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Leah Remini Returns In Season Three Trailer For ‘Scientology And The Aftermath

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SHAKIEL MAHJOURI
ET Canada
November 8, 2018

Leah Remini’s crusade against Scientology continues.

The Emmy-winning series “Leah Remini: Scientology and The Aftermath” is deeply personal to Remini and has rejuvenated her career.

“In season one, we basically dealt with the effects of disconnection. In season two, we wanted to show you the wide range of abusive policies in hope that it would be enough for the authorities to step in,” Remini said in the new trailer. “That didn’t happen. So in season three, we thought, ‘okay, let’s just follow the money.”

Two specials will be released in advance of the new season premiere. On Tuesday, Nov. 13, “Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath: The Jehovah’s Witnesses” follows Remini and Mike Rinder as they meet with former members of a different organization.

On Sunday, Nov. 18, “Leah Remini: Scientology and The Aftermath: Emotional Aftermath” depicts the emotional toll leaving Scientology has taken on the hosts and their families.

Season three of “Leah Remini: Scientology and The Aftermath” premieres Tuesday, Nov. 27.



https://etcanada.com/news/384996/leah-remini-returns-in-season-three-trailer-for-scientology-and-the-aftermath/

The Gaslighting Effect: A Revealing Look at Psychological Manipulation and Narcissistic Abuse

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The Gaslighting Effect: A Revealing Look at Psychological Manipulation and Narcissistic Abuse
Reva Steenbergen @gaslightingefct

A narcissistic abuse survivor herself, Reva Steenbergen takes her own experiences combined with countless mental health professionals, relationship counselors, and even narcissists themselves to offer a unique perspective on narcisstic abuse and the gaslighting effect.

She provides insight into the entire victim experience while at the same time taking an intense, revealing look straight inside the inner workings of a narcissist abuser. The reader will uncover the truth about:
  • Who is vulnerable to the advances of a narcissist and how a narcissist pursues their target;
  • How narcissists provide the perfect allure to draw people in;
  • What makes a narcissist so relentlessly cruel;
  • The mind, the method, the behavior and the reasoning behind a narcissist's abuse;
  • and The reasoning behind why victims stay in an abusive relationship with a narcissist.
Gaslighting is an abusive technique used by narcissist abusers in which a victim's reality becomes re-written, judgment is impaired, and there is an undeniable shift to their mental equilibrium as the narcissist tries to break the victim s spirit and in the most vicious game of mind control.

Buy on Amazon: https://amzn.to/2qFiBoJ

Working with Patients from High Control Groups, Part 1

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What Therapists Should Know

Ekaterina Musok, LCSW

Psych Central
November 8, 2018

Mental health practitioners need to be aware of the harmful psychological issues current and ex-cult members continue to show even after they leave such an organization. Individuals who have become part of these restrictive religious groups generally suffer from rigid thinking patterns, feelings of guilt, shame, and a sense of abandonment.

Mental illness and substance abuse are also commonly observed. Suicidal tendencies, PTSD, anxiety and depression are just some of the consequences that these patients endure. Psychologists, LCSWs, LMFTs and LMHCs can utilize a variety of approaches when working with this population. Most researchers agree that educating patients on the cult’s history and destructive practices is the building block and lays the foundation of their recovery.


Religious cults, also known as new religious movements (NRM), have had a consistent presence over the past 100 years. Generally, when the word cult is mentioned, people envision scenes of the Jonestown massacre, mass weddings, polygamy marriages or individuals living in segregated communities.


Cult Members Often Cut Off Contact With Loved Ones


But not all destructive cults are so dramatic. The loss of free will, commonly called brainwashing, is generally used to explain why members choose to remain in such high control groups. Destructive cults often require their rank-and-file members to donate the majority, if not all of their time, effort, and money to the group’s purpose.

It is not unheard of for cult members to slowly or abruptly discontinue association with their family and friends.


Cult leaders use a number of deceptive practices in order to convince their audience that the mission and vision of the group is paramount and that everyone not showing adherence to it is an opposer. A member’s previous social circle is viewed as a threat because family and friends could potentially persuade their loved one to stop attending the cult’s activities.

It is therefore not surprising that rank-and-file members are encouraged to minimize their interactions and lines of communication with any non-cult members.

The more time an individual spends with cult members, the more indoctrinated he or she becomes and the stronger the belief that the cult’s leadership has answers to all life’s questions.

By cutting ties with former friends and family, the social support that a member now has is exclusively formed by other cult members. Together, members of high control religious groups consistently reinforce the cult-like mentality amongst one another. Often, cult leadership expects the rank-and-file members to report any “suspicious,” unpermitted activities by other members.

Learning about cults, their methods, tactics and internal practices is of relevance today more than ever. About three years ago, a documentary aired by the Oscar winning producer Alex Gibney made all the headlines both on social media and major TV networks.


Documentary Spikes Awareness


The documentary, “Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief” shows several interviews with high executive Scientology members who were either “kicked out” or left the group on their own. As interesting as this documentary may be, it’s true value was bringing awareness to the general public that any individual, regardless of history, social status, race and gender, can be a potential victim to such groups and movements.

It is imperative for mental health practitioners to be able to discern the underlying issues and experiences that clients from high control groups have had. Research has shown that active and ex-members suffer from mental illness, substance abuse, and co-morbid disorders.

Among the many psychiatric diagnosis, the most frequent symptom is disassociation, also called “floating” (Coates, 2010). Additionally, PTSD, anxiety, depression, destructive and suicidal tendencies are also commonly diagnosed (Coates, 2010). Many of the individuals who were either “kicked out,” left on their own or have become inactive, have a difficult time opening up and sharing their experiences. Feelings of guilt, shame and abandonment from their formal cult-family remain even after leaving the group.


Intervention Has Clients Evaluate Early Beliefs


The psychological literature is overwhelmingly united in comparing cult members’ experiences to those of concentration camp survivors and former POWs (Coates, 2010).

Because of years of indoctrination and brainwashing, members of high control groups remain psychologically scarred for many years after leaving a cult. Members are explicitly forbidden to watch, read or discuss information critical to the group (Walsh, 2001). Living in a cult enforces members to internalize their problems.

For those associated with Bible-based cults, the line of thinking is that if members are feeling down and depressed, this mood must be undoubtedly because of the fact that they are not spiritual enough. Consequently, members force themselves to outdo other members’ performance in hopes of becoming more spiritual and achieve the promised happiness. Unfortunately, these activities only tend to reinforce the cult-identity and cult-like mentality.

The experience of rigid thinking (black and white terms), the inability to make decisions, issues with relationships as well as feelings of self-blame, guilt and shame all require a specific type of treatment.

Psychotherapists have two roles when dealing with patients who hold harmful religious beliefs: understanding the clients’ problems and identifying effective treatment methods (Rosenfeld, 2010). Additionally, therapists must be confident that their clients have enough motivation and social support to cope with the potential loss they may endure if they were to leave the cult (Rosenfeld, 2010).

A common treatment intervention for psychotherapists to follow is to encourage clients to critically evaluate the beliefs they had acquired during their early childhood. This process is especially true for those born in cults who have never had the chance to examine their religion or have never had access to a different religious belief.

Motivational interviewing is instrumental since a cult member would attempt to explore their beliefs objectively (Miller & Rollnick, 2002). Moreover, neutrally reviewing previously held beliefs with other alternative beliefs allows the member to compare their religion to those of others and see similarities.

For some, leaving a cult is associated with freedom, a new chance in life and the possibility to make personal decisions on their own. Others however, feel overwhelmed, lost and cut off from the life they had built while in the cult.

In many situations, members have had to give up communication with their spouses, children, grandchildren, cousins, nephews, nieces, uncles, aunts and friends. For those who have chosen to leave on their own, the cult leadership shows their leaving as a sign of disloyalty to the “true organization.” Any remaining cult members are required to discontinue all association with them.
More information about Ekaterina Musok, LCSW can be found at https://freedomcounselingllc.com/



APA Reference 

Musok,, E. (2018). Working with Patients from High Control Groups, Part 1. Psych Central. Retrieved on November 10, 2018, from https://pro.psychcentral.com/working-with-patients-from-high-control-groups-part-1/

NEW FOOTAGE & PHOTOS: Heavily-Armed Guatemalan Police Raided Lev Tahor Compound; Child Rescue NOT Successful

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Police Raided Lev Tahor
Yeshiva World News
November 8, 2018


YWN has obtained footage of large group of heavily armed police officers at the compound of the Lev Tahor Cult in Guatemala.

As many in 100 officers are reported to have taken part in the raid, reportedly on Monday evening, in an attempt to rescue children of a woman who was ex-communicated by the cult, but was previously attacked with knives, rocks and gunfire when she returned to try to rescue them.

Sadly, the rescue mission was unsuccessful, as it appears that cult leaders had moved the children to a different location in advance of the raid at the cult’s barbed-wire surrounded compound.

Earlier this week, YWN published an in-depth article documenting horrific details of the cult’s activities, including beatings, assorted forms of torture and forced marriage of teenagers.

The horror stories involving Lev Tahor have only gotten worse following the death of the cult’s founder and leader, Shlomo Helbrans, in Mexico in 2017. Since then, the leadership has moved into the hands of his brother Nachman Helbrans, along with Mayer Rosner, Yankel and Yoel Weingarten, who are even more radical and aggressive than the late founder.

YWN has reported extensively on the Lev Tahor cult – with dozens of articles over the years.

Lev Tahor practices include women and girls wearing black head-to-toe coverings day and night, arranged marriages between teenagers, and a violent form of Malkos.

Former members of Lev Tahor (who either escaped or were otherwise expelled) do not recall learning Mishnah or Gemara, nor any Mitzvos Bein Adam LeChaveiro. They spend the majority of the day in deep prayer and are only allowed to study certain sections of the Chumash, with Lev Tahor commentary.

Internal documents of Lev Tahor show that Shlomo Helbrans made his followers swear and sign to uphold the following principles among others.

(1) Everyone must negate his or her mind and mind thoroughly and completely, to the leader of Lev Tahor.

2) They must subjugate soul, spirit, and will.

3) Each man accepts upon his descendants and descendant’s descendants until the end of all generations to be subjugated under the will of Lev Tahor’s leader.. this should be said openly to the leader himself.

4) Everyone must be ready at any time and moment of 24 hours of the day, whether on the Shabbath and Yom Tov, summer and winter, healthy or sick, to do the will of the leader.

5) Whether the person is a young man or an old man, virgins and women they must accept to do the will of the leader.

6) They must agree to throw away all his physical needs, including eating sleep and rest until he fulfills the desires the leader.

7) It is the obligation of each of them at the beginning of the morning prayers to recite and accept upon themselves all of the above with full mouth and supreme joy.

Some observers have written that these are signs of a cult. Indeed, this was the position of an author of an article that appeared in Mishpacha Magazine. Others, however, claim that there is nothing cult-like about the movement. Rabbi Yitzchok Frankfurter of Ami Magazine met with Helbrans and assured his readership that it was not a cult, even though a previous Ami article stated that it was.

In 2014 YWN ran an article titled “Cults and the War of the Jewish Magazines” in response to Mishpacha and Ami magazines running articles on Lev Tahor. Mishpacha Magzaine had run a fifteen page “expose” on the group, essentially describing Lev Tahor as a cult that has some serious issues involving medicating children, and behaviors that resemble child abuse. Ami Magazing claimed the exact opposite – and ran the following sentence below their headline “The unjust persecution of a group of pious Jews, and the unsettling silence of the Jewish community.”

Originally a citizen of Israel, cult leader Shlomo Helbrans went to the United States where he was convicted for kidnapping in 1994 and served a two-year prison term before being deported to Israel in 2000. He then settled in Canada.

In 1994 he was convicted in Brooklyn for the 1992 kidnapping of 13-year-old Shai Fhima Reuven, a Bar Mitzvah boy he was tutoring, and served a two-year prison term in the U.S. He was originally sentenced to four to 12 years in prison, but in June 1996 an appeals court reduced the sentence to two to six years. Three days later, he was placed in the work release program for prisoners less than two years away from the possibility of parole, where inmates are freed from prison if they have a job. After protests, he was moved back to prison.

The high-profile case drew much attention in the U.S., and gained further attention when Helbrans successfully convinced New York prison authorities to waive their requirement that all prisoners be shaved for a photograph upon entering prison, and to accept a computer-generated image of what he would have looked like clean-shaven instead. After the State Parole Board decided in November 1996 to release Helbrans after two years in prison, the case rose to near scandal with suspicions that the Pataki administration was providing him special treatment.

After his release from prison, Helbrans ran a yeshiva in Monsey, N.Y., and was deported to Israel in 2000. He then settled in Canada, where in 2003 he was granted refugee status, claiming his life was being threatened in Israel.

Helbrans and his followers had arrived in Mexico’s southern Chiapas province after spending three years in Guatemala. They had travelled to Guatemala from Canada, where child-protection authorities were moving to seize children allegedly suffering from neglect.

The group had been established on the outskirts of Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, north of Montreal, for more than a decade before Quebec authorities began paying close attention. As they prepared to move in to protect children in the sect in late 2013, community members left en masse overnight for Chatham, Ontario. Before the next summer, they had moved on to Guatemala.

Court documents used by Quebec police to obtain warrants alleged that Lev Tahor girls as young as 13 and 14 in the community were routinely married off to much older men. The allegations in the documents, which became public after the sect had fled and were never proven in court, included sexual and physical abuse of children.

https://www.theyeshivaworld.com/news/general/1620264/new-footage-children-not-found.html

The Witches of Baltimore

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Women at a festival honoring an African goddess in February 2018MARIO TAMA / GETTY Share Tweet Email “We may not be Christian here, but we still pray,” said a woman dressed entirely in white as she addressed a large audience of African American women. Standing behind a lectern, speaking in the cadences of a preacher, she added, “I understand God more now, doing what I’m doing, than I ever did in the Church.”  The call and response that followed (“No one’s going to protect us but who?” “Us!”) was reminiscent of church—but this was no traditional sermon. The speaker, Iyawo Orisa Omitola, was giving the keynote address last month at the third annual Black Witch Convention, which brought together some 200 women in a Baltimore reception hall. The small but growing community points to the hundreds of young black women who are leaving Christianity in favor of their ancestors’ African spiritual traditions, and finding a sense of power in the process.  Sign up for The Atlantic’s daily newsletter.  Each weekday evening, get an overview of the day’s biggest news, along with fascinating ideas, images, and voices.  Email Address (required) Enter your email Sign Up Thanks for signing up!  Over the past decade, white Millennials have embraced witchcraft in droves. Now a parallel phenomenon is emerging among black Millennials. While their exact numbers are difficult to gauge, it’s clear that African American pop culture has started to reflect the trend. In the music industry alone, there’s Beyoncé’s allusion to an African goddess in Lemonade and at the Grammys; Azealia Banks’s declaration that she practices brujería (a Spanish term for witchcraft); and Princess Nokia’s hit “Brujas,” in which she tells white witches, “Everything you got, you got from us.”
Young black women are leaving Christianity and embracing African witchcraft in digital covens.

