BCS 1.0 – The Beginning

Written by Jenna Bulis

I did not set out to become an activist. I had been in survivor Facebook groups for years, sometimes commenting, sometimes just observing. I believed the worst was behind us and that our stories were finished. Then in January 2019, The Missoulian published an article titled Fox Guarding the Hen House. It named Spring Creek Lodge, the program I had survived, and revealed that similar programs were still operating in Montana with many of the same staff. That article shattered the illusion that this was all in the past. The abuse had not ended. The system had simply changed its name.

In February 2019, I created Suburbia’s Dirty Little Secret to provide a platform where survivors could speak freely, where the stories the media refused to cover could be heard. I launched a Facebook network to organize researchers, media volunteers, and survivors. I hosted weekly calls focused on legislative advocacy, content development, and media coordination.

Around the same time, I was contacted by survivors working to expose Clearview Horizon, a facility operated by former Spring Creek staff. They had reform legislation in Montana but lacked an organized lobbying effort. Emily Carter reached out to ask for help. I immediately began collecting testimony from former Spring Creek Lodge students and staff. I wrote my own impact statement and sent it to every legislator on the committee. I encouraged others to do the same. The Montana legislature passed the bill, shifting oversight of residential programs to the Department of Public Health and Human Services. For the first time, these programs were under state scrutiny. That win proved that survivor advocacy could move policy.

In June 2019, we launched the #BreakingCodeSilence photo campaign request for participation. The hashtag had been created by WWASP Survivors and allied organizers back in 2014. It symbolized the decision to speak out after years of silence. I reached out to Chelsea Filer, who runs WWASP Survivors, and asked for her blessing to relaunch the campaign through Suburbia’s Dirty Little Secret. She gave her support without hesitation. The campaign began with a single photo and survivor testimony. We paired it with a petition for federal reform and issued a call to action: Speak for Change.

I continued to build the advocacy network. On one of the weekly calls I hosted, I met Jen Robison. She joined Suburbia’s as the media team and immediately elevated the work. She brought video production skills, editing precision, and deep commitment. Soon after, I met Rebecca Moorman through the same network. She joined the team to assist with research and reporting. We were still volunteers, but now we were a team with shared purpose and growing reach.

I began receiving testimony from survivors who had just been released from open programs. These were not historical accounts. These were current abuses. I started filing reports and documenting what I could. But I could not keep up. The volume of complaints coming in from across the country, and even internationally was staggering. I needed help.

I began digging deeper into the true history of WWASP. I uncovered legal records, archived news stories, and survivor testimony. I began to understand how deeply entrenched and protected this industry was. I learned about the trafficking networks, shell companies, and public officials who looked the other way. This was not just a few bad programs. It was a system built to silence and disappear children. It was America’s dirty little secret. And I had only just begun to expose or understand it.

This is where it began for me. Not in an office. Not with a foundation grant. It started with an article, a photo, and a decision to speak the truth, no matter the cost.

The movement we were building had started to grow. We were still a grassroots team operating out of group chats, calls, and late-night messages, but the mission was gaining traction. Survivors were submitting stories and photos. Parents were reaching out. Reporters were watching.

I was working closely with Chelsea Filer and Katherine McNamara aka Katie Mac through WWASP Survivors. The three of us talked regularly in a small chat we called Gifted Women. It was a space for strategy, support, and ideas. In one of those chats, Katherine told us she had responded to a post made by the producers of This is Paris, the documentary that would feature Paris Hilton telling her story about Provo Canyon School. The producers were looking for other PCS survivors who could validate Paris’s story and speak to the broader reality of the troubled teen industry. Katherine responded and soon began conversations with the producers.

After she started working with the production team, she approached Chelsea and I. She wanted Paris to highlight advocacy and believed this could be an opportunity to connect advocacy with a larger audience. Chelsea suggested the #BreakingCodeSilence campaign. Katherine asked if we would pitch the campaign to the team she had been speaking with. We agreed.

We pulled together a packet that included photos from the campaign, advocacy background, and our call to action for change. The message was clear. Survivors were not waiting for permission. We were organizing, speaking out, and demanding systemic reform. The producers understood. So did Paris.

In August 2019, Katherine and other PCS survivors filmed interviews with Paris for This is Paris. At the end of their interviews, they joined the #BreakingCodeSilence campaign, which had been gaining traction online. After filming, Paris and Katherine sent a video to Chelsea and me, thanking us and showing their support for the campaign. View here.

