Unless Lauren Salzman and Allison Mack were and still are robots, it is not as if they were merely, accidentally, rabidly vapid, solely in the name of Keith Raniere.
Come on, there is mutual responsibility.
Cooperativeness, enthusiasm, supportiveness, deep, long lasting entrenchment are not exactly “victimization.”
If you think that, perhaps look deeper, not as a counterproductive blame game, but to see what is realistic and what is not.
This chosen lifestyle was 100% their very own screwed-up, delusionary ego food. Raniere was the pitcher, but everyone he pitched to was playing right along, same ballgame, different positions.
With those Raniere-hooked individuals who were still teenagers or who were naive, when he and/or his harpies began to interfere with them, it is an entirely different set of circumstances to understand.
However, and observably, neither Lauren Salzman or Allison Mack were that naive as they plunged their life energies, face first, down Raniere’s filthy groupie toilet. They willingly substituted definitive mental and emotional guilt trips for spiritual contemplativeness or authentic “inner growth.”
This is far from unique, but the lack of originality does not make their years of criminal participation more excusable. Yes. Lauren and Allison had terribly bad taste when choosing to hook up with Raniere. Neither were arrested simply for demonstrating tastelessness, though.
If tastelessness were a basis for condemnation, all Walmarts and many Walmart shoppers would require their own synthetic prison universe, or so one hears, sees and maybe smells.
Most people are already capable of emphatically expressing the concept of “NO” before we have reached our first birthdays. How about that!
Both Lauren and Allison strutted around for years, proud as all hell to be part of this madness. It is impossible to miss, even via photos, how deeply pleased and tickled, how completely into this “social” and primarily sexual catastrophe they were.
Each wasted years pathetically justifying themselves and their choices while in over their heads, minds and hearts, drowning in absurd Raniere claptrap, which they agreed upon and tried to spread. Each one kept saying “yes” every night and day, breath by breath, one foot in front of the other, goosestepping along. Stepford wives, doomsday Barbies, and let’s not overlook their co-dependent male counterparts, who have somehow managed to still stay in the closet, to this very day.