Greetings again, dear readers - I bet you thought you'd heard the last of our
LA Adventures with OSA. Well, we thought so too - we spent the last day of my
(all too short) visit to the sunlit lands lolling indolently, with no thoughts
of enturbulation on our minds. After all, as you know if you read our earlier
post, we'd seen quite enough of the crack scientology security detail for one
weekend.
But our buddy Craig Brown, founder of the brand new front group 'Friends of
Religious Liberty' apparently thought otherwise, because on my arrival at LAX
for a 10:30 redeye back to Canada, he showed up what was eventually revealed
as a full entourage of security thugs, videographers and sullen-faced
picketers to send me off in style.
We had just made it to the Air Canada ticket booth and were headed upstairs to
wait for the boarding call when we heard someone call Snefru's name. Turning,
we saw Craig - in his trademark jeans and trench coat garb, striding
purposefully through the terminal with that irreplaceable menacing grin that
we'd come to know and love.
'So, you were picketed?' He asked - nay, stated - to Snef with confidence, to
complete mystification from both of us. 'No," Snef replied, slightly puzzled.
"Well, I'll have to check on that," he said reassuringly, and went on to
explain that for me, the departing tourist, they had a 'special' treat: and,
with a dramatic spin, he gestured towards a man leaning against the wall of
the terminal, staring blankfaced, a sign around his neck broadcasting 'THIS
PASSENGER IS A RUMOR MONGER', complete with the picture of your humble
correspondent that adorns that ARSCC gallery, blown up several thousand times
and apparently printed with some kind of Fisher Price inkject printer.
The colours may have been distorted - my hair, which is indeed red, seemed as
scarlet as the face of VideoBoy on being trapped in his unmarked van the
previous night, and my face was blurry and hard to recognize. But there was no
doubt: Craig had finally lived up to one of his ebulliant promises, and
delivered a picket. He had his product. But what he didn't know was that his
Big Win wasn't going to turn out quite how he'd hoped.
"Wow, a picketer!" I mused, and whipped out my trusty ELPH, which had served
me well during the weekend's events. I snapped a picture, but noticed that my
picketer had, incredibly, hid his face behind his sign when I raised the
camera to my face. "Hey, I want you in the shot!" I exclaimed, only to be told
by Craig that "we don't want that." Turning to the benefactor of this lovely
parting gift, I noted how touched I was that he would come to the airport to
see me off, and wondered, how had he known what flight I'd be on?
"We just staked out the Air Canada terminal for the last few days," he
explained, with what I thought was a distinct lack of veracity. I expressed my
scepticism in as polite a fashion as possible. "I don't think so, Craig," I
said. "I think you got one of your little scientologist travel agents to look
up my flight info. And that's illegal." "It must be public information," he
argued. "The church would never do anything illegal." "So this is the
church?"
asked Snef, curiously, since Craig had previously claimed that FRL was a
'grassroots organization' of 'public scientologists.' With a wave of his hand,
Craig dismissed his question. "There's another one upstairs," he said with
glee.
I wandered up to talk to 'my' picketer, and explain to the curious bystanders
who were looking at his sign just exactly who he was, and what he was doing in
an airport with a sandwich board bearing an obscure slogan.
"Yes, that's me," I explained. "Have you ever heard of the Church of
Scientology? Well, this is a scientologist, and he's angry because I gave out
flyers talking about a woman that the church killed in Clearwater, Florida." I
explained the basics of the Lisa story to a bemused cluster of travellers, and
then turned to my picketer, who, it transpired, was named 'Jeff' (why is it
that every scn operative whose name I ask winds up being called Jeff?) and
asked him to explain why he was there.
He gave a garbled, mumblish response - project, 'Jeff', project! - that had
something to do with threatening his religious freedom. I explained to him
that he was wrong, I had no desire to stop him from believing whatever he
wants. "She's interfering with my constitutional rights," he whined quietly.
"No I'm not," I said. "I gave out flyers about the death of the woman your
church starved to death, and left for cockroaches to nibble." The passerbys
seemed, if anything, more intrigued than repelled by this latest twist. "Why
are you really here?" I asked. He looked blank. He looked nervous. He looked
like a man who has suddenly realized he is standing in the middle of a public
place protesting without a clue why he was doing it. But Craig came to his
rescue. "I called him up," he said smoothly, "and told him to come
here."
