This just in!!!

Man, this writer is not At Cause over MEST. Look how long it took him to write this account! I am now leaning on him hard to produce the next piece, an account of his tour of the L. Ron Hubbard Life Museum.

PICKET REPORT: March 17, 2001

Around 75 million years ago an evil galactic Lord named Xenu had a bit of a problem. Despite the fact that he was generalissimo of a whole lot of planets in his part of the solar system, the man was in a bind about what to do about overpopulation. Seems that each of his 76 planets was had way too many inhabitants. So, with a flair that would make Gengis Khan blush, he did the following: 1) called in everybody for bogus income tax inspections; 2) paralyzed everyone with lethal injections; 3) loaded them onto spacecraft resembling DC-8s and flew them to Earth (at that time called Teegeeack) and 4) deep-freezed all these unfortunate space refugees into volcanoes and then - tricky guy, that Xenu - blew up everyone with H-bombs.

Quite a story, huh? Well, not only is it the basis of a pretty peculiar world religion that I'm about to get into, but it's also an apt way to begin a long-overdue dispatch from your favorite accidental tourist in Southern California. The above science-fiction drivel, penned by science-fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard, is actually hallowed (and tip-top secret) stuff from the Church of Scientology. (Actually, this whole Xenu saga is only secret to those unfortunate souls - "thetans" in Scientology jaron - who are hooked into "the church's" mish-mash of galactic tall tales and creepy mind games. The rest of you can read all the really weird details on numerous anti-Scientology web sites. But isn't "Battlefield Earth," that wretched Travolta movie cause enough to join the righteous anti-Scientology righteous?) For most of us in this quadrant of Teegeeack, March 17, 2001, was St.

Patrick's Day. But for us "science-of-the-mind" cognoscenti, it was well known that the Scientologists were celebrating the birthday of L. Ron Hubbard. Though the departed church founder and immortal scriptwriter died in 1986, his faithful acolytes still celebrate his birthday (which actually is March 13). For a tight group of anti-Scientology heroes, the "L. Ron Love Fest" meant just one thing: It was picketing time in Tinseltown! (Or, to use Scientology "tech" lingo: It was time for some serious "enturbulation.")

Years ago, Southern California became one of Scientology's strongholds.

In sober Midwestern burgs like Peoria and Lake Woebegone, sensible folk wouldn't give Mr. Hubbard's sci-fi prattlings much time - much less assign any religious significance to them. But California's different, right? Home to Disneyland and Hollywood, it's always been a place where fanciful scripts and over-the-top presentations supersede any pesky topics like veracity or message. But where others just saw celluloid riches, Hubbard had greater aspirations - and riches.

Let's quote the man himself: "Writing for a penny a word is ridiculous.

If a man really wants to make a million dollars, the best way would be to start his own religion."

There in West Hollywood, our picketing efforts centered on three Scientology sites: their much-ballyhooed "Celebrity Center" where Travolta, Cruise and people of this ilk get posh treatment and (I presume) free brainwashing sessions that befit their elevated stature;

an administrative center Hollywood Boulevard (the same famous street with the stars names lining the street); and the sprawling Sea Org compound on storied Sunset Boulevard.

Compared to the Million Man March, our numbers were small. But apparently the turnout was downright respectable where anti-Scientology events are concerned. We were first joined in front of "CC" (Celebrity Center) by a young woman of 16 years, ruddy cheeked and holding aloft a placard that said: "Scientology Robbed Me Of My Childhood" on one side and "Scientology Stole My Brother" on the other. This was Zoe, a daughter of Scientologists who was raised in the system. Her British father, Lawrence, got out years ago, and since then has devoted himself to combating this racket-masked-as-religion. Lawrence, an architect by trade, was joined by another daughter, Astra. She is another recent escapee of Scientology's clutches. (Tragically, they are a broken family since their mother is still very much a devoted follower of the Hubbard cult and their brother works long hours in service to the misguided cause.)

Most of the others in our band of 10 or so were either ex-Scientologists hell-bent on convincing others not to repeat their mistakes or ornery do-gooders not prone to back down in the face of Scientologists usual intimidation tactics. (Which, incidentally, can include lawsuits, and forms of physical intimidation a-plenty.)

Joining us also was Tory, who only a year ago was a high-ranking Scientology adherent, an auditor even. A real-live bigwig and total espouser of this weird strand of regression therapy (i.e., "auditing"), Tory had sat on important committees, hobnobbing with the "church's"

Politburo. On many occasions, she had even been sent out to jawbone with the picketers who so often "enterbulate" them. For 30 years, she scaled the heights of their psychotherapy ladder. In the process, she bankrupted herself in attempts to reach an elusive psychological state of "clear." Today she's a bit on the pissed off and certainly ranked as our most spirited picketer.

There was Keith, a middle-aged resident of Palo Alto, and his wife, both picketing veterans and expert "enterbulators." Keith has proven such a thorn in their side that they've sued him until all he likely has left are his clever protest placards and his smile.

