before me.
It wasn’t until the birth of the #MeToo Movement, founded by Tarana Burke, that I had language for what happened to me. It wasn’t until 15 years after meeting DH that I could fully comprehend how the actions of my “mentor” were actually grooming patterns. This “Me Too” piece is really important. My entire adult life I was thankful that my situation with DH de-escalated. I’ve lived with the gratitude that “at least I wasn’t raped” for the last 11 years. I was almost weirdly proud of myself for not being raped. I felt lucky. I’ll save you the political commentary for what it feels like to be a women in 2020 who’s grateful to be living her life with the bare minimum requirement of “at least I wasn’t raped,” as if that’s all we can aspire to as a sex.
But the moment in 2017 matters because it was finally out in the world that a whole host of grooming and manipulative behavior by men in power wasn’t going to be tolerated anymore, or at least, shouldn’t be swept under the rug. Women were starting to put together the pieces that, often, these microaggressions over long periods of time add up to a dumpster fire that you don’t see coming. Women said “Time’s Up!” and I wanted time to be up so badly. I firmly believe that rape culture convinces us that if we weren’t raped then nothing really happened. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
“At least I wasn’t raped” isn’t the end of my story. In fact, it’s strangely the middle.
In 2002, I was an excited and extroverted 15-year-old rising high school sophomore on her way to the Twin Cities for her first summer with Music Ministry Alive!, a week-long institute for 150 or so young people called to music ministry. MMA was the mountaintop. The aura, the prestige, the talent… it was everything I ever wanted out of a professional development experience that without a doubt changed my life. From the auditions and letters of recommendation to lengthy essay applications, attending MMA was something you really had to “want” to be taken seriously. It had the makings of being content for college auditions and applications, especially with the ability to note that you took voice lessons with specific faculty members. Beyond just my desire to deepen my spirituality at a very impressionable age, this place had the potential to light my future on fire in the best possible way. And, many of us got to travel by ourselves for the first time. While we were far from being real adults, it felt like the right taste of independence many of us were craving.
Like many camps and gatherings for young people, there’s a predictable and assumed “cult-like” element. After all, “cult” is ironically the first part of the word “culture.” There was a way that things were done—traditions, songs, chants, scheduled annual evening events, dorm shenanigans, t-shirts, Hawaiian beads, mascots, tearful small group conversations, you name it. It was consistent and reliable year after year, and this is what made the draw and pull of coming back year after year to recreate the experience so real and tangible. I often wonder if the adults and faculty running the place had any idea what they (what he) had created. It had a life of its own. I met one of my first loves (and first heartbreaks) there. I made friends that I still have to this day, 18 years later.
Beyond what I mentioned above, which can appear seemingly innocuous, there were plenty of other forms of “cult-ure” that always felt strange. One of those was the leadership opportunities for young people that caught the eyes of the directors, David Haas and Lori True. You were either a “David kid” or a “Lori kid” (or neither) and the two never seemed to mix. There was a caste system within the culture of the organization. To many, it didn’t matter which of the two directors took notice of you, just so long as one of them did, but I remember being looked down on by “Lori’s kids,” which is ironic because they probably thought we “David’s kids” were the ones looking down on them. While “Lori’s kids” led the liturgical planning leadership team, “David’s kids” had leadership opportunities as peer group leaders (arguably the highest level of leadership over your peers), which is a role I proudly served in for two years. Peer group leaders were invited to campus a day early, which was a privilege in itself. We received extra face time with the staff and shared special meals, which only inflated our egos and manufactured sense of status. Sure, having a solo in the final concert (stupidly named the “Festival Sing!” because they didn’t think the words “concert” and “worship service” could coexist), was nice, but having power and influence over your peers for an entire week? Having the special attention of the leadership? Being noticed by name by your mentors? Having DH approach you while eating dinner, placing his hands on your shoulder, and “choosing you” as special? In front of the kid that was probably not so nice to you? That was irreplaceable.