(Whoops, I guess those pickets aren't so 'spontaneous' after all, are they?)
Jeff went back to imitating a sign post, and I asked Snef if he'd inquired
about the van that had followed us the previous night.
"Hey, yeah!" He exclaimed. "What's the deal with that van following us,
with
those two guys from the org?" Craig hemmed, and hawed, and finally offered the
explanation that they were trying to find out where he lived. "But you said
you knew where I lived," noted Snef. Mumble. Pause. "Well," Craig admitted,
"I
thought we did, but I guess I was wrong."
We spent a few more moments on the lower floor of the terminal, talking to
Craig, who claimed that he 'had to run', but then moved outside, where he was
joined by all our friends from the past weekend, including Thug B and a new
videographer, since apparently VideoBoy wasn't allowed to come to the airport.
(Or perhaps they didn't want to keep him up too late on a school night.) I
thanked Craig again for seeing me off, and we headed upstairs, where we found
my second picketer, wearing a similar sign emblazoned with the slogan 'THIS
PASSENGER IS THE FACE OF RELIGIOUS BIGOTRY'. It was my handler from the LRH
Life Exhibit, D. Paul, and I took a pic of his bearded, grinning aging hippie
face as we rode up the escalator. "For your book?" He asked, with a cross
between a sneer and a grin. "No, for the web," I replied sweetly. And we were
off.
Now, dear reader, I won't pretend to have reacted with the cool disinterest
that a more seasoned picketee might display. I delivered a tonguelashing to D.
Paul, who, I averred, knew perfectly well that this whole 'religious bigotry'
was a crock. "Why are you really here?" I asked. "You're spreading false
information," he bleated, which sent me off on what can only be described as
an impassioned - but, I maintain, reasonably coherent - rant about just why
the Church of Scientology was so upset about our spreading information about
the death of Lisa McPherson, including rather liberal and graphic speculation
as to the last days of her life in the Fort Harrison. I did it not loudly, but
in clear enough tones to be wellheard by the dozen or so passersbys milling
around the area, and when I noticed one gentleman listening with interest, I
prodded D. Paul over to him and explained exactly why my face was gracing a
picket sign, and again offered D. Paul the chance to explain in his own words
why he was there. He stammered, he gave weak platitudes, but the gentleman was
amused, but obviously not convinced.
"Seems to me it would be more effective if they gave their side of the story,"
he observed. I agreed. I laced into D. Paul again - I know, not gentle Ghandi
tech, but as performance art, it had a certain weird style, I think - and he
got visibly distressed.
"Fuck this," he snorted. "I don't have to put up with this." And off
he
flounced, down the escalator. Jeff, who was skulking towards the back of th
waiting area, looked envious. While I had been using D. Paul as sort of a live
demonstration of scientology harassment techniques to airport denizens, Snef
had been doing the same with Jeff, and he looked definitely the worse for
wear. But he was the one with the sign around his neck, so I suppressed the
pity I felt for the guy, who obviously had no clue what he was getting into -
apparently, the spiel Craig had given him to get him out at that time of night
hadn't involved such an energetic response from the target of his picket. "I
have to go soon," he whined, but we wouldn't hear of it, and continued to
discuss the crimes of scientology in front of an increasingly intrigued
audience. Hey, in an airport, when it comes to entertainment, you take what
you can get.
Suddenly, a dark shadow fell across our little trio. It was Craig, who had
brought back a slightly less shaky D. Paul. Apparently, grassroots picketers
need direction, and handling - oh hell, they needed herding. At several points
during the evening, Craig was forced to either bring them back to the main
gate, or defend them from the targets of their picket. It's a tough job,
running a grassroots show, but Craig gave it his all. As he explained to me
later, he saw it as being 'in the field' - an allusion, perhaps, to the
'special ops' he'd been involved with when in the military, if indeed he'd
been in the military at all, and it wasn't just a Hubbardesque fantasy he'd
become convinced was the truth. "You aren't in the field, Craig," I said.
"You're a shill for a penny ante cult." "You don't even know what cult
means,"
he shot back. Quel witty rejoinder. I was in awe.
Incidentally, the reader should note that Craig
once claimed to have used a cane since he was 16 years old "because he
needed it then". How pray tell would a crippled teenager end up in
"Special Ops"? Maybe he meant Special Ed.
