A Few days ago, I looked at the date and was struck by a jarring realisation—it was almost the anniversary of the trial against my daughter’s cult leader, David McKay. My solicitors predicted it would go for 3-5 days but it lasted three long weeks, the second week of which did not involve any progress because McKay claimed he was unwell.
I spent most of the first week on the stand, enduring cross-examination by McKay from Monday afternoon, September 3, to Friday afternoon, September 7. The experience was harrowing—parts of it are unforgettable, while much of it is a blur due to the trauma. McKay relentlessly tried to twist my words to fit his narrative, using disjointed quotes and asking the same questions repeatedly, hoping I'd change my answer. Thankfully, the judge or my solicitor intervened, something his followers don’t have the luxury of during their 'grievance meetings,' where they're berated until they give in, sometimes agreeing just to end the ordeal.
It shocks me to think another year has passed, and I am still locked in this battle with him. The dynamics of the battlefield have shifted in some ways, yet one thing remains unchanged—the weapons. Words. Words are the weapons of coercive control. In my opinion, McKay’s obsession with controlling others all boils down to wanting to control language itself.
Words are the tools of communication. They carve pictures in our mind that we then use as the basis to make decisions, direct behaviour, and so forth. Many studies have shown that how we use language changes the way we think. I wonder if McKay understands that while words may be swords, they can also be shields that can protect from abusive onslaughts. McKay can insist upon his interpretations, drawn from modern translations of the Bible, as being above reproach as though they are divinely inspired and therefore absolute, but this is only true to those who agree with his definitions.
I once tried to confront McKay's idiosyncratic use of words. I tried to use reason, and share my scholarly approach to Biblical issues, citing historical evidence, artefacts, and more. I thought that perhaps, if I could just make him see alternative perspectives, there might be a breakthrough. But then I realised how futile this was. How can you reason with someone who only listens to themselves—in pronunciations they claim are divinely inspired from God? You can’t fight a man like this with logic. The trial made this painfully clear.
The trial itself was about something much more personal—McKay’s defamation of me. He called me a devil worshipper, “a Luciferian, and a Satanist if you like”, all because I dared to challenge him. But when the day of reckoning came, he failed miserably. No evidence was provided, and the judge saw right through him, declaring him a malicious liar. Yet, in McKay’s world, where he controls the narrative, this didn’t stick. He now claims the judge was wrong and that he didn’t get a fair trial. The irony? McKay refused to testify on the grounds that he couldn’t tell the “whole truth.”
This is the crux of the issue—McKay’s belief that he can win battles by redefining words. He doesn’t grasp that he cannot control language, no matter how hard he tries. The average person understands the nuances of language; we work with it creatively and collectively, understanding each other in a way that doesn’t require domination. In my opinion, McKay is a control freak, obsessed with bending words to his will, as if that could somehow control the people who hear them. He’s tried to redefine words like “devil worshipper,” “Luciferian,” and “Satanist” to fit his twisted perception of me. He hates the fact that the judge wasn’t interested in playing his word games, that the court wasn’t a place where he could rewrite the dictionary to suit his agenda.
I acknowledge that language is not an entirely fixed entity; words have a life that resound and dance as they evolve through our interactions, but still we catch the tune and understand meaning. One cannot say one thing, then claim it means something else, while still trying to belt out the same tune. To be more specific, McKay has tried to claim he did not call me a devil worshipper (the imputation in question), because the word he used was ‘Luciferian’. He also denies that ‘Luciferian’ is not the same as Satanist, while also asserting that Lucifer and Satan are the same evil spirit.
Like many who have researched Bible history, I do not perceive Lucifer and Satan to be one and the same entity, although I acknowledge there is a long history of Christians who do. All of this, as the judge duly pointed out, is theological debate that was not congruent to the trial. As the case determined: I do not worship Lucifer, Satan, or the devil.
Yet, McKay still wants to insist that his interpretations are the only valid ones. He tried to turn the trial around and say that he was the victim. He did so by claiming I was persecuting a Christian group. This submission was rejected too.
But it doesn’t all stop there. McKay’s obsession with controlling language extends beyond the courtroom. He has a particular disdain for the word “cult.” He insists it’s nothing more than a derogatory term, a label slapped on groups to discredit them. Like many cult leaders, he tries to control the narrative by rejecting the term and insisting on labels like “high demand group” or “new religious movement.” What he fails to realise—or perhaps refuses to acknowledge—is that these are just academic terms for the same thing. Whether you call it a cult, a high demand group, or a new religious movement, the underlying dynamics of control and manipulation remain.
It’s almost humorous, in a dark way, that McKay is content being called a “high demand group” leader, seemingly unaware that it’s just a sanitised version of the word he despises. But this is what language does—it adapts, it changes, and it carries meaning that is shaped by context and consensus. McKay’s refusal to accept this reveals his deep-seated need to control not just his followers but the very words used to describe him.
This obsession with controlling language is a prime example of coercive control. It’s not just about redefining terms like “cult” or “devil worshipper” to suit one’s needs. It’s about controlling the very framework through which people perceive reality. And that’s the most dangerous part. When you control language, you control thought, and when you control thought, you control people.
But here’s the thing: words only have the power we give them. And no matter how hard McKay tries, he can’t rewrite reality. The truth has a way of breaking through, even in the face of the most determined attempts to suppress it. Language is a tool for connection, not control, and in that connection lies the power to break free from the chains of manipulation.
In the end, it doesn’t matter what McKay calls himself or his group. What matters is the impact of his words and the control they exert over his followers. And as long as we continue to challenge that control, to call it out for what it is, we can begin to reclaim the power of words and use them to build understanding, not division.
So, as another year passes, I find myself still in battle with McKay, but the battlefield is shifting. The more we expose these types of tactics, the less power the words of cult leaders hold. And that, I believe, is a battle worth fighting.
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