Adventures as an OSA undercover agent

Alanzo

Not a Team Player
Let's get back to the stupid in Scientology - shall we?

UNDERCOVER AS AN AGENT FOR THE OFFICE OF SPECIAL AFFAIRS:

When I was young and dumb, I worked with OSA in Illinois.

Randy Kretchmar, Carol Brookes and Mary Ann Ahmad were the Office of Special Affairs at the Chicago Org at that time.

The Cult Awareness Network had not been infiltrated, taken over and destroyed by OSA yet. They were still the Church of Scientology’s number 1 enemy, like the Anonymous movement, or Marty Rathbun is now. Based in Chicago, CAN was having a nationwide conference in Bollingbrook, an outlying suburb.

As the Exec Dir of the Peoria Mission, I was recruited to drive up to the conference and check in at the hotel, to stay there as a guest, and to act as an asset for OSA during that weekend.

It was my first real undercover work. I was very excited that my whole track purpose as an espionage agent, which I had uncovered through all the False Purpose Rundown auditing I was getting, was finally being utilized.

I slinked into the lobby of the Lincolnshire Resort Hotel and scanned its inhabitants. In a group of chairs and couches in the middle of the lobby, which everyone must pass by to get to the front desk, sat Randy Kretchmar, big as you please, reading a copy of Robert Jay Lifton's Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism: A Study of "Brainwashing" in China. He was right there, where everyone could see him.

“See?” I thought.” Right there is proof that Scientologists are not brainwashed. If he can read the Deprogrammer's Bible, and still remain a Scientologist… well what else do you need to know?”

Scientology was different. It was above all these other religions. We were not only fighting our own enemies, but we were fighting the enemies of all religions, and the enemies of all Mankind.

I walked by the lounge couches. Randy’s eyes met mine. We did not wave.

I saw Margaret Singer standing off to the side of the front desk, talking to some people in a group. You could identify the CAN Conference attendees by the big yellow name tags they were wearing. Most looked like couples in their forties, maybe parents of the children who had sought refuge in their chosen, but possibly unconventional, religious pursuits. Looking very unlike drunken Shriners or Aircraft salesmen, I was surrounded by people whose sole purpose was to get others to leave their chosen religions.

As a staunch member of the Church of Scientology, I was in the esophagus of the beast itself, heading in.

I checked in, got the key to my room and walked over to the elevators. As I stood waiting for the next one to arrive, a group of very pretty 20-something girls came up and stood next to me. They were talking amongst themselves. When the elevator doors opened, I got on first and acted like I was holding the door for them as they boarded. I was smiling.

As the doors were about to close, we all heard, "Hold that!" and I quickly shot my hand out to stop them. It was Stephen Hassan. Slim, well built, 6 feet tall, holding a briefcase and dressed in a shirt and tie. He jumped on and settled himself right into the middle of the girls. Standing next to the floor buttons, I let the doors shut, my rising blood pressure making my temples vibrate. Stephen reached by me, brushing against my shirt, and punched his floor.

I’m reeling, but still undetected. "I am standing in an elevator with one of the biggest SP deprogrammers in the world. If this was 1930, in Germany, and I was right next to Adolph Hitler, I could have taken an action that would have saved the planet from WWII. Well it's 1987, and I'm in an elevator in Bollingbrook, IL..."

One of the girls almost squealed. "Are you Stephen Hassan?"

"Yes I am."

I was right. It’s him.

The other girls gathered closer to him.

"I've read 'Combatting Cult Mind Control'. I wanted to thank you for that. It’s been so helpful to me and my family. So are you here for the conference?"

"Yes. Are you here for that, too?"

"Yes. My brother joined a cult a few years ago and my parents haven't been able to reach him."

"Well, hopefully we'll have some things that you can do."

Invisible black clouds were forming in front of my forehead. "Yeah, like kidnap people and torture them until they finally denounce their chosen religion" I thought. I had read what he had done to a kid in Iowa, how he had held him there against his will as he worked him over for days at a time until the kid finally cracked. This was a conference where all the biggest deprogrammers were the stars, and everyone else was fawning all over them.

The door opened to my floor. I jutted out of the elevator and into the far end of the hallway, taking my first breath in minutes.