For the rest of the half hour or so that we were outside, Jeff - and sometimes
D. Paul - loomed around the security entrance dolefully, saying little and
doing their best to imitate sign posts. I took a few more pics, including one
of Craig with his arm around Snef, but we spent most of our time chatting with
passersbys about scientology. I only wish we'd thought to bring flyers to hand
out, but I did manage to give some URLs, and the reaction was almost uniformly
in our favour.
Several people asked me whether I could call call security, and expressed
surprise that they were 'allowed' to behave like this. "Makes you think," said
one woman, when I explained the story to her. But I didn't want this to be
about an obscure airport picket of a strange Canadian girl. "Remember the name
Lisa McPherson," I would say. "And whenever you hear about scientology,
remember this." Craig, realizing that he'd lost control of his picket, kept
butting into my conversations. At one point, we stood in front of a gaggle of
three or four by now totally confused onlookers, doing the ars version of TRs.
"What organization was indicted in the death of Lisa McPherson?" I'd ask, and
Craig would reply with various answers, including 'It was a wrong target,' and
'it was not the church who killed her, it was four individuals .. ' But I
didn't even let him get the words out. "That's not what I asked," I'd
immediately snap, give the correct answer, and ask again, to the same
response.
Meanwhile, nearby, Snef was trying to get Jeff and D. Paul to explain exactly
what I had done to merit my very own picket, with almost no success. Jeff, who
really looked quite unhappy by the end of the evening, did his best blank
stare of death, but the pain in his eyes was unmissable. Nobody likes looking
like an idiot, even an OSA public. D. Paul, on the other hand, tried several
tacts, including bleating about 'all the good the church has done.' I cut him
off. "I don't care about the good the church has done. I want to talk about
what your church did to Lisa McPherson."
Both Jeff and D. Paul tried several times to wander off, only to be herded
back by an increasingly less than jovial Craig. Snef and I circulated in the
crowd, giving our version of events, using the sullen and - for the most part,
silent - picketers as backdrop. Finally, it was time to go, and we realized
that by a stroke of good luck, all but Jeff were out front smoking cigarettes
with ThugB and the cameraman, so we said our goodbyes in relative privacy and
I went to my gate.
As I waited for the final boarding call, several of my fellow passengers came
up to ask me about the picketers. "I thought it was a publicity stunt for a
movie," confessed one gentleman, who said he'd heard of weirdnesses
surrounding the CoS before. "Stay away from scientology," I advised, and he
laughed. "Sounds like good advice," he said. A kindly elderly gentleman and
his wife were more concerned with my wellbeing than the reasons behind the
picket. Note to Craig: it is difficult for passersbys to truly appreciate that
a middle aged, reasonably stocky 6 foot plus guy feels genuinely
'threatened' by a five foot nothing girl when he's trying to bully her in the
middle of a crowded airport. Maybe try a bonsai picket casting call, so that
the expression 'pick on someone your own size' isn't so laced with irony.
After Kady had left to board her plane, Snefru took the opportunity to
rush outside, where Thug B the master of stealth was waiting with Craig,
D. Paul, and 'Jeff'. Snefru greeted Thug B cheerfully, and asked why he
had followed him the night before. Thug B said "I don't know what you're
talking about."
Not one to be fooled by such foolishly transparent
denials, Snefru wittily replied, "That's ok, I've got pictures"!"
"That's
nice" retorts Thug B. Snefru proceeds to launch into a tirade about how
interesting it was to be stalked by Thug, and how stalking was illegal,
and how Thug B was additionally inept in his duties. Thug B, assumedly
realizing his weak position, says "We're trying to find out your crimes.
What are your crimes?" Snefru badgers him senseless. The rest of the
conversation goes not well for the little Thug. Soon his bottom lip is
quivering noticably, and he just doesn't have much to say other than the
pat "What are your crimes?" lines. Caving under the pressure, his anchor
points thoroughly collapsed, his sense of control totally destroyed, and
his self confidence in some serious Non-E, he recognizes that this Wog is
most certainly At Cause over him. He retreats into the night, yet again.
I'd almost feel sorry for him if he wasn't a prick that begged for it.
Having dispatched Thug B once again, I turned my attention back to Craig.
