Clearwater Picket '97: One suppressive's report
[Jeff Lee, 09 Mar 1997]
From: shipbrk@gate.net (Jeff Lee)
Newsgroups: alt.religion.scientology
Subject: Clearwater Picket '97: One suppressive's report
Date: Sun, 09 Mar 1997 08:05:02 GMT
Organization: a.r.s. Central Committee
Lines: 263
Message-ID: <5ftqvh$mk0$1@news.gate.net>
NNTP-Posting-Host: tpafl2-26.gate.net
X-Newsreader: Forte Free Agent 1.0.82
Xref: szdc alt.religion.scientology:162700
Well, we had a great deal of fun today. It was a long and eventful
picket; following are the highlights of my day. (As I don't know if all
of the picketers want to be referred to by name, I won't identify all of
them in this message.)
We were joined by some locals and a few women from NOW, which brought
our numbers to somewhere between 25 and 30.
I volunteered for the position as Xenu's bodyguard. Yes, the Galactic
Overlord was there in all of his splendour -- bug-eyes, raygun and all
-- and I stuck to him like a Body Thetan. His presence really
enturbulated the Scientologists; everywhere he went, he was surrounded
by a cluster of sign-waving culties.
Xenu tried to wave to passing cars, they stuck signs in front of him so
passers-by couldn't see him. He tried to stand behind Jeff Jacobsen and
mug for the TV cameras, they built a wall of signs to shield him from
view. He walked close to the road, a car driven by people in Sea Org
uniforms zoomed in to hit a puddle and soak him (and the Scientologists
clustered around him) with water. They shouted in his direction, "What
a kook. I don't know what they think that'll accomplish." (Well,
that's obvious. People driving by, seeing an alien, will probably be
more likely to watch the news to see what it's about than if they just
saw a plain old picket. Duh.)
But what really infuriated them was the fact that he chose not to speak.
At some point early on, we picked up the official Xenu Handler, a man
named Joe Neill (spelling uncertain), who I've been informed is the OSA
International East US Programs Chief. Every time Xenu passed, he'd
thrust his videocamera in the Galactic Overlord's face and barrage him
with questions: "What's your name? Why don't you take the mask off?
Who are you?" He attempted to guess Xenu's identity a few times; his
first guess was "Rogue Agent", his second was "Lawrence Wollersheim"
(who was picketing not twenty feet away, his bare face hanging out for
all to see), and his third guess was "Dennis Erlich". I told him to
keep trying; eventually he'd hit it just due to the process of
elimination. Fortunately, he gave up after that.
Their counterpicketing of Xenu was great; just one more manoeuvre in
"Operation Foot Bullet". To the wog public driving by, the
intermingling of signs meant that rather than two separate groups, there
was just one large group of people picketing the Church of Scientology.
Many of the signs were rather ambiguous, and others could easily be read
as a condemnation of the Church of Scientology if one didn't know too
much about their beliefs. (For example, "Police, get rid of druggies"
in front of Scientology's building could very well leave the impression
that the Fort Harrison is a den of substance abuse.) "Left foot: Ready!
Aim! FIRE! Ow ow ow ow ow!"
Another one of their methods of making things difficult for us was to
wash the Fort Harrison and the sidewalk in front of it. I must admit,
I've never seen anyone try to clean the *stone* part of a building with
a squirt bottle and rag before, as several Scientologists were trying to
do today. And, as another critic mentioned, they must have been dumping
dirt on the sidewalk, because the people with the hoses kept going over
the same areas again and again. Well, either that, or they were
horribly inefficient...
Of course, counterpicketers weren't the only diversion they had. They
were also swearing in a whole bunch of Drug-Free Marshals, but the woman
on the PA system had to order the children several times to pay
attention to *her*. (It didn't strike me as particularly bright to get
a whole lot of children -- who are inquisitive by nature -- and try to
keep their attention on "theta" activities when there's a big commotion
nearby.)
At one point, Xenu decided it was time to visit the WC. Feeling that
the nearby police station would be a good place to go (polite
intergalactic rulers don't use the facilities in restaurants without
paying for food, after all), he and I set off. As we were later to
discover, leaving the main picket site was like stirring up a hornets'
nest. We were immediately glommed onto by our friend, Mr. Neill. He
started up his usual line: "Who are you? Are you looking for publicity?
Why don't you take your mask off and I'll give your real face all the
publicity you can stand. Come on, why won't you talk to me? Did they
order you not to talk to me? Are you afraid to talk to me? What's your
real name?" About halfway down to where we had to cut across to the
police station, he gave up and went back to the picket site. Awwww.
However, I did get to tell him why *I* was picketing: because I
strenuously object to the overproduction of marshmallows in the Nevada
desert by the Zimbabwean government, and figured what the hell, this was
close enough. He didn't seem to believe me; I wonder why. :-)
When we arrived at the police station, the receptionist was quite ...
surprised by who walked in. In her words, "We've never had any of
*those* come in here before!"
Rejoining the picket, we were immediately surrounded again. I must say,
for people who claim to support free speech, they certainly had a
propensity for blocking our signs with theirs, and for trying to shield
the rest of the world from Xenu. He'd wave at a car, they'd thrust the
sign in front of his face and hand. He'd bend down to wave under the
sign, they'd move the sign down. Up. Down. Up. Down. So Xenu waved
one hand high and one hand low. Oops, couldn't get the sign into two
places at once! So from then on, they had *two* people in front, and
two in back (as Xenu changed directions frequently). Yeah, free speech
is okay as long as it's not about *them*, I guess.
And he attracted his share of verbal abuse. One woman came up to him
and said, "You know what your problem is? You need a life." I looked
at her sadly and replied, "So does Lisa McPherson." She practically ran
away.
I got my own attention, too; however, as a person who was clearly
subordinate to Xenu, he got the lion's share of it. Sylvia Stanard
asked me my name; I told her it was L. Ron Hubbard. She didn't believe
me either; these Scientologists suren't are a trusting bunch! (Tsk,
tsk, tsk -- and they're the ones saying we should all trust each other!)
Once Xenu beamed back up to the mother ship, I picked up a sign and held
it way up high. Immediately, I was a Very Important [to hide] Person.
Boom! I got five or six followers before I could walk half the block.
It was odd, though, because none of them could hold their signs in front
of mine for very long. Perhaps that was because mine was made from very
light materials, while theirs were rather heavy-looking. Tsk, tsk, tsk!
Poor planning on their part.
Building on some of Xenu's fancy footwork, I faked them out a few times
by turning around as though I were going the other way, then going back
in my original directions. One of them (my chief handler) even
grudgingly complimented me. "You've got some pretty smooth moves
there." Well, yeah -- I'm a fencer. Tiring of their presence, I saw
another group of critics waiting to cross the street to my side. I
waited across from them, and walked into the middle of them as my
handlers split around the sides. They kept going, I walked backwards to
my original side. Oh well, they were replaced almost immediately by a
new group.
Eventually, I went up onto the landing of one of the county buildings
(which the cops had said was okay to be on) to distribute water and
apples to the critics. Once the Scientologists came up there, though,
the security guard for the building told us we had to all get off county
property. (Interesting. Very interesting.)
They had told the police they would have five hundred picketers to
surround us with, but our estimates ranged from 75 to 150. Not a
terribly great turnout if they were expecting 500.
At one point, "Bill Winfield" and went off into the shade and listened
to the OSA frequencies on Bill's scanner. It was pretty edifying; every
time someone left the main picket area, there was a flurry of
communications giving their positions, heading, and so forth. They were
also taking down licence plate numbers.
When another critic arrived, we decided it was time to have some fun,
and we set off for the former Clearwater Bank building. Immediate
response: "We've got two guys in yellow shirts with big red SPs on the
back, going towards the Coachman building. Is that all right?" (What,
was the attractive lady with us merely chopped liver?)
Once we'd reached the former bank building, we decided to walk on down
to the Sandcastle, the building to which a woman had (just one week ago)
run from the Fort Harrison Hotel, and then after entering the Sandcastle
had apparently continued on through, jumped down a six-foot sea wall,
and was found wandering in the foot-deep water. We had a great time
listening to them follow our progress, and they eventually recognised
that our third member existed.
At one point, our shadow said "I think they have scanners." Bill
shouted, "They do!" and he weakly reported, "They said they do." So we
decided to have some more fun. We went up to a little glade in Coachman
Park that has rather interesting metal sculptures of bipedal lizards,
then split off into three different directions. The scanner turned into
the audio equivalent of chickens running around with their heads cut
off.
We also heard them reporting their progress as they followed cars out of
the area, and little gems like "I've got one of your men here who's
really slacking off!"
We eventually tired of playing with them, so we went back to our cars.
When we were almost there, they finally figured out who I was. It was
quite a delight to hear OSA talking about me on the radio; it made me
feel like I'd finally become an effective enough critic to attract their
notice.
We went back to the hotel.
Returning later in the evening for the candlelight vigil, we arrived in
a rather staggered order, as our cars had taken different routes.
Almost immediately, we were set upon by an OSA pair who tried to
bullbait us and dead-agent the ones who hadn't arrived yet. Some of the
critics started reading OT III off Steve Fishman's shirt, in unison, and
the OSA chaps went away.
