This article was originally published by The Stranger's sister publication The Portland Mercury. It contains descriptions of sexual, physical, and psychological abuse. Because of the sensitive nature of their experiences, some sources for this story have requested anonymity. With their permission, weâve replaced several sourcesâ names with pseudonyms. All pseudonyms have been marked with an asterisk on first reference. âEds. Note
Ray* started shaking when he heard the news.
It was early summer, and a close friend had just informed him that his longtime abuser was in a top leadership role in Portlandâs Black communityâand under investigation.
âItâs MondainĂ©,â Ray remembered her saying. âDo you want to tell them?â
Elbert Darrell âE.D.â MondainĂ©, 61, has long played an influential role in Portland politics. MondainĂ©, who is Black, was elected president of the Portland NAACP in 2018, after years of working on local criminal justice reform committees, advocating on behalf of the Black community at Portland City Hall, and serving as senior pastor at Celebration Tabernacle, a Pentecostal church in North Portland.
Elected officials, including Oregon Governor Kate Brown and Portland Mayor Ted Wheeler, have regarded MondainĂ© as a trusted representative of the local Black community, turning to him for support, perspective, and guidance. In June 2020, that perspective brought MondainĂ© national attention when he penned an opinion piece for The Washington Post about Portlandâs racial justice protests.
But Ray, 41, isnât familiar with that version of MondainĂ©. Ray is one of several former Celebration Tabernacle members who say they were sexually, physically, and/or psychologically abused by MondainĂ© while they attended the church.
In late 2019, several members of the local NAACP began investigating MondainĂ© for allegedly misusing the nonprofit's funds and physically threatening people at meetings. When Rayâs friend heard about the investigation, she knew the NAACP needed to hear Rayâs story. She called him.
After the call ended, Ray dialed another number: The emergency line for his mental health counselor.
âI had a full-on PTSD attack,â Ray says. âI was sweating, shaking⊠I got dizzy. And what followed was anger. Anger about him getting away with this⊠knowing that, despite what he did to us, he still got to become a community hero, leading this venerable organization.â
Ray eventually wrote a letter to the NAACP members leading the investigation into MondainĂ©, detailing his alleged abuse at the hands of MondainĂ©. With Rayâs permission, those members shared these allegations with the Mercury.
The Mercury spoke with Ray and two other men who say they were repeatedly sexually and physically assaulted by Mondainé during a period of time spanning the mid-1990s to the mid-2000s. The Mercury also interviewed eight other people who shared experiences of psychological abuse at the hands of Mondainé while attending Celebration Tabernacle during this time period. Each of these stories have been confirmed by other individuals formerly involved with the church.
Mondainé denies the allegations of both abuse and financial mismanagement.
âItâs not true. Thereâs no truth to it,â MondainĂ© told the Mercury. âPeople can say whatever they need to say. Iâve never abused anyone.â
Most of those who spoke with the Mercury stopped attending Celebration Tabernacle between 2007 and 2010, and many left as an act of solidarity with those who experienced abuse. Few of them are still in contact with anyone who still attends the church, where Mondainé remains the head pastor.
The majority of those who say they were sexually or psychologically abused by MondainĂ© are Black men, and many were teens when the alleged abuse began. Now, after more than a decade of silence, these individuals have chosen to make their stories public out of fear that MondainĂ©âs ascending role in the communityâas a religious leader, political advisor, and NAACP presidentâwill allow him to continue taking advantage of vulnerable Portlanders. And in the midst of a national civil rights movement centered on the value of Black lives, they believe the community deserves more from leadership than someone who they say has spent years using his influence to harm Black people.
âAt this moment in history, we really donât need a scandal about a Black man to come out,â said Nelobie Beavers, a Black woman who attended Celebration Tabernacle with several of the men who say they were abused by MondainĂ©. âBut knowing the damage he could do to this movement⊠and the damage heâs already done to these men, itâs not something that can be ignored. It scares me what would happen if we did.â
Mondainé opened Celebration Tabernacle in a small building on North Lombard in 1988, shortly after moving to Portland from his hometown of St. Louis, Missouri. The church drew early publicity for attracting and supporting low-income families and individuals.
"We don't allow you to be a victim here,â MondainĂ© told The Oregonian in a 1998 interview about Celebration Tabernacle. âYou can only be a victim as long as you let yourself be a victim."