SIGAL SAMUEL
The Atlantic
November 5, 2018

“We may not be Christian here, but we still pray,” said a woman dressed entirely in white as she addressed a large audience of African American women. Standing behind a lectern, speaking in the cadences of a preacher, she added, “I understand God more now, doing what I’m doing, than I ever did in the Church.”

The call and response that followed (“No one’s going to protect us but who?” “Us!”) was reminiscent of church—but this was no traditional sermon. The speaker, Iyawo Orisa Omitola, was giving the keynote address last month at the third annual Black Witch Convention, which brought together some 200 women in a Baltimore reception hall. The small but growing community points to the hundreds of young black women who are leaving Christianity in favor of their ancestors’ African spiritual traditions, and finding a sense of power in the process.

African American witchcraft originated in West Africa, the birthplace of Yoruba, a set of religious traditions focused on reverence for ancestors and worship of a vast pantheon of deities known as orishas. Those traditions accompanied West Africans who were brought to the Americas as slaves, and were eventually combined with Western religions, such as Catholicism, that many slaves were pushed to embrace.

By the early 19th century, Cuban Santeria, Brazilian Candomblé, Haitian Vodou, and other syncretistic faiths had emerged as a result. In cities like New Orleans, voodoo (slightly different from Haitian Vodou) and hoodoo, which also descend from West African faiths, grew popular. These practices—which often involve manipulating candles, incense, or water to achieve a desired result—may have helped give slaves some sense of power, however minimal.

Modern black witches are practicing Yoruba-based faiths, with a few Millennial touches. They build altars to ancestors so they can seek their advice on everything from romance to professional advancement, cast spells using emojito help banish depression, surround themselves with crystals in the hope that they will relieve stress, and burn sage to cleanse their apartments of negative energy.

Some hallmarks of Millennial spirituality are common to both white and African American witches. They’re typically disillusioned with hierarchical institutions—the Catholic Church, for example—and attracted to do-it-yourself “spiritual but not religious” practices such as the use of crystals. But the budding black-witch community also has unique traits, including a desire for “safe spaces,” a wariness of cultural appropriation, and a penchant for digital religion.

Many black witches, nervous about practicing witchcraft openly, feel more comfortable meeting online than in person. Some fear they’ll be shamed by devout Christian parents, according to Margarita Guillory, a Boston University professor who studies Africana religion in the digital age.

“The internet is almost becoming like a hush harbor for these witches of color,” Guillory said, referring to places where slaves gathered in secret to practice their religions in antebellum America. Online, an avatar or a handle allows women to speak freely. A popular Tumblr promotes inspirational images of black witches and Facebook groups for the women have thousands of members each, while some have even developed smartphone apps.

Some young women at the Baltimore convention told me their parents had long hid their grandmothers’ or great-grandmothers’ involvement with witchcraft—a decision the Millennials resented, until they realized their parents may have felt the need to suppress any talk of magic because their ancestors were harshly punished for their rituals. New Orleans, for example, saw sweeping arrests of voodooists in the 19th century.

Monica Jeffries, a 28-year-old teacher who had playfully donned a pointed witch hat for the convention, grew up in the Apostolic Church, but she broke ties with it four years ago. She said her mother had “forced” Christianity on her. Jeffries sometimes calls home trying to figure out why. “I’m asking her questions about Christianity, and I’m like, ‘Why would you do this to us?’ She still can’t give me answers.”

While some Millennials enter the black-witch community seeking answers, others are simply hungry for a place where they can belong. Mambo Yansa, a witch who grew up in Panama, told me witchcraft serves as a “safe haven” for some LGBT youth who don’t feel welcome in the Church. The number of online posts by and about LGBT witches attests to the overlap between queer and witch communities.

Empowerment was an unmistakable aspect of the Black Witch Convention. Replete with talk of sexual trauma, suppression, and self-acceptance, it felt like group therapy. Women cried or spoke in trembling voices as they described experiences of abuse.

“While the #MeToo movement is out there, there are still African American women out there who don’t have a voice. We are not represented,” Omitola said in her keynote. “One thing I know from studying African religions is, I have never seen one subservient goddess. So why are we sitting here thinking we have to be subservient?”

Omitola went on to differentiate between African witchcraft and “New Age shit,” like the witches who gather to hex President Donald Trump and Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh. But some of the black witches’ practices—astrology, say—are what the Pew Research Center considers New Age. In fact, a recent Pew study found that the rate of belief in New Age ideas is especially high among the communities that many convention attendees came from: historically black Christian denominations.

The study’s finding that New Age and Christian traditions often coexist in the same person was on full view at the convention. While some witches told me they were finished with Christianity, others said they still attend church, and argued that Christianity and African witchcraft are complementary, not mutually exclusive. As Omitola put it, “The Bible ain’t nothing but a big old spell book.”

For all the black-witch community’s openness to other religious traditions, they’re still deeply ambivalent about whether some people should be kept out. On the one hand, there’s a sense that they now have an easier time embracing their ancestors’ traditions because white Millennials have rebranded witchcraft as “cool.”

There is, however, a concern that white witches are appropriating African rituals they may not properly understand. “White women these days are making witches’ covens as something ‘fun’—it’s just fun for them,” Yansa said. “But in our tradition, witches have to be totally initiated to be considered a witch.” Initiation typically involves receiving oral instruction and hands-on training from an elder—the sort of embodied learning that, Yansa said, young witches don’t get when they rely too much on digital religion.

In-person gatherings like the Black Witch Convention are meant to serve as an antidote to that overreliance on internet culture. The Millennials I spoke to all said it was a necessary counterbalance—but they also emphasized how much they value the highly individualized, DIY rituals they practice back home.

“The Church is oppressive for a lot of black women,” said Tamara Young, a 32-year-old government program analyst. “But these African traditions empower women. They’re empowering you to have a hand in what you’re doing—to create your own magic.

Reporting for this article was supported by Public Theologies of Technology and Presence, a journalism and research initiative based at the Institute of Buddhist Studies and funded by the Henry Luce Foundation. SIGAL SAMUEL is an associate editor at The Atlantic, covering religion and global affairs. She is the author of The Mystics of Mile End.



https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2018/11/black-millennials-african-witchcraft-christianity/574393/

LEV TAHOR HORROR: Tales of Beatings and Torture Emerge From Excommunicated Cult Members

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Yeshiva World News
November 4, 2018

The horror stories involving the Lev Tahor cult, currently located in Guatemala, continue following the death of its leader Shlomo Helbrans in Mexico in 2017. Since then, the leadership has moved into the hands of his brother Nachman Helbrans, along with Mayer Rosner, Yankel and Yoel Weingarten, who are even more radical and aggressive than the late founder.

Earlier this week, YWN reported on a mother who was ex-communicated by the cult, and was attacked with knives, rocks and gunfire when she returned to try rescuing her children, including a 13-year-old daughter who is in a forced marriage and a mother of a young child.

Other horror stories involving the cult have emerged, from young members who were banished for one reason or another. One, a 17-year-old boy, was expelled for listening to music, which has been outlawed by the cult leaders. Another, a 15-year-old boy, was expelled for refusing a forced marriage to a 12-year-old girl.

According to the boy, his mother and Lev Tahor members drove him to Guatemala City – about 4 hours from where the cult is located – on the pretext of getting a passport. His mother dropped him at a hotel promising to pick him up in the morning. The next day, no one came to get him. Stranded and in a panic, he called his mother but no one answered. He tried reaching other members of Lev Tahor but his calls were ignored. As a last resort, he turned to the small community of ex-Lev Tahor members in Guatemala City, and they took him in.

According to the boys, cult leader Yoel Weingarten was once leading a four-hour prayer service when a 14-year-old boy giggled. After a severe beating, they threw him in an old, broken commercial freezer. The imprisonment in the confined space with no change of clothing or bathroom lasted three months. Weingarten reportedly told a group of boys that “he was a sinner and if he dies then that’s what he deserves.”

When the boy was released, Weingarten allegedly took a wooden chair and broke it over his head. He collapsed in pain. “Now you’ve done your Teshuvah,” he reportedly announced.

The boys spoke of the squalid conditions in the Lev Tahor grounds. Until recently the only area for bathroom use was the local river, which was also used as a Mikvah and had separate bathroom times for men and women. Members live under the hot Guatemalan sun in metal containers and tarp-covered tents. The only ones living in luxury are the Hanhala, who have air conditioning and other comforts.

They related that a young man under 40 years of age recently contracted a minor infection. Hanhalah refused to pay for treatment and sent him to a local hospital. He left in a body bag, leaving numerous children behind.

They also described the system for Malkos (lashes), dished out to adults and children alike. Malkos is a big event. A day before the ceremony, posters are placed announcing that at this and this time this person will be publicly flogged. Lev Tahor members are required to attend. Victims are then reportedly stripped to their underwear and whipped in front of men, women and children. One boy recalled that he couldn’t sit for three days after receiving Malkos from the swelling.

This description of Malkos was corroborated by a public Facebook post written by Rafi King (Refoel Koenig), who had received this punishment, and managed to escape the cult several years ago. In several voice notes that were made public, Rafi relates his experiences and the terrible abuse he witnessed and suffered under the hands of Mayer Rosner.

A 12-year-old girl was thrown out of the cult, and sent to Montreal, Canada where a family was willinjg to take her in. Lev Tahor only permits certain fruits and vegetables to be eaten, as well as whole wheat flour made into bread with a stone press. Proteins are not part of their diet. As such, the girl refused to eat food served in her foster parent’s home. After much discussion, the girl finally agreed to have a little vegetable salad on dishes and utensils that were kashered in front of her.

Every night, the girl tried calling her mother, who only picked up the phone once to tell her to call the “Hanhalah”. After numerous phone calls, she finally reached Yoel Weingarten who forbade her from speaking to her mother. He also refused to “authorize” her to eat food she served.

YWN has reported extensively on the Lev Tahor cult – with dozens of articles over the years.

Internal documents of Lev Tahor show that Shlomo Helbrans made his followers swear and sign to uphold the following principles among others.

(1) Everyone must negate his or her mind and mind thoroughly and completely, to the leader of Lev Tahor.

2) They must subjugate soul, spirit, and will.

3) Each man accepts upon his descendants and descendant’s descendants until the end of all generations to be subjugated under the will of Lev Tahor’s leader.. this should be said openly to the leader himself.

4) Everyone must be ready at any time and moment of 24 hours of the day, whether on the Shabbath and Yom Tov, summer and winter, healthy or sick, to do the will of the leader.

5) Whether the person is a young man or an old man, virgins and women they must accept to do the will of the leader.

6) They must agree to throw away all his physical needs, including eating sleep and rest until he fulfills the desires the leader.

7) It is the obligation of each of them at the beginning of the morning prayers to recite and accept upon themselves all of the above with full mouth and supreme joy.

Lev Tahor practices include women and girls wearing black head-to-toe coverings day and night, arranged marriages between teenagers, and a violent form of Malkos.

Former members of Lev Tahor (who either escaped or were otherwise expelled) do not recall learning Mishnah or Gemara, nor any Mitzvos Bein Adam LeChaveiro. They spend the majority of the day in deep prayer and are only allowed to study certain sections of the Chumash, with Lev Tahor commentary.

Some observers have written that these are signs of a cult. Indeed, this was the position of an author of an article that appeared in Mishpacha Magazine. Others, however, claim that there is nothing cult-like about the movement. Rabbi Yitzchok Frankfurter of Ami Magazine met with Helbrans and assured his readership that it was not a cult, even though a previous Ami article stated that it was.

In 2014 YWN ran an article titled “Cults and the War of the Jewish Magazines” in response to Mishpacha and Ami magazines running articles on Lev Tahor. Mishpacha Magzaine had run a fifteen page “expose” on the group, essentially describing Lev Tahor as a cult that has some serious issues involving medicating children, and behaviors that resemble child abuse. Ami Magazing claimed the exact opposite – and ran the following sentence below their headline “The unjust persecution of a group of pious Jews, and the unsettling silence of the Jewish community.”

Originally a citizen of Israel, cult leader Shlomo Helbrans went to the United States where he was convicted for kidnapping in 1994 and served a two-year prison term before being deported to Israel in 2000. He then settled in Canada.

In 1994 he was convicted in Brooklyn for the 1992 kidnapping of 13-year-old Shai Fhima Reuven, a Bar Mitzvah boy he was tutoring, and served a two-year prison term in the U.S. He was originally sentenced to four to 12 years in prison, but in June 1996 an appeals court reduced the sentence to two to six years. Three days later, he was placed in the work release program for prisoners less than two years away from the possibility of parole, where inmates are freed from prison if they have a job. After protests, he was moved back to prison.

The high-profile case drew much attention in the U.S., and gained further attention when Helbrans successfully convinced New York prison authorities to waive their requirement that all prisoners be shaved for a photograph upon entering prison, and to accept a computer-generated image of what he would have looked like clean-shaven instead. After the State Parole Board decided in November 1996 to release Helbrans after two years in prison, the case rose to near scandal with suspicions that the Pataki administration was providing him special treatment.

After his release from prison, Helbrans ran a yeshiva in Monsey, N.Y., and was deported to Israel in 2000. He then settled in Canada, where in 2003 he was granted refugee status, claiming his life was being threatened in Israel.

Helbrans and his followers had arrived in Mexico’s southern Chiapas province after spending three years in Guatemala. They had travelled to Guatemala from Canada, where child-protection authorities were moving to seize children allegedly suffering from neglect.

The group had been established on the outskirts of Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, north of Montreal, for more than a decade before Quebec authorities began paying close attention. As they prepared to move in to protect children in the sect in late 2013, community members left en masse overnight for Chatham, Ontario. Before the next summer, they had moved on to Guatemala.

Court documents used by Quebec police to obtain warrants alleged that Lev Tahor girls as young as 13 and 14 in the community were routinely married off to much older men. The allegations in the documents, which became public after the sect had fled and were never proven in court, included sexual and physical abuse of children.

https://www.theyeshivaworld.com/news/general/1615196/lev-tahor-horror-tales-of-beatings-and-torture-emerge-from-ex-communicated-cult-members.html

Dawn of Dianetics: L. Ron Hubbard, John W. Campbell, and the Origins of Scientology

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Astounding: John W. Campbell, Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, L. Ron Hubbard, and the Golden Age of Science
Read an excerpt adapted from Alec Nevala-Lee’s book, Astounding.

Alec Nevala-Lee
Longreads
October 2018




Astounding: John W. Campbell, Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, L. Ron Hubbard, and the Golden Age of Science 

I.

For most of his life, John W. Campbell, Jr., the editor of the magazine Astounding Science Fiction, had trouble remembering his childhood. He had filled his stories with extravagant images, but he had no visual memory, to the point that he was unable to picture the faces of his own wife and children. When L. Ron Hubbard, one of his most prolific writers, approached him with the promise of a new science of the mind, he was understandably intrigued. And he was especially attracted by the possibility that it would allow him to recall events that he had forgotten or repressed.

