Security Checks were carried out on an instrument which is, by your own admission, a poor lie detector? That staff members lost their positions, that parishoners were expelled, put in conditions of Treason and Enemy, some with a Fair Game order on them, as a result of Security Checks carried out on a poor lie detector? An instrument you say in item 17 is not a lie detector at all?
Quite an admission, Mr. Sorrell.
21) Item: Repetitive commands.
'Fact': Scientology practices are not hypnotic.
FACT: I quote from Mr. Kaufman's book. I do not answer for the accuracy of his statements.
22) Item: So perhaps he really audits you all.
'Fact': All 5 million at once?
FACT: Don't you know when you're having your leg pulled, Reverend?
23) Item: Magic
'Fact': If this is so then Mr. Burroughs should be directing his message to the press and television media.
FACT: Have done on various occasions.
24) Item: Mr. Girodias
'Fact': Mr. Girodias has been no stranger to police raids for many years.
25) Item: Similar incidents
'Fact': Since the first piece of 'magic' is no more than the normal hazard of Mr. Girodias' particular profession the other un-named pieces of 'magic' remain in doubt.
Item 24 and 25 refer to my old friend and publisher Maurice Girodias. I will invite him to answer.
26) Item: Deeper hypnotic states
'Fact': Scientology is not hypnotic.
27) Item: Mr. Kaufman "...no grades or levels".
'Fact': False. Disproved by the hundreds of thousands of people who have gained exactly what was promised them - and more.
Items 26 and 27 refer to Mr. Kaufman's book. These objections are for Mr. Kaufman to answer.
28) Item: Visfeedback control
'Fact': The parishoner cannot see the meter when he is being audited. Therefore it cannot be a feedback. It is spiritual counselling and does not involve the brain. It is not a control like hypnosis. It is a freedom, a spiritual awareness.
FACT: The word is bio-feedback indicating a feedback between an electronic device and psychophysiological events. It is true that the parishoner cannot see the meter in the early grades of auditing...(Perhaps. auditing would be more effective if he could). However, from the solo auditing course onwards, he audits himself and does see and record the E-Meter reads. He asks himself questions and reads an electronic device that records his reaction to these questions. If that isn't bio-feedback the term will have to be redefined. Mr. Hubbard says the E-Meter reads on THOUGHT. Mr. Sorrell says it does not involve the brain nor presumably any changes in heartbeat or blood pressure. What then does the E-Meter actually register if it has nothing to do with the brain or the body? The E-Meter, Mr. Hubbard tells us, reads on resistance. On resistance to a half volt of electricity passed through the brain and body. Where then does this resistance originate if not in brain and body? One of the mysteries, no doubt.
Ali's Smile
The set is a country house, young man with brief-case at the door. The door is opened by a gray-haired man dressed in a blue dressing gown.
"Yes?"
"I am your local Scientologist...what can I do for you?"
"Drop Dead!"
The door slams. The man, Clinch Smith, totters back to the living room and collapses on the sofa.
The set is a crater-like valley in the suburbs of a middle-sized English city. There are authentic cottages with moss on the roofs. There is "Ye Olde Bramble Tyme Motel", high prices, thin walls.
Over the valley towers a vast gray slag heap, a mine tip. The camera moves at a purposeful trot. A peasant steps placidly in a field. Huntsmen in red coats have stepped from a print in the "Olde Marl Hole Tavern". An eccentric Lesbian attacks them with her umbrella. She is cheered on by hippies.
Now uncouth local youth erupt from "Ye Olde Marl Hole Tavern"; and soon fights are in progress between the hippies and the locals.
Smith re-read the letter. "Your flippant attitude towards Scientology makes you a downstate suppressive person. I disconnect from you. Don't ever get on my comlines again. Harry."
Clinch buried his face in his hands, sobbing. "Ingrates, every one of them ingrates, why I paid for his Scientology courses." He looked up through his histrionic tears and there was Ali's kris on the wall.
It was thirty years ago on Malaya. The first time he saw Ali was in the market. He noticed a crowd, curiously divided, the men sullen and down-cast, the women laughing and radiant. He pushed through the crowd and there in the center of the circle was a slender boy of eighteen dressed in a curtain, his face crudely made-up. In front of him a toothless old hag does a toothless obscene dance. He imitates her every movement. Looking into the boy's eyes Clinch saw that he was helpless in there, watching in agony what his body was doing. He was, in fact, a Latah, that is a condition where the victim must imitate every movement, once his attention has been attracted by a special signal.
'My God', Clinch thought. 'Suppose one has to let a fart in front of the Queen? His body doesn't belong to him.'
"Stop this!", he said firmly in the thundering tones of an English Lesbian preventing some rude tribesman from maltreating a donkey. The old hag shot him a look of such malevolence he felt the air stir on the back of his neck. She spat out the Malay word for "queer" in Betel Nut. Clinch made Ali his houseboy and gave him an amulet to protect him from the market woman.
That morning Clinch woke up with a malarial headache to find he was out of codeine. He sent Ali to the market and arranged to meet him at eleven in the British Chemist. The door of Ali's room was open and there on the table was the amulet. Clinch felt a sudden chill, "Probably malaria", he thought. He slipped the amulet into his pocket and set off for the chemist, his head pounding in the morning sun. He would ask for water and take two pills in the chemist, he decided, looking to the cool shop, the water, the codeine.
Someone laid a hand on his arm. He turned around, annoyed, and looked into blue eyes that twinkled a warning. It was a bearded archeologist who had always been mysteriously friendly. He wasabout to plead an appointment and break away but the man looked at him steadily.
"You're interested in linguistics, thought you might like to have a look at this..."
There was no stopping the fellow and the clipping was interesting, he saw that at a glance. It was relative to a theory Clinch had written to the effect that every language had a particular cadence or rhythm that could be reduced to a neutral musical score. This score, once learned, would literally pull the language into the student's mind.
This thesis was coldly received by his superiors; and Clinch's obtuse persistence in pushing it finally resulted in a penal assignment in La Paz.
An inheritance from an uncle saved him sitting out years of ignominy writing for his pension.
As he read the clipping he heard the clock strike eleven in the market. He finished the clipping and handed it back. As he turned into the market he heard the cry, "Amok! Amok! Amok!". And there was Ali with his kris in front of the drugstore. The shutters fell like a guillotine. The old market women were scampering off with the agility of rats or evil spirits.
Three of them were too slow.
And now Ali was running straight towards him, face blazing like a comet. Clinch Smith stood up. He felt the hair stir on the back of his neck and a shiver spattered his body with goosepimples.
"Ali, Ali, Ali."
He walked over and took the kris from the wall. It seemed to leap into his hand. He opened the door and started for the Scientology Center, moving with a purposeful trot, the kris held in front of him.
And then the shots. Three heavy slugs tore into Ali's body and he kept coming. Three more bullets cut him down and he fell at Clinch's feet. Sun-helmet, shorts, the lean bronze face.