By 1999, the church had moved into a larger space in North Portlandâs Kenton neighborhood, and was financially tied to a variety of small businesses that had been opened under MondainĂ©âs nameâmost notably Fridayâs Espresso, a popular cafe and live music venue next door to the church. Music was a key part of Celebration Tabernacleâs services, with MondainĂ©âs energetic sermons regularly featuring the pastor breaking into song, backed by a live band and gospel choir.
It was Celebration Tabernacleâs focus on music that initially drew Ray, then a swing dance instructor and a student of music history at Clark College, to the church in 1996. At 17, Ray already carried a lifetime of emotional trauma: His childhood was marked by a physically abusive father and sexual abuse at the hands of an older boy. Having moved out of his motherâs house and into his own apartment in Vancouver, WA, Ray was looking for a new community when he heard of a North Portland cafe that hosted all-ages jazz nights. He found that community at Fridayâs.
âIt was everything I hoped for,â said Ray, recalling Fridayâs vibrant jazz and swing scene. It wasnât long until he began attending Celebration Tabernacle, intrigued by the impassioned way his new friends from Fridayâs spoke about it. Ray, who is white, found the Black church experience at Celebration Tabernacle refreshingly different from the predominately white services heâd attended in the past.
âThe lessons were really down to earth and felt empowering,â Ray told the Mercury, âand the music was amazing.â
But he was particularly struck by the captivating man whom the church seemed to orbit around: Mondainé. Ray said Mondainé would always arrive after the Sunday service was scheduled to begin, sometimes making attendees wait a half hour before his dramatic entrance.
âMondainĂ© would appearâthereâd be this huge procession of people praising him, and heâd be draped in robes,â Ray said. âHe seemed larger than life.â
Ray and others who attended Celebration Tabernacle say MondainĂ© believed he was directly speaking for God through his sermons, and would regularly make prophecies based on what God told him. MondainĂ©, who referred to himself as an âapostle,â would also preach about a looming Armageddon that would coincide with his own death. Ray had no reason to believe this wasnât the truth.
After attending a number of weekend services, Ray said he was asked to meet with Mondainé in his office. Mondainé, who was 37 at the time, told Ray he wanted to help him succeed in his new community and pursue his interest in music and dance.
âI had never felt support and security and validation from a parent or an adult in my life,â said Ray. âSo here I am, with this hugely charismatic personâand God himself is speaking through this person to meâand heâs telling me Iâm important. That was huge.â
MondainĂ© offered Ray space at the church to practice swing dancing, and soon Ray was leading the churchâs new dance group, called Exodus. Ray started working at Fridayâs, where he received free meals but no paycheck. When he began looking for an apartment closer to church, he gratefully accepted MondainĂ©âs invitation to move into the house in the Portsmouth neighborhood that the pastor shared with his twin sons and several other single men involved in the church. MondainĂ© and his sonsâ mother divorced in 1995, and his second wife, who he has since divorced, did not live at the house at the time. Ray had little contact with family and friends outside of the church, but he considered this new community his family. He felt his life was finally headed in the right directionâuntil it wasnât.
âThe moment when you think God is telling you something, everything is justifiable.â
Ray said the first time Mondainé sexually assaulted him was in 1998. Ray said Mondainé asked Ray to sit next to him on his bed.
âI knew something was up,â said Ray, who was 18 at the time. âAnd Iâm telling myself, âThereâs no way I would let this happen to me.â But I sat there with him and he began doing things to me⊠he rubbed on me and kissed on me.â
The whole time, Ray recalled, MondainĂ© was playing it off as if it was a joke. âI remember being uncomfortable, but I was like, 'Itâs just a joke. Iâm being weak. Iâm just hypersensitive,ââ Ray said.
But what began as an ostensible joke became a weeklyâand then dailyâoccurrence. Ray said MondainĂ© would seek him out after church on Sunday afternoons, when MondainĂ© would appear emotionally exhausted from the morning service. Once the two men were alone, Ray said MondainĂ© would have Ray take off his pants and allow MondainĂ© to put his hands and mouth on Rayâs genitals.
Ray had previously confided in Mondainé about the abuse of his childhood, and said Mondainé used that information to excuse the abuse he inflicted on Ray.
âMondainĂ© told me that I was chosen by God to take care of [him] because I had suffered sexual and physical abuse in the past⊠so I had the strength to endure more of it,â said Ray. âIn my eyes, God had literally put me there to shore this important man up. The moment when you think God is telling you something, everything is justifiable.â
Ray said he was regularly forced by Mondainé to perform oral sex. If Ray resisted, he said Mondainé would shout at him that he was rejecting what God wanted and would threaten physical violence. Ray said these sessions would last from between an hour to an entire day.