We had made an offer that we would conduct a silent march for just a few
minutes, on one side of the street, and then leave -- if they left us
alone. They didn't go for it, and swarmed the sidewalks with us, making
it look like a huge vigil march for Lisa McPherson. They had many more
people there than they'd had that afternoon. Had they all gone away,
leaving us to walk around in an empty lot, we probably would have looked
rather pathetic. With their assistance, however, we got a great show of
support for our cause. "Right foot... Ready! Aim! Fire! Ow ow ow
ow ow!"
And they showed their true face. I was walking with a blind woman who
had a guide dog. At least five times, one particular man stood still
directly in her path. Uttering a very insincere "sorry", he moved a
couple of feet to the left, so that he ended up between her and the dog.
He wasn't the only one who apparently found delight in harassing a blind
woman; another woman took great delight in walking *very* slowly in
front of us; when we turned around, she would scoot around us to be in
front again, and slow down to her original pace. As the vigil was
ending, a cop confronted her and practically tore her a new one. "I've
been watching you walk slowly in front of this blind woman, then run
around so you can be in front of her again. You ought to be ashamed of
yourself! She's a blind woman, for Christ's sake! Do it again and I'll
arrest you."
I was also several people were also hatted to handle me. They tried all
the usual buttons: "Did you know Lisa? Did you care about Lisa when you
were alive?" "Well, no," I said, "I didn't know her. But did a person
in the forties have to know the Jews dying in Germany in order to care
about them?" The girl who tried this one stopped in astonishment.
"You're comparing us to the JEWS?" she exclaimed. I said, "Why not?
*You* do..." Another critic behind me heard her discussing it with her
friends afterwards: "That's ridiculous. The Jews were a race of
victims. We're not." Yeah, girls, that's a lovely sentiment. But tell
it to your public relations officers; they're trying very hard to paint
a picture of Scientologists as victims.
We also had many people performing the highly mature act of blowing out
our candles. "Just like you did to Lisa's life," one critic commented.
It's really a pity that they thought so little of Lisa that they'd
disturb a vigil held in her memory.
Gabe Cazares was there -- and was frequently the centre of attention for
the television crews -- and we were also joined by some local people.
A really funny occurrence: two women were walking behind Steve Fishman,
whose OT III shirt was printed on both sides. One woman asked her
friend, "Is that really OT III?" "Don't read it!" commanded her
companion. "It's copyrighted."
"Don't read it, it's copyrighted." Wow, that's just hilarious. Hell,
all of the books on my bookshelves are copyrighted -- does that mean I
can't read any of them?
When we finished the vigil, after walking away, they gave a big rousing
cheer at having "driven away the suppressives." We actually picketed a
few minutes longer than we'd originally planned to, so I guess their
postulates weren't very effective.
As we reached the cars, we saw an OSA vehicle drive around and park to
keep us under surveillance. A whole contingent of suppressive
photographers surrounded the van and snapped away, flashbulbs a-popping.
What fun!
After going back to the hotel, I took some critics out to see some of
the Tampa night life. As I dropped them off at the hotel at 1 AM, we
saw two OSA goons walking around in the parking lot -- including our old
friend, OSA INT E US PGMS CHF Niell. We waved at him, he waved back.
As I left the hotel, I drove by and called out, "Good night, Joe!"
Pity it was too dark to see his face.
--
Jeff Lee (KoX/SP5/INTJ) shipbrk@gate.net http://www.gate.net/~shipbrk/
<<<He, OSA! Mi estas Skamizdaton, kaj mia edzino estas ankau^! >>>
Don't ask me where I want to go today; I've already arrived. OS/2 Warp 4!
Re: Clearwater Picket '97: One suppressive's report
[Tashback, 09 Mar 1997]
From: tashback@primenet.com (Tashback)
Newsgroups: alt.religion.scientology
Subject: Re: Clearwater Picket '97: One suppressive's report
Date: 9 Mar 1997 23:30:05 -0700
Organization: Primenet Services for the Internet
Lines: 53
Message-ID: <tashback-0903972345400001@ip-20-137.phx.primenet.com>
References: <5ftqvh$mk0$1@news.gate.net>
X-Posted-By: @206.165.20.137 (tashback)
X-Newsreader: Yet Another NewsWatcher 2.1.2
Xref: szdc alt.religion.scientology:162842
In article <5ftqvh$mk0$1@news.gate.net>, shipbrk@gate.net (Jeff Lee) wrote:
> At some point early on, we picked up the official Xenu Handler, a man
> named Joe Neill (spelling uncertain), who I've been informed is the OSA
> International East US Programs Chief.
Hey, I met Joe Neal (that's the spelling, according to Gary Scarff) (Hi,
Joe Neal! Hi, OSA! Please don't harass my family, OK?)! He poked his
videocam into my face and called me by name early on in the picket:
"Hello, Leslie?" I asked how he knew my name, and he said, "Gary Scarff
told me." Later I asked Gary about it, and of course he hadn't told Mr.
Neal my name.
Gary and I then approached Mr. Neal, and I asked him to confirm: "You said
Gary Scarff told you my name?" No, Mr. Neal responded, he had never said
such a thing. He had known my real name because "you post as Tashback on
a.r.s."
So apparently he had said, "You post as Tashback on a.r.s.," and I had
misheard it as "Gary Scarff told me." Talk about MUs. Either that or CoS
is into trying to put the scare into even fairly insignificant sort-of
critics like me (it's easy enough to finger tashback@primenet.com as
Leslie -- it's another thing to be recognized on sight by a smirking OSA
person), plus having a little fun by trying to split up the ranks in a
pretty inept manner.
Picket report: It's fun to make the Scns do fan dances with their signs by
waving yours in a grand sweep -- but other than that, being surrounded and
isolated by five or six hostile clams intent on silencing you and driving
you away is harrowing and exhausting. I didn't hold up very well. Many
others did -- my hat's off to everybody who went to Clearwater.
Candlelight vigil: I broke off early -- when they started blowing out
candles, that was too much for me -- and went to stand under a tree with
Doug Johnson, near some police, who can be an extremely comforting
presence when you're surrounded by the seething hostility of
Scientologists on a mission. From that distance, the scene was this: A
wave of Scns, then one critic holding a candle, being harangued by Scns,
then another wave of Scns, then another critic holding a candle, being
harrangued, and the same thing over and over and over.
One odd, unexpected vigil moment: Before I broke off, a woman was giving
me the standard treatment: "Did you know Lisa? I knew Lisa. Why are you
doing this? I knew Lisa. Lisa wouldn't want this," etc. After trying such
responses as, "Then honor her in your own way," which didn't elicit any
logical reaction, I just turned to her, looked her in the eye, and said,
"Please stop harassing me." And she did. She said, "OK," and she was gone.
I'm not sure what to make of that.
One odd, telling vigil moment: A child said, "Mom, why are we walking back
and forth like this?" Mom answered, "Because we're supposed to."
Tash
ARSCC picket KR
[Ray Randolph, 10 Mar 1997]
Comments: Authenticated sender is
From: "Ray Randolph"
Organization: Xenu Had Days Like This, Inc.
Date: Mon, 10 Mar 1997 19:57:35 +0000
Subject: (Fwd) ARSCC picket KR
Priority: normal
I was up at 4am on Friday, my plane left at 6:01 and I had to
make the god awful drive to DIA. Fortunately, I'd spent the night in
Lakewood, which was 20 miles closer to DIA than my home.
I had met with Lawrence the day before, and the plan was to
just meet on the plane.
Now, you have to understand, I'm not any kind of a morning person at
all. 4am is ungodly. I like staying up until 1am, going to work at
10am (I'm not doing that anymore, though) and the world may start
turning, at my command, at approx. 11am. It was a long trip.
I was armed with wireless email, I sent updates via the wireless
email. However, it wasn't as effective as I'd hoped. Although I hope
it provided some interesting discussion for the irc folks. :)
The plane arrived in Tampa at around 1:30pm or so and we met Jeff
Jacobson with the "Xenu Productions" sign at the terminal. At that
point, Lawrence split off to go get a rental car for himself while
Jeff Jacobson and I went off to Jeff's car. We drove into Clearwater
and straight to the Fort Harrison.. It was at this point that Jeff
and I discovered that the church was planning a childrens event across
the street from the Fort Harrison. I seem to remember Jeff calling
them "Fart Faces" which is a much nicer term than I would have used.
Here's my first live report from CW:
Clams Build Playground on Picket Site
Fri, 7 Mar 1997 14:29:31 -0600
Hi! just got into clearwater.. First report: the church has built
a temporary playground where we were going to picket. They are
sheilding themselves with children. Scumbags.-Ray
Jeff took me on a brief tour of Clearwater, showing me all the
scieno owned hotels (The Diana? Did that name come from where I
*think* it came from?). Neat stuff. The Howard Johnsons where
we were staying was four miles from the Fort Harrison.
The OSA was really nowhere to be seen at this point. At least not
highly visible, although some folks were seeing them here and there.
You have to understand.. Spotting OSA isn't like spotting some secret
undercover agent. When they're watching you, they WANT you to know
that you're being watched. This falls right in line with L. Ron
Hubbards "noisy investigation" policies.
Everyone was introduced and we all shook hands, got to see the faces
of the people we've been talking to and get to know them in real life.
Every single one of them was a pleasure to be around. Yes, even Steve
Fishman... I rather like the guy. We were one block from some kind of
nudie bar or strip joint or something, and everyone made jokes at
Steve's expense about him sneaking out to go there at night. But Steve
was laughing right along with the rest of us.