In the summer of 1949, Campbell was thirty-nine years old and living in New Jersey. For over a decade, he had been the single most influential figure in what would later be known as the golden age of science fiction, and he had worked extensively with Hubbard, who was popular with fans. The two men were personally close, and when Hubbard, who was a year younger, suffered from depression after World War II, Campbell became concerned for his friend’s mental state: “He was a quivering psychoneurotic wreck, practically ready to break down completely.”

Hubbard had sought medical treatment for his psychological problems, which he also tried to address in unconventional ways. While living in Savannah, Georgia, he began to revise Excalibur, an unpublished manuscript on the human mind that he had written years earlier. In a letter to his agent, Hubbard said that the book had information on how to “rape women without their knowing it,” and that he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to use it to abolish the Catholic Church or found one of his own. He concluded, “Don’t know why I suddenly got the nerve to go into this again and let it loose. It’s probably either a great love or an enormous hatred of humanity.”

Years later, Hubbard would incorporate many of these ideas into the teachings of the Church of Scientology, but his first inclination was to pitch the scientific community. On April 13, 1949, he wrote to the American Psychiatric Association, the American Psychological Association, and the Gerontological Society in Baltimore, saying that he had treated twenty patients until they could remember events from before birth. He claimed to be working for free with criminals, orphans, and a boy who was failing his classes, and he told the writer Robert A. Heinlein—another important member of Campbell’s circle—that if he ever started charging for his services, “the local psychiatrists, now my passionate pals, would leave me dead in some back alley.”

Hubbard’s attempts to interest professional societies went nowhere, but one last possibility remained. In May, he contacted Campbell about his research, and the editor invited him to come out for a visit. At the end of the month, Hubbard and his wife Sara moved into a house near the offices of Astounding in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Campbell wasn’t impressed by what he saw of Excalibur, calling it “more fiction than anything else,” but he was struck by Hubbard’s appearance: “The sparkle was back, and it was genuine. His conversation was lucid and thoroughly organized. He was thinking again. He told me he had found the secret of the problem of the mind—but more important he had found himself.”

He told me he had found the secret of the problem of the mind—but more important he had found himself.

In its latest incarnation, Hubbard’s theory hinged on the idea that the brain was divided into two halves—the analytic and reactive minds. The former was perfectly rational, but it could be affected by memories, or “impediments,” implanted while a person was unconscious. Such experiences were stored in the reactive mind, which took over in times of stress—a patient who heard a doctor say “He’s better off dead” while under anesthesia would take it as a literal command. Hubbard’s treatment, which didn’t have a name yet, was designed to access these recollections, some of which dated from before birth, and erase any damaging behavior patterns.

Hubbard could hardly have found a more receptive audience. Campbell was fascinated by the idea of refining psychology into an exact science, and he had published countless works of fiction that explored this theme, including the stories by Isaac Asimov that would later be collected under the title I, Robot. After the war, he had frequently editorialized that a better understanding of the mind was necessary to save mankind from a nuclear holocaust, and Hubbard’s therapy seemed like one possible answer—but it soon became clear that it wasn’t working on the one man in the world whose support it desperately needed.

In its earliest form, the treatment amounted to a kind of hypnotism—Hubbard was an accomplished hypnotist who liked to show off at parties—but Campbell turned out to be stubbornly resistant to suggestion. It was a defense mechanism, he claimed, that he had used to deal with his emotionally manipulative mother, leaving him with “a permanent—but useful!—scar.” A few years later, he offered an alternative explanation: “I had known [Hubbard] as a professional, accomplished liar since 1938; nothing he said could be believed without personal conscious cross-checking. That sort of barrier makes hypnosis damn near impossible!”

They decided to try drugs. Campbell, who didn’t even like to drink at home, agreed to take phenobarbital, a sedative, followed by scopolamine, a notorious truth serum. He hated one course of the latter so much that he refused to try it again—it left him dehydrated, confused, and listless—but he was willing to consider other approaches. Hubbard, in turn, knew that the editor was his best hope of bringing his ideas to a wider audience, and he was equally determined to continue.

By all indications, they had reached a dead end, but Hubbard had one last idea, which he claimed to have based on an apparatus described by the neurologist Jean-Martin Charcot, who had taught hypnosis to Sigmund Freud. Four mirrors were arranged in a truncated pyramid on a record player, with a lit candle placed nearby. When the turntable revolved at its highest speed, the result was a flicker of light that flashed at over three hundred times per minute.

Campbell sat across from the phonograph. They turned it on. Almost immediately, he found himself overwhelmed by a feeling of pure horror, followed by a wave of memories that he had locked away. The editor confessed, “I’d been scared before in my life, but never that scared. I had to have Ron hold my hand—literally—while I spilled some of the fear. He’s a fairly big guy, and fairly rugged, but twice I damned near crushed his hand when some of the really hot ones hit.”

In the end, Campbell spoke like a frightened child for six hours, and his terror was contagious—Hubbard was allegedly so shaken by the technique that they never used it again. The mirrors, Campbell came to believe, had accidentally coincided with his brain’s alpha rhythms, and he compared its effects to electroshock therapy or the use of drugs to induce seizures in psychiatric patients. Yet it would be months before he remembered what he had actually said—Hubbard supposedly erased the experiences themselves, leaving only the memory of the session behind.

In the end, Campbell spoke like a frightened child for six hours, and his terror was contagious—Hubbard was allegedly so shaken by the technique that they never used it again.

Many of the episodes that the editor eventually recovered revolved around his family, including a traumatic memory of his birth. According to Campbell, the doctor at the delivery had barked at his mother in a German accent: “The cord is caught around his neck and it is strangling him. You must stop fighting—you are killing him. Relax! You are killing him with your fighting! You must think your way out of this!” The forceps had slashed open the baby’s cheek, and afterward, a nurse had put drops in his eyes and remarked: “He’s just not interested in people!”

Campbell concluded that these words had shaped his personality, leading to much of his subsequent unhappiness. According to Hubbard, they even verified the account with the editor’s mother: “The recording of her sequence compared word for word with his sequence, detail for detail, name for name.” Other memories were equally disturbing. When he was six weeks old, Campbell’s mother—who had wanted to go to a party—had given him salt water to make him sick, which provided her with an excuse to leave him with his grandmother. He had almost drowned at age three, and a few months later, he had swallowed morphine pills and nearly overdosed.

Or so he thought. In reality, most of these incidents were probably imaginary, either knowingly implanted by Hubbard, or, more plausibly, drawn out of what Campbell honestly believed about himself. But it was enough. Later that summer, after additional treatment, Campbell wrote to Heinlein, with whom he was also good friends: “Do I know things about my family I never knew I knew!….Come visit us, sometime, Bob, and I’ll show you how to get data to blackmail the hell out of parents—blackmail the hell out of them so they back down and behave like human beings instead of the high and mighty and perfect.”

In the meantime, Campbell’s growing fixation on Hubbard’s work had taken a toll on his marriage. Doña, the editor’s wife, was a brilliant woman in her own right, but they had grown apart after the war, and she turned for consolation to a mutual friend, George O. Smith, a writer who lived in Philadelphia. One afternoon, Smith was cleaning up at the house when his doorbell rang. When he answered it, he was stunned to see Doña. She had driven eighty miles from New Jersey, and she didn’t waste time on small talk. “George, build me a good, stiff drink!”

As he listened, Doña poured out her story. Campbell, she said, had become obsessed with Hubbard’s new mental therapy, of which she deeply disapproved: “She took a dim view of anyone without academic schooling in medicine or the mind playing with what she called an ‘offshoot’ of psychiatry.” And while this wasn’t the first point of disagreement between Doña and her husband, it was the one that finally drove her into another man’s arms.

Over the next year, they carried on an affair in plain sight. Every Friday, Smith took the train to New Jersey, picked up Doña, and went back to Indian Queen. On Sunday, they reversed the process. Smith recalled, “John was satisfied so long as the house was clean and there was food…and especially happy when Doña left the place, so he could have his dianetic sessions without someone waving an admonitory forefinger from left to right while her head moved right to left in opposition.”

Campbell would later say that their marriage had been in trouble for a long time, with Doña “having no interest in the future with me these past couple of years.” He blamed his persistent health problems not on overwork, but on “underwife,” while Doña, in turn, described the situation with Hubbard as “only the last straw in a very ungood situation.” But while Hubbard may not have caused the breach, he certainly benefited from Doña’s absence. Campbell was more alone than ever—and Hubbard was ready to take advantage of it.

II.

Campbell and Hubbard decided to involve someone from the medical side, which would allow them to present their research more convincingly. The year before, Astounding had published an article about endocrinology by a doctor in Michigan named Joseph Winter. Campbell had long been fascinated by the subject, which Winter extolled as the interface between the body and the mind: “It’ll be a great world when endocrinology reaches its peak—no dwarfs, no sterile women, no impotent men, no homosexuals, no insanity and no unhappiness. No fooling!”

In July, Campbell wrote to invite Winter to join their new project: “L. Ron Hubbard, who happens to be an author, has been doing some psychological research….He’s basically an engineer. He approached the problem of psychiatry from the heuristic viewpoint—to get results.” Winter was receptive. He was a fan of the Polish philosopher Alfred Korzybski, who had developed a similar discipline known as General Semantics, and he was intrigued by the claim that Hubbard had treated both mental illness and conditions such as asthma and ulcers.

Campbell’s letter was followed by one from Hubbard: “My vanity hopes that you will secure credit to me for eleven years of unpaid research, but my humanity hopes…that this science will be used as intelligently and extensively as possible.” Hubbard described himself as “a trained mathematician,” but in a moment of uncharacteristic modesty, he also said, “The articles you suggest would be more acceptable coming from another pen than mine.”

Back in New Jersey, after their breakthrough with the mirrors, Campbell’s work with Hubbard had grown more intense, with sessions often conducted by telephone. Hubbard allegedly discovered a sentence that could work as an “automatic restimulator” for anyone’s impediments, and when he used it in a call to Campbell, the editor left his house at once: “[I] was barely able to hold myself under control for the seven minutes necessary to reach his place….I arrived with arms and legs quivering uncontrollably, my stomach knotted up in cold fear, palpitations of the heart, heavy cold sweat, and just generally a state of acute nervous collapse.”

He felt that he was benefiting from the treatment—he had lost twenty pounds, and his chronic sinusitis seemed to be gone—and he even used it on his daughters. Leslyn, who had turned four, suffered from itchiness, which Campbell supposedly took away in three minutes. When Peedee, who was nine, fell off her bike and skinned both knees, he saw it as an opportunity for an experiment: “I used the technique on one knee—the worst. It healed completely about three days before the other, and all pain was gone from it within five minutes.” But Doña still refused to be treated.

Campbell began to reach out to others. On September 15, 1949, he wrote excitedly to Heinlein: “I firmly believe this technique can cure cancer….This is, I am certain, the greatest story in the world—far bigger than the atomic bomb, because this is the story of controlling human thought, freeing it for use—and it is human thought that controls atomic energy. It is a story that must be spread, though, and spread fast….But dammit, Bob, right now the key to world sanity is in Ron Hubbard’s head, and there isn’t even an adequate written record!” Heinlein responded cautiously: “You will appreciate that I must approach this with scientific skepticism, albeit an open mind. If he is right, he has a discovery that makes the atom bomb look like peanuts.”

But dammit, Bob, right now the key to world sanity is in Ron Hubbard’s head, and there isn’t even an adequate written record!

In October, Winter arrived in New Jersey, where he watched as Hubbard took Campbell back to a period before his birth. Listening to Campbell’s chest with a stethoscope, Winter became concerned for his health, and he was amazed when the editor seemed to recover as soon as the memory had been discharged. He concluded that the treatment was basically just a form of hypnosis, but he was willing to try it for himself. Moving in with Hubbard and the pregnant Sara, Winter commenced treatment, lying on the couch for up to three hours a day. The process was sometimes agonizing: “I had nightmares of being choked, of having my genitalia cut off.”

The team’s work in the early days was characterized by wild experimentation—at one point, they tried combining scopolamine with heavy doses of phenobarbital or sodium amytal—and they frequently argued over terminology. The term “impediment” was replaced with “norn,” after the fates of Norse mythology, and then with the more clinical “engram.” A “clear” was a person whose engrams had been successfully removed, leaving him with total recall and freedom from psychosomatic disease, while a patient became known as a “preclear.”

Gradually, they refined Hubbard’s methods, which Campbell called “rules of thumb,” into a process known as auditing. A typical encounter began with the patient seated in an armchair in a quiet room. Smoking wasn’t allowed, which must have annoyed Campbell, who was rarely without a cigarette. The auditor ran through the patient’s memories, advancing along a “time track” of incidents, which would be relived as many times as necessary to discharge them of emotion. A special emphasis was placed on prenatal trauma, including attempted abortions, and the ultimate objective was to erase the very first engram, which had been installed shortly after conception.

It was a reasonably effective system of talk therapy, and it had as much in common with Campbell’s editorial style—in which he hammered away at writers and readers, asking them to question their assumptions—as with Hubbard’s hypnotic techniques. Campbell compared it to figuring out a story idea, and it sometimes felt like an attempt to institutionalize his method of raising the intelligence of his subscribers. Hubbard himself was less good at it, and observers later noted that he rarely followed his own procedures: “Although he did a lot of talking, he couldn’t audit….He had to resort to a sort of black magic hypnosis.”

As Campbell’s confidence in the technique increased, he brought in science fiction fans to be treated in his basement, and there were even a few lighter moments. Hubbard owned a calico cat, Countess Motorboat, which the editor would always kick: “So I just simply processed the cat up to the point where the cat, every time John W. Campbell, Jr. would sit down, would go over and tear his shoelaces open.” On another occasion, Campbell’s daughter Leslyn rose from where she had been playing with her toys, walked across the room, and kicked Hubbard in the shins. She remembered: “I guess I didn’t like being ignored.”

Throughout this period, the assumption within the group was that they were preparing a paper for a professional journal, and Campbell hoped to run a piece in Astounding as well. The first hint of an article appeared in the December 1949 issue, in which Campbell wrote, “It is an article on the science of the mind, of human thought. It is not an article on psychology—that isn’t a science. It’s not General Semantics. It is a totally new science, called dianetics, and it does precisely what a science of thought should do….The articles are in preparation.”

This was the first attested use of the word “dianetics,” which was allegedly derived from the Greek for “through the mind.” Campbell, notably, failed to mention Hubbard by name, and he didn’t state specifically that the articles would appear in Astounding, which indicated that authorship and placement were still under discussion. Winter submitted a paper informally to the Journal of the American Medical Association, which turned it down for lack of evidence, saying that it might be a better fit for a psychotherapy journal. It was dutifully revised for the American Journal of Psychiatry, which rejected it on similar grounds.

Astounding was their last remaining option. Campbell evidently feared that printing it there would make it harder for readers to take it seriously—he cautioned a correspondent years later against publishing research in a science fiction magazine, which would stamp it with that label for decades. He decided against presenting himself as a coauthor, a decision that would have important consequences, and asked Hubbard to obtain a rebuttal that could run alongside the article.