"My God that was fucking disgusting! Her brother has every fucking right to pursue any religion he wants. These people are EVIL. Fuck!"

I got into my room and immediately called Carol Brooks at command central, as instructed. I was told to walk around the hotel and to get oriented. “Take note of what you see but don't contact anyone else you recognize. We need you as eyes and ears this weekend, so be available.”

Roger that.

___________________________________

Go to Part Two: "Undercover as an Agent for the Office of Special Affairs"
 
D

Deleted member 51

Guest
^^O Riley? And you were right there in the elevator with Steven Hassan at the CAN in Chicago where you happened to be in OSA?

How... circumstantially incredibly unlikely. Not only did you have these horrible thoughts in your mind, believing that Steven Hassan was a deprogrammer with cruel and forcible methods (he isn't, he doesn't, and that's ridiculous), but even though you managed to stand right there with him at that exact moment in time, you managed to keep your mouth shut and not even say a single word to him or anyone else in the elevator about how deeply you felt. Incredible, indeed! :yes: :LOL:
 
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Alanzo

Not a Team Player
^^O Riley? And you were right there in the elevator with Steven Hassan at the CAN in Chicago where you happened to be in OSA?

How... circumstantially incredibly unlikely. Not only did you have these horrible thoughts in your mind, believing that Steven Hassan was a deprogrammer with cruel and forcible methods (he isn't, he doesn't, and that's ridiculous), but even though you managed to stand right there with him at that exact moment in time, you managed to keep your mouth shut and not even say a single word to him or anyone else in the elevator about how deeply you felt. Incredible, indeed! :yes: :LOL:
I was undercover as a secret agent for the Office of Special Affairs. I'd had whole track experience in the area of espionage.

Of course I kept my cool in the elevator of that CAN conference where Stephen Hassan made a presentation selling his book that year.

My God. Do you think I was some kind of panty-waist dilettante? :melodramatic:
 

Alanzo

Not a Team Player
Well, he was undercover ... I thought it was an interesting story, right up until I saw what we have to do to read part 2.




View attachment 2700

I didn't know whether to apply this rule or not.

"6. Link to long pieces of text where possible.
Instead of copying and pasting long pieces of text, snip the bit you want and link to the rest. Experience shows that the longer your post is the less likely it will be read anyway. Of course if your post (your own words) is quite long because you are telling your personal story, that is different. Personal stories will be always be read no matter how long they are because people are interested."

What do you think?

Should I go ahead and cut and paste the rest of them?

Or just let people click on the link if they're interested in reading the rest of the story?
 
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Alanzo

Not a Team Player
Here's Part 2 of the story of my one, and only, OSA project:

After unpacking my bags in my room, I sat down at the little round table next to the window and looked out onto the parking lot. People were streaming in to the front doors of the hotel below me. Just 30 days earlier, we had gotten word that CAN had elected a new Executive Director.
And already we had taken him out.

It turned out that CAN had elected a sex pervert as their leader.

Imagine that.

Once he’d hit our RADAR, OSA agents had looked into his past and found a conviction for soliciting a male prostitute on his record a decade earlier. Digging further, they had been able to obtain the transcripts of the undercover arresting officer, the pretty boy standing on the street corner in Baltimore when CAN’s leader had approached him. The officer reported that a man had walked up and asked what he could get for $50. The officer further wrote that, “Subject said to me, ‘I want you to put clothes pins on my nipples and suck my dick.’”

This quote had appeared in the Church of Scientology’s newsletter that they sent nationwide to every member of CAN, along with their new Exec Dir’s mug shot, after they had obtained CAN’s mailing list. He had been quietly forced out, and CAN was presently a headless organization, decapitated by OSA.

So the Good Guys were winning.

I made my way down to the conference. The place was packed. Off the lobby, there was a hotel bar, a restaurant, and then further down the hallway was a large conference room. People were standing in line, waiting to get in. They were checking a list of registered attendees, and handing them their yellow badges.

After a few minutes of getting myself oriented, and seeing no one else I recognized, I headed into the bar to collect my thoughts and figure out what my strategy would be. Maybe I could overhear some conversations in there and get some valuable intelligence. Maybe I would see those girls again. Maybe I could get a break that would blow this whole thing wide open.

So I sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. I thought, “What the hell. It’s Friday, it’s about 3pm. Well, 2:30 anyway. And I want to blend in, right?”