We went to the meeting that night to make the signs, meet with the
Detective Miller and Ken Dandar, the attorney for Lisa's family. The
meeting was definitely interesting. The CW police showed up and told
us what could and could not be done. Unfortunately, the scummy church
had decided that the CW police were in Cahoots with us, and that made
the Officer a bit less willing to talk than he might ordinarily have
been. The CW police were extremely professional. They informed us
that as Jeff and I had discovered earlier, they were planning an
"event" across from the fort harrison. They called this an "Anti-drug
awareness program" (think about that) and claimed that there were
going to be 150 of the "drug free marshals" (a CoS front) and
boyscouts. (We never saw a single boyscout. Not one.)
In addition to their "event" across the street from the Fort
Harrison, which was obviously designed to make us *look* like
we were protesting a drug awareness event, they church also decided,
rather spontaneously, that they needed to wash the front of the
building that day. So we had our choice: picket across from the
Fort Harrison and look like we're picketing a childrens drug awareness
program, or picket in front of the Fort Harrison and get hosed down
from their "washing of the building."
Here's the Live bulletin from that timeframe:
Clams trying to block both sides of the street
Fri, 7 Mar 1997 18:13:20 -0600
We are all meeting.. Detective Miller, all the critics
(sorry...too busy for names), etc. The "event" taking place
across from the Ft. Harrison is being compared to Winter
Wonderland and was organized 2 days ago. The church has gone to
the police with "grave concerns" about their safety. geez. The
"event"... is centered around children. They are also going to
wash the building (the fort harrison)...so they are trying to
block both sides of the street. -Ray
The scientologist told the police that if we picketed the courthouse
instead of the Fort Harrison, that they would leave us alone. If we
insisted on picketing them, they would usher in 500 counter
protestors.
We decided that there was no solution to this, that we could only play
it by ear once we got there.
Here's the live bulletin:
Co$ plans 500-strong counter protest
Fri, 7 Mar 1997 18:45:45 -0600
Ok on web page. Rod keller has pics we will try to get up. Latest
is that scn has said that if we picket at the courthouse, they
won't bother us. If we try to picket the ft. harrison...they will
have 500 counter-protesters. They will be washing the ft
harrison... 150 children across the street. We wonder if the
children will like Xenu. -Ray
Then Ken Dandar, the attorney for Lisa McPhersons Family showed
up. He updated us on the Lisa story. Told us he was
committed to bringing justice. He passed on a "thank you" from
the family of Lisa McPherson. The only real new information
that came out of this meeting was the information that Lisa
McPherson had a scientologist boyfriend who continued to
spend her money after her death, and that the medical officer at
FLAG who had taken care of Lisa has now gone missing.
The Live Updates on this:
Attorney for Lisa's family speaks to picketers
Fri, 7 Mar 1997 18:58:26 -0600
Ken Dandar is speaking to us. He is the attorney for Lisa's
family. Telling us the story in his words... not much new to his
version. Says Lisa had been dead for 6 hours before dropping her
body off. Lisa's family thanks us for bringing this out. They
thank netizens for the info. He understands that this case is
going to turn into a crusade for him. "David vs. Goliath," he
says..but he will not back down.-Ray
=========
Medical Director at Flag goes missing
Fri, 7 Mar 1997 19:06:02 -0600
Ken Dander tells us that Janice Johnson, Medical director at
FLAG, has gone missing. Lisa M. had a boyfriend Kurt Payne (or
Paine)..he was on Lisa's checking account and writing checks on
her account after her death. -Ray
We went back to planning for the picket and making our signs. More
discussion was had about their plans to halt our picketing. Again, it
was decided that there was no solution. We did, however, decide to
send a group of pre-picketers early in the morning. The idea behind
this was to make the scns think we were starting the picket, get them
completely mobilized, and then split. Lawrence, Fishman and
Touretsky (I think) were involved in this, and according to what I
heard later, it was extremely successful.
Everyone retired for the evening. I was pretty tired and sore myself.
I slept great right up until around 4-4:30am... Then the screaming in
the parking lot woke me up. I got up to see what the noise was
outside. I was rooming with Wollersheim, who woke up with me moving
around in the room. Outside, laying face down in the parking lot,
with his pants down to his knees...a man was screaming for us to come
out of our rooms so that he could kick our asses. Wollersheim, being
somewhat used to being op'd just said, "yeah..call the front desk, I'm
going back to bed." I called the front desk and the man was
arrested. The next morning, he returned to pick up a backpack he'd
stored in the bushes the night before. When he saw me on the balcony
watching him, he wished me good luck in picketing and he left via
Taxi.
A incident reminiscent of Miss Bloodybutt...
Sat, 8 Mar 1997 06:50:20 -0600
Good morning from cw! the wireless email was choking a bit last
night..so we will do the best we can. check a.b.s. for pictures.
In an incident that reminded me of Ms. Bloodybutt, a man was
lying in the parking lot of our hotel this morning at 5am...with
his pants pulled half down, screaming at us to come out of our
rooms. I called security and went back to sleep.. Trying to find
out what happened this morning..more soon. all notes have been
recvd, and mesgs relayed. -Ray
I asked the front desk for more details several times...but they
couldn't provide me with anything.
Everyone left for the picket... I was the last to leave.
The picket was the freakiest thing I think I've ever experienced. I
went armed with an AR8000 Radio Scanner, preprogrammed with the
frequencies that the CoS is licensed with the FCC to use. I took an
OptoElectronics Scout with me to pick up other frequencies they may be
using as well. (It seems as if the folks in the CoS are not being
entirely legit with their FCC licensing! A conversation with the FCC
will shed light on this). I also had a wireless email system that was
used to provide updates to Marina Chong who set up a temporary website
with my updates from the line.
To explain a little bit about the technology.. The Scout hooks to the
AR8000 (which is really just a scanner)... Then when a radio frequency
activates nearby, the scout detects this and programs the scanner to
receive that frequency. Well, it only took them half the day to
figure out what I was up to. But I snagged every frequency they used
there that day. Which was significant.
At the picket, the scientologists had their OWN signs. Signs read:
"Jeff Jacobson porno king"
"Keith Henson is a child molestor"
"Wollersheim: Peanut butter man" (funny story if you haven't heard it)
"Bigots go home" "Druggies leave Clearwater!" (I guess cuz we were
picketing a drug awareness deal?) "fight crime, not religion." (What
happens when one claims to be the other?)
Our signs:
"Scientology Murdered Lisa McPherson?"
"Killed at FLAG" (with picture of Lisa)
"Clear Today, Gone Tomorrow"
"Lisa's Blood on Scieno Hands"
"L. Ron Hubbards Cult of Greed and Power"
"Demand investigations into Cult criminal activities."
"Lisa wasn't the first."
The number of counter-picketers they said would be there had been
greatly exaggerated at 500. The real number was much closer to 200.
They organized the pickets via radio, if a "hostile picketer" wasn't
having his sign blocked *completely* by the counter-protesters, they
would order the ground units to route more picketers in his/her
direction.
Things started out relatively hostile.. People hitting me with their
signs, and surrounding me very closely so as to block anyone from the
street from seeing my sign. The whole time, they verbally attacked
me. The most frequent questions I was asked during the picket were:
1. Did you know Lisa?
(A. No.. Did you? Two or three actually said Yes... but one of the
people who said yes, couldn't even tell me where she worked. And one
of the other ones told me that I didn't have my facts straight and
that Lisa was really killed in a car accident. She should tell her
church's attorneys this.)
2. Who's paying you to be here?
(A. I paid my own way. In fact, I paid everyones way. I dropped 10
million in change to make this protest happen.)
3. What's your name?
(A. I refuse to answer that question. (at one point, however, a
woman said to me, "you look like a.....Ray... I think I'll call you
Ray." I told her I thought she was attractive.))
I tried to listen to the radio to see how they were controlling the
picketers, I was *moderately* successfuly in doing this. Enough so
that I soon figured out that if I "took a rest" that everyone would be
re-routed to deal with other picketers, I could pick up my sign and
get maybe a good solid minute without being bugged while the OSA goons
routed the picketers to me.
About 2/3 of the way through the picket, I was walking along (I took
more frequent breaks than most other folks, as my rib was really
hurting me.) and I heard on the radio, "We've got a guy with some
radio equipment down here.. looks like maybe a scanner." I looked
around to see a member of the Sea Org standing about 20 yards away
from me reporting my presence and my radio equipment to the
"controllers." I made it clear to him that I could hear every
single word that they said... And they were none too pleased about
this. At first, they attempted radio silence. This lasted almost
three minutes, if that. They *had* to have their radios. So
instead, they gave me my very own shadow so that they could see what I
was doing with the information that I heard. The radios deeply
enturbulated them. There were two other scanners in use during the
protest. Making a mockery of their "controllers" became quite the
fun little game.
I can't forget to mention Xenu. Xenu walked up and down the sidewalk
blasting people with his raygun. It's safe to say that the cult did
*not* like Xenu! They surrounded him with people, so that passing
cars couldn't see him and whenever someone tried to take a picture of
him, they would entirely block Xenu from view with their picket signs.