Craig, and I had a rather delightful conversation lasting about 30
minutes, where he described to me that FRL is a "grassroots" organization
that regs people within the orgs, and solicits a $10 donation from them as
'membership fees'. He claims to have approximately 500 people around the
country who do this voluntarily. I don't doubt that one could reg 500
people under the guise of "defending your religion" and "picket those
bigots". However, noting Jeff, Thug B, and D. Paul's frightened rabbit
reactions to being confronted with some cold harsh reality, most of them
will not be back.
D. Paul seems to be Craig's protege, expect to see him
again. Poor Thug B will probably retreat permanently into the shadows,
furiously auditing out the engrams burned into his brain in our
confrontation. Poor Jeff just didn't know what to make of it. He
obviously felt out of place, and will likely not return either. If they'd
only been told what they were up against, if they'd only been
realistically briefed in the van outside, they'd probably never have come.
We can run through 500 in no time.
Back at the ranch, I continued my intruiging conversation with Craig,
where he also informed me that Scientology was "basically going to
investigate me, and my background, and find out what you've done wrong."
He was going to find my crimes, and expose them. He launches into a
diatribe about Interpol being run by Nazi SS agents, and how the CoS
discovered their crimes. I remind him of the Boy Who Cried Wolf, and said
"You can only play the Nazi card so often, after a while no one takes you
seriously, and no one cares." He concurred that I was not a
Nazi, or KKK like, and that he kinda liked me. I'm touched. Deep down in
my stone cold suppressive heart.
Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, 'Jeff' announces to Craig
that he's going to leave. One can only assume that his desire to "protect
his religious freedom" was outweighed by his desire to 'get the fuck outta
dodge'. Mark my words, 'Jeff' won't be back without a fight. Note to
Jeff: Screen your calls. Avoid the Reg. It works! Really!
I also take the opportunity to point out to Craig, as we had pointed out
to D. Paul, and 'Jeff' earlier that everyone in the airport thought them
to be fools, and that thanks to their little present, we had been given a
precious opportunity to not only tell more people about Lisa McPherson,
but also to give people a first hand opportunity to experience the
nastiness of the cult.
"You all look like fools, Craig. You look like
idiots. No one there is on your side. They were all favorable to us."
"Not true!" Craig replies. As evidence of their "Big Win", Craig
recounts
the tale of one hapless individual that he spoke with who said "I don't
care about you, OR her." Yes folks, that's correct. Utter neutrality was
the biggest Win they had.
I pointed this out to Craig, and added a piece
of advice. "Craig," I said, "You do realize that these pickets are
entirely futile, don't you? You do realize that every time you picket a
house, you only make the neighbors think 'Wow, those Scientologists sure
are bullies. What assholes.'" Craig disagrees, but we share a knowing
smile. I tell him "You certainly have a right to picket, and I'll not
tell you you can't. Hell, I'm enjoying this immensely. This is great!"
Craig replies "To be honest, half of us do it for the same reason. It's
fun." Ok, at least he's honest. Sometimes.
Having eventually run out of things to talk about, Craig announces that
he'd better get going. We say our cheerful goodbyes, and Snefru vows to
"See him soon." Craig agrees. Craig moseys his way out into the parking
lot with D. Paul faithfully by his side to lick their wounds and return
another day, to fight the valiant fight. Until then, Craig. Get your
rest, and eat yer Wheaties, you're gonna need it.
All in all, it was - if not the sendoff I would have expected, or chosen - a
great opportunity to get the message out about the nasty habits of the Church
of Scientology, not to mention make sure that still more people know the name
"Lisa McPherson". After evading OSA not once, not twice but three times over
the weekend, I think we did not badly at turning the tables during their last
gasp at intimidating us.
And make no mistake, OSA LA - I will be back. Count on it.
P.S. We'd also like to use this post as an opportunity to dispel the
vicious rumors spread by a certain wgert we all know and love, intimating
that Kady had "run away" from the picketers. Au Contraire, it was the
Picketers; all but their Fearless Leader Craig that ran defeated with
their tail between their legs from the fierce intellectual beating they
had just received at the hands of the mere Wogs they'd been sent out to
introvert. Better luck next time, guys.
K & Snefru
Back to part one
Back to the pics
Email tallulah@storm.ca