Scattered in small groups, some at the bar, and some sitting around tables, you could see the yellow badges of religious intolerance huddled together. My inner contempt must not become outer derision. I must act curious, and oblivious to what is going on. I need a cover, a suitable guise, as LRH had instructed his OSA agents: I am an insurance salesman, here on business.

My beer came, and I took a drink of it. Two men and a woman in their forties, wearing badges, sat down at the corner of the bar nearest me. They ordered beers. “They’re probably alcoholics” I thought. I listened to what they were talking about while pretending to scan the different beers on tap behind the bar.

One of the men and the woman were married. The other guy seemed to be alone and they had just met. The woman was talking about her son, and how he had joined a cult a few years earlier and had changed over night, she claimed. She said that every time they talked, he seemed to go further and further away.

That’s because of your own invalidation and evaluation, I thought. If these people only knew TRs, and how to communicate, none of this would have happened to them. I downed the rest of my beer and ordered another.

Soon, the bar began really filling up with people. Maybe there was a speech that had just ended, or maybe it was just Miller Time for these wogs. I sat and looked around the room. All these people seemed to have some family member who had joined an alternative religion that they did not approve of, and they had driven them away with their milque-toast, middle class values and robotic, materialistic ways. Their sons and daughters and husbands and wives had broken free to pursue their own dreams, and these people were here, plotting how to deprogram them and pull them back in to their small minded hells.

As I finished my third one, and ordered my fourth, a badge sat down next to me at the bar. Our eyes met and I smiled. He nodded. This is it, I thought. My mission has begun.

Pointing to his badge, I asked innocently, “What kind of conference is this?”

“The Cult Awareness Network.”

“The Cult-Awareness-Network” I repeated back, as if I was learning a new phrase from a foreign language.
“Yes. It’s a group that helps people who have lost others to cults.”

“Oh. Lost others to cults. Seems like a lot of people.”

“Yes. We deal with over 1200 cults across the US. We send out information to people so that they can try to get their family members back. What are you doing here?”

“I’m in insurance. Taking a class. Here on business.”

“I see. “

We sat in silence for a while, looking at the others in the bar.

I began thinking about pan determinism, the Scientology concept that if you could take responsibility for both sides of a game, you could rise above it. There were definitely two sides here, and if I could keep my TRs in and really try to understand this whole thing – outside of my own viewpoint – then maybe I might be on to something. So I asked him

“Did you lose someone to a cult?”

“Yes. My wife and daughter. About 5 years ago, the three of us joined a group in Montana that turned out to be a cult. I saw it but my wife didn’t. When I started speaking up about what I saw, they immediately began working on my wife and daughter. They kicked me out. My wife and daughter stayed and now they want nothing to do with me.”

He looked very sad. I could tell he was being restimulated by this whole conference and this problem of his was being made more acute by the environment he was in. They were all restimulating each other into a frenzy of religious intolerance.

“Don’t you think they have a right to their own religious choices?”

He looked at me. “Of course. But why can’t they talk to me? Don’t you think there’s something wrong when whole families are destroyed just because of a religious choice?”

My family had not been destroyed by my religious choice, I thought. In fact, my family had come closer together over Scientology because I had recruited every one of them into it.

I said, “That’s a good question. I hadn’t thought of that.”

He picked up his beer and walked over to some other attendees.

I ordered another beer.
 

Alanzo

Not a Team Player
PART 3

Intelligence work has greatly benefited from the emergence of cell phones. But this was 1987, and cell phones were called “car phones” then, and they were enormous bricks that were connected to the dashboard of your car by a curly wire, and only the most annoying people had them.

As a result, things were happening with my intelligence team that I was unaware of.

Midway into my fourth beer, it was time for a bathroom break. I got up from my bar stool and steadied myself onto the floor, moving through the crowd out to the hallway where the restrooms were. I walked into the men’s room and stopped.

There were clothes pins scattered all over the floor, on the sinks, the towel dispensers and the toilets. Yellow Badges were washing their hands and drying themselves right there among them. I fought back a visible sense of simultaneous delight and disgust. It was kind of funny, but it was also incredibly tacky. In fact it was kind of sick. I didn’t really think that it was all that enlightened and tolerant, really. And I had no idea that this high-minded group of OTs that I was part of would act this way.