Xenu WAS seen, however, and was immensely popular. Although
apparently, the lower level scn's were being told that the "Xenu"
stuff wasn't really in OT3...that that was "A lie made up on the
internet." Boy are they in for a shock. When one scientologist
told me that the OT3 we had on the net wasn't OT3, I asked him why
people had been sued for posting it. His reply, "they got sued
because they were lying." Hmmm. Maybe I was talking to Elliot
Ableson and I didn't even notice.
It was rather exciting to be harassed by some of scientology's best.
Joe Neil (who knew who I was and told me so) who is head of OSA INT
East US or some such cryptic nonsense position. Suffice to say, he's
one of their bigger, more naughty spooks. I got the Mike Rinder death
glare for my "scientology murdered Lisa mcpherson?" sign. I did NOT
get to talk to Leisa Goodman, which was truly sad. The highlight of
the whole event for me was getting "handled" by Sylvia Stanard, this
little cow of a woman is about the most vile, cretinous little blob
that I think I've ever had the displeasure of conversing with. She
flatly denied that Xenu was part of OT3 and for the most part, her job
seemed to be to get in our faces and bullbait us.
There really wasn't much more to the protest than that. People
following around and making asses of themselves. The message that
came across to all involved was, "JOIN SCIENTOLOGY, LEARN TO BE AN
ASSHOLE."
In about the last hour of the protest, the adults became tired and
they started recruiting the children from the drug free marshals
events.. We saw a 10 year old picketing with a sign he didn't even
understand and a 15 year old. Pictures are available.
We all left the picket, went to dinner did various funstuffs and then
met back at the courthouse for the Candlelight vigil. It was dark
and the mood had changed considerably. We walked across Fort Harrison
blvd into the gauntlet of cameras from the media. At least one of
which was Inside Edition. The scientologists came across the street
out of the fort harrison and "milled" on the sidewalk. We were
walking through a huge crowd of scientologists. They had apparently
heard about my broken rib and two large men on either side of me
coordinated rather obviously to bump into me, driving my own arms into
my ribs. They were making no secret of what they were doing, either.
It was purposeful, and they *wanted* me to know it. The pain was
excrutiating, but I wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of
complaining about it. If medical problems develop as a result, I'll
sue the CoS. :)
I spent most of the time walking behind Gabe Cezares(sp?), the
ex-mayor of Clearwater who had his share of run-ins with the church.
They yelled at me, called me names, "bumped" me, stepped on my toes,
blew out my candle, and did *everything* that they thought they could
get away with in light of the police presence. However, one thing
was very clear... had the police not been there, we'd have been
seriously hurt. One man who blew out my candle three times was
finally taken aside by a police officer who told him that if he saw
him do it again, he'd be arrested.
Ron Newman and myself were the first to leave the candlelight
vigil. I simply told them, "I'm done, you can go now"
and they pretty much did (well, sort of. They shifted focus to
Ron Newman instead of me). Two OSA agents approached
Ron and I and asked if they could come with us after the picket.
I told them no and asked why they never sent any cute, female
OSA agents to bother us. To which they replied, "you let us
come with you, we'll bring women." The other guy pointed at the
crowd and said, "we'll bring a lot of women. whoever you want."
It's hard to take it seriously... I can't believe their request
to "hang out" with us was serious, much less the offer of
giving us women. Either way, it's still pretty offensive that
they think of their fellow churchgoers that way.
Does this sound like a religion that YOU would want to belong to? Here
was an organization that sells itself as being an advocate of freedom,
and they did everything they could to stomp on ours.
We left that night and the white van followed us out. We went and
watched movies, the news, ate pizza and drank beer. Although I'm sure
they figured we were doing something far more suppressive. It was
satisfying to know that we kept them working long after we'd started
playing.
Several hints were dropped throughout the day that there would be
another picket on sunday. This was just a bluff, but they fell for
it pretty heavily. The scanner indicated that their watchtower people
were back in position watching for "SP's" early sunday morning.
Someone called Lawrence Wollersheim on the phone in our room as I was
walking out the door. Lawrence answered and the individual on the
other end claimed to be me, wanting to know "what the plan was."
Lawrence said that they had my voice down pat. Another individual
called about 20-30 minutes later claiming to be Steve Fishman, wanting
to know "what the plan was". It wasn't Steve. Both imposters were
told that we were picketing the Fort Harrison later that day.
The white van was omnipresent. They'd taken a picture of Arnie Lerma,
turned it into a mask and the driver of the white van was wearing it.
The individuals in the van were the same OSA agents that offered Ron
Newman and I the women the night before. Maybe they just wanted to
be our friends. They did seem lonely.
We kept up the "second picket" charade right up until the last minute,
even when we were climbing into the car to go to the airport, Lawrence
yelled, "do you have the signs? Ok... we'll see ya there!" The
white van followed us, providing exactly what we wanted. They soon
figured out they'd been duped and turned around.. hopefully to find
that their other targets had slipped out the back.
This stuff is all from my perspective... I have tried very hard not to
tell *other peoples* stories here, as we all have our own, and I hope
that the others will take the time to write up their ARSCC KR's.
Lessons learned in a nutshell:
1. These people are dangerous. Even the publics can display
cult-think to a truly frightening extent.
2. Sometimes police *really are* our friends. Sometimes.
3. If you give hundreds of thousands of dollars to certain churches,
they'll teach you to be an asshole.
4. Sea Org chicks... well... nevermind.
5. P.T. Barnum was *way* right.
-Ray
--
M. Ray Randolph -- rayr@ezlink.com -- SP4 w/Clam Cluster
Read about Scientology! FREE SEX! http://www.ezlink.com/~rayr/scieno.htm
Clearwater: Preliminaries
[Prignillius, 11 Mar 1997]
Date: Tue, 11 Mar 1997 05:15:27 -0700 (MST)
Subject: Clearwater: Preliminaries
March 11, 1997
[from Prignillius]
The adventure began as I was doing my final packing on the morning
of Friday the 7th. One of my sisters called and said she had just
been talking to a friend of hers, who I'll call Gloria, a woman I
consider to be very sharp.
"Gloria asked me, `How does he know that the people organizing
the picket aren't just undercover Scientologists in disguise?' and
I didn't have an answer for her. So I became just as worried, and
decided to call you and see what you had to say about that."
"Well, after a couple of years on the newsgroup, you can
pretty much tell who's who."
"On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog," she countered.
I chuckled. "Besides, why would they picket their own Church
when they obviously hate it so much?"
"No, there won't be a picket. They'll just lure you down to
their headquarters claiming there's a picket, and then take you off
some place and kill you or something."
"No, there's really going to be a picket. The same person who
organized it last year is doing it again this year. I've seen the
pictures of last year's picket on his web page. There's been a
press release, and in addition, both the Tampa Tribune and the St.
Petersburg Times have mentioned the picket and the Candlelight
Vigil in several articles, many of which I've read directly on
their web sites.
"Furthermore, last year the critics only had 11 people show up
and nothing happened. This year we're supposed to have 38, so I
can't imagine they'll dare try anything. We're just going to be
too visible."
She was genuinely relieved at the non-defensive facts I
presented her with.
"OK, I'll call Gloria back and tell her."
When I related this story to my Mom on the way to the airport, she
mentioned that a close friend of hers had also expressed concern
for my safety when she had heard where I was going. I think my Mom
was actually looking for some reassurance herself, so I repeated to
her what I had told my sister, beginning to feel like maybe I was
an "effective critic" after all, a fact which she confirmed.
"So you can see you've done your job pretty well at convincing
us about Scientology."
As I went through the metal detector in the airport, I was very
surprised when one of the security guards gave me a big smile and
said, "I *really* like your T-shirt." She was in her fifties, and
looked like the type who never would have heard of Scientology,
although there is an org in our town. Maybe she had a relative in
it or something. But I sure never expected anyone so far away from
the picket to make a comment.
"I really like it, and I agree with it completely."
My concerned sister and her boyfriend had helped me custom-make a
couple of T-shirts. There's a new kind of paper you can put into
a color printer, print out a design, and then iron it onto a T-
shirt.
So we did the whole thing up in Corel Draw. My T-shirt said, "Hey
Scientology! Stop Hurting People!"
The "Stop" was a big red stop sign centered right on my Prignillian
belly, and I did the "Hurting" in a font called "Creepy," that
looks like haunted-house-blood-dripping letters. I also made the
word the color of dried blood. It looked real professional, a lot
better than I ever could have done with fabric markers, which was
the approach I was originally going to take.
I recommend this transfer paper to anyone who wants a real nice T-
shirt for a low price.
The rest of the trip to Clearwater passed without further encounter
or comment, but I noticed many people stared at my shirt, and none
of them seemed to react negatively.
I had been instructed in secret ARSCC email to meet my fellow SPs
in a conference room at the hotel where most of the demonstrators
were staying. I was wearing one of my T-shirts, so there was no
paranoia as I approached the crowded "war room" which had several
people hanging about outside the door.
I thought I recognized one of them as Ron Newman, but I wasn't
certain, as I hadn't heard that he was planning to attend the
picket. I approached him anyway, however, and asked him his name.
"I'm Ron."
I smiled.
"I thought I recognized you from the picture on your web page.
I'm Prignillius."
As we shook hands, he did a gratifying double-take (I had expected
to surprise some people when I showed up and was actually a real
person) and then he introduced me to one of the people I had most
hoped to meet, Tashback. It was my turn to be surprised, as I had
no indication that she was planning to attend. I had just hoped
she would.