In response, Hubbard said that he couldn’t get any doctors to listen to him, so he and Winter composed a fake reply, “A Criticism of Dianetics,” credited to the nonexistent Dr. Irving R. Kutzman, M.D. Hubbard claimed that it consisted of comments from four psychiatrists he had consulted, which he had “played…back very carefully” using his own perfect memory. He also described setting up “a psychiatric demon” to write the article, which referred to the notion that a clear could deliberately create mental delusions for his own amusement.

It was an unexpectedly straightforward piece—Hubbard said that “it is in no sense an effort to be funny and it is not funny”—that anticipated many objections that would later be raised against dianetics, including the charge that it merely repackaged existing concepts. “Kutzman” argued that Hubbard had just thirteen months of data—which was actually a generous estimate—and that there was no evidence that any improvements would be permanent.

The article was never published, and no true rebuttal ever materialized, which indicated the extent to which Hubbard had given up on collaborating with the establishment. Campbell had yet to abandon that hope, and he worked hard to find a reputable publisher. He finally succeeded with Art Ceppos of the medical publishing firm Hermitage House, and a contract was signed around Christmas. They hoped to release the book by April—Hubbard cranked out a draft in a month—but it was delayed by the addition of fifty thousand words of new material.

Anticipation within fan circles was growing, stoked by Campbell’s announcements, and it seeped into the wider culture. On January 31, 1950, the columnist Walter Winchell wrote, “There is something new coming up in April called Dianetics. A new science which works with the invariability of physical science in the field of the human mind. From all indications it will prove to be as revolutionary for humanity as the first caveman’s discovery and utilization of fire.”

There is something new coming up in April called Dianetics. A new science which works with the invariability of physical science in the field of the human mind. From all indications it will prove to be as revolutionary for humanity as the first caveman’s discovery and utilization of fire.

On March 8, Sara—who later claimed that Hubbard had kicked her in the stomach in an attempt to induce an abortion—gave birth to a daughter named Alexis Valerie. Winter was the doctor at the delivery, which was conducted in silence, to avoid implanting any engrams. Hubbard proudly said that the world’s first dianetic baby was unusually alert, and Winter concurred: “There was a greatly accelerated rate of development….This child had a much more even disposition and was less given to startle reactions and temper manifestations than the average child.”

Hubbard had reason to be pleased, but Campbell was less happy. Without attribution, he had written an appendix to the book, “Advice to the Pre-Clear,” in which he laid out the challenges that the patient faced: “Anyone attempting to stop an individual from entering therapy either has a use for the aberrations of that individual—on the ‘push-button’ order—or has something to hide….Wives with children may have a fear that therapy will eventually be applied to the children, in which case much information might come to light which the husband or society ‘should never know.'”

Campbell was speaking from experience. His wife still refused to support dianetics, and she had resisted auditing for herself and their children. In the terms that the Church of Scientology would later use to describe its enemies, Doña Campbell was the original Suppressive Person.

III.

“Terra Incognita: The Mind,” the first article on dianetics, appeared in the Winter/Spring 1950 issue of The Explorers Journal, the official periodical of the Explorers Club. In its most intriguing sentence, Hubbard offered a glimpse into the treatment’s origins: “While dianetics does not consider the brain as an electronic computing machine except for purposes of analogy, it is nevertheless a member of that class of sciences to which belong General Semantics and cybernetics and, as a matter of fact, forms a bridge between the two.”

In reality, neither field had played any significant role in Hubbard’s work before his arrival in New Jersey, and their inclusion betrayed how deeply his ideas had been shaped by his collaborators. General Semantics, the mental therapy developed by Alfred Korzybski, had long been popular among science fiction writers, including Heinlein, of whom Hubbard wrote, “Bob Heinlein sat down one time and talked for ten whole minutes on the subject of Korzybski to me and it was very clever. I know quite a bit about Korzybski’s works.” And Sara later recalled of her husband: “He became a big follower of Korzybski.”

Hubbard, like Campbell, was unable to finish any of Korzybski’s books, and he relied mostly on Winter and Sara for his knowledge of General Semantics, which anticipated dianetics in several ways. Korzybski had written that painful memories could be restimulated by events in the present, and that treatment might consist of reliving such incidents under therapy. Hubbard also alluded to what Korzybski described as the confusion between a mental map and the underlying reality: “The analytical mind computes in differences. The reactive mind computes in identities.”

Even more profound was the influence of cybernetics. The discipline had arisen in the work of the mathematician Norbert Wiener, whom Campbell had known as an undergraduate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. While designing anti-aircraft guns during World War II, Wiener found that one prototype would swing wildly while locking on to its target. After one of his colleagues compared it to “purpose tremor,” the involuntary trembling that can occur during fine motor activity, Wiener looked into the phenomenon of feedback, in which the difference between an intention and its result generates information that is fed back into the system.

Wiener began to study servomechanisms, or machines that used negative feedback to correct themselves, such as naval steering systems or thermostats. In 1948, he coined the term “cybernetics,” after the Greek word for navigation, and defined the field in the subtitle of his landmark Cybernetics, or Control and Communication in the Animal and the Machine. Campbell was familiar with Wiener’s research—as well as in contact with Bell Labs, where the concept of feedback was developed—and he would have eagerly read the book soon after its publication. When Hubbard arrived in Elizabeth, a piece on cybernetics was already in the pipeline at the magazine.

And its impact was felt at once. In the “Affirmations,” an autobiographical document that Hubbard produced after the war, he said of the unpublished Excalibur, “There was one error in that book and you have psychically willed it into nothing. It was the electronic theory of the workings of the human mind. Human, material minds do work this way and you were right. Your own mind does not work this way.” An “electronic theory” was evidently present at an early stage of Hubbard’s work, but it troubled him, and in its intermediate versions, it disappeared entirely. In a letter to Heinlein on March 31, 1949, Hubbard focused instead on what he called the tone scale, an elaborate hierarchy of human emotion, and he wrote proudly of its benefits, “I’m up to eight comes. In an evening, that is.”

What he didn’t mention was any relationship between the brain and a computer. Four months later, when Campbell wrote to Heinlein, this analogy was suddenly at the forefront. After mentioning that he had attended a lecture by Warren McCulloch, one of Wiener’s collaborators, he stated, “Basically, the brain is a relay-computer of the type that the ENIAC is.” In a subsequent letter, he repeated this point—“The human mind is a calculating machine, a binary digital computer, of immense complexity, and absolutely unrealized capability”—and only after discussing it at length did he write, “Now we take off on Ron’s work.”

Campbell’s distinction strongly implied that the computer analogy was his own contribution, even if it was only a return to the “electronic theory” that had been previously discarded. In a letter to Winter, Hubbard named psychoanalysis, hypnosis, and Christian Science as his major influences, while Campbell provided an expanded list to Heinlein: “Christian Science, Catholic miracle shrines, voodoo practices, native witch doctor work, and the witch methods of European tradition, as well as modern psychology’s teachings.” Cybernetics was nowhere to be found.

Less than a year later, it was all over the book. The term “dianetics” itself, which was coined in the fall of 1949, evoked cybernetics, while the word “clear” was an analogy to “clearing” an adding machine. Both theories drew parallels between the brain and a computer—Wiener pictured “anxiety neuroses” as circular processes that drained the mind of its capacity, while dianetics evoked the “demon circuit,” a parasitic memory that depleted the brain of its life force. Yet there is no indication that Hubbard had read Wiener before coming to New Jersey, if he ever read him at all. In “A Criticism of Dianetics,” he referred to him as “Dr. Werner.”

Any cybernetic elements in dianetics emerged, in short, during the period in which Campbell was working with Hubbard to position it for his readers. His primary role was to add a layer of science over what was already there, as he had with so many other writers. He effectively edited the book Dianetics, and his impact on it was just as meaningful as it was for the fiction that he published. Sara later said of Campbell, “He was a marvelous editor.”

If the cybernetic angle came primarily from Campbell, it was motivated largely by his sense of how the therapy could be presented. On May 30, 1950, he wrote to the managing editor of the journal Psychiatry about “a new, logical theory as to why there are two levels of mind in man,” but he didn’t mention Hubbard for nearly three pages. Instead, he summarized an article in Astounding that defined a perfect computer, moving from there to dianetics, which he described as a separate development from “the cybernetic suggestion” that led to “precisely similar conclusions.”

In reality, the relationship was tenuous at best, which didn’t prevent him from claiming otherwise. He either willfully misunderstood cybernetic ideas or saw them as a rhetorical entry point to persuade skeptics, and he persisted in treating dianetics as a kind of practical cybernetics. Campbell even reached out to Wiener himself, writing that his former professor would “be greatly interested” in dianetics “as suggesting a new direction of development of the work from the cybernetics side,” and concluding, “Further study of dianetics will be of immense aid in your projects.”

He also contacted his neighbor, the mathematician Claude Shannon, who had founded the field of information theory at Bell Labs. Shannon encouraged Warren McCulloch to meet Hubbard: “If you read science fiction as avidly as I do you’ll recognize him as one of the best writers in that field….[He] has been doing some very interesting work lately in using a modified hypnotic technique for therapeutic purposes….I am sure you’ll find Ron a very interesting person…whether or not his treatment contains anything of value.” McCulloch was traveling, so he was unable to arrange a meeting, but he wrote to Hubbard, who thanked Shannon for the introduction.

I am sure you’ll find Ron a very interesting person…whether or not his treatment contains anything of value.

Hubbard tolerated Campbell’s contributions, and he eventually appropriated them for himself. Writing to Heinlein on March 28, 1950, he referred to electronic demons: “They are parasitic and use up computer circuits.” Elsewhere, he said that dianetics was a return to “the electronic computer idea” that he had conceived in the thirties, but he also sounded a cautionary note: “The concept of the electronic brain was not vital but only useful to dianetics and it could be swept away as well—dianetics would still stand.” He was right. Cybernetics was less an integral part of the theory than a form of branding, and he would ultimately remove nearly all of it.

Campbell’s hand was visible in the book in other ways. He was responsible for several key sections, including a long footnote in which he used a computer analogy to explain how the analytic mind could be free of error, and he wrote an appendix on the scientific method, signing it “John W. Campbell, Jr., Nuclear Physicist,” and thanking the engineers of Bell Labs. Campbell also composed the appendix “Advice to the Pre-Clear,” of which Hubbard said years later, “You can tear that out….I didn’t write it in the first place. Written by John W. ‘Astounding’ Campbell, Jr., who the older he gets the more astonishing he is.”

The editor even figured anonymously in at least two case studies. One was an account of his birth, while the other was a memory of his grandmother watching him while he was sick. It concluded: “Now with this engram we have a patient with sinusitis and a predisposition to lung infections. It may be that he was luckless enough to marry a counterpart of his mother or his grandmother….And even if the wife thinks that sinusitis and lung infection are repulsive enough to lead to divorce, the reactive mind keeps that engram keyed-in. The more hatred from the wife, the more that engram keys-in. You can kill a man that way.”

It was an unsettling glimpse into Campbell’s state of mind at the time. When this passage was written, his marriage was effectively over. On March 9, 1950, the editor explained the situation in a letter to Heinlein: “Doña sort of blew her top.” His wife had left abruptly for Boston, and when their daughter Peedee learned what had happened, Campbell was afraid that she might have a nervous breakdown—until Hubbard audited her to remove the emotional charge. When Leslyn, their second child, figured it out, her father gave her the same treatment.

In his mind, Doña’s refusal to be treated was inseparable from the end of their marriage, and he believed that she was afraid of what might be revealed if the girls were audited: “I’d like to know just what the living hell she did to Peeds and Leslyn that she feels must never, never, never come out.” Campbell warned Heinlein that if he wrote to Doña, “you’ll also get a long discussion of how I’m playing God, I put pressure on her, dianetics is untried, dangerous, deadly, and drives people crazy.”

It was the first recorded attempt—but far from the last—to cast doubt on a critic of dianetics, and the same letter included a chilling passage: “So it works out that the only way we could get her straightened out would be to use force; i.e., tie her down, put a nitrous oxide mask over her face, knock her out, and work on her in deep trance therapy. In a few hours’ work that way we could break loose the commands that keep her from accepting dianetic therapy. From then on, we’d be able to straighten her out.” Campbell never acted on the threat, but it revealed a side of his personality that was close to Hubbard at his worst.

In any event, his old life was over—the price, perhaps, that he had to pay to save the world, although Doña saw the separation as “the obvious move for a relatively rational person in an intolerable situation.” She went to live with George O. Smith, while Campbell hired a housekeeper to watch his daughters. Every evening, after tucking in Peedee and Leslyn, whom he saw as his compensation for his unhappy marriage, he worked on dianetics until midnight. And he had no way of knowing that the golden age that he had inaugurated was about to come to an end.

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From the forthcoming book Astounding: John W. Campbell, Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, L. Ron Hubbard, and the Golden Age of Science Fiction by Alec Nevala-Lee. Copyright © 2018 by Alec Nevala-Lee. To be published on October 23, 2018 by Dey Street Books, an imprint of HarperCollins. Excerpted by permission. Excerpts of letters from John W. Campbell, Jr. reprinted with permission of AC Projects, Inc., 7111 Sweetgum Road, Fairview, TN 37062.

* * *

Alec Nevala-Lee’s novels include The Icon Thief, City of Exiles, and Eternal Empire, all published by Penguin, and his short stories have appeared in Analog Science Fiction and Fact, Lightspeed Magazine, and The Year’s Best Science Fiction. He lives with his wife and daughter in Oak Park, Illinois, and he blogs daily at www.nevalalee.com.



https://longreads.com/2018/10/23/the-dawn-of-dianetics-l-ron-hubbard-john-w-campbell-and-the-origins-of-scientology/

Domestic Abuse and Coercive Control: Lessons From Across Areas of Practice

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International Cultic Studies Association
Online Registration







Purpose of the Conference

Join this practice focused one-day conference that will share and examine a range of current work addressing domestic abuse and coercive control across diverse contexts. We will explore ways to collaborate and develop practice further in the future in this vital field of work.

Where
Loews Philadelphia Hotel
1200 Market Street, Philadelphia, PA 19107

When:

Monday, December 10, 2018
9:00 AM - 4:30 PM
5:00 - 6:30 PM. Optional exit counseling session

Fees:
$35 per person
$20 student rate per person

Meals:
Coffee will be served. Attendees are on their own for lunch.

Registration:

  • Online Registration
  • Or send a check to ICSA, PO Box 2265, Bonita Springs, FL 34133 - with a note indicating the check is for the coercive control conference.

Purpose of the Conference

Join this practice focused one-day conference that will share and examine a range of current work addressing domestic abuse and coercive control across diverse contexts. We will explore ways to collaborate and develop practice further in the future in this vital field of work.