These were just regular people. They weren’t all sex perverts. As I stood at the urinal, I was unable to understand what I felt about this.
Walking out of the bathroom, I began to notice large men with sharp haircuts standing outside the conference room, near the elevators, outside the bar, and all along the hallway. Obviously the presence of security had thickened. I’m just a mild-mannered insurance salesman, here on business.

I put a curious look on my face and wandered toward the entrance to the conference room.

This may seem courageous of me, but I have to confess, this was not my first OSA operation against CAN.

As Executive Director of the Church of Scientology, Mission in Peoria, I had run into people, mostly fed by information from CAN, who would try to get students and PCs to quit coming into course. We had lost a few public that way, and, trying to survive on my staff pay as Scientology mission staff, I had decided that CAN was not only an enemy to mankind, but to my own paycheck as well.

So I had called CAN, on my own, to speak to them and see what they would say. I pretended to be a concerned husband whose wife had just started on the Purif, and wanted to know more about this unusual group their spouse was becoming overly fascinated with.

From talking to Randy Kretchmar in Chicago, I knew that CAN was denying that they had anything to do with forcible deprogramming. We all knew that was a lie, and that they were the sole source of referrals for the kidnapping deprogrammers who were operating across the country against Scientology and other unconventional religions that the middle class could not understand.

I decided that I was going to strike an effective blow, be a causative thetan, and get some information that would link them to forcible deprogramming.

On the first call I made to CAN, the woman who answered the phone had given me some coaching on what to do. Her name was Ann. She said that the first thing I should do is not let on that I was in touch with CAN because Scientology would have me declared a Suppressive Person and make my wife divorce me if she found out. So Ann took my address and said she would send me some pamphlets on Scientology.

I thanked her and hung up. This was not good enough. As an undercover caller for the Office of Special Affairs, I didn’t need pamphlets, I needed a list of kidnapping deprogrammers.

So I sat and thought about what I would say and then called back. When Ann answered again, I said, “Look, I wasn’t entirely honest with you before. My wife has been involved with these people for around 6 months, and I’ve already read some books on Scientology, and I already know it’s a cult. I am terrified of losing her and I need to DO something rather than just read more pamphlets.”

Then Ann said, “I could give you a list of deprogrammers.”

I hungrily took down each name and each phone number. I then immediately called Randy and told him what I had done. He was ecstatic. He told me to write it all up in affidavit form and then get it notarized and Fedex it to him. It could be used as evidence in court cases against CAN to prove that they were clearing house for forcible deprogrammers, and maybe lead to the conviction of some of them and shut them down.
So as I strolled toward the entrance of the Conference Room, with about 4 beers in me, I was not some lilly livered neophyte in the world of espionage. In fact, with all my whole track experience, I considered myself pretty much a pro.

The bulge of people at the conference desk was keeping the greeters busy, and so, keeping an innocently curious look on my face, looking up toward the ceiling, and putting out a vibration all the while which communicated how much I belonged there, I sauntered past the conference desk and into the conference room itself.

I saw tables with more pamphlets scattered on them. People were standing in groups and talking. There was an area which contained rows of chairs in front of a speaker’s stand. I stopped in front a table to innocently fork through a pamphlet …and immediately felt a hand on my arm.
“Sir. This is a private conference.” Two huge security guards were standing in front of me.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I was just curious.”

“This way, sir.”

They escorted me out.

I put my head down and kept walking. Security is very tight here. I went back into the bathroom to think. All the clothespins were gone. I needed to think some more.

I went back into the bar.
 

Harden Long

OSA no esta hermOSA
Here's Part 2 of the story of my one, and only, OSA project:

After unpacking my bags in my room, I sat down at the little round table next to the window and looked out onto the parking lot. People were streaming in to the front doors of the hotel below me. Just 30 days earlier, we had gotten word that CAN had elected a new Executive Director.
And already we had taken him out.

It turned out that CAN had elected a sex pervert as their leader.

Imagine that.

Once he’d hit our RADAR, OSA agents had looked into his past and found a conviction for soliciting a male prostitute on his record a decade earlier. Digging further, they had been able to obtain the transcripts of the undercover arresting officer, the pretty boy standing on the street corner in Baltimore when CAN’s leader had approached him. The officer reported that a man had walked up and asked what he could get for $50. The officer further wrote that, “Subject said to me, ‘I want you to put clothes pins on my nipples and suck my dick.’”

