Ordo Sororitatis Satanicae Inc

Ordo Sororitas Satanae, Inc. is a nonprofit corporation based out of Missouri. It was registered on March 14, 2018.

On June 20, 2017, the Facebook page for what had been a chapter of The Satanic Temple in St. Louis posted:

On The Satanic Temple National organization has effectively pulled out of Missouri. The Satanic Temple St. Louis Chapter is defunct. Please refer to the main Satanic Temple page if you would like more information about the organization. Thank you.

On April 10, 2017, a Facebook page called "Ordo Sororitatis Satanicae" had been created.

A year and a day later, the IRS approved the Satanic organization's status as a 501(c)3 nonprofit corporation.

Mary Doe Case

Account from Danny Wicentowski's artice for the Riverfront Times, The Satanic Temple Sought to Upend Missouri Abortion Law. Their Plans Went to Hell, May 8, 2019:

In (Lucien) Greaves' entourage that day in St. Louis was Nikki Moungo. An atheist activist and a member of both the Temple's national council and the St. Louis chapter's board, she'd always liked a good fight against unfair religious privilege. She had recently notched a victory in opposing a plan to install a sign proclaiming "In God We Trust" on city property in her hometown of Ballwin.

After Doe went from abortion charity case to the Temple's chosen plaintiff, Moungo took on the role of handler.

"I know what it's like to be a single mother in Missouri with low income," Moungo says today. "Her predicament is pretty common; I've been in that situation. I know what it's like to get an abortion in Missouri."

The assignment became something close to a full-time job, with Moungo serving as mom, advocate and arbitrator. Doe didn't have a stable living situation, and she was raising a young daughter while living in a hotel, its price discounted for the cleaning services she provided. Other times, she wound up at Moungo's home in Ballwin. Moungo felt largely on her own as Doe's support group.

"She was getting frustrated and wanted answers from me, answers I couldn't get my hands on," Moungo recalls. "We were both feeling shut out."

It wasn't just the lack of updates from Greaves or the New Jersey law firm hired by the Temple to handle the lawsuits. The case had made a huge media splash, but Moungo says the national board repeatedly blocked her attempts to organize local rallies around it.

To Moungo, it became clear the campaign was a "Temple effort, not a Missouri effort."

"You're separating the action and the people who are affected by the laws, and it really didn't make any sense to me," she says. "It became really weird to us, seeing other chapters in other states promoting our reproductive rights cases without knowing really our laws or being able to address those matters with knowledge."

In a recent interview, Doe describes feeling similarly frustrated by the Temple's publicity strategy. She was hoping to see a wave of local support, an acknowledgement that the front lines of this battle had been drawn in Missouri. Her suggestions led nowhere, and she bristled as the Temple's reproductive rights campaign turned to gross-out performance art.

Two months after Doe's lawsuit was filed, the Temple's Detroit chapter produced an eye-catchingly occult counter-protest outside a Planned Parenthood location in Michigan. Religious groups surrounded the clinic, some carrying signs amplifying the myth that the clinic "harvests baby parts." Satanists portrayed priests, who reverently doused two kneeling actresses with milk. Another member held a sign stating, "AMERICA IS NOT A THEOCRACY. END FORCED MOTHERHOOD."

Doe says she felt shamed by the suggestion that she'd been nearly "forced" into motherhood. She also wondered what kind of message the protest had sent to possible allies.

Over time, she stewed on the unfairness of the Temple's overall strategy, perceiving that Detroit's shock theater had been chosen over her own suggestions.

"I thought it was a giant mockery," Doe says. "Maybe it was trolling, maybe they thought they were doing something effective. I didn't appreciate it whatsoever. That's not how I wanted to be represented, it's not how women in those circumstances should be represented."

Moungo, too, was increasingly embittered by the national board members' refusal to grant any sort of Missouri demonstration in support of Doe's lawsuit. Moungo proposed a public demonstration in Jefferson City with supporters wearing "I am Mary" T-shirts, but a Temple lawyer suggested that Missouri Satanists merely wear the shirts to a legal hearing.

Despite the early headlines around its fundraiser for Doe's abortion, the Temple now seemed intent on keeping its activities in Missouri low profile. Moungo, who felt responsible for the well-being of the Temple's plaintiff, felt a distinct lack of concern from Temple brass.

"It got to the point where I didn't feel like they cared about her or what was really going on here in Missouri. It was like Temple wanted the case without the plaintiff."

...

(TST attorney James) MacNaughton's solution was an unusual one. In a letter sent to Doe dated July 5, 2016, MacNaughton proposed what amounted to gag order of his own client, with financial repercussions if she tried to meddle in the case.

As long as MacNaughton remained her attorney, the agreement stipulated that Doe "have no intentional contact with any member of the Satanic Temple" — which would include Nikki Moungo — and that MacNaughton retain "sole authority to make or authorize publicity" for the case.

There was another provision. If Doe tried to fire MacNaughton on her own, for any reason but "incompetence," the agreement made her liable for a $1,500 termination fee.

The agreement/gag letter sent by MacNaughton represented the last piece of direct communication between Doe and the Temple for nearly two years. After that, Doe says, "I got updates on the case through Google alerts."

...

Notably, after the Missouri Supreme Court heard the Temple's appeal in January 2018, the Temple released a statement touting an "unprecedented triumph for the Satanic Temple," a curious claim given that the alleged "triumph" amounted to Missouri's Solicitor General John Sauer admitting that an abortion patient "is entitled to decline" an ultrasound procedure – a point the state had already acknowledged in its 2015 motion to dismiss Doe's lawsuit.

It was an example of the Temple clumsily stretching for some positive public attention. Nikki Moungo, who left the Temple in 2017, says she wasn't surprised by the attempt to create the appearance of victory.

"This was no great epic moment where the Satanic Temple held someone's feet to the fire," Moungo says scornfully. "They called this little clusterfuck a win. I haven't received any benefit from them not knowing the ultrasound law."

...

Four months prior to emailing MacNaughton to quit the case, Doe had reached out to Nikki Moungo, breaking the years of silence that began with the gag agreement. Moungo was no longer with the Satanic Temple — she'd had her own bitter dispute with the national council, which removed her from its ranks and dissolved the St. Louis chapter in 2017. She'd subsequently founded the Ordo Sororitatis Satanicae, a women-focused Satanist group.

Doe, who was living in a women's shelter in St. Louis, wanted to air her thoughts. And on the night the Supreme Court dismissed the case, they appeared in a blog post structured as a Q&A.

The blog was titled, "Mary Doe Speaks," but it seemed more like a scream than mere speech when it came to the Temple and its spokesman.