W
hen we walked
into the recently
opened Church of
Scientology in Detroit, located
downtown at 1 Griswold Blvd.,
a man in an ill-fitting black suit
jumped up from behind the
front desk and immediately
told us to fill out a “survey,”
asking for our full names,
addresses,
phone
numbers,
emails and reason for the
visit: “Do you want to be more
successful?”
“Do
you
have
deep
insecurities
from
your
past that
are holding
you back?”
“When
you’re
finished,
you can go
to the room
on the left,
and Tony will meet you,” he
said.
A few days earlier I made
a
reservation
for
a
tour,
carelessly
using
my
real
name and email address. I
realized that was a mistake
when I received a message at
7:00 p.m. on Friday from the
church “host” Tony, asking if I
was a student and if my friends
were also students, and “If so,
would you please let us know?
See you soon, Tony.”
This time I used false
information
and
only
my
first name. My two friends
who came with me, Dom and
Annie, used false information
as well.
Founded by L. Ron Hubbard
in
1952,
the
Church
of
Scientology
was
originally
intended as a mental health
science based on his writings
on
“Dianetics,”
the
study
of the human as a spiritual
being, before it was rebranded
as a religion in 1953 for tax
purposes.
Since
its
inception,
the
church and its core members
have been convicted of a
litany of crimes, including
fraud,
domestic
espionage,
illicit association, extortion,
violations of labor law and
practicing medicine without
a license. The church has
also been accused of money
laundering, coercing members
to have abortions, child slavery,
ledging
smear
campaigns,
brainwashing,
organized
harassment
of
journalists
and institutionalized assault
by executives levied against
lower officials.
We hand in our surveys, and
Annie notices an open guest
book, grabs a pen and begins
to write in it. “OH!” the man
yelps, and throws his hand
beneath hers. “This is only for
… This is only for those who
are ready for it,” he says.
We each nod, like nothing
could be more natural.
W
e walk through
the
high-
ceilinged
lobby
and bear left. The décor is
anachronistic, aiming for posh
1950s New York Plaza Hotel
but accomplishing something
closer to a sterile hospital
foyer accented with imitation
gold. Lining the left wall is a
large black-and-white portrait
of founder L. Ron Hubbard,
next to a bookshelf with
dozens of pristine copies of
“Dianetics” for sale, each copy
wrapped in a thin plastic. We
pass under his gaze and enter
a long, rectangular offshoot of
the lobby filled with several
media viewing stations. These
stations each have a large
television placed in front of
an ottoman, with touchscreen
controls at the base of the
television so you can choose a
video and adjust the volume.
The videos cover topics like
“The Analytical Mind” and
“Past Traumas.”
We meet Tony here. He’s
a heavier set man with a
scattered dark beard. He’s
also wearing a black suit and
a strange tie that’s cream-
colored
lengthwise
and brown at
the knot. He
shakes
our
hands and asks
our names.
“What
brings you in
today?”
“Just
interest,”
I
reply.
He
brings
us over to one of the viewing
stations and tells us to take a
seat. The videos will explain
everything we could want to
know. He selects one.
A disembodied voice begins
asking us rhetorical questions
while clouds fill the screen.
“In your own daily life, do
you
sometimes
experience
self-doubt?
Negative
thoughts? Unreasonable fears,
upsets or irrational behavior?
The painful experiences of our
past clearly have an effect on
our present behavior. But to
what degree? And why?”
A woman appears on the
screen
throwing
objects
—
clothing,
a
suitcase,
memorabilia — out of her
apartment window, shrieking,
“It’s over! It’s over!” at a man
standing below.
“What causes the mind to
depart from rational thought?
Behavior? That is the subject
of Dianetics.”
The
video
goes
on
to
describe, in so many words,
the mind as a record keeper
— that these past records are
what keeps us from present
happiness. It’s not clear to
me what separates this from
mainstream psychology, so
I ask Tony. He replies that
psychology studies not the
whole person, but the brain
and the functions of the
body. I ask for a little more
clarification.
“It
doesn’t
address them as a spiritual
being,” he presses.
He further explains the
concept
of
the
repressed
mind with an analogy: “It’s
like having a rock in your
shoe. If you have a rock in the
bottom of your shoe, you don’t
know that it’s there. You walk
around, your foot hurts, you’re
changing the way that your
gait goes, throws your back
out, your hip starts to hurt,
having problems in different
places. It all stems from
having a rock in your shoe,
but until you find that piece
that you don’t know about, you
can’t solve it.”
He walks with us over to
a shelf and picks up a golden
machine. It has an oval face
with a little black arrow that
moves back and forth. The
design looks like what science
fiction
writers
in
1980s
thought
technology
would
look like in the 2000s: flashy,
overly large, reminiscent of an
old radio box refurbished and
painted gold.
“That’s
why
we
have
auditing
sessions.
Auditors
use these E-Meters to help
find that rock.”
Tony says that there are
dozens
of
people
in
the
building trained to use these
machines
during
sessions,
wherein an auditor asks the
subject
pointed
questions
about
themselves
while
the subject holds onto two
metal
clamps
attached
to
the
E-Meter.
The
auditor
registers movement via the
small, sensitive dial of the
E-meter, and that movement
apparently registers negative
brain activity.
Annie steps up to test it
out. She holds the two metal
clamps, and Tony pinches her
on her arm — “This is a tiny
trauma, but it will register
on the E-Meter” — and we all
lean in to watch the needle. It
wavers back and forth, and I
can’t tell what the verdict is.
Tony follows it closely. “See,
look how it moves,” he says.