This quote had appeared in the Church of Scientology’s newsletter that they sent nationwide to every member of CAN, along with their new Exec Dir’s mug shot, after they had obtained CAN’s mailing list. He had been quietly forced out, and CAN was presently a headless organization, decapitated by OSA.

So the Good Guys were winning.

I made my way down to the conference. The place was packed. Off the lobby, there was a hotel bar, a restaurant, and then further down the hallway was a large conference room. People were standing in line, waiting to get in. They were checking a list of registered attendees, and handing them their yellow badges.

After a few minutes of getting myself oriented, and seeing no one else I recognized, I headed into the bar to collect my thoughts and figure out what my strategy would be. Maybe I could overhear some conversations in there and get some valuable intelligence. Maybe I would see those girls again. Maybe I could get a break that would blow this whole thing wide open.

So I sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. I thought, “What the hell. It’s Friday, it’s about 3pm. Well, 2:30 anyway. And I want to blend in, right?”

Scattered in small groups, some at the bar, and some sitting around tables, you could see the yellow badges of religious intolerance huddled together. My inner contempt must not become outer derision. I must act curious, and oblivious to what is going on. I need a cover, a suitable guise, as LRH had instructed his OSA agents: I am an insurance salesman, here on business.

My beer came, and I took a drink of it. Two men and a woman in their forties, wearing badges, sat down at the corner of the bar nearest me. They ordered beers. “They’re probably alcoholics” I thought. I listened to what they were talking about while pretending to scan the different beers on tap behind the bar.

One of the men and the woman were married. The other guy seemed to be alone and they had just met. The woman was talking about her son, and how he had joined a cult a few years earlier and had changed over night, she claimed. She said that every time they talked, he seemed to go further and further away.

That’s because of your own invalidation and evaluation, I thought. If these people only knew TRs, and how to communicate, none of this would have happened to them. I downed the rest of my beer and ordered another.

Soon, the bar began really filling up with people. Maybe there was a speech that had just ended, or maybe it was just Miller Time for these wogs. I sat and looked around the room. All these people seemed to have some family member who had joined an alternative religion that they did not approve of, and they had driven them away with their milque-toast, middle class values and robotic, materialistic ways. Their sons and daughters and husbands and wives had broken free to pursue their own dreams, and these people were here, plotting how to deprogram them and pull them back in to their small minded hells.

As I finished my third one, and ordered my fourth, a badge sat down next to me at the bar. Our eyes met and I smiled. He nodded. This is it, I thought. My mission has begun.

Pointing to his badge, I asked innocently, “What kind of conference is this?”

“The Cult Awareness Network.”

“The Cult-Awareness-Network” I repeated back, as if I was learning a new phrase from a foreign language.
“Yes. It’s a group that helps people who have lost others to cults.”

“Oh. Lost others to cults. Seems like a lot of people.”

“Yes. We deal with over 1200 cults across the US. We send out information to people so that they can try to get their family members back. What are you doing here?”

“I’m in insurance. Taking a class. Here on business.”

“I see. “

We sat in silence for a while, looking at the others in the bar.

I began thinking about pan determinism, the Scientology concept that if you could take responsibility for both sides of a game, you could rise above it. There were definitely two sides here, and if I could keep my TRs in and really try to understand this whole thing – outside of my own viewpoint – then maybe I might be on to something. So I asked him

“Did you lose someone to a cult?”

“Yes. My wife and daughter. About 5 years ago, the three of us joined a group in Montana that turned out to be a cult. I saw it but my wife didn’t. When I started speaking up about what I saw, they immediately began working on my wife and daughter. They kicked me out. My wife and daughter stayed and now they want nothing to do with me.”

He looked very sad. I could tell he was being restimulated by this whole conference and this problem of his was being made more acute by the environment he was in. They were all restimulating each other into a frenzy of religious intolerance.

“Don’t you think they have a right to their own religious choices?”

He looked at me. “Of course. But why can’t they talk to me? Don’t you think there’s something wrong when whole families are destroyed just because of a religious choice?”