âMy choice was to give in or to deny God, risk getting my ass kicked, risk having my entire community turned upside down,â said Ray. âIn those moments, I just had to give in.â
Ray said MondainĂ©âs volatile moods kept him on edge.
âHe would mix this loving, inspiring thing with intense anger, random moments of rage,â he said. âBut if his love was on you, that was everything you needed.â
The abuse escalated in 2002, when Ray told Mondainé he was interested in dating a Latinx woman named Mercedes*, who had recently begun teaching dance classes at Celebration Tabernacle. Mondainé had strict rules about relationships between men and women at the church, requiring congregants to obtain his permission before dating each other.
âHe would mix this loving, inspiring thing with intense anger. But if his love was on you, that was everything you needed.â
When Ray delivered the news to Mondainé at the house they both lived in, he said Mondainé attacked him.
âHe grabbed me by my throat and we fell back into a closet,â recalled Ray, who said he was at least 200 pounds lighter than MondainĂ© at the time. âI didnât have a chance. I started getting tunnel vision, so I began digging my thumbs into his eyes. He pulled back, and I took off and ran.â
That evening, MondainĂ© tracked Ray down at a friendâs house, apologized, and convinced him to come with him to Celebration Tabernacle, where the churchâs top leadership would discuss whether or not Ray should date Mercedes. Ray agreed, and then listened as the men debated scriptureâand how it related to his love lifeâfor 12 hours. The group remained undecided. Finally, MondainĂ© allegedly told Ray to go into a windowless room in the church to pray about it, and that whatever decision Ray came to through prayer would be respected. But when Ray tried to leave 15 minutes later, still confident that he should date Mercedes, he says he found the door was locked. From outside the door, an assistant pastor asked him what he had decided. Ray said his answer wasn't the one MondainĂ© wanted to hear.
â[The assistant pastor] told me, âYou need to pray about it more,â and gave me a gallon of water and a bucket to use as a toilet,â said Ray.
Ray said he was locked in the dark room without food for at least two days. He didnât change his mind until he started to hallucinate.
âI decided at that moment that I would go all in, in every way, for MondainĂ©,â said Ray. âI gave in.â
He was let out of the room only after he said he would no longer pursue Mercedes. Mondainé had him write her a letter that stopped the burgeoning relationship. Mondainé then forbade them from interacting.
In an interview with the Mercury, Mercedes said Mondainé made sure she knew the relationship was over.
âHe would come around and tell me, âRay doesnât love you,ââ Mercedes, who is now married to Ray, recalled. âHe was so adamant about us not being together. He always saw me as a threat.â
For the next six years, Ray said he was sexually abused by Mondainé at least once a day. And the abuse had intensified: Ray said after this incident at the church, Mondainé started forcing him to have sexual intercourse with him.
âFor me, those felt like rapes,â Ray said. âHe wasnât, like, physically holding me down or anything. But I didnât feel like I had any other option.â
Ray estimated that Mondainé assaulted him no less than 2,000 times over the 11 years he attended the church.
None of Rayâs friends at Celebration Tabernacle knew about the abuse until 2007, when Ray decided to leave the church. He began experiencing migraines during his final years at Celebration Tabernacle, some so severe that they impaired his vision. During one of these episodes, Ray asked a friend to drive him to the emergency room. On the way there, he received a call from MondainĂ©.
âHe told me to turn the car around, that this was a test from the devil,â Ray said. âHe wanted to pray over me instead. I realized then that something had to happen.â
That night, he returned to the house he shared with MondainĂ© to grab his laptop and a duffle bag of clothes. Ray had a friend drive him to his motherâs house in Washington. Once MondainĂ© realized Ray had moved out, he called Rayâs cell phone, apologizing and pleading for him to return. On the drive to Vancouver, Ray threw his phone out the window into the Columbia River.
The following evening, Ray met with a dozen or so of his closest friends from Celebration Tabernacle at a friendâs home. He told them everything.
âAlmost all of them left [the church] that next day,â he said. The night ended after MondainĂ© caught wind of the meeting and allegedly sent several of his assistant pastors to retrieve Ray so MondainĂ© could speak with him. Ray said he managed to jump in the passenger seat of a friendâs car just as the pastors arrived at the house. Ray said that one pastor reached through the open passenger door as the car drove off in an unsuccessful attempt to pull Ray from the vehicle.