Agenda

09:00 - 09:30 - Registration

09:30 - 09:40 - Welcome   
Steve Eichel, President, ICSARod and Linda Dubrow-Marshall ICSA, RETIRN UK and University of Salford, UK
09:40 - 10:30     
Opening Plenary - Domestic Abuse and Coercive ControlSusan Higginbotham – CEO Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic ViolenceLinda Dubrow-Marshall, Moderator 

10:30 - 11:00     
Break

11:00 - 12:30     
Approaches to working with survivors (Rod Dubrow-Marshall, Moderator)Beth Sturman, Executive Director, Laurel House
Sarah Lopeta, Laurel HouseCarrie McManus, Director of Programs, Sagesse (Alberta, Canada) 

12:30  -  2:00      
Lunch 
    
2:00   -   3:00      
Prevention and policy implications (Steve Eichel, Moderator)Andrea Silverman, CEO, Sagesse (Alberta, Canada)

Rod Dubrow-Marshall (ICSA) – The Spectrum of Coercive Control Across Relationships and Groups 

3:00   -   4:30
Closing Plenary – Addressing Diverse Needs and the importance of collaboration (Rod Dubrow-Marshall, Moderator)
Linda Dubrow-Marshall - RETIRN and Co-Programme Leader MSc Psychology of Coercive Control, University of Salford
Richie Schulz, Community Educator/Lead Trainer, Lutheran Settlement House

4:30   -   5:00   
Break
5:00   -   6:30


Optional Program: Cult Exit Counseling: Implications for Families and ProfessionalsJoseph Kelly and Patrick Ryan, Exit Counselors, Philadelphia, PA 

Surviving Jonestown

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UNDAUNTED: Surviving Jonestown, Summoning Courage, and Fighting Back
In 1978, I went to Guyana on a fact-finding mission. By the time I returned, more than 900 people died. I was almost one of them.

JACKIE SPEIER
Politico
November 10, 2018

AVAILABLE ON AMAZON

I was 28, lying on a dusty airplane runway in the Guyanese jungle, and dying.

It was just a matter of time. Five bullets had ripped through me, devastating the right side of my body. Behind the wheel of an airplane, I waited for the shooting to stop and said my Act of Contrition, praying for forgiveness and waiting for the lights to go out.

Somehow, through the encroaching darkness of my final thoughts, I saw my 87-year-old Grandma Emma. All I could think was I am not going to make Grandma live through my funeral. I couldn’t bear the vision of her sitting in front of my casket. Breathing heavily, I pulled myself to my feet, stumbled to the plane’s baggage compartment and took shelter.

I’d come to Guyana as a congressional aide on a fact-finding mission. In the months leading up to the trip, my boss, Congressman Leo Ryan, had been contacted by worried constituents whose loved ones were members of a San Francisco-based religious group called the Peoples Temple, which had fled to South America for the promise of a utopian commune led by their preacher, Jim Jones. They called it Jonestown.

The night before, our delegation watched Jones’ followers perform a show at their compound. Jones himself sat onstage in a throne beneath a sign that read: “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” The members sang and danced and, by every appearance, were happy.

At the end of the evening, Rep. Ryan walked onstage and thanked the group. “From what I’ve seen,” he said, “there are a lot of people here who think this is the best thing that happened in their whole life.” He was interrupted by manically enthusiastic cheering. It was utter pandemonium.

As I scanned the hundreds of smiling faces, I never could have fathomed that within 24 hours, virtually every one of them would be dead.

***

At 16, I’m not sure I understood what a state assemblyman did, but when my parents received a solicitation from Leo Ryan’s reelection campaign in 1966, I mailed back a note: I’m in high school. I don’t have any money to donate, but I’d like to volunteer. Whatever impelled me to send in the card changed the course of my life.

Ryan did not look or behave like your typical politician. A former high school teacher, he was swept into politics by the idealism of the Kennedy era and elected mayor of South San Francisco before running for state Assembly. Charismatic and tall with salt-and-pepper hair, he commanded a room. He told you precisely what was on his mind, no matter who you were or whether or not you wanted to hear it.

After his campaign received my note, I started volunteering as a “Ryan Girl,” part of a troop of young women clad in houndstooth bobby hats, miniskirts, black tights, black turtlenecks and bright-white boots. (It was the ‘60s.) We accompanied Assemblyman Ryan to shopping centers and campaign events to pass out pamphlets and speak with voters. The outfits were a ridiculous gimmick, and the role was clearly objectifying. But at the time, none of that occurred to me; I was thrilled to be working for a candidate I believed in—one who always treated me with respect.

A year later, I applied to college, and he wrote me a letter of recommendation. During my freshman year at UC Davis, when I told him about my major, he offered encouragement: “If you really want to learn about political science, you should come and intern in my office.” I did, and over the years, worked my way up from volunteer to intern to staffer to senior aide, just as he climbed from the state Assembly to the U.S. Congress.

His suggestion that I would learn far more from first-hand experience was in step with the way he approached politics. Inquisitive by nature, he was a proponent of “experiential legislating,” preferring to go out and experience issues firsthand before he decided what to do.

In 1965, after riots shook Watts, an African-American neighborhood in Los Angeles, Ryan briefly took a job there as a substitute teacher while serving in the state Assembly, and used the experience to shape education policy. In 1970, as chairman of a committee overseeing prison reform, he assumed a pseudonym and had himself booked, strip-searched and incarcerated for 10 days at Folsom State Prison, revealing his identity only when it was time to be released. After he passed legislation improving prison conditions, the inmates showed their gratitude by giving him a chess set they had sculpted from toothpaste and toilet paper. He treasured it.

The approach continued even after he’d moved from Sacramento to Washington, D.C. In Congress, he joined a March 1978 Greenpeace mission to investigate the slaughter of baby seals in Newfoundland, Canada. As one of his top aides, I accompanied the delegation, venturing out on the ice floes where the clubbing took place. After that trip, I remember telling myself that never again would I witness such violence at such close range. I admired Ryan’s worthy missions, but questioned if I shared his bottomless capacity to bear witness.

That same year, Congressman Ryan read a newspaper article about a constituent of his named Sam Houston, whose son had been a member of Jim Jones’ Peoples Temple and, in 1976, died under suspicious circumstances after having a phone conversation in which he confessed to wanting to leave the group. Sam was certain Jones had something to do with his son’s death.

Excerpt from UNDAUNTED: Surviving Jonestown, Summoning Courage, and Fighting Back by Jackie Speier.
AVAILABLE ON AMAZON
In the two years since, Jones and most of his followers had left the Bay Area and moved to Jones’ commune deep in the jungle of Guyana. Of the more than 900 members of Jones’s congregation who had moved there, nearly a third were children. Among them were Sam’s teenaged granddaughters.

Sam was far from the only person concerned about Jones’ malicious influence over a loved one. A growing body of constituents known as the Concerned Relatives wrote Congressman Ryan with increasing alarm about their daughters or sons who had accompanied the charismatic demagogue to Guyana.
Ryan wanted to investigate. I knew him well enough to understand what would happen next.

***
Born in Crete, Indiana, in 1931, Jim Jones grew up an outcast and underdog, and was fixated on being recognized as someone greater.

A self-anointed minister, as a young man he started proselytizing outside a storefront church in Indianapolis, and by 1955, had formed the Wings of Deliverance church. Although he had no formal training as a minister and no affiliation with any organized religion, his high-octane enthusiasm and open-armed policy attracted a diverse range of followers. He preached a “social gospel,” attracting devotees while promoting a community that did not discriminate or take into account race, background, or previous circumstances. His following grew, and Jones became the leader of one of the first mixed-race churches in Indiana.

Over the next decade, Jones moved his congregation and changed its name several times before settling on “Peoples Temple” around 1964. The next year, his church relocated to Redwood Valley, a small community in northern California.

By that time, darker elements had seeped into Jones’ sermons. He spoke often of apocalypse—Jones chose Redwood Valley because he believed it was one of a few places in the country that could survive a nuclear holocaust—yet insisted the Peoples Temple would exist as a sort of heaven on Earth, with himself in the role of God. Behind his dim glasses, Jones preached love and equality while manipulating his followers—taking their property and having them sign over their paychecks and Social Security. Join me, he assured his followers, and you’ll get health care, education and a family that would never mistreat you.

It was a message that appealed to the dispossessed, which is why it made sense for the Peoples Temple to relocate to San Francisco around 1972. The tumult of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s had left masses of people searching for a greater sense of security and purpose. Though driven by the kind of underlying insecurity that so often fuels tyrants, Jones appeared to offer hope, redemption, and an idealistic new life. Should they have any doubt of his intentions, they could look to the vibrant community of believers who echoed his sentiments and treated his words as gospel.

In San Francisco, his church was lauded for its social programs, and Jones’ efforts to feed the poor and fight segregation found receptive ears with progressive politicians. Jones became active in local politics, giving money, running food programs and busing Temple members to attend rallies and get out the vote for his favored candidates. Among them were George Moscone, who the Peoples Temple played a significant role in electing mayor in 1975, and Harvey Milk, the pioneering openly gay city supervisor, who went so far as to write a letter to President Jimmy Carter extolling Jones’s work and rebutting charges that he was abusive.

Meanwhile, ex-devotees of the Peoples Temple began sharing stories about Jones’ darker side. Their accounts led to an exposé in New West Magazine planned for publication in summer 1977. The article dissected Jones’s rise, revealing his practices of manipulation, public humiliation and fake faith healings, called out the Temple’s corrupt financial structure, and included ex-members’ testimonies of sexual assault and brutal beatings by Jones or at his command. Before going to print, the editor of the magazine, who held some esteem for Jones, felt compelled to call him and read aloud the article before it went to press. While on the phone listening to the allegations that would soon be made public, Jones scribbled a note to his aides: “We leave tonight.”

Before the New West issue hit the stands, Jones and hundreds of his followers had left San Francisco for Jonestown, their promised land in Guyana.

***
Within a year, a few Jonestown defectors had managed to return to the Bay Area—most notably, Debbie Layton Blakey, who’d been Jones’ trusted aide and worked as the Temple’s financial secretary.

Rep. Ryan and I arranged to meet her. We listened as she offered a detailed and disturbing account of her experience. She mentioned a Bay Area couple, the Stoens, who had defected and were fighting for the return of their young son, John. Debbie said the couple had gone to court to try to compel the Guyanese government to intervene; Rev. Jones responded by telling them that if any actions were taken to remove John, the entire Jonestown population would commit suicide.

Once, Debbie continued, Jones woke up the camp in the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t unusual for Temple members to be awakened at dawn over the loudspeaker and summoned to the pavilion for one of his increasingly unhinged sermons. But this particular morning, Jones told his followers that they had to kill themselves to keep from being tortured by mercenaries who were preparing an ambush. Debbie stood in line to drink the red liquid that she was told would kill her in a matter of minutes. When the time of their supposed deaths came and went with everybody still alive, Jones announced it had just been a drill to test their loyalty. They had passed.

We compiled similar testimonies from other defectors who corroborated Debbie’s reports of physical and sexual abuse, forced labor and captivity. We heard that the church had weapons, and that Jones was paranoid and possibly on drugs. He had engineered complete authority—collecting members’ Social Security and disability checks, and determining when and how his disciples could communicate with their families. Anyone running afoul of Jonestown’s security detail was put in a labor camp and forced to clear jungle. Repeatedly, the defectors mentioned forced participation in mass-suicide rehearsals known as the “White Night trials.”

Leo Ryan wanted answers. Never one to accept second-hand information, he decided to embark on a fact-finding—and potentially life-saving—trip. He knew that Jones had considerable political clout, with close ties to Democratic leaders in San Francisco, Sacramento, and even with the State Department. Politically, there was nothing to gain—and everything to lose—by taking on Jones, and there was no telling what he’d do if confronted and challenged. None of those red flags made the congressman reconsider.

Leo Ryan assured me that there was nothing to worry about. Besides, when had a congressman ever been assassinated on foreign soil while on a congressional delegation trip?

Ryan invited members of the press and a few of the Concerned Relatives to join him. And he assigned two of his staff members to come along: Jim Schollaert and me.

I had read the articles and listened to hours of testimony. I did not feel confident this was a good idea. But I was one of very few women who held senior staff positions in Congress at the time, and I was concerned that if I gave in to my reluctance and let a male colleague go in my place, I’d be setting back women in politics.

Congressman Ryan assured me that there was nothing to worry about. He genuinely believed that he had some sort of protective shield around him, despite the fact that we weren’t traveling with any military escort or protection. Besides, when had a congressman ever been assassinated on foreign soil while on a congressional delegation trip?

***

We landed in Georgetown, Guyana’s capital, on November 14, 1978.

The morning after our arrival, Congressman Ryan, Jim Schollaert and I attended a closed-door briefing by Ambassador John Burke and his staff at the U.S. Embassy. Dick Dwyer, an embassy official, showed us a slideshow of his visit to Jonestown the previous May—images in which he and Jim Jones looked unnervingly chummy; images of tables filled with food, of joyful children on a swingset, of bountiful crops and an exuberant church session. It looked staged. Chief among my concerns was how cozy Jones appeared to be with members of the embassy: How could any Jonestown resident feel safe reporting an injustice to a U.S. official who is arm in arm with Jim Jones in every image?

On November 17, we landed at the tiny airstrip at Port Kaituma. A few Temple members stood in front of a rusty dump truck waiting to shuttle us to the compound. Congressman Ryan and I were among the first shift of the delegation to climb in for the excruciatingly slow six-mile drive to the commune. Members of the press and the Concerned Relatives waited behind on the airstrip until the truck could come back for a second load.

Jones greeted us at the compound. As I shook his hand, I looked at his sideburns. One of the defectors we’d interviewed claimed that Jones dyed them black. Sure enough, I could tell he had. And then I realized that confirming one tiny detail could mean that the worst of the testimonies were true.

“Don’t know why you’re here, but we’re happy to have you,” Jones said. “You’ll see what a wonderful place it is.” He took us on a tour highlighting the most favorable aspects of the commune. We saw an impressive community with dozens of pathways, cabins, a medical center, a little school, and a large pavilion where the members congregated regularly. It was imminently clear Jonestown was a hierarchical community, with the power structure resembling some sort of plantation: the majority of the Temple members were black, while the leadership was almost exclusively white. It did not sit well with me.

At one point, Congressman Ryan interrupted our tour to make sure that the press and Concerned Relatives had been given the transportation to join us. Reassured that they were on their way, we parked ourselves at a few picnic tables in the far corner of the pavilion area. Ryan and I asked one or two Temple members at a time to come talk to us. We didn’t want a group to present a canned response or any individual to look to others for their answers. We worked quickly to locate and speak to the individuals whose families had contacted our office and had been campaigning for their return.

None of the Temple members showed any interest in receiving correspondence from home. Not a single person we spoke to expressed a desire to leave, not even those whose family members had flown all the way to Guyana. They all swore that Jonestown was the one and only place they could ever consider home. Individually, their insistence would have been hard to question. But listening to one after the other after the other say the same choreographed thing made me uneasy.

NBC news correspondent Don Harris was part of our delegation, and was well versed on the accusations against Jones. At the compound, Don wandered off to smoke a cigarette. A man followed him and slipped a folded piece of paper into his hand, then disappeared back into the crowd. Don put it in his pocket and took a few more steps before carefully unfolding it. “Vernon Gosney and Monica Bagby,” it read. “Please help us get out of Jonestown.” Soon after, Don was approached by another member, who claimed that many Temple members desperately wanted to leave but were too terrified to come forward.

Don hung back for a moment before approaching Congressman Ryan and me at the picnic table and surreptitiously passing along the note.