One of the memories that is seared into my mind was a Tuesday night “David and Friends” concert, often the ending to the first full day on campus each year. In “summer camp time” a day feels like an entire year, so there was always lots of excited energy to sit with friends you already shared your whole life story with. On top of that, there was this magnetic feeling of getting a private, once in a lifetime concert event that no one else had access to. In the Catholic music world, we were watching rockstars—with all of the grandeur that they possess.
I will never forget sitting in the front row, clutching my friend’s hand, while DH sang “You Are Mine.” Every word felt like it was written for me. He had never made eye contact with me like that before. He sang it by heart, of course, and just weeped as he looked at me—deeply profound, deeply intentional, oddly intimate… and deeply confusing reflecting on it all these years later.
This moment is why I struggle with imagining God as solely a “father” figure, solely a man. In this moment, was DH singing the words of God? Was he the instrument telling me that God loved me and called me His own? Was DH acting like a father figure? Singing over “his kids,” weeping in this auditorium? Or was he choosing me? Picking me? Telling me that he loved me and that I was his? How could a person be God, my mentor, a father figure, and someone looking for intimacy all in the same moment?
I was 15.
Below is David and I after the concert later that week, Summer 2002.
I want to go back to the mountaintop analogy, because understanding this piece is so important to the whole. Of course, young people are impressionable and emotional and connected to their mentors regardless of the setting. I’ve cried after leaving drama camp. I’ve stayed pen pals with friends after service trips. I’ve written to mentors after a soccer intensive and sought their advice. MMA was on an entirely other level. The story of the Transfiguration of Jesus was often used as a teachable moment for us in our morning “mistagogia,” a fancy word for contemplative bible study or Lectio Divina after morning prayer. The idea of needing to “come down from the mountaintop” was something we as peer ministers were trained to use as an analogy of why we couldn’t stay in St. Paul, on St. Catherine University’s campus. On the mountain, Jesus is “transfigured”, becoming radiant in glory, shining brilliantly. The apostles were in awe, and wanted to stay there forever. They (we) had finally found the mountaintop—a place where we were wholly seen, heard, appreciated, and radiant in our talents, following the leadership of a radiant mentor himself (and herself), so it’s no wonder we never wanted to come down.
It’s no wonder that after my third and final summer institute, I lay in bed for four days, unable to imagine a life without returning to that perfect place. Sure, DH was sweaty and breathed heavily, and his wet palms felt strange on my young shoulders, but the affection just felt like a part of the “cult-ure”. When I finally got out of bed, I reframed the experience with gratitude, knowing that I could begin my senior year filling out college applications with a leg up because of the growth I had through the institute.
DH encouraged many of us—his star students—to apply to schools in Minnesota. He begged. He begged some more. He promised letters of recommendation. In the Twin Cities we had our choice of not one, but two extraordinary colleges: St. Catherine University and the University of St. Thomas. He all but promised that we would be accepted. Because I wanted to focus on the fine arts and not ministry, I chose another school in the Midwest. I shudder now, thinking about what could have happened if he had closer proximity to me.
As I began undergrad in 2005, I was immediately taken with arts administration and management. In fact, skipping ahead a bit in the story, I would go on to pursue a graduate degree from an elite private university with a scholarship, to focus on leadership, fundraising, and development in the arts. I graduated Summa Cum Laude in my class, something that I worked tirelessly for and believed in to my core. I’m a wildly high achieving person, unapologetic in my quest for a meaningful career that connects social justice and the arts. I like sinking into projects, especially those that are inspired by my talents, so (bouncing back into the story) when the opportunity arose from DH to inspire other people to attend MMA, I jumped at it. From 2005 onward, my friends and I would road trip to the Twin Cities each year to attend the Festival Sing! and mass the next morning. It was 48 brief hours, but we were young and full of Mountain Dew with a gas tank to burn, so we would pick up other alumni on our way through the Midwest. We would visit our friends who had chosen to attend St. Kate’s or St. Tom’s and do the thing all young people do when they reconnect after church camp… get really drunk and plan prayer services.