The Mercury spoke independently with four other individuals who were present that evening, all of whom corroborated Rayâs recollection of events. Ray never saw MondainĂ© again.
âThe craziest thing is that he believes that what heâs doing is right.â
When Ray left Celebration Tabernacle, he wasnât sure if anyone else had suffered similar abuse from MondainĂ©. Only later did he discover there was at least one other alleged victim who was being assaulted under the same roof: Joe*.
Joe, who is Black, began staying at MondainĂ©âs Portsmouth house in 1999, when he was a high-school freshman attending Celebration Tabernacle. Joe said that, not long after he began staying over, MondainĂ© started visiting him while he slept.
âHe would do this thing where heâd lay next to me and pretend to fall asleep, but then start touching my dick,â said Joe, who was 14 at the time. âI woke up several times to him trying to put his dick in my mouth.â
This soon became a regular occurrence. At the same time, Joe was growing increasingly aware of MondainĂ©âs violent outbursts. Joe said he witnessed MondainĂ© physically assaulting his twin teenage sonsâChristopher and Elbert Jr.â on numerous occasions. Neither Christopher nor Elbert Jr. responded to the Mercury's request for comment.
Joe says he was physically assaulted himself when he asked Mondainé if he could date a girl he met at church.
âHe got furious about that,â said Joe. âHe picked me up and threw me around. Heâs a big guy, so he could really do whatever he wanted.â
These allegations of domestic violence are reflected in MondainĂ©âs arrest records. According to Multnomah County court documents, MondainĂ©âs son Christopher called 911 in January 2001 to report an assault by his father. This was after Christopher had moved out of his fatherâs house and into his own home in the Albina neighborhood. When police arrived, MondainĂ© was arrested at the scene; according to documents from the arrest, MondainĂ© allegedly forced his way into his sonâs home and âgrabbed [Christopher] by the neck, leaving a two-inch scratch mark.â
The case was dropped when no witnesses would testify against Mondainé.
There are no other public court records linked to MondainĂ©âs alleged assaults. Based on Joeâs experiences at MondainĂ©âs house, that doesnât come as a surprise to him.
â[MondainĂ©] put a fear in me... a fear that kept me from speaking my mind or asking anyone for help,â Joe said. âHe has a crazy control over people. The craziest thing is that he believes that what heâs doing is right. That man messed me up so much.â
Joe has had little contact with Mondainé since moving out of his house at 18.
Not all of MondainĂ©âs alleged victims stayed under his roof.
Michael* began attending Celebration Tabernacle with his family in 1995, when he was a teenager. His parents played integral roles in the churchâs music programs, and he and his brother became active members of the churchâs youth group, dance club, and choir. âIt was a really creative group of kids,â said Michael, who is Black. âWe were always putting on shows and dance nights. It all seemed great.â
A talented dancer, Michael briefly left Portland in the late â90s to teach and perform out of state. But after his mother fell ill in 2002, Michael returned home and began teaching hip-hop and tap dancing classes through the church. Michael, then 22, soon gained the trust of MondainĂ©, who asked him to help oversee the churchâs finances and invited him to join the Knights, a respected group of men who attended Celebration Tabernacle. At the same time, Michael saw his freedom slipping away: Michael said MondainĂ© restricted him from going on tours with his outside dance company unless he funneled his earnings back into the church.
âWhen I asked about my money, I was just told to trust God and that God is going to bless us,â said Michael, now 40.
MondainĂ©âs alleged abuse began when Michael started to show interest in women.
Michaelâs request to begin dating a woman who attended Celebration Tabernacle was denied by MondainĂ©. Michael began dating her in secret, but when word got out about the relationship, MondainĂ© allegedly ordered Michael to shave his head and called a meeting of the Knights, where Michael said he directed each member to âtake a swingâ at Michael.
Weeks after the alleged beating, when Mondainé discovered Michael was still seeing the woman, the response was worse.
Michael said the Knights were directed by MondainĂ© to drive him to Kelly Point Park in the middle of the night, where they were instructed to beat him with fists and sticks. Michael said MondainĂ© wasnât present during this beating, but that MondainĂ© called members of the Knights as it was taking place to confirm it was happening.
âI wasnât allowed to fight back,â said Michael. âThe beating didnât stop until my knees hit the ground.â
Afterwards, Michael said he was told to walk the seven miles back to MondainĂ©âs home. Ray, who was also a member of the Knights at this time, remembers this night vividly.