While that collaboration came together, our advocacy work was expanding fast. Behind the scenes, we were forming a coalition of survivor activists, child welfare experts, legal professionals, and allies who believed in this mission. We contacted federal lawmakers to discuss reintroducing the Stop Child Abuse in Residential Teen Programs Act, or a version of it aligned with the demands in our petition. We were meeting with state legislators and sending reports to investigators about programs operating out of compliance or committing child abuse.

By January 2020, we had expanded our campaign into short-form videos backed by research. We featured “A Short and Scary History Lesson”, a video that traced the roots and rise of the troubled teen industry. It launched in February on YouTube and spread quickly across social media. Survivors felt represented. Families began to ask questions. Lawmakers started paying attention. The video was shared thousands of times. It gave our movement momentum and clarity.

The more we spoke out, the more people came forward. Tips poured in. Parents were naming abusive programs. Former staff were ready to blow the whistle. Survivors were giving detailed accounts. Some of the stories were decades old. Some had just happened the week before. It was hard to keep up.

Jen Robison built the breakingcodesilence.net website for the campaign. It became the home base for survivor stories, research, videos, and policy updates. We launched official social media pages to reach the public where they were. Our channels featured short videos, survivor testimony, campaign messaging, and educational content about the industry.

By then, our core team had solidified. Myself, Jen Robison, Chelsea Filer, Emily Carter, Rebecca Moorman, and Katherine McNamara. We each brought a unique background and skill set to the work. We were not paid. We were not looking for credit. We were doing what we could with the tools we had to expose a system that had gone unchecked for far too long.

We started preparing for a national launch. We were drafting plans for a coordinated release timed with upcoming legislative sessions and the expected media coverage of This is Paris. We had campaign materials in development, policy briefs in progress, and a growing list of collaborators. Everything was in motion.

Then the pandemic hit.

By early 2020, COVID had reached the United States. Lockdowns were announced. Schools, statehouses, and community centers closed. Everything planned was postponed. Our rollout was delayed. We had to rework our strategy almost overnight.

But the abuse had not stopped, so neither did we.

We shifted everything online. Calls became more frequent. Chats stayed active around the clock. I worked with Jen to keep publishing content for social media. Chelsea and I stayed in contact with legislative offices. Myself, Emily and Rebecca continued tracking programs and compiling reports. Katherine kept moderating the online survivor groups and forwarding cases.

The pandemic changed the world, but it did not slow the number of reports. If anything, it intensified them. Stories of violence, death, and neglect kept coming. One of the major victories during this time was the closure of Master’s Ranch West in Washington State. Following abuse allegations and several reports submitted by our team and others, state oversight stepped in. The boys were removed. The program shut down. Pastor Bosley took to social media and blamed advocates like us for the investigation. It was a reminder that what we were doing mattered. It was also a reminder that we were being watched.

By spring 2020, the world had slowed down, but our movement had not. The COVID-19 lockdown had disrupted normal life, but #BreakingCodeSilence was building momentum. This is Paris was in post-production. Survivors were speaking out publicly. We were preparing for a national launch. At the same time, our team was navigating growing internal tension and the pressure of organizing in crisis.

We had recently entered a partnership with NYRA, the National Youth Rights Association. They offered to feature our website, campaign, and petition on their platform. This gave us legitimacy and infrastructure we had not yet built ourselves. With their help, we expanded our reach and took the first formal steps toward turning the campaign into something lasting. We began researching how to formally file so we could establish a legislative arm and start shaping policy. We also reached out to prior organizers from earlier troubled teen industry groups to understand what had worked and what had failed. The goal was to avoid past mistakes and build something durable.

August 2020, Katherine informed us that she had filed a trademark for Breaking Code Silence in all six of our names. She had used her home address as the public contact. An act she would later regret.

As marketing for This Is Paris ramped up, the group inbox flooded with inquiries. The story was gaining attention. We were stretched thin. But the movement had momentum. We had media attention. We had political interest. We had traction. And that is when the first cracks began to show. Up until then, we had stayed united, despite our different styles and backgrounds. But as pressure mounted and the spotlight grew brighter, the cracks turned into conflict.

Nothing could have prepared me for what came next. Read The Split for what happened next.