I felt my stomach knot. Oh my God: It’s true.

***
Ryan decided that we would wait until the morning and suggested we keep a low profile until then. We split up, as Jones had arranged. In a cabin with about six women from the Temple, I took a top bunk, sweating as a downpour opened up outside. I barely got a wink of sleep.

At the pavilion for breakfast, I did my best to appear unruffled. I noticed an elderly woman stuffing pieces of bacon into her pockets; the ample spread was just another showpiece. I asked to speak to Monica Bagby, one of the names on Don’s note. Monica confirmed that she wanted to leave. She had an extremely anxious demeanor, and we moved quickly as we went to her cabin to pack.

Returning to the pavilion area, I sought out other anxious-looking members.

I spoke with a woman named Edith Parks, the matriarch of three generations of Temple members who wanted out. As I took down their names, I looked over at Don Harris, who was interviewing Jones. By that time, it was obvious that some of his disciples intended to leave.
As soon as it became clear that we would be bringing more than one or two defectors home with us, the communal façade cracked. Increasing numbers of people approached us.

Traumatizing family rifts erupted on the spot, with mothers and fathers engaged in literal tug-of-wars over their children. My list kept growing—what started with two names was now more than 40. With Jones’s wild gaze on us, I tape-recorded affidavits of their wishes to return to the United States.

I was feet away from Jones, close enough to hear him trying to convince people to change their minds. When cameras were rolling, he spoke of how he loved them and how there would always be a place for them—but those declarations would be followed by thinly veiled mutters about treason and liars. Jones wove his way through the camp, repeating that he wasn’t upset that they wanted to leave; it was just that they were doing it in the wrong way. He was cracking.

So many people wanted to defect that we had to call Georgetown to request an extra plane. We’d have to make multiple trips in the truck. I would be in the first group; Congressman Ryan insisted that he stay behind to make certain that every person who wanted to leave made it to Port Kaituma safely.

Then, as we a group of men dug the truck out of the mud, we heard a loud commotion from the pavilion. Moments later, Congressman Ryan emerged from a throng of people with a torn and bloodied shirt. While trying to keep the peace, he had been attacked with a knife. Ryan joined us for the trek—one of roughly two dozen of us crammed in the bed of the truck, with dozens of would-be defectors left behind, belongings packed, waiting to escape.

Larry Layton had gotten onto the truck with us, which struck me as a glaring red flag—he was an entrenched member of the hierarchy, one of the true believers. It made no sense that he would be trying to leave Jonestown. He had on a big yellow poncho, and his eyes were set in a sullen glare.

At Port Kaituma, while I ushered the defectors onto a plane, a large red tractor-trailer rumbled onto the airstrip. I couldn’t immediately identify the deafening sound that filled the air. Everybody bolted in different directions. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, about a dozen men leapt from the tractor, leveled their automatic weapons, and fast approached. I heard screams and the rapid pounding of gunfire. I dove beneath the plane, hiding behind the wheel as bullets thumped against the metal above me.

Suddenly, my body was crushed by a blow to my side. It felt like a Mack truck had just sped over me.

Five bullets hit me from point-blank range, piercing my right arm, leg, and back. Indescribable pain consumed me, leaving room only for a fleeting thought that I should pretend to be dead.

The chaos persisted until, abruptly, a silence fell. I have no idea how much time passed until I turned my head and opened my eyes. Bodies lay crumpled on the tarmac around me. There was no movement, but I thought the others might also be playing dead. Congressman Ryan’s body was probably 15 feet away. I was later told that he had been shot 45 times. It’s hard to know when it became obvious that he was dead, or when I realized that others weren’t pretending.
But the moment I looked down at my own body is locked in my mind. A bone shot out of my right arm, and a huge hunk of flesh had been blown off my thigh.

Twelve hours had passed as I lay, teetering on death’s precipice when a light turned on inside me: The simple fact that I knew I was dying was proof that I was, indeed, still alive. I just needed to hang on.

Almost 22 hours after the ambush, I heard the groan of a plane’s engine—finally our escape had arrived. Onboard, every bump we hit shot an arrow of pain through my body. When we touched down in Georgetown, a U.S. Air Force medevac plane was waiting. As I was transferred onto a gurney, I was conscious enough to look up and see a big, gleaming white plane with The United States of America written on the side. That was the last moment I remember with any real clarity before I surrendered my body to the medical staff.

Many hours before the plane came, somehow, word filtered in that after Jones had released his death squad to the airstrip, he had led more than 900 of his flock into his “White Night” of death. All of those people I had been standing beside, speaking to, sharing a cabin with. All of those children. It was impossible to cope with the pain.

There is a sickening recording of Jones coercing his followers that day. With the camp surrounded by his armed guards, he told his followers to give “the medicine”—grape FlavorAid and Kool-Aid laced with cyanide and tranquilizers—to the children and the elderly first. As I was lying seven miles away waiting for medical help, Sam Houston’s granddaughters, Patricia and Judy, 14 and 15, were murdered, along with their mother, dozens of other would-be defectors and the rest of the Peoples Temple.

When people refer to the Jonestown massacre as a “mass suicide,” I am enraged. It was nothing of the kind. Although some of Jones’s most zealous followers may have consumed the poison voluntarily, the vast majority were murdered outright and against their will. Nearly 300 children were administered the poison with no comprehension of what it meant, including a number of infants in the arms of their parents. Infants cannot commit suicide. The hundreds of elderly were told that if they attempted escape, they would be left to die prolonged deaths alone in the depths of the jungle.

The news at the time and the history lessons to follow usually fail to mention that a number of Peoples Temple members were shot, several of whom were in the field between the pavilion and the jungle, clearly trying to escape the massacre. Others, who presumably refused to “drink the Kool-Aid”—a flippant, misguided phrase I very much wish could be scrubbed from our lexicon—were injected with cyanide and other poisons. There were piles of used syringes at the scene. An eyewitness who escaped described how “people who did not cooperate were injected with poison where they sat, or were held down and injected with poison.”

When people refer to the Jonestown massacre as a “mass suicide,” I am enraged. Nearly 300 children were administered the poison, including a number of infants in the arms of their parents. Infants cannot commit suicide.

This was not a mass suicide. It was a mass murder.

I’ve shared my Guyana story countless times, but it’s still a challenge to go back and relive those days. To go back to the gunshots. To the tarmac. To the stretchers. To the volatile flight home.

My recovery continued—though that very word is not an accurate description of the aftermath of being shot. I did not recover my old self; bullets render that impossible. But I refused to spend the rest of my life as a victim of Guyana—there were too many of them.

Jackie Speier is a congresswoman representing California’s 14th congressional district, which includes San Francisco and the peninsula.

Excerpt from UNDAUNTED: Surviving Jonestown, Summoning Courage, and Fighting Back by Jackie Speier, reprinted under a license arrangement originating with Amazon Publishing.

https://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2018/11/10/jonestown-massacre-first-person-speier-ryan-jones-222222

Glimpse of Chinese Culture That Some Find Hard to Watch

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Eric Konigsberg 
New York Times

February 6, 2008

Each of the first few numbers was more elaborate than the last, teeming with acrobatic dancers, awash in jewel-toned silks, swelling to the anthemic strains of the orchestra. It was the opening night of Chinese New Year Splendor, a music and dance production that began at Radio City Music Hall last week.
Then the lyrics to some of the songs, sung in Chinese but translated into English in the program, began referring to “persecution” and “oppression.” Each time, almost at the moment a vocalist hit these words, a few audience members collected their belongings and trudged up an aisle toward the exit.

Before long came a ballet piece in which three women were imprisoned by a group of officers, and one was killed. At the end of the number, more members of the audience, in twos and fours and larger groups, began to walk out. At intermission, dozens of people, perhaps a few hundred, were leaving.

They had realized that the show was not simply a celebration of the Chinese New Year, but an outreach of Falun Gong, a spiritual practice of calisthenics and meditation that is banned in China. More than three years after flooding city corners and subway stations to spread the word about the Chinese government’s repression, Falun Gong practitioners are again trying to publicize their cause. Only this time, it involves costumed dancers and paying audiences in that most storied of New York concert halls, Radio City.

While the street theater, which often included live simulations of torture and videos and photographs of beaten victims, took a direct approach, the Chinese New Year Splendor show involves a slow reveal. It is not until the performance is under way that any reference is made to Falun Gong.

“I don’t feel comfortable here,” said Elizabeth Levy, an author of children’s books who was among the first to leave. “I had no idea when I came that this was about Falun Gong.”

“The Power of Awareness,” a piece that occurred late in the event, marked one of the first overt mentions of the movement in the program. In that number, Communist police officers walking through a park rough up a mother and daughter whose banner carries the Falun Gong message of “truthfulness, compassion and tolerance.”

The abusive officers are pushed back and chased away by a large group. The mother and daughter duo then “poetically leads the multitudes in learning the exercise of Falun Gong.”

Advertisements for the show, which have appeared on Metro-North trains and in The New York Times, among other places, make no mention of Falun Gong. Nor do the show’s Web site or the brochures being handed out on Manhattan sidewalks. The brochures include what appears to be an endorsement quotation from Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg: “Brings to life the rich traditions of ancient China right here in the Big Apple.”

However, a spokesman for the mayor, John Gallagher, said that Mr. Bloomberg had neither seen the show nor praised it, and that the quotation may have been taken from a greeting card Mr. Bloomberg sent to Chinese-American organizations in which he saluted Chinese New Year celebrations in general.

The show, which runs through Saturday, is a production of New Tang Dynasty Television, a nonprofit satellite broadcaster started by Falun Gong followers and based in New York.

With roughly 200 performances planned for 2008 — the company employs two troupes — it estimates that about 600,000 people will see the shows (in 2007, the company said, the number was about 200,000).

The television network, which often broadcasts news critical of the Chinese government, has been sparring continuously with Beijing over the shows. Before last year’s show at Radio City (the first was in 2006), the network complained that China was pressuring sponsors to withdraw their support, a claim echoed in other cities where the show has run.

In a statement, the Chinese Embassy criticized the network for trying to “inveigle the public into watching the show,” and said, “The truth is that the so-called ‘galas’ were nothing but a sheer political tool used by ‘Falun Gong’ organization to spread cult and anti-China propaganda.”

Falun Gong is a form of qigong, an ancient practice of breathing exercises, but also incorporates a spiritual element and some unique beliefs, including one that followers have a spinning wheel in their bellies that pushes out evil and attracts good. In 1999, its founder, Li Hongzhi, told a Time magazine reporter that aliens from other planets were responsible for corrupting mankind by teaching modern science.

From its creation in the early 1990s, the movement, and Mr. Li, grew in popularity through the decade. The Chinese government branded it an “evil cult” in 1999, banning the practice and persecuting its members.

Human rights groups have supported claims that the Chinese government has tortured, imprisoned or killed thousands of Falun Gong followers. Mr. Li immigrated to the United States, and at one point was said to be living in Queens.

The Radio City event “is kind of a P.R. front to try to normalize Falun Gong’s image, so that people don’t think of it as some kind of a wacko cult,” said Maria Hsia Chang, a professor of political science, emerita, at the University of Nevada, Reno, who wrote a book about Falun Gong.

But, she added, “I can only speculate as to why they’d put in these elements without declaring as much ahead of time, because it doesn’t help their image much.”

A New Tang network spokeswoman, and several members of the production troupe who agreed to be interviewed, said that they did not think publicizing Falun Gong’s connection to the show was necessary. “If we advertise Falun Gong, then why don’t we also say the show has Tibetan dancing and Mongolian dancing and Korean dancing?” said Vina Lee, a choreographer and a principal dancer. “Chinese culture is more than dragons and firecrackers.”

MSG Entertainment, which owns Radio City as well as Madison Square Garden, said in a statement: “When booking a rental, MSG Entertainment does not discriminate on the basis of political, religious, cultural, or ethnic viewpoints or beliefs.”

Aside from the references to Falun Gong’s plight, the two-hour performance was an elaborately stitched homage to Chinese traditions. Complementing the dance routines were solos from two sopranos, two tenors, a contralto and a woman playing the erhu, sometimes known as a Chinese fiddle. A giant video screen put forth majestic background images of Chinese landscapes.

But audience members who filed out of Radio City before and during intermission said they were troubled by the material. “I had no idea it was Falun Gong until now that it’s too late, and it really bums me out,” said Steven, a Chinese immigrant living in New Jersey who, along with his family, was among the first to leave and asked that his last name not be published.

“It’s a little too political, too religious, especially the dance showing some girls getting tortured in the prisons. That’s too much for Chinese New Year, especially with our children.”

Tickets cost $58 to $150, though one woman, a Chinese immigrant visiting from Dallas, said that as she was walking by Rockefeller Center just before showtime, a man offered her a free ticket. She also left the show early. “I didn’t like the torture stuff so much,” said the woman, who refused to give her name.

Cary Chiang, a father from New Jersey, said that his wife had objected to the Falun Gong material, but that as for their three children in tow, “It went right over their heads.”

Ms. Levy, the children’s book author, said, “I don’t particularly like being accosted on the street by Falun Gong, and I don’t like it happening to me here.”

Charles Wyne, a computer systems manager who sat happily through the entire performance, said he enjoyed the program. “I don’t know much about Falun Gong, but I don’t like the way the Communists treated the people,” he said, adding that freedom of speech was among his reasons for leaving China.

John Campi, vice president for promotion and community affairs at The Daily News, one of the listed sponsors, said the newspaper’s sponsorship involved trading a one-page ad in the paper for a Daily News ad on the back cover of the program. “I had heard that they were connected with a political group, and I said if this show is political, I’m not getting into it,” he said. “And they said it wasn’t.”

Joe Wei, national editor of the World Journal, a Chinese-American newspaper that is based in Queens and that takes no position on the practice and its teachings, said he saw one of the group’s shows about one year ago and detected no Falun Gong imagery. “This would be a major change,” he said. “I don’t know why they want to do this.”


http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/06/nyregion/06splendor.html

A Twisted Road to Murder

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Dianne Wood 
Waterloo Record
January 17, 2008

In 1992, young Michael Sirois caught the imagination of artist Randy Penner. 14 years later, Siroiswould murder Penner and Verna Bast

KITCHENER: When the front door of Verna Bast's home swung open for the last time, warm light spilled out into the darkness of the night.

And then the darkness came in.

Michael Sirois, an angry young man carrying a knife, had hatred and murder boiling in his heart.

Sirois, who had listened to Bible stories in Bast's home as an angelic-looking boy, was out to kill.

After his rage was spent, two people lay bleeding to death in the Glasgow Street home in Kitchener where so many had found shelter and acceptance over the years.

Randy Penner, 47, the man who opened the door that night on Feb. 20, 2004, had been savagely stabbed 22 times in the head, eyes, chest, abdomen, arms and hands.

Bast, 87, a widow described by her son, Philip, as a deeply religious woman who devoted her life to helping others, died of hemorrhage and shock from three stab wounds to her head and one between her shoulders.

Yesterday, Sirois was found criminally responsible for his actions, and received a life sentence for two counts of second-degree murder.

The double killings shattered family, friends and people across North America who had known Bast for decades, since she first opened her doors to boarders and people in need.