âWe beat the shit out of him,â Ray recalled, âand then forced him to walk home barefoot in winter. He was in really bad shape.â
Michael said he was also a victim of MondainĂ©âs sexual abuse. Not long after the Kelly Point incident, MondainĂ© asked Michael to deliver coffee to MondainĂ©âs house.
âI get there, and he tells me I need to sit on his bed and take off my clothes,â Michael said. âBy then, I knew he could hurt me, so I did it⊠but I kept my tank top and boxers on. I sat on the bed and he touched my leg and said something like, âThe uncomfortableness you feel right now is the exact same feeling that women feel when you engage with them.â He asked if I was gay. That was it⊠I got up, got dressed, and got out of there. I was done.â
Yet Michael didnât allow himself to completely sever ties with the church for several years, until his brother agreed to leave with him in 2007.
âThe beating didnât stop until my knees hit the ground.â
Antjuan Tolbert is a pastor at Celebration Tabernacle and was a teenager at the church when Ray and Michael were members. Tolbert, who is Black, said there was a community of others his age at the church who were interested in the creative arts.
âThere were dancers, artists, writers⊠and I was the athlete,â said Tolbert, who played high school football at the time.
He does recall that a large number of those people left the church at the same time, years later.
âI remember not knowing fully why it was happening,â Tolbert told the Mercury. âI remember there being lots of tension in spaces. The majority of [my] peers left at the same time, just like that. That abrupt change really rocked the church.â
Tolbert wasnât consistently attending Celebration Tabernacle when he left Oregon to attend college in 1999. He said heâd return on school breaks, but wasnât clued in to everything going on among his peers. By the time he returned to Portland in 2003, he noticed that there were some young men at the church who acted in a way that made Tolbert feel like âsomething was wrong.â
âYou can tell when someone has been abused, by body language,â said Tolbert. âLike, you can tell when an animal has been abused. I got that feeling around them. But I donât know what happened behind closed doors.â
Tolbert never got concrete answers from his peers. He said he has never been physically abused by Mondainé, and had no reason to believe Mondainé was abusing anyone.
âAround that time, I was known as the quick-tempered one at Celebration,â Tolbert said. âAnd I was an athlete. People knew not to mess with me.â
Tolbert is now in charge of Celebration Tabernacleâs visual communications and has his own graphic design business. He credits his success to the focus on creativity and entrepreneurship that Celebration Tabernacle fostered.
âI am truly thankful for the opportunities itâs given me,â Tolbert said.
âYou can tell when an animal has been abused. I got that feeling around them. But I donât know what happened behind closed doors.â
While MondainĂ©âs alleged physical and sexual abuse appears to have been largely directed at the men and boys in his life, several women who formerly attended Celebration Tabernacle told the Mercury his psychological abuse toward women was uniquely harmful.
This was reflected, they say, in the churchâs rules around relationships between men and women. According to Nicole*, who joined the church in 1996 when she was 17, women were barred from wearing tank tops, shorts, or knee-length dresses, and had to wear nylons at church. She says no one could date without the approval of MondainĂ©.
âHe would talk about jezebels, and how women existed to tempt men,â said Nicole, who is white. âWe werenât allowed to drive alone in cars with anyone of the opposite sex. Even if we werenât dating them, MondainĂ© believed people would still pull off on the side of the road to have sex.â
Nicole was one of the few members of Celebration Tabernacle to whom MondainĂ© gave permission to get married. MondainĂ© would officiate the ceremony. While itâs not unusual for pastors to require marriage counseling before marrying a couple, Nicole said MondainĂ©âs mandatory counseling came with a costly price tagâand that money appeared to be a key component of the pastor allowing the relationship.
âI knew what he was doing,â Nicole said. âI knew he wasnât going to marry us unless we paid.â
Several others interviewed by the Mercury said MondainĂ© regularly called women in the congregation âwhoresâ in the middle of sermons.
Robin Nelson says she experienced Mondaineâs harassment from the pulpit. Nelson, who is white, joined the church in the 2000s as a single mother, hoping to connect her three Black sons with role models in the Black community. Nelson also developed a close friendship with MondainĂ©. She was escaping an abusive relationship at the time, and said MondainĂ© provided the support and guidance she needed to move forward.
âI was very vulnerable... and he was there for me when no one else was,â Nelson said. âItâs how he drew me in.â
One Saturday evening, Mondainé called Nelson over to his house to vent about his sons. Nelson said he then tried to kiss her.
âI freaked out, and was like, âNo, no, no,â said Nelson, who estimates she was a quarter of MondainĂ©âs size. She said she left his house as quickly as she could.
