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. 