Ron continued to introduce me around. (One suggestion to Jeff for
next time: I think name tags would have been a good idea.)
I won't try to list all the people who were there, as I know I'll
leave some out and piss somebody off, and everyone's attendance was
important. But I'll try to drop names throughout my report to try
and give at least some feeling for who was there.
It was really nice meeting so many people who have been such a big
part of my life for the past two-and-a-half years.
I was (in a way) surprised by how different it is to actually meet
people and interact with them rather than just typing messages on
a.r.s or IRC. I ended up liking people that I had perhaps been
somewhat turned-off by on-line. For example, in spite of
everything I know and/or think about him, I couldn't help liking
Steve Fishman. He's a warm, friendly and funny guy, rather
unassuming and non-egotistical. I'd say similar things about Gary
Scarff. I also found a lot more camaraderie with Arnie Lerma than
I had expected.
I still didn't warm much to Lawrence Wollersheim, who seemed to
feel like because he had bothered to show up, he was now in charge
of leading and organizing the demonstration.
I spent most of the evening pasting poster-sized signs onto
posterboard with Jeff Lee. I had apparently arrived late enough
that I had just missed Dell Liebreich's lawyer, who had expressed
his encouragement and thanks for what we were doing.
There was much good socializing, and everyone was open and
friendly. I had some particularly enjoyable conversations with Ray
Randoph, Keith Henson, Mark Dallara and a guy named Doug (who ended
up attending the vigil in full Scottish regalia, to honor the
McPhersons).
Jeff Jacobsen (and Lawrence Wollersheim) laid out the game plan for
the following day. We would try to picket right in front of the
Ft. Harrison Hotel, but Jeff had the word that they were going to
be washing the front of the building, so we might have to picket in
front of the small park across the street.
However, the park was the scene of a kiddie fair the Church was
putting on to commemorate "Drug Awareness Day" or somesuch crap.
So we didn't really know where we would march, but we decided to
start right in front of the hotel.
A few more signs, a little more socializing, and then it was back
to my hotel for bed.
The next morning, all of us (including Xenu!) met in the parking
lot of the hotel at 10:10 AM. We actually got away on time,
carpooling to the courthouse. I had the pleasure of sharing the
ride with Dean Benjamin, whose company I greatly enjoyed.
We had practically no sooner driven up and parked next to the
courthouse when an OSA goon came over and started filming us. I
saw this guy several more times during the day (and early the next
morning at the hotel).
We got out our signs and Mark Dallara distributed water bottles.
Most people left a few minutes early for the Ft. Harrison Hotel,
but Jeff J. and I stayed behind at the courthouse until the stated
time in case any locals showed up (they didn't, but NOW had some
members who showed up at the Ft. Harrison, chanting "Scientology,
you're a lie! You don't care if women die!" , a sound-bite that
made the 6:00 news).
As we were waiting on the corner, a guy drove up looking for Arnie
Lerma (who was already over at the Ft. Harrison). The guy said he
had something he wanted to give to Arnie. Jeff agreed to meet him
around the corner behind the courthouse.
As Jeff walked off, I was concerned, remembering the exhortation he
had made for us not to wander off anywhere alone, not having any
idea who the stranger was who had just driven up, wondering what he
wanted to give to Arnie, thinking about the Church's love-affair
with bombs.
"Are you going to be all right, Jeff?"
"Yeah, I think so."
Then he thought for a second.
"Well, I'll stay where you can see me."
This ended up being untrue, as a few minutes later he disappeared
around the back end of the courthouse. I was worried, but held my
ground, holding my sign out and getting some good honk feedback
from the passing cars.
Before I could get too concerned about Jeff, he reappeared. It
turned out what the guy wanted to give Arnie were some really funny
and well-done signs, one of which said "BTs Are Forever" with some
great drawings of BTs. He was apparently ex-OSA, and was afraid
he'd be recognized. (I also heard later from another source that
he may be posting to a.r.s soon.)
At that point, Jeff and I decided no one else was going to show,
and we started for the Ft. Harrison.
Re: Tampa Trib:picket crashed
[H. Keith Henson, 10 Mar 1997]
Newsgroups: alt.religion.scientology,fl.general,fl.news
From: hkhenson@netcom.com (Keith Henson)
Subject: Re: Tampa Trib:picket crashed
Message-ID: <hkhensonE6uGG1.515@netcom.com>
Followup-To: alt.religion.scientology,fl.general,fl.news
Organization: Netcom On-Line Services
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.2 PL2]
Date: Mon, 10 Mar 1997 20:19:13 GMT
Lines: 69
Sender: hkhenson@netcom3.netcom.com
Xref: szdc alt.religion.scientology:162956 fl.general:3644
Brent Stone (bstone@dweeb.com) wrote:
snip
: The countermeasures at the candlelight vigil sure didn't leave any
: doubt about their feelings. Nobody could have orchestrated a better
: picture than the one of a "religion" blowing out the candles of those
: that care about Lisa and others like her. Then to pretend to the
: press that Lisa would have wanted her death to be ignored has to
: come through to any observer as just the self-serving sleaze that
: it was.
: All in all, they showed their own face far better than anyone could
: have done without so much help from their own "tech" in action.
No kidding! However, I must say that the clams are remarkably *reliable*
in that they have made damaging responses in every case I can think of.
(This is formally known as Operation Foot-Bullet.)
My experiences were a little different from those the others have posted,
Scientology *still* can't get my DA pack tuned up right. Long as they are
working on me, they really should research the "Eco Raiders." Jeeze, even
the LaRouchians did a better job. (Sorry fellows, but "Child Molester" is
a flat button, your are going to have to do better than that. Can't get
anyone to talk about what happened to the ********? Try harder.)
Anyway, at the picket I had three computer knowledgeable ones assigned to
me who were trying to find out why Scientology so screwed up in "handling"
the net. I told them, and gave them plenty of pointers to find out more.
To see how many were assigned to me I took off on a trip around the block,
first time I lost them and *seriously* inturbulated a mess of Sea Org
members who stay in the apartments in back of the Fort Harrison. Next
time, they went with me and I related the TomK/LindaW story and how that
led to so many people coming into a.r.s. One of them knew where the
"lurid sex blood crimes" quote came from, so it was a bit hard for them to
consider scientology guiltless there. They are going to have a rather
long Knowledge Report to turn in, especially after I took them to lunch.
:-). They seemed to be quite disturbed about a lot they learned from me,
especially my conclusion that scientology and the net are by their nature
incompatible. Knowing (as they did) that the Net/Web is the future, they
came to understand that scientology does not have one.
At the vigil I had three women assigned who stuck with me the entire time.
They were either playing good cop to the roving ones who were acting nasty
or they were genuinely embarrassed by the bad behavior of many in the
scientology crowd, snapping at them and telling them to back off. The
three of them seemed to be about as upset at my resignation to the
nastyness of scientologists being expected as they were to the jerks
blowing out the candle I was carrying in the vigil.
They concentrated on trying to get me to admit that some of what we read
on the net might be corrupted from "source" and wanted to take me off to
where I could read the words Hubbard said on such subject as using the
courts to harras or "lurid blood sex crimes" in the original. I turned
them down, but suggested that if they could find places where Hubbard was
being misquoted on the net, they should correct them. None in the night
group were computer knowledgeable--this might have been the result of my
corrupting effect on the previous group.
At the end of the vigil, one hyper aggressive woman was getting in my face
so much that I went nose to nose with her--she was exactly my height. She
quickly started blinking. They sure don't train them like they used to.
All together, it was a *most* exciting weekend, at least as much as white
water rafting. As long as CoS Clearwater provides so much action, I the
think ARSCC could raise the price for Adventure Tours to Clearwater and
even more people would sign up.
Keith Henson
Clearwater: The Picket
[Prignillius, 12 Mar 1997]
Date: Wed, 12 Mar 1997 01:46:55 -0500
Message-ID: <199703120646.BAA21635@porky.athensnet.com>
Subject: Clearwater: The Picket
From: dustman@athensnet.com (Dustbin Anonymous Remailer)
Comments: This message was forwarded by an automated remailing service. Please report misuse to <dustman@athensnet.com>
Newsgroups: alt.religion.scientology
Mail-To-News-Contact: postmaster@nym.alias.net
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Lines: 265
Xref: szdc alt.religion.scientology:163232
-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE-----
March 11, 1997
[from Prignillius]
I was emotionally prepared for the picket, unlike some of the
others. Maybe some of the critics were expecting it to be like
the pickets of smaller orgs they had done. Or to be like last
year's Ft. Harrison picket. Since I had never been to a picket
before, I based my expectations on what I know of the Scieno
mind-set, and fully expected to be hassled and "bull-baited."
And I was not at all disappointed in that respect, although I
would rather have been. (Actually, there was less right-in-the-
face sneering than I expected. I guess it's mostly because the
cops strictly enforced that everyone keep moving at all times.)
When we got there, we found that indeed the Scientologists were
washing the front of the Ft. Harrison Hotel, and although I
didn't see them try to dowse anyone, they were definitely trying
to flood the sidewalk with soap suds. I read in a newspaper
article the next day that the police had required them to stop
this activity, so we were able to picket the entire day directly
in front of the hotel.
Some people, particularly Arnie, Fishman and Gary Scarff picketed
across the street in front of the park. I and most of the other
picketers stayed solely in front of the hotel.