The next morning, Nelson attended Celebration Tabernacle with her sons. At one point, Nelson said, Mondainé paused to address the congregation in a solemn tone.
âHe was like, âIâm very sad to say this, but it needs to be addressed,ââ Nelson recalled. âAnd he said that I had been pursuing him and stalking him, and that yesterday I had pushed him up against the wall and shoved my tongue down his throat. I just stood up, got my boys, and walked out. I never came back.â
The humiliation is what Akesha Rintalan remembers most about her time at Celebration Tabernacle. Rintalan, who is Black, joined the church for its youth group and choir when she was 16. She said there was always tension between her and MondainĂ© because he believed she wasnât a virgin.
âI was considered less holy,â she said, âand he always made sure I knew that.â
Rintalan believes some of her mistreatment was due to her race, and said she never saw Mondainé treat white girls or women with the same kind of vitriol.
On one occasion, Rintalan confided in MondainĂ© that she was dating a man at the churchâagainst MondainĂ©âs wishesâand had gotten an abortion. Instead of offering support, Rintalan said MondainĂ© called her to the front of the church during a sermon and proceeded to tell the entire congregation about her premarital sex and abortion.
âIt was devastating,â said Rintalan. âTo this very day, that remains the most painful experience of my life.â
Rintalan was one of the many people who left Celebration Tabernacle in 2007 after hearing Rayâs story. She hasnât gone inside any church since.
âI no longer can drive through that neighborhood, I get such strong anxiety about it,â said Rintalan. âIt makes me so angry that heâs successful and thrivingâwhile so many people are still dealing with the trauma from his actions.â
Nelson also has lasting anxiety issues tied to MondainĂ©. When she unexpectedly heard his voice coming from her TV in July 2020âwhen MondainĂ© was interviewed on CNN about the need for peaceful protests in Portlandâshe said she started shaking and crying and felt sick to her stomach.
âI was like, âAs much turmoil youâve caused, and youâre going to talk about peace?ââ Nelson said. âI canât handle the fact that heâs representing the town that I love.â
âIt makes me so angry that heâs successful and thrivingâwhile so many people are still dealing with the trauma from his actions.â
The impact MondainĂ© has left on some of his former followers vary. For Michael, it shows itself in searing headaches. For Ray, itâs PTSD. For Irene*, itâs anxiety attacks.
Like Ray, Irene describes her first impression of MondainĂ© as âlarger than life.â At 14, she was drawn to Celebration Tabernacle by the chance to join its choir. She became friends with Ray, and, along with other young members of the congregation, began taking weekly âminister in trainingâ classes from MondainĂ©.
Irene saw the full range of MondainĂ©âs emotions at these meetings, where each week, students were expected to share their favorite part of MondainĂ©âs sermon. Irene said if anyone questioned him, heâd lash out.
âHe was very unstable,â said Irene, who is white. âHe believed, and expected us to believe, that he was directly speaking for God. If you questioned him, you were questioning God."
Irene said MondainĂ©âs temper made her work hard to stay on his good side. Like Ray and others at the church, she began working at Fridayâs, without pay, to show her dedication to the ministry. She said she was allowed to keep tips (which added up to around $10 a day), but she was never asked to fill out employment paperwork or offered a salary or benefits. Irene eventually got a managerial job at the cafe that had her working 11-hour days. She still never saw a paycheck.
âThe premise [of Fridayâs] was that they took people off the streets and taught them skills they could use to better their lives,â Irene said. âBut instead, the majority of staff were younger people or damaged people, unpaid, being used for labor to run the business.â
In a 2004 interview with The Oregonian, MondainĂ© described Fridayâs as a place for young people to get work experience.
âWe can't pay them like Denny's,â MondainĂ© said, âbut I can train them to go out there and be competitive.â
MondainĂ© refutes Ireneâs claims.
âEverybody got paid.... No shenanigans,â he told the Mercury. âAnd if there was, nobody talked to me about it. I didnât hear any complaints about it.â
Tolbert, a current pastor at Celebration Tabernacle, worked at Fridayâs when he was in high school. He said there were periods of time when he wasnât paid for his work, but he never expected compensation.
âI was young and learning something new, I thought of it as job experience,â said Tolbert. âSometimes Iâd get $25 for a weekâs work, or a free meal. Thatâs why I started my own business, to make an income.â
Irene said MondainĂ© would stop by the cafe at random timesâusually before a personal shopping tripâand that she was expected to let him take large amounts of cash from the register. Michael, who also worked at Fridayâs at the time, described this phenomenon as well.