Rev. J.O. Yeatts travelled all the way from Texas to speak at her funeral. He met Bast and her husband, Aaron, in the late 1940s when he preached in Kitchener. James Lunney, a former Kitchener chiropractor who now serves as an MP in British Columbia, flew in.

And Penner's family, including all five of his brothers, came to pay tribute to the artist who loved spending time with his nieces and nephews, teaching them how to draw or taking them on walks through the bush and pointing out wildflowers.

After his death, his mother learned Penner supported five orphaned boys in Nepal and three teenagers at Teen Challenge, a substance abuse rehabilitation farm near London, Ont.

Penner's brother, Jeff, a well-known local paralympic athlete who faithfully attended Sirois' four-week trial, said the community doesn't know what it lost.

His brother tried to help "disadvantaged people, and he's paid with his life,'' Jeff said.

Penner lived at Bast's home with another boarder, John Routley, who had been there 35 years. Penner was there for 25 years.

They were a family, held together by their strong Christian beliefs. A small group gathered with them weekly as a house church originally named Shiloh Manor.

Sirois' parents, Neil and Angie, used to come to the meetings. They brought their only child, a four-year-old son named Michael.

In a portrait Penner painted of the wide-eyed, chubby-cheeked boy in 1992, there's no sign of what he would become -- a person a psychiatrist would later describe as "a time bomb waiting to explode.''

A person, who, at his preliminary hearing, giggled while a pathologist detailed the wounds he had inflicted on Bast.

A devil worshipper who hated Christians and performed angry rituals in his room with candles, voodoo dolls and malevolent chants against people who had slighted him.

"He said he had a doll," a woman named Christa Webster testified at his preliminary hearing. "He would picture it as someone who had gone against him. He would stab it over and over."

Webster, who worked for Waterloo Region running training groups for people needing to find work, had cut Sirois from her group. He was late, argumentative and unfocused in the group. She thought he had mental health issues.

He begged her to let him back in, then started describing what he did to people who angered him, using thrusts to simulate a stabbing motion.

"He said he felt good and justified in getting vengeance against people who had done him wrong,'' she said. "He was frightening.''

She stopped walking to work and locked the door to her work area.

Sirois had a list of people in his bad books. There was the store owner who accused him of stealing. Sirois was either going to torch the store, shoot the owner or stab him, he told a girlfriend.

There was the teacher who dared suggest he get help for mental health issues.

Sirois took a knife and went to the man's house to stab him, but he wasn't home.

Then there was the doctor who admitted him to Grand River Hospital's psychiatric unit and gave him a sedative by needle.

A girlfriend was sure he would kill the doctor and made him get in her car one day when she saw him approaching the doctor's office.

Sirois, who had childhood problems with aggression, often talked about "bumping off'' or harming people who had done something to anger him.

His desire to kill grew with each perceived slight, each revisiting of a long-harboured grievance in his tormented mind.

So its final eruption into murderous rage came as no surprise to those who had seen his potential for violence long before the fatal stabbings.

Some of Sirois' blackest fantasies surrounded his parents and members of the house church.

He blamed the church for the strict way his parents raised him. He couldn't go swimming, have sleepovers or watch television.

The Christians had ruined his life, the self-described Satanist claimed bitterly.

In fact, he went to Bast's home to confront church members about these allegations 19 days before the stabbings. Routley stood up to vigorously defend the group. He said members didn't like the way Sirois was raised and had advised his parents to be more lenient.

Sirois attacked Routley and Penner, who ended up in hospital with a concussion. Jeff Penner said his brother feared Sirois would come back. But he didn't take any special precautions. He had his faith.

"He said, 'I'm afraid for my life. He's going to come back and kill us,'" Jeff said.

"I offered to let him stay at my house and Verna could, too.''


But Penner said that if his time had come, "He was ready to go," Jeff said. "His faith was so strong, he didn't fear it."

Sirois' lawyers argued that their client, who had been diagnosed a paranoid schizophrenic, was not criminally responsible for his crimes because of his mental illness.

The voices he heard, the demons he claimed to see and his strange behaviour in court -- giggling and making nonsensical remarks -- were evidence of auditory and visual hallucinations, they said. He could not have known the murders were wrong.

Psychiatrists expressed mixed opinions at a hearing on whether Sirois should be considered criminally responsible.

Some said that although he was disturbed -- possibly even psychotic -- he could still make rational choices. One suggested he was exaggerating his symptoms and was really just a narcissistic psychopath.

Others said Sirois, who claimed demonic voices had told him to kill church members, was severely deluded and psychotic. The court heard that Sirois believed killing would take him to a higher level of Satanism.

Carol Schwartz has her own beliefs. Schwartz, a member of the house church and one of the first on the scene of the murders, thinksSirois was responsible for choices he made years ago.

"Michael received a bitterness,'' she said. "He became bitter as a very young child. The grace of God that was extended to him, he rejected.

"He didn't guard his heart. It's like the bitterness and rage and anger and unforgiveness -- those just filled his heart until he was welcoming it. He opened to the dark side and said, 'Satan, come in and work through me.'"

Schwartz sees Penner and Bast as martyrs, not just murder victims.

"The spirit that was working in Michael hated the spirit that was working in them,'' she said.

Today, the house that was once a scene of horror is again a home with a loving family. Bast's son, Philip, restored it and moved in with his wife and family.

When the door opens, the light spills out. The darkness will not return.

dwood@therecord.com


http://news.therecord.com/News/Local/article/296371 

The State of Hate

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To illustrate this story, we asked four artists to create visual interpretations of the concept of hate. This illustration: Andrea Levy for The Washington Post.
Researchers at the Southern Poverty Law Center have set themselves up as the ultimate judges of hate in America. But are they judging fairly?

David Montgomery
The Washington Post Magazine
November 8, 2018

See that speck there?" retired Lt. Gen. William G. "Jerry" Boykin says, directing my gaze to the ceiling of the Family Research Council's lobby in Washington. I spy a belly-button-size opening in the plaster. "That's a bullet hole."

The blemish has been preserved for six years. "See that?" he asks, now indicating a cratered fire alarm panel near the reception desk. "That's a bullet hole. That's the first round. The second went through the arm of the building manager. The third round hit the ceiling. … Fired on August 15th, 2012, by Floyd Lee Corkins."

The hero of that day was the building manager, Leo Johnson, who tackled Corkins and was shot in the arm as they scuffled. Asked by an FBI agent how he came to single out the FRC, Corkins replied: "Southern Poverty Law lists anti-gay groups." The gunman, who was found to be mentally ill, was sentenced to 25 years in prison.

"He came in here to kill as many of us as possible because he found us listed as a hate group on the Southern Poverty Law Center website," continues Boykin, FRC's executive vice president, who is dressed today in a leather vest over a shirt and tie. "We and others like us who are on this 'hate map' believe that this is very reckless behavior. … The only thing that we have in common is that we are all conservative organizations. … You know, it would be okay if they just criticized us. … If they wrote op-eds about us and all that. But listing us as a hate group is just a step too far because they put us in the same category as the Ku Klux Klan. And who are they to have a hate-group list anyhow?"

Eight hundred miles south, the modernist, glass-and-concrete headquarters of the Southern Poverty Law Center etches the skyline of Montgomery, Ala., just up a hill from Dexter Avenue King Memorial Baptist Church, where the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. used to preach. On display in the SPLC's lobby is a melted clock. It marks the time at 3:47 a.m., July 28, 1983, when Klansmen torched a previous SPLC headquarters. Over the years, according to the organization, more than two dozen extremists have been jailed for plots to kill its employees or damage its offices.

Richard Cohen, president of the SPLC, decries Corkins's assault on the FRC when I ask him about it in his office, with its view of King's church. But he says the SPLC's hate list — which doesn't include the FRC's address or any call for violence — shouldn't be held responsible. "Labeling people hate groups is an effort to hold them accountable for their rhetoric and the ideas they are pushing," says Cohen, who is dressed in a polo shirt, khakis and running shoes.

"Obviously the hate label is a blunt one," Cohen concedes when I ask whether advocates like the FRC, or proponents of less immigration like the Federation for American Immigration Reform, or conservative legal stalwarts like the Alliance Defending Freedom, really have so much in common with neo-Nazis and the Klan that they belong in the same bucket of shame. "It's one of the things that gives it power, and it's one of the things that can make it controversial. Someone might say, 'Oh, it's without nuance.'… But we've always thought that hate in the mainstream is much more dangerous than hate outside of it. The fact that a group like the FRC or a group like FAIR can have congressional allies and can testify before congressional committees, the fact that a group like ADF can get in front of the Supreme Court — to me that makes them more dangerous, not less so. … It's the hate in the business suit that is a greater danger to our country than the hate in a Klan robe."

The SPLC was founded in 1971 to take on legal cases related to racial injustice, poverty and the death penalty. Then, in the early 1980s, it launched Klanwatch, a project to monitor Klan groups, neo-Nazis and other white supremacists. Their hate seemed self-evident. But eventually the SPLC began tracking — and labeling — a wider swath of extremism. And that's when things became more complicated.

Today the SPLC's list of 953 "Active Hate Groups" is an elaborate taxonomy of ill will. There are many of the usual suspects: Ku Klux Klan (72 groups), Neo-Nazi (121), White Nationalist (100), Racist Skinhead (71), Christian Identity (20), Neo-Confederate (31), Black Nationalist (233) and Holocaust Denial (10). There are also more exotic strains familiar only to connoisseurs: Neo-Volkisch (28; "spirituality premised on the survival of white Europeans") and Radical Traditional Catholicism (11; groups that allegedly "routinely pillory Jews as 'the perpetual enemy of Christ'"). Then there are the more controversial additions of the last decade-and-a-half or so: Anti-LGBT (51), Anti-Muslim (113), Anti-Immigrant (22), Hate Music (15), Male Supremacy (2). Finally, the tally is rounded out by a general category called Other (53) — "a hodge-podge of hate doctrines."

For decades, the hate list was a golden seal of disapproval, considered nonpartisan enough to be heeded by government agencies, police departments, corporations and journalists. But in recent years, as the list has swept up an increasing number of conservative activists — mostly in the anti-LGBT, anti-immigrant and anti-Muslim categories — those conservatives have been fighting back. Boykin, of the FRC, recently sent a letter to about 100 media outlets (including The Washington Post) and corporate donors on behalf of four dozen groups and individuals "who have been targeted, defamed, or otherwise harmed" by the SPLC, warning that the hate list is no longer to be trusted. Mathew Staver, chairman of the Christian legal advocacy group Liberty Counsel, told me 60 organizations are interested in suing the SPLC.

There are signs the campaign is having an impact. Last year GuideStar, a widely consulted directory of charitable organizations, flagged 46 charities that were listed by the SPLC as hate groups. Within months, under pressure from critics, GuideStar announced it was removing the flags. The FBI has worked with the SPLC in the past on outreach programs, but Attorney General Jeff Sessions has signaled a very different attitude. At a meeting of the Alliance Defending Freedom in August, Sessions said, "You are not a hate group," and condemned the SPLC for using the label "to bully and to intimidate groups like yours which fight for religious freedom."

Along the way, the SPLC undermined its own credibility with a couple of blunders. In 2015, it apologized for listing Ben Carson as an extremist (though not on the hate list), saying the characterization was inaccurate. Then, this past June, the group paid $3.4 million to Muslim activist Maajid Nawaz and his Quilliam organization to settle a threatened lawsuit. The SPLC had listed them in a "Field Guide to Anti-Muslim Extremists" (again, not on the main hate list). The SPLC apologized for misunderstanding Nawaz's work to counter Islamist extremism.

Ironically, the assault on the SPLC comes at a time when, by other measures, it has reached a new peak of public regard. Last year the group raised a whopping $132 million through its famously relentless direct-mail appeals and other giving. (Disclosure: Last year my wife gave $25 to the SPLC, as I learned from her after I started working on this story.) That's a 164 percent increase over the $50 million it took in a year before. The SPLC's endowment is up to $433 million. SPLC leaders explain the jump as a reaction to the tone unleashed by Donald Trump's presidential campaign and continued by the Trump administration.

What should we make of the SPLC at a moment when its influence is growing — and its detractors are louder than ever? I recently spent time shuttling between the SPLC and the people it is seeking to monitor. By getting specific about the SPLC's particular charges against particular organizations, I thought I might be able to try to separate hate from hyperbole.

The SPLC's definition of a hate group is "an organization that — based on its official statements or principles, the statements of its leaders, or its activities — has beliefs or practices that attack or malign an entire class of people, typically for their immutable characteristics," including race, religion, ethnicity and sexual orientation. It's a standard that is in line with the latest thinking among scholars of hate, and also one that intentionally parallels the FBI's definition of a hate crime.

Does an alliance of lawyers with conservative Christian leanings that has won nine cases before the U.S. Supreme Court in the past seven years meet that criteria? According to Heidi Beirich, director of the SPLC's Intelligence Project — which produces the hate list — the decision to put the Alliance Defending Freedom on the list for 2016 was a judgment call that went all the way up to top leadership at the SPLC.

The ADF's Supreme Court victories have included the case of the Colorado baker who didn't want to make a wedding cake for a gay couple, and the effort to block California from forcing antiabortion pregnancy centers to provide information about abortion providers. But those didn't get the ADF placed on the hate list. Instead, a major strike against the group was its decision to file an amicus brief in the 2003 landmark Supreme Court case that struck down a Texas law criminalizing gay sex. The ADF wanted to uphold the state's right to decide whether "it is reasonable to believe that same-sex sodomy is a distinct public health problem," according to the ADF's brief. "It clearly is."

"It's really bad that you want these people thrown in jail for consensual activity," Beirich told me. "It's literally barbaric in our opinion. And that was the thing that really pushed ADF over the top to us." Beirich counts not just the Texas case, but also more recent assistance the ADF has given in cases that would have preserved criminal sanctions for sodomy in other countries.

When I met ADF senior counsel Jeremy Tedesco in a coffee shop on Capitol Hill, the alleged card-carrying hate-group member was wearing, yes, a mainstream business suit and tie. He said the criminalization cases cited by the SPLC amounted to less than 1 percent of the ADF's work and raised issues of courts usurping the will of the people, a larger subject that animates the ADF. He also defended his group's submission of a brief in a case involving birth certificates in France that, according to the SPLC, would have resulted in the forced sterilization of transgender people. Tedesco countered that the ADF is against the forced sterilization of anyone and that the case really was about the autonomy of nations in Europe and protecting traditional gender distinctions in the law — another principle that motivates the alliance. He added that France itself denied that forced sterilization was at stake. (Beirich told me later that the SPLC stands by its characterization of the case.)

The ADF has no plans to join more cases involving criminalization of same-sex activity either here or abroad, Tedesco told me. Since the Supreme Court upheld same-sex marriage in 2015, he said, the alliance has intensified its focus on religious-liberty cases and free-speech cases to protect Christians like the cake maker who may feel beleaguered in the new gay-marriage world. That work is included in the SPLC's hate dossier as context "about how they view the LGBT population," Beirich said, "so our readers can understand where they're coming from. But that's not the thing that gets you on the hate list."