In the years that followed, we really made something of ourselves. DH would call on me and a small group of four-to-five others to attend concerts in different cities, speak about the benefits of the program, and encourage other young people from our churches to apply. I took this really seriously and was prepared to, with DH’s blessing and request, to take on the duties of alumni engagement more seriously. We were added to his many email mailing lists announcing pilgrimages, tours, concerts, and inspirational/spiritual writings (which I’ll note in retrospect are impossible to unsubscribe from). I spent the next three years throughout undergrad proving myself to the organization. I stayed connected with alumni, created Facebook groups, became a centralized source of information for announcements (like when people passed away, when concerts were happening, reunions, etc.), and organized donations. I set up potlucks and picnics, road trips, and other ways for alumni to be engaged in the program. This role was incredibly life-giving to me, especially when alumni would return from a weekend together and ask how they could be involved. What started as a way to stay connected turned into a real vocation for me. It felt like the perfect complement to my Ephesians calling. Sure, actively documenting our road trips and taking loads of silly photos that remain permanently enshrined on Facebook was fun, but in many ways, I couldn’t believe that I had found a potential career so quickly. Perhaps I didn’t need to go to undergrad in Minnesota—I could just stay connected to MMA from afar and perhaps eventually make my way back someday.
One of the first official alumni gatherings was in 2006, with 15 of us attending. In 2007, the alumni group really took off. I remember being proud of my hard work, and even wore a blazer to our first event. This time, it wasn’t just the Festival Sing! or Sunday mass. We included a mixer, time to engage with faculty, a jam session, and a picnic at Minnehaha Falls.
Pictured here, word catching on for the largest alumni gathering to date in 2007: almost 50 in attendance in the rehearsal hall. As mentioned earlier, photos and images are redacted and/or blurred out of respect for privacy.
2008 brought another large group, with almost thirty pictured below. A special session with DH was offered to us in one of the lecture / recital halls. We were our usual, goofy selves and felt flattered and validated by the attention. We also hosted an alumni mixer in the rehearsal room, our evening prayer service, and a special seating section at the Saturday evening concert, pictured below. One of the traditions at our annual prayer services was to write our name on a piece of paper, put it into a hat, and choose the name of one of our peers, promising to pray for that person for the upcoming year.
In the Fall of 2008, DH started to take notice of our alumni group more intentionally. He invited some of us to attend a concert that him and Lori were giving at DePaul University in Chicago. Knowing that lots of alumni are from the Midwest, I organized a dinner before the concert and photos after. I shared my dreams and visions for more alumni engagement with DH. He was genuinely impressed and promised that we would talk more about it.
Pictured below is our group after the concert with DH and LT, and then after with DH and I.
By 2009, engagement really sped up. The students who graduated my year were now five years out of the program and college graduates, so with four years of alumni behind us, there were a lot of new faces getting engaged. Many of us remember this as the first year we started not recognizing faces of those younger than us now becoming alumni in their own right. Many of them are in the photo of nearly 30 of us below, in the Coeur de Catherine Ballroom, after Sunday Mass.
Since we had been attending for so many years at this point, and our numbers were growing, it was understandable when the MMA staff asked us to start holding some of our reunion gatherings off site. We continued to hold prayer in a chapel on St. Tom’s campus with our numerous campus connections and gathered at local Twin Cities restaurants and local friend’s apartments.
We were invited to stick around after the concert for a jam session with the faculty—it felt like a real honor and privilege that they were not only acknowledging our commitment to the organization, but also our talent. Countless numbers of us went on to study music in college and continued professionally. Coming back year after year, with more engagement each time, started to create an avalanche of support for the organization. Granted, we were still in our 20’s, but my development training taught me that emotional engagement in an organization, especially with alumni, is often the first step into long term commitment. Once that emotional engagement is there, and we get a bit older, funding would start to flow. I had numerous conversations with friends about how fun it would be to come back 20 years later with our own kids performing. The spiritual formation they would receive… the life long friendships… that generational component drove me forward. I had found a way to garner support not only from inside the organization, but I knew outside donors were right around the corner.