Perhaps I most empathized with John, an earnest guy in his late forties with a sincerity about him that I found touching. For 20 years, he sought in vain to pursue Scientology's claims - "heightened spiritual abilities," "immortality," "freedom from evil psychologists" - and entered deeply into its insular subculture. After years of labor and toil and his own creeping incredulity about the system's more freaky sci-fi underpinnings, he left to resume his life and even try to convince others not to repeat his lonely sojourn. For John, picketing is, no doubt, cathartic.

For Tory, it was cause for some shouting. "Come out of there you f***king cowards!" she shouted on one side of the building on Hollywood Blvd. "I want my 64,000 dollars back!" she shouted at those inside the building's lobby. True to form for this hyper-paranoid people, whenever there is any picketing, they get hyper-paranoid. Most in their numbers stayed inside, no doubt consigning all of us to the reviled ranks of "suppressive persons" - more "tech" language. The young people among them are definitely not encouraged to fraternize with any mean-spirited folk carrying signs with anti-Scientology web sites on them. (Check out www.xenu.net, number one on anti-Scientology charts.)

But some shills were sent out to monitor us and even jawbone with the implacable Tory. It was surreal. She was trying to convince an old friend about the error of his beliefs and he just kept giving her the patented Scientology smirk.

Astra - who was recently featured in a San Francisco Chronicle article about cults - had an interesting encounter of her own. Placard in hand, she bravely stood square in front of the building's front door. A year prior, she had been an integral part of the Scientology workforce inside. On March 17, those she was staring down were more than the faceless and unfortunate souls that I viewed them to be. To her, they were friends, close friends she was trying to save. A close friend of hers even came out, gave her the old Scientology gaze (and smirk) and contemptuously said to her: "Astra, I can't believe you've gone 'SP' (suppressive person)." And in this crowd, them's fightin' words.

Our last stop for picketing was at the Sea Org headquarters on Hollywood's famous Sunset Boulevard. Back in the 1960s, the Scientologists bought on old hospital and converted it into a vast compound for, among other things, housing their Sea Org. Member of the elite Sea Org wear Navy outfits, mostly because L. Ron, a Navy veteran, fancied himself quite the seaman. Sea Org members work hundreds of hours a week for no pay, sign "million-year contracts, and generally walk around West Hollywood with grim faces, unsmiling and with an obvious sense of purpose.

When we showed up, their purpose pretty much became blocking our placards from view of their children. You see, when we showed up there was all sorts of merriment going on in association with Mr. Hubbard's birthday. A long banner stretched across "L. Ron Hubbard Way" - that's the official street name - that proclaimed the one-time science fiction hack the "The Greatest Friend to Mankind" (putting him in pretty distinguished company, right?). Beneath this banner the children skateboarded, played basketball and volleyball and generally made the best of a sunny Southern California afternoon. Nary a care in the world had these, the sons and daughters of Scientology. The adults, on the other hand, had trouble coming in the form of eight or ten picketers.

We were first-rate rabble-rousers! So much so I almost felt guilty for raining on this well-orchestrated Scientology parade. There we were, a rag-tag group on Sunset, holding an eight-foot banner that said "Xenu.org" and brandishing placards that revealed the celebrated birthday boy as the fake that he was. The gall! The unmitigated gall to let out their secret! "Xenu! Xenu! Xenu!" Passers-by honked their horns, either to approve of our check, or just to make note of the weird scene.

(And Sunset Boulevard has seen its share of these.)

As we walked up and down "L. Ron Hubbard Way" in the midst of their basketball dribbling youth, they dispatched thought police out to shadow us and to keep our messages away from the impressionable kids.

Brandishing their own signs, they also did a serviceable job of covering up our placards. It was placard mano-a-mano. "Scientology Kills" vs.

"L. Ron Hubbard Was the Ultimate Friend to Mankind."

They also tried an unending stream of Jedi Mind Tricks on us, trying to calm Tory down (good luck!), or just generally wishing we would go away.

Which eventually we did. There's only so much bad karma a group of protesters can take, and that Big Blue building on Sunset exudes bad karma like the exploding volcano on the cover of Dianetics, L.Ron's "International Best-Seller" Dianetics. All those poor brainwashed or unwitting souls, giving their lives (and fortunes) to some wacked religio-cultural cause that leads to 1) disillusionment; 2) psychological ruin; 3) cultural and familial alienation or 4) or all of the above.

Maybe there is a Scientologist out there who is "clear" but I haven't met him or her. Clear to me was that an afternoon spent in Hollywood with crusading friends and a merry band of enterbulators can be a good time - in this part of Teegeeack or any other part of the galaxy.

--
Rev. Barb
Church of Xenu, San Diego
Chaplain, ARSCC
http://members.cox.net/bwarr1/index.htm

"$cientology sees the world this way: One man with a picket sign:

terrorism. Five thousand people dead in a deliberate inferno: business opportunity.

$cientology oozes _under_ terrorists to hide."

-Chris Leithiser

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