We all nod, assuming he can
see something on that meter
that we could not.
Tony was in the Navy before
he became a Scientologist.
Prior to enlisting, he studied
psychology at a university but
dropped out. He told us that
L. Ron Hubbard’s “Dianetics”
made far more sense to him
than anything he read in his
textbooks.
We walk around the left
wing for a little while longer,
asking him more questions
about
himself
and
the
building.
T
he
Church
of
Scientology
of
Michigan moved to
this downtown location just a
few weeks ago. The building
dates back to 1927 and was
designed
by
prominent
American-Italian
architect
Corrado Parducci, who also
designed the Masonic Temple
and The Guardian Building
just across the street. The
church purchased the entire
building
and
occupies
all
eight floors. Two are course
rooms, where Scientologists
study their literature. One is
dedicated to auditing; one is
a bookstore; one is a service
center; one is administrations;
one is for the executives; one is
a chapel (on the day I visited,
a christening was taking place
there).
Before the building was
purchased by the church, it
was occupied by a bank. Long
before that, it was the site of
the first building on record
ever constructed in Michigan,
the
Ste.
Anne’s
Catholic
Church.
The Church of Scientology
spent
the
last
10
years
renovating the interior, and
it officially opened on Oct. 14
of this year. David Miscavige,
the leader of Scientology
himself, gave an opening
address. According to the
church, the ceremony was
attended by a crowd of more
than 2,000.
Tony is visibly proud of the
building and brings us to the
old bank vault, which they’ve
converted into a conference
room. The ceiling is low.
Tony’s voice is clear among
a
claustrophobic
silence.
Looking down over the white
circular table in the center
is another black-and-white
photo of L. Ron Hubbard,
the same as the one in the
lobby. There’s a Keurig on
a low rise shelf beneath a
large television mounted to
the wall.
I ask if we
might see the
rest of the of
the floors.
“We
have
free
personality
exams
on
the
fourth,
would you be
interested?”
T
he
fourth
floor
is filled with more men in
ill-fitting suits. A large one
strides by wearing a Yankees
beanie.
A
shorter,
older
woman dons a black turban.
A man with a thin, sculpted
beard wears two gold hoop
earrings. Later, we learn his
name is Eddie.
Tony brings us over to the
Testing
and
Registration
Center, and sits us down at
four desks, each with exam
books. The test is called the
Oxford Capacity Analysis™
Exam, and there are 200
questions,
each
answered
with a +, M (for “Maybe”) or -.
Here are a few of them:
“60. Do you consider the
modern ‘prisons without bars’
system doomed to failure?”
“98. Would you use corporal
punishment on a child aged
ten if it refused to obey you?”
“130. Are you aware of any
habitual physical mannerisms,
such as pulling your hair, nose,
ears, or such like?”
“163. Would you like to ‘start
a new activity’ in the place in
which you live?”
By question 70 I’ve noticed
that I’m profoundly hungover,
and begin losing the ability
to
answer
the
questions
earnestly, so I bubble them in
at random, making zig-zags
like I did in middle school
science classes. Annie begins
to do the same. A woman
peers over from behind the
registration desk, noticing our
rapid bubbling. She chews her
gum slowly and glances back
down at her phone. We wait
for Dom, who’s taking the
exam quite seriously. Twenty
minutes later (there was a
School Smart™ timer on each
of our desks) we hand our
scantrons in together.
As we wait for our results,
several people show up to
stand next to the registration
desk, and begin whispering
to each other with worried
expressions. Then the woman
behind the desk asks Annie
if she’d like to have her
consultation first, and she
agrees. She’s taken to one of
several glassed-in conference
rooms behind the registration
desk and waves us goodbye.
Dom is next, and he goes
with Eddie, the man with
the golden hoop earrings and
the sculpted beard. About
10 minutes later, the woman
finishes with Annie and calls
me back.
I sit in a chair facing the
window, which looks over the
Detroit River. I can see the
shoreline of Windsor, Canada
with the bright Caesars sign
above the city.
The woman sits next to
me at a white desk.
She’s
not
chewing
gum
anymore.
“I’m Maya,” she says. “Have
you ever taken a personality
test before?”
Maya has a reserved aura,
and hunches her shoulders
over the desk as she talks. Her
hair is dark and vaguely curly,
her face noticeably round.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Cool. So this is a tool that
we
use
—
it’s not my
opinion
of
you. It’s your
opinion
of
yourself.”
I nod, and
she
pulls
out a graph
with
my
fake
name
and
fake
information
in the top
left corner.
The graph has 10 sections,
labeled A through J, and
each section has a trait at
the top and its counter at the
bottom. “Stable” is opposite
“Unstable,” “Happy” opposite
“Depressed,”
“Responsible”
opposite “Irresponsible” and
so on. The graph goes from
+100 at the top, along the
positive traits, to -100 at the
bottom, along the negative
traits. My graph is entirely in
the negative half of the grid.
Maya is being cautious, and
says with a tone of regret,
“Right here is the normal
area,” circling the top half
of the graph, “And here …
Wednesday, November 14, 2018 // The Statement
4B
Wednesday, November 14, 2018 // The Statement
5B
Amelia Cacchionne /Daily
Pamlets from the Detroit Church of Scientology
BY MATT GALATIN, STATEMENT CORRESPONDENT
See SCIENTOLOGY, Page 6B
What Scientologists taught me about rocks, and other discoveries in
their brand new Detroit Church
“Would you use
corporal punishment
on a child aged ten if it
refused to obey you?”
A few days earlier I made
a reservation for a tour,
carelessly using my real
name and email address.