On Sunday, DH and I talked for a few minutes after mass and he promised he would be in touch soon about alumni engagement opportunities. I was three months post undergrad graduation at this point and I hoped my trip to Minnesota for the alumni gathering would give me more opportunity to talk with the faculty about future steps. At this point, I was working for a hotel and restaurant in my hometown and was eager to start my career in arts administration.
Over the weekend of September 18-19, 2009, DH and LT visited my college town to give a benefit concert for MMA. I was five months out of undergrad and was thrilled to finally have an opportunity to talk to DH and LT about my goals for the next phase of alumni engagement with the program and emailed him to mention it ahead of time. It was often difficult to get DH’s undivided attention since he bounced around from person to person at most events, perhaps a side effect of having a celebrity-like status. He consistently promised that he would make time to talk about it, and now I finally had my chance. He was coming to my college town—and I knew he would be intentional about the time. He replied to my email with the following:
Since I was an MMAer, I was not only tasked with getting the word out around the concert in general (which I now know was a bogus way to use young people as an advertising ploy for ticket sales that probably didn’t benefit MMA anyway), but also because it was being held on my campus. Taking my new alumni role on my undergrad’s campus was meaningful to me, especially because it gave me a way to advocate for the things I cared about. I was a part of the planning team to ensure that the concert ran smoothly and got an opportunity to use my skills.
Personal appeals are most often the best entryway to garnering support for an event or cause. Below is an example of a personal invitation I wrote to our parish council to encourage their attendance at the event.
Payment was expected for both the concert and the retreat, with all of the proceeds supposedly going directly to MMA. The Friday night concert event went amazingly well and it was everything we nostalgically remembered—meaningful prayer, a contemplative environment, deeply spiritual. These concerts had an “unplugged” quality about them. Sure, there was a microphone or two for sound quality, but beyond a piano and guitar, it was quite simple. The simplicity of it added to its depth and beauty. I was thrilled that my college parish was getting the opportunity to experience this contemplative and moving evening, in a similar style that MMA had for years.
The next day was a retreat experience for anyone who wanted to attend. We spent the day in prayer, discussion, song, and shared meals together. Friday night was filled with more of the same celebrity-style bouncing from person to person, so I knew that Saturday was my opportunity. I remember being so excited, poised, and ready to talk about what I could bring to the table and offer the organization. I was ready to move from my hometown to the Twin Cities and start my first real career. I was even willing to keep volunteering my time for the first year while putting multiple jobs and gigs together. In many ways, it felt like divine inspiration that my skill set and the needs of the organization were meeting at the same time. Finally, five years after graduating MMA and seeing other peers welcomed into the fold and joining the faculty and staff, I knew this was my shot.
And he listened to me. He nodded along. We sat at lunch, with a group of my peers (many of them MMA alumni who traveled for the event) and talked about our ideas and dreams. My peers agreed that there seemed to be a general excitement in the room about the next level of alumni engagement. DH’s affirmation of my/our plans and goals filled me with incredible hope. While the conversation was short, the groundwork had been laid, even if it was only a brief outline. I wondered when he would reach out to continue the conversation.
To my surprise, DH reached out to me just a few days later and expressed he was sorry that we didn’t have more time to talk. His email is below.
What did “liturgy” and “theology” mean and why did they need to be in quotes? Younger self, why were you so willing to reply to an email saying “send me everything: address, phone numbers, and other important info…”? Forgive me, younger self, especially for not knowing that your mentor was preying on your brain… “how you have grown and how your dreams and desires are moving..”
I replied with my address and asked him to remind me of the author he mentioned at our Saturday lunch.
