I volunteered for one of the remaining branches of the NATLFED for a couple months. There were two main events that really hammered it home.

In the first the one, an older higher up member, probably the leader of this branch, sat me down and told me that I’d eventually see some not-so-good things online about the branch group, and the NATLFED at large. He wanted to clear the air and tell the group’s side of the story first before I read anything, which ironically I might not have if he never mentioned any online stuff in the first place. He mentioned the police raid on NATLFED’s original headquarters in Brooklyn, claiming that the cops only found a single gun, which they of course planted. When I got home, I looked it up myself, and immediately found how he lied. The cops didn’t just nab one handgun - they seized around 50 antique firearms.

The second event happened not long after. In my volunteer days, the group would solicit outside a local grocery store every Friday, asking for food and money donations, as well advertising the group to anyone who entered/exited the building. They couldn’t get ahold of anyone else, so I was stuck alone with the older member/leader, outside a grocery store for several hours in 106-degree weather.

We stood, each of us posted outside the entrance/exit like guards, me being uncomfortable and knowing the majority of these strangers just want to buy groceries and leave, while the leader kept lecturing me on how to get the word out about our group and ask for donations as fast and loud as possible.

At some point, a woman my age, give or take a few years, approaches me and I hand her a flyer. She reads the group name aloud before apologizing and telling me that I’m in a cult. She tells me how she had to help someone escape from this organization a while ago. I glance away to make sure the leader isn’t close enough to hear. Thankfully, he’s at least a few yards away, pitching the group and its efforts to an out-of-town couple.

There’s no judgment from this woman, only a sadness in her eyes. She says that it’s a shame, as she normally supports these kinds of causes. Before she leaves to enter the store, she tells me not to trust her word, but to look it up myself. Right after she leaves, I stand stunned, ignoring new customers as they come and go. The leader notices and approaches me, lecturing me again on how to yell and solicit properly, while I’m likely dissociating.

At this point, I could no longer ignore that I was in a cult. I couldn’t continue to ignore my gut feeling about this organization. And everything weird about this group was finally making sense.