âI would get a phone call from him at work, like, âI am five minutes from the cafe and I need $100 and a breakfast sandwich,ââ Michael recalled.
Yet every Sunday at church, they said MondainĂ© would talk about how desperately the church needed funds, and how much more money needed to be added to the churchâs offering basket before the church could receive âGodâs blessing.â
MondainĂ© said that he never took money from Fridayâs till. âIâve never dealt with the finances directly,â he told the Mercury. âEver.â
To further support Celebration Tabernacle, Irene took a second job, donating her income directly to the church. At the time, Irene said, she was getting around two hours of sleep a day. Irene said many of Fridayâs unpaid staff were sleep deprived, having been forced to work long days and then attend classes or meetings at night.
Fridayâs has since metamorphosed into PoâShines Cafe de La Soul, a popular soul food restaurant that is owned and managed by MondainĂ©. The nonprofit cafe functions as a training program for youths who are seeking job experience. PoâShinesâ executive chef James Bradley said that while the restaurant previously relied heavily on volunteers, thatâs changed over the past five years. Bradley collects a salary, along with several other managers, and employees make hourly wages between $14 and $21. According to the businessâ latest nonprofit tax filing, PoâShines spends an annual $112,000 on employee salaries.
Like others the Mercury interviewed, Irene also left the church after Ray shared his stories of abuse. She said sheâs worked hard to erase MondainĂ© from her life over the past 13 years.
When she learned in early 2020 that MondainĂ© was still leading groups of young people in conjunction with both Celebration Tabernacle and the NAACP, Irene said she was deeply saddenedâand angry.
Knowing that MondainĂ© is still holding leadership positions, Irene said, âthat part is really hard to swallow.â
It was financial concerns that, in 2019, led Portland NAACP members to start looking into MondainĂ©âs prior leadership roles. Cynthia Fowler, who joined the NAACP in 2017, said the investigation began after a year of MondainĂ© making suspicious financial decisions without the approval of branch leadership, like signing a lease to move the nonprofitâs headquarters to the Lloyd Center Mall and flying first class to a national NAACP convention.
âThings were happening without our input,â said Fowler, who was chair of the chapterâs health committee in 2018, when MondainĂ© was elected president of the Portland NAACP chapter. âWhen people challenged him, heâd start verbally abusing and belittling people. Heâd apologize, but then turn around and do it again. Thatâs when we realized we had a real problem.â
MondainĂ© told the Mercury that there have been âno financial mishandlingsâ under his watch at the NAACP. He said his decision to attend a 2018 NAACP convention in Texas was last-minute, which meant first-class seats were the only option available.
He also added: âI have made it my practice all of my adult life to fly first class. Why would I stop flying first class because I was the president of the NAACP? Rosa Parks fought hard, went to jail⊠so that we would sit in front of the bus.â
Mondainé said that he contributes more to the NAACP than he gets back from it.
âLook, to do this job, it costs me 90 hours a week... it costs me to be president of the NAACP,â he said. âBut itâs a price I donât mind paying because itâs worth the outcomes in the community.â
James Posey, a former vice president of Portlandâs NAACP, said he distanced himself from the organization due to MondainĂ©âs âauthoritarianâ leadership style.
âWhen heâs challenged, he turns violent,â said Posey, who is Black. âItâs the height of hypocrisy. How do you fight for justice when youâre unjust? How can you talk about peace when you threaten violence?â
Fowler said MondainĂ©âs ire is particularly directed toward Black women, including herself. Since MondainĂ© became president, every Black woman who sat on NAACPâs executive committee at the time of his appointment has either stepped down or been removed.
âAny Black woman that speaks up has been shut down or [verbally] abused,â Fowler said.
However, Fowler said that MondainĂ© appears to have respect for one Black woman: The Portland NAACPâs previous president, Jo Ann Hardesty, who left the post in 2018 to serve as a Portland city commissioner. Hardesty and MondainĂ© have continued to work together on policy issues and projects since she joined City Council, such as the development of the Portland Clean Energy Fund. Hardesty declined the Mercuryâs request for comment.
âHow do you fight for justice when youâre unjust? How can you talk about peace when you threaten violence?â
In response to the alleged problems at the Portland chapter of the NAACP, Fowler and others created Rise Up PDX, a group intended to improve the local chapterâs accountability and transparency.
In July 2020, Fowler was contacted by Ray through a mutual friend.
