======== Subject: Lerma's Picket Report - Perhaps Part 1 of ? From: Arnie Lerma Date: 9 Dec 1999 07:52:05 -0800 Message-ID: <82oj75$1sdf@edrn.newsguy.com> My picket report As November drew to a close, I found myself unable to think about anything else except the trip to Clearwater to check, once again, for the 4th year in a row, if there were any OTs at Flag. Originally planning to be down there by the 1st of December, my excuses for delaying this trip were rapidly overshadowed as my sense of anticipation grew. When I heard about the final hearing in Mr Minton's TRO case, I knew that was deadline to appear on the set. Merk and I started our drive from Washington DC in his mini van at 8PM Wednesday night. The plan was to try to sleep in shifts during the drive down there, however, good conversation, and excitement of anticipation reduced sleep time to a few fitful hours. We arrived in CW at 11AM on Thursday, checked in, got cleaned up, and went to the hearing in St. Petersburg. It was there that the sheer number of protesters for this event became apparent This was the biggest crowd I'd ever seen there. The Scientologists who filed into the room, in lurching zombie mode, were devoid of emotion, except for the one that they are worldwide famous for, a haute false pride, of being privy to the secrets of the universe. They sat on the stage left side of the room. We sat on the stage right side. The warmth, spontaneity, and truly human qualities of our crowd was moving. Here were warm, loving, caring people, willing to make the personal sacrifice and endure the threat of harassment, moved by their still beating hearts, by a girl whose heart no longer beat. The Judge, who reminded me a bit of Spencer Tracy from that must see old black and white movie called "Bad Day at Black Rock", opened the hearing slamming some tapes that could not be viewed now on the top of the podium and chastising the cult to provide viewable copies by 5 PM that same day. For Scientology, This was certainly going to be "A Bad Day at Black Rock" The final ruling, which imposed a 20 ft stay away order upon the cult and a ten foot order upon Mr Minton made it clear that Scientology would no longer get away with its previous attempts at what the judge called, "Picket Chicken." I took a nap until 7 PM when Stacy came by the room to make sure I was awake for dinner. Again at dinner, our numbers were apparent as we took over an entire room at the restaraunt. The sheer numbers of picketers made me think perhaps we should organize into 7 man platoons next year. As this was way too many cats to heard to any one location much less at the same time. The good thing about this heard was that it kept up pressure on the cult in as many varied ways as there were people there. We certainly were not lurching zombies, nor a paramilitary psycho- political terrorist organization. We were individuals, exercising constitutional guarantees, whose inclusion in the United States Constitution became a daily lesson in our Founders foresight and wisdom. The best thing for me, was to see the faces behind all the glowing phosphors upon my monitors screen. The words that I read upon the net, were now live, living, evidence of the breath of a life. They were humans. And I was proud to be a member of a most human race, and proud to be a part of an effort from the heart. That was the best thing about Clearwater. Seeing the faces behind the glowing phosphors on the screen. The Pickets After seeing the incredible efforts of the cult to tear up the side walk and hide the picketers from the rank and file true believers, it was apparant that we must have been inciting some members to in truth "think for themselves" and break out of the rigid protocols of hubbard, the program. If Scientology did not want our messege to get to their members, I felt obliged to make sure to follow Hubbard's policy regarding Psychopolitical operations where he says: PENETRATE So I rolled up a piece of cardboard, and made a horn megaphone. For as much time as we spend chanting XENU, let's not forget the rest of the OTIII science fiction story, the part about ‘incident one', where the "Cherub comes out, blows horn." I thought I'd play a bit ‘cherubic' part and blow my horn for them for a while. The chants were simple and occasionally varied. "NO Ots There" pause for a breath then, "Not ONE!" "No Ots There" "If there was one OT you wouldn't be hearing my voice" And I admit, from time to time, taking a low blow at David Miscavige: "No Ots There" "Just a dwarf!" My favorite areas to work were the entrance tunnel to the Fort Harrission parking lot. The tunnel was perfect acoustic wave guide, and provided terrific coupling for the sound from the horn. It culd be heard all the way inside, clearly. I was certain of this because I could see them scatter. After a bit, the RPF Slaves in front were instructed to run the concrete air hammer whenever I would speak. It was fun, No Ots There {Hammer drill starts pounding}, however its sound was at the front door of the building, and was not placed to drown out my voice PENETRATING the garage alleyway to the Fort Harrission side entrance. I can imagine the deluded inside, hearing No OTs There followed by the jack hammer... What were they thinking? I also tested the distance a paper horn and a single human breath could shut them down upon the back parking lot entrance of the training building on cleveland. I found that I could rest in the shade of the tre in the parking lot across the street from the back parkinglot, almost across from the Baptist Church. And when the paper megaphone was raised, they would scurry away. I would try to time my public service announcements that there were No Ots There for when the doors would be opened...so the sound would PENETRATE to as many of those lost souls as possible. At one point walking through the covered area directly across from the Fort Harrission, I no longer needed to speak to elicit a response, I could raise the horn up, jackhammer would start, lower the horn, jack hammer would stop. The rear courtyard area also provides a terrific resonance. Sound beamed over the wall from across the street was even intelligible in the echo that would return. I was able to egage the heads that would peer over the top of the building from the roof, causing them to hide thier faces. At one point on the corner in front of the OSA bank building, at Cleveland street some local ‘Biker Kids' came by, wanting tee shirts and picket signs, they joined us, and upon leaving, I have them a smaller picket sign, which they split in half and wore hanging from the backs of their bycycles, zipping around the crowd that night until the street festival ended, long after we had all left the scene. They and their bikes joined us at the vigil. The true nature of this cult continues to propogate to this day in Clearwater... There are "NO OT's there" Secrets are the mortar binding bricks as lies together into prisons for the mind. I'd prefer to die speaking my mind than live fearing to speak. The only thing that always works in scientology are its lawyers The internet is the liberty tree of the 90's http://www.lermanet.com