When we arrived there were already at least 100 Co$ counter-
picketers lining both sides of Ft.Harrison Avenue, carrying signs
that said negative things about drugs and crime, and also things
like "Keith Henson Child Molester" and "Arnie Lerma Deadbeat Dad"
and other untrue DA comments of equal originality.
As I passed an echoing tunnel that led deep into the guts of the
Ft.Harrison Hotel, it disgorged at least another 75 counter-
picketers, including their one token black member, who they
proudly put on display.
The critics were swallowed up in a crowd of milling
Scientologists, each of us making a little knot of turbulence
wherever we went. I would say each of us was surrounded by an
average of 6 Scientologists.
Their favorite trick was to try to get between you and the curb,
one in front and one in back, and match your pace exactly. If
you speeded up, they'd speed up. If you slowed down, they'd slow
down too.
One of my favorite things to do at the end of block was just to
keep walking, forcing the keeper in front of me to walk into a
yucca plant that was growing there. Then I'd quickly wheel
around and start back the other way. Petty, I know, but I had to
get some kind of comedy relief.
At the other end, I'd usually confuse them, so they'd turn around
and I'd be the one to keep walking, getting a good clear shot at
the passing cars with my sign and my T-shirt.
One bitch (excuse me, ladies, but she really was) got in front of
me and then stopped dead (which is totally against the rules of
picketing, BTW). In my effort not to smash into her, my arm
brushed lightly against her back.
She turned to me with a cold snarl and said loudly, "Please don't
touch me!"
I must have made an impression on them, because I had my own
personal handler for at least an hour and twenty minutes of the
picket, from maybe noon to 1:30 or so.
He was an Australian, whose name might have been Steve. He was
very persistent, and tried many things to get me to talk to him.
The only thing I counted accurately was the number of times he
asked me what my name was. He asked me this eleven times during
the course of our "conversation." He also asked me where I was
from at least five times.
He tried all kinds of stuff to try and get me to react, pushed
every button he could think of. Many of his comments were rather
friendly. He suggested we go somewhere for a drink. He asked me
if I liked Harleys (he was wearing some kind of Harley T-shirt).
He asked me what kind of beer I drank, if I'd ever tried
Foster's, and recommended it.
"That Foster's is fucking good beer."
He used the "f" word a lot.
I had better luck than most of the others getting my sign viewed.
I grew up in a loud family with many children, and I also did
some stage acting when I was a teenager, so I have a really loud
voice when I choose to use it, genuine Tone 40. When picketers
blocked my sign, I yelled (at the absolute top of my voice),
"Look! Scientology is trying to block free speech!"
My handler picked up on this, and soon every time I yelled it,
he'd yell, "Look! Scientology!" and point around
enthusiastically.
Well, I'm at least as smart as any OSA stooge ;-> so I changed
it to: "Fascist Scientologists try to block free speech!" This
was particularly effective when there were cars with their
windows rolled down stopped in front of me for the traffic light.
There was one guy who even continued to block my sign after I
yelled this. I figured if he wanted to Bullet his Foot that bad,
I'd help him out. Even he realized it was Not Such A Good Idea
after about three shouts.
During one break, the OSA goon who had first filmed us gathering
by the courthouse made a big show of taking my picture when I
pulled out a cigarette and put it in my mouth.
"Don't you want one of me lighting it?" I called as he
turned and walked away.
Late in the afternoon, a younger guy, between 17 and 19, I
would guess, fairly punky, was my shadow. He was blocking my
sign completely.
I said, "I'd advise you not to block my sign."
"Why?"
Silence on my part.
He did it again.
"I'd advise you not to block my sign." Tone vaguely
menacing, but not above my normal speaking voice.
"Why?"
So I showed him. He about jumped a foot at "fascist
Scientologists," and started walking about four feet in front of
me so my sign was clearly visible.
At one point (earlier), I made my 180 at the end of the block,
and about four Scientologists held their signs together
overlapping, completely obscuring both me and my sign.
Unfortunately for them, traffic was backed up enough that there
was a car stopped in the crosswalk right in front of us.
With its windows rolled down.
"Fascist Scientologists try to block free speech!"
"Fascist Scientologists try to block free speech!"
"Look how they try to keep you from hearing the truth! They
can't stand for you to hear the truth!"
Several of the milling $cienos shouted, "What truth?"
But I merely countered with, "fascist Scientologists try to
block free speech!" two or three more times.
The damage was done.
The signs parted and the Scientologists crossed the street and
left me alone.
One of the high points of the picket for me was walking the
circuit with Nancy, a blind girl that flew in for the picket.
She wore a sandwich board that said, "Lisa's Blood Is On The
Church's Hands" with red hand-prints all over it.
Although these Flag indoctrinees were willing to stoop lower on
the moral continuum than just about anyone I've ever met, and I
fully expected to hear it, I didn't witness one comment about how
"she pulled it in."
I think they were actually kind of freaked out by seeing her
there. I didn't hear her get any insults that I remember.
The biggest lesson I learned that afternoon was I understood
that to heavily indoctrinated Scientologists the word "hypocrisy"
has a double meaning:
- As it relates to wogs, it's a button they can try to
push. They seemed to have figured out that nobody without
"training" likes to think of themselves as a hypocrite.
- As it relates to heavily indoctrinated Scientologists,
it's a way of life.
There were two particularly glaring examples of this on Saturday.
The first was my young part-time handler (mentioned more in the
Vigil post), who was one of the throng totally blocking my sign
in the incident described above.
After most of them crossed the street and we moved on, he said,
"That really took a lot of courage, to tell a lie like
that."
Even though he'd been standing right there blocking my free
speech.
At the Vigil, a pretty Scientologist in her twenties came
stomping up to me.
"Scientologists don't hurt people," she spat, and then blew
out my candle and moved quickly on.
"You idiot," I thought, "you just hurt me by doing that."
Ray Randolph and I decided that their regging motto ought to be,
"Join Scientology and learn to be an asshole!"
When drb and I got back to the courthouse, there were two OSA
stooges parked right behind my rented car, making a big show of
taking pictures of it and writing down the license number.
We of course ignored them completely, making a show of putting
our picket signs into the trunk right in front of them.
As we pulled away from the curb, making a U-turn, Dean said, "I
wonder if they're going to follow us."
I looked in the rear-view mirror and sure enough, I saw their car
making a U-turn also.
"Hey! You can't turn right here!" said Dean suddenly,
reminding me that it was one-way. I wonder if they would have
followed us going the wrong way up a one-way street?
When the light changed we turned left and immediately encountered
the spring-break traffic jam heading to Clearwater Beach, even at
3:30 in the afternoon. I changed lanes after we stopped, and
noticed our tail changed lanes right behind me, confirming that
they were indeed following us.
We had plenty of gas, and discussed leading them a merry chase,
but I wanted to cruise back by the Ft. Harrison and warn any
critics who were still there that we were being followed and to
be careful.
When the OSA geeks passed the cops in front of the hotel, they
apparently chickened out, and pulled out around us. We stopped
at the corner and warned the last group of critics who were
departing.
I looked up in the next block and saw our would-be stalkers
making a U-turn and heading back our way, but I turned right and
then right again, and we lost them.
After dropping Dean off at his hotel, I soaked in a hot bathtub
for a while and washed off the two layers of sunscreen I had had
to put on, then got some lunch (at 5:30 PM -- I hadn't taken a
lunch break. I figured I had come 2000 miles to picket, and by
god, I was going to picket!)
Then I watched the 6:00 news. We were covered on all 3 local
channels, although I missed the first one. The best coverage was
on ABC, where they had the sound bite of the NOW people and a
short interview with Jeff J.
The other station showed almost exclusively the Scieno's signs,
although the verbal commentary was about us.
Then a mad dash back to the courthouse for the vigil, where I
arrived about 5 minutes late, but was still the first one there.
Prignillius
+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - +
| Prignillius (Sorry, no email addr right now. I'm workin' on it!) |
| |
| If attacked on some vulnerable point by anyone or anything or |
| any organization, always find or manufacture enough threat |
| against them to cause to sue for peace....Don't ever defend. |
| Always attack. |
| - L. Ron Hubbard |
+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - +
-----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE-----
Version: 2.6.2
iQBVAwUBMyY818zM5eblZfaxAQHBgAH9FxqaNd3wdd6zqWNRSFWivRQLosgbcA5B
qVYNgRYE89BypCpNLB7D0EknXLRqHxmUCvuCHy0wBADvHKONa8TjyQ==
=pD9d
-----END PGP SIGNATURE-----
Clearwater: Spartan Silence
Prignillius [12 Mar 1997]
Date: Wed, 12 Mar 1997 04:46:28 -0500
Message-ID: <199703120946.EAA22743@porky.athensnet.com>
Subject: Clearwater: Spartan Silence
From: dustman@athensnet.com (Dustbin Anonymous Remailer)
Comments: This message was forwarded by an automated remailing service. Please report misuse to <dustman@athensnet.com>
Newsgroups: alt.religion.scientology
Mail-To-News-Contact: postmaster@nym.alias.net
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Lines: 262
Xref: szdc alt.religion.scientology:163251
-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE-----
March 11, 1997
[from Prignillius]
The thing that really freaked them out about me the most is that
I absolutely refused to talk to them.