While she was shocked to hear allegations from Ray and other former members of Celebration Tabernacle, Fowler said she wasnât entirely surprised. She said the allegations only solidified Rise Up PDXâs belief that MondainĂ© should be removed from NAACP leadership.
MondainĂ© is currently running for a second term as the chapter president in the Portland NAACPâs November 21 election. Rise Up PDX has published a list of candidates theyâve endorsed to replace MondainĂ© and other chapter leaders.
âThe communityâs voice is not being heard when people go to him,â said Fowler. âHe basically speaks for himself⊠he is doing what is best for him. There are so many others who could better represent our community at this time.â
Mondainé told the Mercury that the members of Rise Up PDX are outliers in the local NAACP branch.
âItâs just a few people whoâve made it very, very difficult,â he said. âThe rest of the group is tired of them too.â
When reached for comment about the allegations against Mondainé, the Portland NAACP responded with a statement from Mondainé.
âThe board has been apprised and will be standing with me as I release a statement,â it reads.
Fowler said sheâs prepared for criticism from the local Black community for condemning a man who positions himself as a leader for African Americans in a cityâand a stateâwith a small Black population.
âI think there are people who will criticize us, because you just donât talk bad about Black leadership in this city,â said Fowler. âBut itâs so important right now to hold those leaders accountable, particularly because there's a real opportunity to get on the path of change."
âItâs so important right now to hold those leaders accountable, particularly because there's a real opportunity to get on the path of change."â
MondainĂ© characterized the 11 people who spoke with the Mercury about his alleged harassment and abuse as âdisgruntled employees.â
âThey were all friends, and all left the church in a huff. I donât know why,â he said. âIâm not shocked. Iâm not surprised. But if there were any truths to that, there would be a consistent record [of abuse] from when they left until now. And there isnât one.â
Only a few of the sources who spoke with the Mercury said they knew each other well. Several of them said they had never met each other, even when their tenure attending the church may have overlapped.
MondainĂ© encouraged the Mercury to speak with Amy Rutherford-Close, a woman whoâs attended Celebration Tabernacle for 14 years. Rutherford-Close, who identifies as mixed-race, said that this isnât the first time MondainĂ© has been hit with abuse allegations.
âIt comes in waves,â she said. âOver the years that Iâve been there there are many people who have accused him of many things. Thatâs the downside of him being in an authoritative position. Thatâs the downside of being in the public eye.â
Rutherford-Close doesnât believe that any of the past allegations were true.
âPeople like to make it really personal⊠to hurt him,â she said. âThatâs what I think is happening here.â
Poâshines chef Bradley began attending the church in 2007, shortly before Ray and others exited. He characterized the group as ârebellious youngstersâ who would always speak negatively about the church and MondainĂ©.
âThey werenât very kind people,â said Bradley. âIt was clear they didnât want to be obedient to the church. They werenât disciplined. I remember them leaving with a big bang and thinking, âYou all just didnât want to do what you were told to do in the church and restaurant, and you made shit up.ââ
Bradley considers himself MondainĂ©âs apprentice, and said he spends a lot of time with the pastor. Heâs never seen him be physically or verbally abusive to anyone.
âHeâs always been a gentle human being," said Bradley. "If anything, itâs the opposite. If he sees someone being mistreated, he intervenes. Heâs consistently looking out for people.â
Mondainé said he has no idea why allegations like this would be made against him.
âAll I know is that we have been a very loving, very giving church,â MondainĂ© said. âIt saddens me that people would be so desperate. Whatâs the point, to ruin my life?â
âIt saddens me that people would be so desperate. Whatâs the point, to ruin my life?â
Celebration Tabernacle regularly records and uploads MondainĂ©âs sermons to the churchâs YouTube account. In one video from 2013, titled âMinistering to Your Abuser,â MondainĂ© explains how he himself is a victim of abuse, and how he healed from it by refusing to hide from his abuser.
âYou will get the opportunity to confront the abusers in your life,â MondainĂ© tells his congregation. Off camera, members of Celebration Tabernacle call out: âAmen.â
MondainĂ© then recites a series of affirmations, including, âOld abuse is no license for present destructionâ and âI will no longer be bound to my past.â
âThe last affirmation I want to make with you tonight is, âI will relinquish vengeance and receive justice,ââ he says. âSay it with me: I will relinquish vengeance and receive justice.â
The congregation responds: âI will relinquish vengeance and receive justice.â
UPDATE: E.D. Mondainé Exits Race to Remain NAACP President