I remember being happily surprised that he wanted to continue the conversation. This monolith, this massive personality of a person, wanted to keep talking. It wasn’t just a flash in the pan of encouragement at the retreat in my college town… it seemed like he was opening the door to the business opportunities we talked about. It was such a good feeling and I didn’t want to lose the momentum that we had created, even though I had just started a serious new job on a management track with a restaurant group. One of the ideas we discussed at lunch at the retreat was a regional alumni gathering in the winter. Since it was October, I knew that we would need to keep the conversation going if it was going to happen this year. Our alumni numbers were over a thousand at this point, so a regional gathering opposite of the summer seemed to fit well.
SOON, in all caps. He wanted to keep the conversation going too. This was really happening!
After a long week of very early mornings and getting used to my new sleep schedule, DH reached out again. I knew if I didn’t reply right away, I would likely forget. I was excited about the projects we talked about too, but it also felt strange that he hadn’t formally offered me a position yet, and was expecting me to be available via email all of the time. I hadn’t had a formal office job at this point in my life, but I supposed that if this is what he was expecting, I should probably be more responsive to my emails.
I replied incredibly apologetic, saying how awful of a person I was for not following up. This new job was incredibly demanding and I really felt like I was dropping the ball. I shared that my boyfriend was also having surgery, so it was just a busy time.
I asked if I could get the Easy Essays book at Barnes and Noble and jokingly asked when he was adding a theatrical component to MMA. There was already a dance track, and it seemed like a great opportunity to use my undergrad degree more fully and help build the program.
He replied one hour later.
And then he called me less than an hour after that.
“We should chat soon.. It would be cool to to have some time face to face – just the two of us. It probably would be good if you did NOT tell people that I am asking for this… I don’t want people to gossip and wonder.”
“So just between you and me, OK?”
“Hope to hear back from you soon.. maybe I will give you a call later.”
I repeat, he called me less than an hour later.
He said how great it was to see me in my college town.
He said he thought my ideas were brilliant.
He said I should visit so we could talk more about them.
He said I should visit so we wouldn’t be interrupted like when he’s pulled in a million directions at a concert or event.
He said I should visit soon.
Really soon.
This was the opportunity I was waiting for, so who was I to say no?
An hour later, I had a flight itinerary and a hotel reservation in my inbox. I was leaving in four days.
I explained to him that I didn’t need a hotel reservation. I worked at a hotel. A Country Inn and Suites, to be exact, and shared that I could get an employee discount on the room. He insisted he should pay. I thought that was kind.
As I started packing and preparing my pitch, one million thoughts filled my mind…
WOW. This is amazing.
WOW. That was fast.
I guess this is just the way business is done?
I guess he’s as excited as I am!
Can he really assemble the team and faculty that fast?
He’s David Haas, of course he can.
He’s really going to pause his recording studio time to meet with me?
Maybe I can see everyone at the studio!
Maybe he’ll ask me to do back up vocals!
I’ve got four days to prepare my formal pitch for the position. I can do this, right?
I’ll be in the Twin Cities for 48 hours. Surely that’s enough time to talk with everyone, right?
I can’t wait to see all of my friends!
This is it.
This is going to change my life.
Everything I’ve been working for—this is the peak. This is when I get invited on staff. This is when my goals of ministry and the arts come together. This is when I get to encourage people to financially support the institution that has “made me” who I am.
I simply couldn’t contain my excitement. I told my boyfriend right away. He joked that the Twin Cities was pretty and “maybe they had a lake or two”. A moment of eye contact between us held the weight of the moment. Held our future. This was it.
Below is the email DH replied with, an hour after our call.
I desperately want to tell this story in the order in which I experienced it, but I have to pause here. I have to pause because I know things now that I didn’t know then. I need to be kind to my younger self because I know things now that she couldn’t have known.
I am ashamed of myself that I didn’t see that I was walking into a lion’s den. I am ashamed of myself because I thought the phrase “And it also happens to be that there is a jacuzzi in your room as well.” was code for “I’ve put you up in a very fine hotel because you are worthy and deserving and I’m going to give you the ultimate business class experience on this trip.”
I should have known that “And it also happens to be that there is a” is the most awkward fucking entry into a sentence ever and no one should need ten words to get to the point.
On Monday morning I boarded a plane into my future.
End of Part 1
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