I geared myself into the mindset of a batter at the plate, a man
with a purpose to accomplish who tunes out the heckling of the
crowd.
Except I didn't tune out their flak.
I was quite interested in everything the Scientologists said to
me, and what I remember, you will also get to hear. And I hope
you find it interesting as well.
It'll be in the post, "Clearwater: Pushing Buttons".
Aside from what's quoted below, and in the the other posts, I
only remember talking to Scientologists a couple of times during
the course of the day.
The first time I spoke was when a late-adolescent girl who was
trying to block my sign tried so hard that she didn't look where
she was going and smacked into a streetlamp pole.
I admit, I flunked.
I reacted.
I stopped dead and grabbed her elbow, steadying her as she
staggered back into me.
"Oh, are you all right?" I asked, my voice full of concern.
"I don't think so," she said. She seemed a little dazed.
I was nauseated to hear three or four of her fellow Church
members actually laughing out loud at her, ridiculing her for
having run into the pole.
"Well, maybe you'd better sit down for a while," I
suggested, but then moved on, as I wanted to appear a model
picketer at all times in the eyes of the cops, and about the only
thing they seemed really concerned about was that people keep
moving at all times.
Later, at the end of the Vigil when we were trying to gather our
forces and make sure no one had disappeared, and asked him if we
could wait for the others, I heard one cop say, his voice very
sympathetic and regretful,
"You can't block the sidewalk."
He did let us stand just to one side of the sidewalk, however,
which I think was technically just as questionable legally.
[Note to fanatics: I know virtually nothing about law. You
telling me won't help.]
- From that point on, especially when preceded by enthusiastic
sign-blocker-wannabes in the underage set, I told them, "Watch
where you're going," a couple of times when I thought it might
prevent a fall.
At one point, soon after the complete-blockage-on-the-corner
incident, the bitch I mentioned before was talking to another
Rondroid.
"Why is he here?"
"Why are you here?"
"He doesn't talk."
"Yes he does. I heard him talk to one of those... [fishes
for word] ones," she ended lamely.
"I've only heard him say three [sic] words."
The "sic" was confirmed after I yelled my FSTTBFS line, and she
said, "Those are the three words."
On one of my first breaks, I was accosted by some Scientologist
woman in her 30s somewhere. She started haranguing me about how
I didn't know Lisa but she did, and Lisa would hate what we were
doing if she were here today and who the hell was I to come onto
their property and blah, blah, blah...
After I didn't react at all, but just stood looking straight
ahead, she implied I couldn't hear her, so I looked right at her,
doing blinkless TR-0.
She blinked a lot, several times in the first minute.
"Do you think you're doing TRs?" she asked at one point of
her monologue. I didn't react to this in any way. I think we
both knew who was intimidating who here.
"Maybe he's Rogue Agent," she continued at anther point.
"Naw. Rogue Agent is a homeless person. How could a
homeless person afford to come down here from Boston?
"
I think it was this encounter that led to the assignment of my
personal handler. After I had put up with him for about forty
minutes, I decided to take another break.
The Australian accompanied me.
I was thirsty enough that I let him see where I was stashing my
water bottle. And no, they didn't put poison in it when I wasn't
looking, although perhaps it's more that they didn't think of it
rather than that they were somehow morally unwilling to do
something like that to me.
"Do you smoke, man? Do you smoke?"
I saw him out of the corner of my eye shaking his cigarette pack
up and down at me with a cigarette sticking out the top, offering
it to me.
I ignored him completely, walked around a small corner to the
stairway up to a public building that stands next to the Ft.
Harrison Hotel, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and sat down on
the steps with my feet on the ground level.
He had followed me, and now squatted down against the wall,
facing me at 90 degrees. I think he might have wanted to sit
down next to me on the step, but my Prignillian girth prevented
that (IIRC, the width of the stairway, that is).
[Note to the fanatic: I am not advocating other people smoke
cigarettes. I am also not advocating that you attempt to force
anti-smoking views on me.]
I decided to TR-0 him.
He was much better at it than the girl had been, but after about
3 minutes, he blinked, and I couln't prevent the flicker of a
mocking smile from dancing over my lips, silently but loudly
communicating to him the message, "Flunk! Start over!"
He was clearly afraid of me. His lower lip quivered
uncontrollably, slightly but quite evident to me, as we continued
our little "training session."
After another couple of minutes, during which he blinked several
times, I got tired of it and started looking straight ahead again
(parallel to a line drawn through his shoulders), relaxed and
enjoyed my cigarette.
It was obvious I was in control of the situation. I had
out-TR-0'ed him, and when I was finished with him, I dropped him
like an insignificant bit of dried leaf.
But my eyes really stung. I had forgotten how hard blinkless TR-
0 is.
[BTW, a note for the experience-collectors: Dennis Erlich, says
that his daughter had her sense of humor permanently excised due
to TR-0. My permanent "damage" from learning to do blinkless TR-
0 (for 2 hours) is less severe, in fact rather harmless in my
estimation, but present nonetheless on what is apparently a
rather involuntary level.
I don't blink very much.
In fact, I've had two different dental hygenists tell me that I
didn't blink the entire time I was in the chair. Once was for 35
minuutes, and the other time for about 20. I think they're
wrong, I think I did blink, but probably not more than 10 or 20
times.]
I had trouble all day long getting sunscreen in my eyes. So they
were already irritated to begin with. But they were really
watering by the time I finished with my personal handler.
With my expertise at blinkless TR-0 and my ability to easily and
consistently withstand any kind of bullbaiting they threw my way,
I'm certain they were convinced I'm an ex-member.
[Note to those who don't know: I was never a member of
Scientology. I did the Comm Course with a squirrel in 1971.]
One side of my sign, which read, "Stop abusing ex-members" or
something to that effect, may have added to this impression in
their minds.
(In case you're interested, the other side of my sign, the one I
kept constantly facing the street read, "Stop Scientology Human
Rights Abuses Now!" Thanks to the unknown [to me] suppressive
who printed these out.)
I also spoke twice, not to specific Scientologists, but to the
crowd of them. Twice I ran into Xenu. Each time I said quite
loudly,
"Hey, Xenu! Did you really implant all those people 76
million years ago?"
The next time I talked to a $cieno was just before we were
leaving the picket. Several people had already hung up their
signs and were standing around socializing (or comisserating)
with each other.
But it wasn't three o'clock yet, and I was going to picket until
3:00.
There was a little weaselly PI who had been hassling us all day.
"Hey, man, they've all left. You're gonna miss your ride.
Hang it up, man. You've missed your ride back to the hotel. I'm
just trying to do you a favor here."
I could see very clearly that "my friends" had not left. In
fact, Mark Dallara was walking right towards me at that very
moment. Besides, I had my own car. I *was* my ride back to the
hotel.
He began speaking with exaggerated slowness and enunciation.
"Your. Friends. Have. All. Left. Do you understand English?"
I looked him right in the eye.
"Yes!" I spat, and he jumped.
I wanted him to be sure and understand that I was not-responding
to him by choice, rather than because of any lack of ability.
"Jeez, I'm just trying to do you a favor here. Your friends
are leaving. You'll miss your ride to the hotel. Jeez. I'd
guess an IQ of about 3."
The dark, oily pettiness and puerility of his harassment reminded
me of something out of _Perelandra_ or _That Hideous Strength_.
The final time I spoke to a Scientologist was at the Candlelight
Vigil. My personal handler, the DJ, was walking backwards in
front of me, streaming his invective, and I saw he was about to
trip over a root. I said, "Watch out!" and he glanced quickly
over his shoulder and was able to avoid falling flat on his ass.
This was in fact the only time I spoke during the Vigil.
I'm certain that I'm the only picketer who didn't speak to the
$cienos. Keith Henson told me he did much damage by talking to
them, and I'm willing to accept the statement.
But personally, I couldn't see the point. It seemed to me their
sole purpose was to divert me from my purpose, and I wasn't going
to allow that to happen. I also didn't think they'd be very open
to what I have to say about Scientology.
In addition, the amount of energy they put into handling me, and
their utter failure to handle me to any degree whatsoever, I
think enturbulated them even more than Xenu.
Prignillius
+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - +
| Prignillius (Sorry, no email addr right now. I'm workin' on it!) |
| |
| Like some festering disease, [the scientology organization] |
| thrives out of sight, hidden until the stench of putrefaction |
| betrays it for the vile infection it really is: when the |
| bandages of deception and falsity are removed, it is exposed as |
| a parasitic blight that destroys everything it infects, leaving |
| misery, pain, and sometimes even death in its wake. |
| - stevea |
+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - +
-----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE-----
Version: 2.6.2
iQBVAwUBMyZaZszM5eblZfaxAQHjgAIArNcQKvyk7EuRpvuEYYKjQRs3rEBzZ9Yc
dzYlozig9ydWI+dq2iLosDM2u1m+rvzS4mZLG3TV6QOhqluEhhQH0A==
=ufSf
-----END PGP SIGNATURE-----
Clearwater: The Vigil
Prignillius [12 Mar 1997]
Date: Wed, 12 Mar 1997 17:03:19 -0500
Message-ID: <199703122203.RAA27187@porky.athensnet.com>
Subject: Clearwater: The Vigil
From: dustman@athensnet.com (Dustbin Anonymous Remailer)
Comments: This message was forwarded by an automated remailing service. Please report misuse to <dustman@athensnet.com>
Newsgroups: alt.religion.scientology
Mail-To-News-Contact: postmaster@nym.alias.net
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Lines: 263
Xref: szdc alt.religion.scientology:163361
-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE-----
12 Mar 1997
[from Prignillius]
This is the hard post to write. Every time I relive the
event in my mind, I get depressed again. The word that
I think most aptly expresses my feeling about the entire
experience is "horror." Cold, flesh-crawling, gut-
wrenching queasy horror.