My family had not been destroyed by my religious choice, I thought. In fact, my family had come closer together over Scientology because I had recruited every one of them into it.

I said, “That’s a good question. I hadn’t thought of that.”

He picked up his beer and walked over to some other attendees.

I ordered another beer.
I would spread this out under my roses but it's too much b.s. and might kill them. IF it happened at all the dude in the bar was referring to Mormonism because that's all one would generally find in Montana. And so why was it worth posting?
 

Alanzo

Not a Team Player
PART 4:


The bar was packed.

My beer was gone and someone was sitting on my stool. Yellow Badges were everywhere. I walked up to a space next to the busy waitress station and ordered another beer.

Glasses were clinking, I could hear “Oh, that’s terrible!” and “You know it’s like she became a different person. She just snapped.” A stool opened up on the other side of the bar and I sat down, continually scanning for another intelligence opportunity.

As I sat there, something was not sitting right with me. I had joined Scientology because it was a better way. It would lead to a better civilization on Earth, where war, crime and insanity would finally be handled. I couldn’t reconcile how clothespins scattered across the bathroom floors of a conference fit in with the wisdom necessary to create a new and better civilization. What’s worse, the more I looked at and chatted with the badges in the bar, the more the people attached to them grew in my consciousness.

I began to wonder what the hell I was doing there. It was better than working all weekend at the Mission, I knew that. It was good to get a break. But my attempt to understand these people and why they are members of CAN was not fitting in well with the cartoons of Anti-Social Personalities I had studied in my Ups and Down in Life Course pack.

It was around 7pm now, and I thought that I should probably check back in. So I finished my beer, I had lost count of which one it was, and I went back up to my room. When the doors opened at every floor, there were two huge men standing there with wires coming out of the back of their shirt collars and into their ears. They were everywhere.

I called Carol.

Her grating tone was the first thing that hit me. “Alanzo! Where the hell have you been? Right now there are two deprogrammers in the restaurant and we need you to get down there and sit behind them at a table and listen to what they are planning.”

I was silent. I was not responding eagerly and right away.

“Alanzo?”

“I saw the clothespins in the bathroom.”

Carol laughed gleefully, like a mean little junior high schooler. “That’ll introvert them!”

I said nothing.

“Alanzo? Where have you been?”

“I’ve been in the bar talking to people.”

“Alanzo, you didn’t come here to party. Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ. ALANZO – GET YOUR ASS DOWN TO THE RESTAURANT AND FIND OUT WHAT THOSE GUYS ARE PLANNING.”

“I don’t think the clothespins were all that great of a thing.”

“What? You are so out-ethics. Jesus fucking christ! You’re fucking drunk.” Then she hung up.

I sat down on the side of my bed, thinking. OK, maybe I was a little drunk. I knew I was in trouble, but what the fuck? I was paying my own way here, I can take a fucking vacation if I want.

The phone rang again. It was Randy.

“Alanzo, listen. There is going to be a press conference tomorrow morning. I have a press pass for you and I want you to be there.”

“But I’m not a member of the press. Isn’t that against the law?”

“Oh, Alanzo. You are so PTS. No, it is not against the law. It’s just a press pass. You are just saying that you are a reporter, that’s all.”

“But I’m not a reporter.”

“Oh, fuck this. You’re fuckin worthless.” And he slammed down the phone.

I laid down on my bed. I had been drinking beer for 5 hours straight.

Yes. I was drunk.

When my eyes opened, light was streaming in through the window and I was fully clothed, on top of the bedspread. My head ached and I was dying of thirst.

I made my way to the bathroom and sucked cold water from the faucet.

I looked at my watch. 7am.

I got my bag, gathered up all my things and left, leaving my key in the check-out slot at the front desk.

A lot of what I had seen that weekend didn’t sink in with me for another 13 years. I remained a Scientologist, but never really worked with OSA again. They gave me a highly commended certificate a few months later, and tried to get me to pay money from time to time. But OSA had grown distasteful to me and I put off examining exactly why until I got further up the Bridge. Maybe after I had become Clear and OT, my aberrations would be cleared away and I could see why my mission as a spy in the fight for freedom for all mankind had been so unproductive.

I only knew that I was aberrated.

And I needed to handle that.

END
 
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O

Oat Tea Ate

Guest
This is out of the OSA HAT PACK.

