‘Sons of Perdition’: The boys who fled the polygamist cult
The 2010 documentary Sons of Perdition captures three teenage boys expelled from the FLDS polygamist community in Short Creek, Utah. Their stories still circulate on social feeds, reminding viewers that the policy of casting out adolescent males to protect older men’s access to young brides continues to shape real lives. The film’s subjects are still navigating the long aftermath of that system.
Documentary origins
Directors Tyler Measom and Jennilyn Merten filmed over three years in St. George, Utah. The project premiered at Tribeca and sold out within an hour, a sign that audiences were ready for an inside look at the so-called Lost Boys. Later broadcasts on the Oprah Winfrey Network widened the reach, and the film remains streamable on platforms including Tubi.
The title itself comes from the doctrinal label “sons of perdition” that Warren Jeffs used to brand any boy who left. Sermons excerpted in the film make the threat explicit: parents who refused to expel a son risked their own salvation. That framing turned exile into a religious requirement rather than a family choice.
Footage shows the boys leaving with little more than what fit in a wheelbarrow. One had never heard of comic books; another confused Bill Clinton with Hitler. These details underscore how thoroughly the community had sealed itself off from outside knowledge.
Expulsion policy
Estimates suggest more than a thousand boys were forced out between 2002 and 2010. Infractions ranged from listening to secular music to wearing short sleeves or speaking to girls. The stated goal was to reduce competition for brides in a system where older leaders took multiple young wives.
Parents received sermons warning that keeping a son could cost the entire family its place in the afterlife. The pressure produced quiet departures at night and, in some cases, outright abandonment at the edge of town. The policy operated without state interference for years because the community kept its own records and rarely reported missing children.
Recent podcast episodes and social clips have resurfaced these statistics, prompting questions about whether similar expulsions still occur in smaller splinter groups. No new large-scale investigations have been announced, but advocates continue to track cases through exit networks.
Sam Zitting’s path
Sam Zitting appears in the film as a teenager trying to finish high school equivalency courses while working construction. He later became a public speaker at conferences focused on cult recovery. His talks emphasize the paperwork gaps—missing birth certificates, Social Security numbers—that keep many former members from accessing basic services.
Zitting has also described the psychological shift from believing the outside world was evil to realizing it offered practical tools for survival. He now works with organizations that help supply identification documents and literacy tutoring, resources he lacked when he first left.
Current conference footage shows him fielding questions from younger ex-members who recognize their own situations in his story. The continuity of these conversations indicates the documentary’s subjects remain reference points for people still leaving.
Joe Broadbent’s path
Joe Broadbent left pushing his belongings in a wheelbarrow, an image that resurfaced on TikTok in 2025. He found work in construction and has stayed in southern Utah, occasionally appearing in local reporting about property disputes involving former FLDS holdings. His visibility keeps the documentary in circulation among regional viewers.
Broadbent has spoken about learning basic tasks most teenagers take for granted, such as opening a bank account or reading a bus schedule. Those early gaps delayed his progress toward stable employment and housing. He has not returned to the community.
His occasional media comments focus less on doctrine and more on daily logistics. That shift mirrors what many ex-members report: once survival needs are met, the theological arguments that once defined their lives lose urgency.
Bruce Barlow’s path
Bruce Barlow maintained a lower public profile after the film. Updates indicate he remains in contact with relatives who later left the group, though he has not sought media attention. His quieter trajectory illustrates the range of outcomes among the expelled boys.
Barlow’s limited appearances in follow-up coverage underscore how different recovery timelines can be. Some former members pursue advocacy; others simply want distance. Both choices reflect the same starting point of sudden separation from family and community structures.
Recent interviews with other ex-members suggest Barlow’s approach is common. Many prioritize steady jobs and private lives over public narratives, even while staying connected through informal networks that formed after the documentary aired.
Post-exit obstacles
Education records for the boys were minimal, often ending at eighth grade. Without transcripts or diplomas, enrolling in community college required remedial classes and repeated testing. Employment options narrowed to manual labor because formal credentials were absent.
Health care access posed another barrier. Many lacked birth certificates, making it difficult to obtain state identification needed for insurance or housing applications. Advocacy groups now prioritize legal paperwork assistance, a direct response to problems documented in the film.
Substance use emerged in some cases as a coping mechanism for isolation. Studies on cult disaffiliation link sudden loss of social structure to higher rates of addiction and depression. The documentary captures early signs of these struggles before later support systems existed.
Media and public response
Contemporary reviews at Tribeca praised the film for avoiding sensationalism while still exposing systemic expulsion. Later streaming availability introduced the story to new audiences unfamiliar with FLDS history. Clips shared on short-form platforms have kept individual scenes in circulation.
Comparisons to scripted series such as Big Love and recent documentaries like Keep Sweet: Pray and Obey appear regularly in comment threads. Viewers note that the nonfiction account supplies context missing from dramatized versions, particularly the mechanics of expulsion.
No major theatrical re-release has occurred, yet academic syllabi on new religious movements continue to list the film. Its persistence in both popular and scholarly settings reflects sustained interest in the human consequences of the policy.
Current whereabouts
As of late 2026, none of the three featured boys have returned to the FLDS community. Sam Zitting remains the most visible through conference appearances. Joe Broadbent continues local work in construction. Bruce Barlow maintains private contact with family members who exited later.
Updates from exit-support organizations indicate younger cohorts still face similar documentation and education gaps. The infrastructure for assistance has improved since the documentary, yet demand persists. Funding for these services often comes from small private donations rather than government programs.
Property disputes in Short Creek occasionally bring former members back into regional news. These cases rarely involve the original documentary subjects but keep the broader story of displacement in public view.
Support networks today
Informal networks formed by ex-members now coordinate rides, temporary housing, and job leads. Some groups operate from private social media accounts to avoid unwanted attention from remaining community members. The model relies on trust built over years rather than formal nonprofit structures.
Legal aid clinics in Utah and Arizona have added workshops specifically for former FLDS residents. Topics include obtaining delayed birth certificates and navigating child-support obligations that some men discover only after leaving. These sessions address practical needs the film first brought to wider attention.
Periodic fundraisers on crowdfunding platforms supplement the clinics. Donors often cite the documentary as their introduction to the issue, showing how a single film can seed ongoing material support more than a decade later.
Looking ahead
The boys featured in Sons of Perdition have built lives outside the system that expelled them, yet the structural challenges they faced remain relevant to newer departures. Continued attention to documentation, education, and mental-health resources will determine whether future exits carry the same prolonged costs.