Unlike how I felt about the picket, I was most
emphatically *not* emotionally prepared for the
experience of the Candlelight Vigil for Lisa McPherson.
The harassment began as soon as we gathered at the
courthouse. Jeff Jacobsen, the Keeper of the Suppressive
Candles, was a bit late arriving, and while we were
standing around two OSA goons came up and began hassling
us.
"Where's the candles?"
"Is this really going to happen?"
Several people, including Gary Scarff and Steve Fishman
made a few snappy comebacks. One of the OSAs said,
"How are you going to keep candles lit in this
wind?"
Dave Touretzky said, "We're at cause over wind."
The OSA jerk said, "I guess that depends on what
kind of wind you're talking about," and he and his buddy
started making farting references and laughing
derisively.
But mostly we ignored them, and eventually they withdrew
about a hundred feet and talked on their walkie-talkies,
disappointed that they hadn't caused the enturbulation
they were sent to perform.
I gave a brief summary of the TV news clips, including
Leisa Goodman's comment.
"That's *Doctor* Reject to you," said Dave
Touretzky.
We marched over in a single-file line, trying to show
some kind of solemnity and respect for the dead.
Lawrence Wollersheim implied he had made some kind of
deal with them, that they'd stay in front of the Ft.
Harrison, and we'd stay on the sidewalk in front of the
park across the street.
As soon as we rounded the corner, it was obvious that the
deal had fallen through. There were already over 200
Rondroids milling about, and more pouring out of the Ft.
Harrison every minute. None of them held any candles.
I couldn't believe the level of disrespect for Lisa's
memory that was demonstrated by the Scientologists.
Especially nauseating was that I was being accused of not
respecting her memory by people who were performing
incredibly disrespectful acts while I was trying to show
my respect for her. Ravening wolves accusing a lamb of
being a wolf. Talk about a double-curved reply.
Almost immediately after we got our candles lit and
started walking, one of the Scieno's blew out a
demonstrator's candle with an exaggerated fake sneeze.
Amid cat-calls of "Hey! Good one! hyuk-hyuk-hyuk," the
holder of the candle (I think it was Ray Randolph or
maybe Mark Dallara) said loudly and pointedly, "Just like
you did to Lisa's life."
I also had my candle blown out (but only once) as I
described in another post.
As I moved through the crowd, I kept repeating over and
over in my mind, "This is for you, Dell. And you, Lisa."
I was overwhelmed with sadness, and found it very
difficult to keep from crying.
Every time I thought I should just leave, I thought about
Dell Liebreich. And Marina Chong, as I had promised her
I would walk a few circuits for her, since she was unable
to attend the picket herself. I was doing this vigil
because I believed in it, but I was also doing it for
them, and thinking about them gave me renewed strength of
purpose to continue in spite of the horror.
I managed to keep my dignity while being divebombed by a
flock of gabbling carrion fowl. The number of Rondroids
in attendance was in my estimation greater than 500. We
were literally surrounded by them, completely isolated
from each other in a milling throng of smug, playground-
style detractors.
It reminded me of going to a rock concert at the moment
when they let everybody in: a pressing multitude in which
it was impossible not to constantly brush up against or
run into other people.
The only good thing about being in such a tight crowd was
that it really helped keep the candles lit. Contrary to
dst's claim, we were at cause over neither wind nor
candle flames, but the press of people blocked the wind
very nicely. It was only at the ends of the mob that I
had much trouble with my candle going out.
The closest I came to an altercation was when several
girls pulled their rush-around-in-front-of-me-and-then-
stop-dead trick. Rather than put up with it, I just
forced my way through them.
"Hey, quit shoving!"
"Quit pushing!"
"Hey!
"Hey!"
Their voices were getting more agitated and violent. But
then I was free, and walking ahead of all of them again,
so I don't really know what (if anything) happened in the
knot behind me.
The first person to engage in any prolonged harassment of
me was my youth handler, the guy 17-19 years old who had
accused me of religious persecution at the picket. He
was definitely the most rabid and intense of all the
harassers I came in contact with.
Now he moved in on me in earnest.
"How can you justify persecuting a religion? You're
no better than a Nazi. You're a Neo-Nazi. What are you
going to do next, kill 10 million Scientologists?"
I must admit that this was the only time during the whole
day when I actually had an emotional reaction to
something a Scientologist said to me. He had
successfully pushed one of my buttons, although I did not
indicate it to him. But it really got to me to be called
a Nazi, after I have spent so much effort and soul-
searching in clarifying and understanding my position,
opposing and resisting Scientology without hatred of or
unfairness toward individual Scientologists for the past
two years.
I knew it was a double-curve, I knew it was hypocritical
on his part, but it kind of got to me nonetheless.
For the last 20 or 25 minutes of the Vigil, I once again
had my own personal handler. I have no idea who he was.
He was about 5'6" tall and quite stocky, about my age
with light brown hair, built kind of like a wrestler. I
know he was some high-up OSA, as the other $cienos held
him in awe.
As he began to walk beside me, he just waved his hand
slightly from side to side down by his hip and others
backed off. At one point we went around a tree, and one
of the droids tried to plant himself in front of me by
the usual trick.
But he was a little too slow.
"Hey, quit pushing!" he shouted as I passed him by,
not even touching him.
"He's not pushing," said my handler quickly. "Give
him some room here."
And the droid slunk off without another word.
For at least the last 20 minutes of the Vigil, the guy
was walking backwards directly in front of me, spewing a
non-stop stream of harassment and invective. He should
have been a disk jockey. I have never heard anyone talk
so non-stop for such an extended period.
At one point we walked past a couple of cops. I glanced
at him meaningfully, and then eyed the cops with a
prolonged pleading expression. A few minutes later, one
of the cops came up and said,
"Hey, will you back off and give this man some room
to walk?"
But the effect of this warning was short-lived, and soon
he was back right in my face walking backwards in front
of me.
Finally our candles were burned down to nubbins, and it
was mercifully time to leave. This time, I don't think
anyone was wishing it had lasted just a little longer.
As we walked back to the courthouse, we heard an
uproarious cheer from the park behind us, like at a
football stadium when the home team scores.
I felt physically ill, like I was going to throw up.
"Hip hip hooray," I sneered lugubriously.
"Another Big Win for the Church of Scientology."
The power of Keeping Scientology Working had driven away
the eevile SPs. Those horrible people who were actually
expressing concern, respect and compassion for someone
who had "dropped the body."
The thing that depressed me so much was to see people,
loving joyous creations of God who had had all the things
that make human beings valuable trained out of them.
They have atrophied their hearts, leaving only an empty
shell shallower than the thickness of a piece of paper.
No compassion, no caring, no love, nothing but petty
mannikins delighting in vicious one-upmanship and
rejoicing in doing damage to others unfortunate enough to
come into contact with them.
What an outlook on life. This is how the able are made
more able.
Standing around at the courthouse waiting to leave, Ray
Randolph and I came to the conclusion that their
recruitment slogan ought to be, "Join Scientology. Learn
to be an asshole."
After the Vigil, I was so depressed that I didn't want to
sit in my hotel room alone. Besides, one of the critics
I had most hoped to meet in Clearwater was Maggie
Council, who had been unable to come to either the picket
or the Vigil because she was playing a gig over in Tampa.
Several of the suppressives expressed a desire to go. I
accompanied Jeff Lee, Nancy, Tashback, Ron Newman and
Bill Winfield to see her perform.
Due to dawdling and not having our act together, we were
late, and missed the gig. But we had an extrememly
enjoyable time at Maggie's house, watching 6 clips from
local news broadcasts (I made the 11:00 news! Apparently
the reporters thought it unusual that someone would walk
backwards in front of me for a 20 minute harangue.) and
sitting around in her back yard discussing the past 3
years of a.r.s and Scientology in Clearwater.
When we returned to the hotel where most of the
demonstrators were staying, at about 1:30 AM, there were
two OSA goons strolling the parking lot, one of whom was
the first guy who filmed us gathering for the picket that
morning.
All in all, it was one of the most depressing experiences
of my entire life.
Prignillius
+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - +
| Prignillius (Sorry, no email addr right now. I'm workin' on it!) |
| |
| The Church of Scientology is a boil, expanding and swelling as |
| the corruption that is at its heart festers and builds pressure. |
| In time, it will burst, splattering corruption and exposing |
| itself to the world. Hopefully before that happens, people will |
| have had enough warning to avoid the spray of putresence. |
| - Matthew Quirk |
+ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - +
-----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE-----
Version: 2.6.2
iQBVAwUBMycWtczM5eblZfaxAQHv+wH/SFQdVcelcr1Jay2V9wES5XLkvCs7qIG+
Y16ZfMjNqWvMr5PP1Jf//A4gJS2nH09C1ECkFlRr5WSM07p+E0Kaig==
=Hd8+
-----END PGP SIGNATURE-----
Picket '97 Main Index
Marina's Manor