Alanzo never allows anyone to post on his blog. Alanzo follows policy.


CLAY DEMO: "It is very sound strategy never to
fight a battle on your own territory or subject or
even on the territory of an ally. Always fight

battles in enemy territory."
 

Alanzo

Not a Team Player
That was an interesting story @Alanzo.

Have you still got those negative stories about other exes on your blog/twitter or have you taken them down?
Thanks, ITYIWT.

I only very rarely take down anything. I try to write about what I feel is important to write about.

Don't you?

Somebody asked me why I don't just stick to criticizing Scientology, and never criticize Anti-Scientology or AntiCultism.

Here's the best way for me to describe it.

To just stick to criticizing or examining Scientology, and never anti-Scientology, is like just criticizing Trump. Or Just criticizing Hillary.

You leave out criticizing or examining the Republican party, or the Democratic party.

You leave out criticizing or examining the corporate welfare/political donations system of both candidates and their parties. You leave out criticizing and examining the American Perpetual War machine and the iniquities of capitalism.

If you leave out examining all that and just focus on Trump, or just focus on Hillary, you'll never get to see the wider picture, and the wider causes.

You'll just spin around in a little squirrel cage, and you'll go crazy.

So yeah, where Exes do something worth criticizing, I criticize them. I praise them as well, but few see that.

You have to look at everything.

Or at least I have to.
 
O

Oat Tea Ate

Guest
Thanks, ITYIWT.

I only very rarely take down anything. I try to write about what I feel is important to write about.

Don't you?

Somebody asked me why I don't just stick to criticizing Scientology, and never criticize Anti-Scientology or AntiCultism.

Here's the best way for me to describe it.

To just stick to criticizing or examining Scientology, and never anti-Scientology, is like just criticizing Trump. Or Just criticizing Hillary.

You leave out criticizing or examining the Republican party, or the Democratic party.

You leave out criticizing or examining the corporate welfare/political donations system of both candidates and their parties. You leave out criticizing and examining the American Perpetual War machine and the iniquities of capitalism.

If you leave out examining all that and just focus on Trump, or just focus on Hillary, you'll never get to see the wider picture, and the wider causes.

You'll just spin around in a little squirrel cage, and you'll go crazy.

So yeah, where Exes do something worth criticizing, I criticize them. I praise them as well, but few see that.

You have to look at everything.

Or at least I have to.
And how else do you justify your overts?

Now...who missed it? What did they do that made you wonder whether or not they knew?

OH - here it is... in the Green on White OSA Check sheet:


CLAY DEMO: "The goal of the department is to bring
the government and hostile philosophies or societies
into a state of complete compliance with the goals
of Scientology. This is done by high level ability
to control and in its absence by low level ability
to overwhelm. Introvert such agencies. Control
such agencies. Scientology is the only game on
Earth where everybody wins. There is no overt in
bringing good order.
"
 
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freethinker

Controversial
Personal stories will be always be read no matter how long they are because people are interested."
Don't count on it.
 
O

Oat Tea Ate

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E X E C U T I V E D I R E C T I V E

OFFICE OF SPECIAL AFFAIRS INTERNATIONAL

OSA INT ED 508R
DSA Investigations
Officers
________________1991
Confidential

DEPARTMENT OF SPECIAL AFFAIRS

INVESTIGATIONS OFFICER

FULL HAT CHECKSHEET

FOUND HERE FOR ANYONE NOT FAMILIAR WITH OSA TACTICS: Gerry Armstrong--OSA INT ED 508R Department of Special Affairs Investigation Officer Full Hat Checksheet



The art of war by Sun Tzu was a recommended read by L Ron Hubbard for his OSA spies.

After they read it, they do some demos to implant it into their subconscious minds:


DEMO: How you could apply the following to the
handling of an attacker: "Therefore the clever
combatant imposes his will on the enemy, but does not
allow the enemy's will to be imposed on him."

ESSAY: Write up an example of how you could apply:
"The art of war teaches us to rely not on the
likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own
readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his
not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have

made our position unassailable."

This ^^^ would explain why you don't allow people to post on your blog any opinions that don't agree with yours.

Alanzo: Can you share your wins of reading that book and doing your demos as an OSA spy then and in PT?
 
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