Tedesco, like representatives of other organizations characterized as haters by the SPLC, said that since the ADF was added to the list, the group has been barred from raising money through AmazonSmile, a program set up by Amazon.com to help customers designate nonprofits to receive a portion of the price of purchases. According to an Amazon spokeswoman, Amazon relies on the SPLC alongside an arm of the U.S. Treasury Department to determine if a group is ineligible because it promotes intolerance, hate or criminal activity. (Amazon CEO Jeffrey P. Bezos owns The Washington Post.)

"It's a stranglehold on conservative and religious groups that is just hovering over us and that can continue to constrict and limit our ability to simply voice our opinion," Tedesco told me. "This hate label shuts down debate. … It creates enmity towards people that are just on the other side of an issue from you. That's not something we need in our culture."

Later, when I met with Cohen, he noted that far from being shut down, groups like the ADF have more power than ever, given the friendly remarks by top administration officials like Sessions. Cohen also showed me an anonymous letter he had received, marked "Re: 'Alliance Defending Freedom' ": "I know who you are; what you look like; where you work; where you live, and what you drive. … So I think I'll pay you a visit soon. What do you think will happen then?! Trust me — it will be the worst day in your life!" Cohen said, "I don't hold the ADF responsible for that, but there are people who are angry at us."

A feature of many SPLC dossiers on hate groups is an "In Its Own Words" section that presents extreme-sounding quotes by members of the group. In the ADF's case, nearly half of the dozen quotes generally condemning the "homosexual agenda" are more than a decade old. In a follow-up conversation, I read to Tedesco this one attributed to another ADF lawyer in 2012: "Control of the educational system is central to those who want to advance the homosexual agenda. By its very nature, homosexual acts are incapable of bearing fruit — indeed, strictly speaking, they are not sexual, as they are incapable of being generative or procreative. Thus there is the need to desensitize and corrupt young minds, both to undermine resistance to the agenda and for recruitment among those that are at an emotionally vulnerable stage of development."

"I've never seen that speech," Tedesco told me. "None of our work is dealing with those issues right now. … It's another cherry-picked quote that they're going to try to build what is ultimately a house of cards on top of."

In the middle of my tour of alleged hate groups, I made a trip to a Georgia satellite office of the SPLC, where much of the team that researches the hate list is based. On my way, I read the autobiography of SPLC co-founder Morris Dees. A born raconteur, Dees proved to be as good a marketer as a lawyer. He hit on the novel strategy of shutting down Klan groups by suing them, and he spun equally compelling tales of injustice to juries and to recipients of the fundraising appeals he used to finance the nonprofit law center. Now 81, Dees doesn't come into the office regularly anymore, according to a spokeswoman, and I never got to meet him. He still was paid $358,000 last year, just ahead of Cohen, who earned $351,000.

The SPLC may be best known for its hate monitoring, but that work takes up a fraction of the total budget and staff — about $4.6 million out of $72 million, and 30 employees of a total of 330. The post-Trump fundraising boom has allowed anti-hate resources to double since 2015, to meet what the SPLC says is a rising need, while the overall budget is projected to reach $85 million with 400 employees by the end of next year. The bulk of the center's work is legal advocacy. A team of 80 lawyers has dozens of cases in progress, on behalf of poor people, minorities, immigrants, disenfranchised citizens and children, mostly in the South. Sometimes the legal advocacy and the hate monitoring merge, as with a recent suit against the founder of the Daily Stormer, a neo-Nazi website, for allegedly launching a harassment campaign against a Jewish real estate agent. In addition, the SPLC creates and distributes free "teaching tolerance" materials to tens of thousands of schools and periodically produces award-winning documentaries.

The center's Intelligence Project is a quasi-journalistic unit within the SPLC that produces the hate list as well as a biannual magazine, online investigative stories on trends in extremism, and the daily Hatewatchblog. A fascinating report last year used Dylann Roof's online manifesto to argue that his misperceptions about black-on-white crime — which fueled his massacre of nine black church members in Charleston, S.C., in 2015 — were in part based on quirks in the Google search algorithm that had led him to racist Web pages rather than to federal crime statistics. A report this year looked at 13 young men purportedly influenced by "alt-right" ideology before they allegedly killed or injured 110 people since 2014.

The Georgia office has about 10 researchers working on the hate list and other hate monitoring. They are paired with writers and editors working mostly out of Montgomery. My visit in September came as the researchers were preparing the list of hate groups for 2018, which will be published early next year. Clustered at desks according to their specialties — anti-Muslim and anti-immigrant, anti-LGBT, anti-government and so forth — they were trying to determine who still belongs and prospecting for new entries.

Most of the researchers can't be quoted for security reasons, according to a spokeswoman, but in a small office I met Keegan Hankes, lead research analyst on the team devoted to white nationalist groups. He was scrolling through a year's worth of articles on the website of Faith & Heritage — which describes itself as primarily a "webzine"— to see if the group still merited a place on the hate list. "We affirm that all men, of every race, ethnicity, and tribe, are created in the image of God," the site reads. "However, this common humanity does not mean that all groups are equal in every respect." The articles promote the ideal of a white Christian nation.

"So you get a lot of Christian nationalism but with a racialist bent," Hankes said. "I'm basically trying to make sure that … they have remained as extreme as they were when they joined our list. See the first article here: 'A Biblical Defense of Ethno-Nationalism.' So that's a red flag, obviously, when you're deciding whether a group may have racist leanings." (Faith & Heritage did not respond to messages I sent seeking comment.)

Hankes was also weighing whether to add a store in Georgia where the racist inventory includes music with vile anti-black lyrics, and he was considering dropping a couple of groups that seem to have become inactive. Once he has a recommendation, he will prepare a file, and it will be reviewed up the chain to Beirich and her deputy, and all the way to Cohen for the closest judgment calls.

He showed me how his computer's customized software can create a graphic of the network of members of large groups like the Council of Conservative Citizens. Other tools capture social media posts, video and podcasts. "Last year I probably listened to a thousand hours of racist radio at least," he said.

Hankes grew up in Auburn, Ala. After graduating from the University of Chicago, he started as an intern at the SPLC and has been working there for about five years. "Seriously, it does not make you a more optimistic person," he said. "You're just on average reading hundreds if not thousands of racial slurs or listening to them every single day. … But on the other side, it's a real privilege and a rare position to be in to actually do something about it — to do our part to expose this."

Back in Washington, I paid a visit to the Center for Security Policy, four blocks from the White House. Founder Frank Gaffney greeted me warmly. Coincidentally, the date was Sept. 11. "Perhaps it's not accidental," Gaffney said. The SPLC calls the former Reagan administration Pentagon official an anti-Muslim conspiracy theorist, and even some conservatives in town want nothing to do with him. But the Center for Security Policy's allies include Ron Dermer, Israeli ambassador to the United States, who in a 2016 speech to Gaffney's group said: "If you have enemies, Frank, it's because you have stood up for something, many times in your life. … The SPLC and others who asked me not to come here tonight claim to support free and open debate. But in reality, they seem to want to stifle debate."

Gaffney's concern about Islam, he explained to me, is sharia, or Islam's legal framework. Sharia is a "totalitarian ideology," he said, and "sharia supremacists" including the Muslim Brotherhood want to make it the law of this land.

He listened patiently as I read to him from the SPLC's five-page dossier on him and its seven-page dossier justifying his group's listing as an anti-Muslim hate group. The SPLC claims this statement comes from a 10-part video course hosted by Gaffney: "America faces in addition to the threat of violent jihad another, even more toxic danger — a stealthy and pre-violent form of warfare aimed at destroying our constitutional form of democratic government and free society. The Muslim Brotherhood is the prime-mover behind this seditious campaign, which it calls 'civilization jihad.' "

"Accurate quote," Gaffney said. "But that has nothing to do with hatred. That has to do with intelligence analysis of the threat. It is a straightforward exploration based on the factual evidence of a peril to our country, as I say. And the only thing that I think you can conclude from the insistence [of SPLC] that nobody can say anything like that — and anybody who does say anything like that is not just a national security professional with whom they disagree, but is a racist and a bigot and a hater and an Islamophobe — is they're trying maybe to get me killed. … I'm quite sure that if a jihadist decides to kill me, part of the inspiration will come from the hateful things they've said about me."

Another quote, by a colleague of Gaffney's at the center: "When people in other bona fide religions follow their doctrines they become better people — Buddhists, Hindus, Christians, Jews. When Muslims follow their doctrine, they become jihadists."

Gaffney nodded. Even peaceful forms of jihad can undermine the United States, he said, and not all are peaceful. "It's not that we're trying to offend Muslims by pointing this out. That, unfortunately, is the doctrine they follow."

I left Gaffney's office with a tote bag full of 14 books buttressing his worldview. A 15th came later in the mail. In thinking about my interview, I was struck by just how little he had disputed the SPLC's claims about the frankly disquieting positions he has taken. To some extent, it was similar to my experience at the FRC and ADF. They simply saw those positions as admirable, or at the very least defensible, expressions of truth — whereas, to the SPLC, they were expressions of hate.

Next, I visited the Center for Immigration Studies in Washington. The CIS supports reduced legal immigration and tougher border security. The lobby is decorated with executive director Mark Krikorian's collection of kitsch renderings of the Statue of Liberty — Barbie, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, covers of the New Yorker and the Saturday Evening Post, Eddie Murphy in the movie poster for "Coming to America," even a vintage Peace Corps recruiting poster that says: "Make America a better place. Leave the Country."

The CIS has testified before Congress 100 times and publishes studies purporting to show the burden of immigration. The center supports a policy "that admits fewer people but does a better job of welcoming and incorporating those people," Krikorian said. Among the factors that got CIS added to the SPLC's hate list: the center's habit of circulating links to articles from arguably noxious sources in its regular email roundup. Also, a series of harsh-sounding quotes about immigrants by Krikorian and some of his colleagues.

Krikorian indulged my desire to go deep into the SPLC's 14-page hate dossier. The SPLC (with research help from the civil rights group Center for New Community) found that in 450 emails over 10 years, the CIS circulated 2,012 pieces from what the SPLC deems white nationalist websites. The total includes more than 1,700 from Vdare.com, an anti-immigration site that promotes white-identity politics. Popular article tags on Vdare include "minority occupation government,""anti-white hate crimes,""immigrant mass murder" and "white guy loses his job."

"If they had just sent around one Vdare piece, for example, that wouldn't matter at all," Beirich had told me back in Georgia. "But we documented 2,000 hate-group things. … When you get into the thousands, it's like, 'How come you're always on these hate sites and you're sending it to your membership?' You're telling people to read hate material over and over and over again. At some point you have some responsibility for that relationship."

The dossier leaves unclear how many of the 2,012 articles themselves were hateful, as opposed to having been published on platforms that the SPLC deems hateful. It offers only a handful of examples of the actual articles, and Krikorian maintains that most were legitimate immigration commentary. "The point is to cast a wide net," he said. "There's all kinds of stuff on Vdare that I have problems with. … But you know it is one of the main sources of commentary on immigration, and I'd be doing a disservice to readers not including immigration-related stuff that appears at Vdare."

Beirich countered that readers who clicked on the links still found themselves on hateful websites, and the center's aggregation helps legitimize those sites. Moreover, according to the SPLC, dozens of the pieces the CIS circulated were by authors whose work elsewhere is hateful.

"Providing links to immigration articles written by people who in other venues wrote things on other topics that are objectionable, and that I myself almost certainly would object to — so what?" Krikorian says. "You've got to admire the Inspector Javert-like obsession to go through hundreds of these links and find out who the author was and then Google the author and see what he — I mean it's just, get a life, people!"

I read to Krikorian excerpts of pieces that the SPLC does cite. He owned up to some mistakes, such as linking to a piece attacking Jewish organizations for welcoming refugees, and also this piece in American Free Press (itself listed as a hate group): "So-called refugees are committing rape and other horrific crimes against European women and men in increasing numbers. … The native ethnic stock that founded and built Western Europe and the U.S. is systematically being replaced through massive Third World immigration, which is facilitated and encouraged by Western governments. … Western governments give up their lands without a fight in the name of 'tolerance,''diversity' and 'humanitarianism.' "

"When you cast the net wide you're going to catch some crap along with the fish," Krikorian said. "I'm happy to disavow that article, but we don't avow anything we're distributing anyway."

Turning to his group's eyebrow-raising quotes the SPLC had culled, Krikorian knew which one I was going to mention first — because he's been trying to explain it ever since: In 2010, after the Haitian earthquake that killed more than 200,000, he wrote in a six-paragraph blog post on another site: "My guess is that Haiti's so screwed up because it wasn't colonized long enough."

"You're demonizing the Haitian population," Beirich had told me. "Maybe for some people it spreads out to all black people, or all immigrants. You're saying these people aren't as valuable as 'us' people."

Krikorian told me his point was historical: "Haiti probably has had all the problems it's had over the past couple hundred years precisely because it succeeded in breaking away from France almost too early. In other words if they had — obviously anybody who's a slave has the right to rise up at any time you want — if they had failed, at this point France would be shoveling money at them just like they are to their other black slave sugar colonies in the Caribbean, Guadalupe and Martinique." Still, I thought, Krikorian's historical point, compressed as it was, ignored the reality of the generation of Haitians who would have remained slaves. Is that a data point of hate?

Next, from the dossier, Krikorian in 2015: "The diminution of sovereignty engineered by the EU is bad enough for some share of the population, but many more will object to extinguishing their national existence a la 'Camp of the Saints.'""The Camp of the Saints" is a French novel from the early 1970s that the SPLC and others call racist. In some circles, the title is shorthand for masses from poor regions overwhelming Europe or any more-prosperous place.

"Like the book or don't like the book"— Krikorian said he could only get through a few pages — "the concept is real," he told me. "When immigrants from poor countries come up and basically present a potential threat to the integrity of prosperous modern societies … it's not just economic because that's not what people are reacting to. They're reacting to a kind of cultural assertion that the host societies are reluctant to push back against."

One more: "We have to have security against both the dishwasher and the terrorist because you can't distinguish between the two with regards to immigration control," Krikorian said on none other than Frank Gaffney's radio show in 2014. I asked him if such a statement casts a demonizing pall over all the Latino immigrants working in kitchens or anywhere, by suggesting they might be terrorists.

"I'm not even sure why they pulled that out," Krikorian said. "That's sort of a truism. The point is you can't have immigration security that magically knows ahead of time who the terrorist is and who the dishwasher is. … There's not that many terrorists among illegal aliens, but you can't pick and choose who you're going to try to enforce the law against."

The dossier contains more of the same. Blunt quotes, documented associations — sometimes tenuous — with extreme corners of the anti-immigration movement, evidence of cozy proximity to White House immigration hard-liners. But the SPLC's critique devotes less attention to the main daily research work of the CIS. The analyses the CIS cranks out are sharply and even gleefully skeptical of immigration, and they are challenged by pro-immigration advocates. Yet, arguably, that side of the CIS resembles the standard think tank jousting that goes on in Washington. Nevertheless, overall the SPLC had found enough data points to meet its standard of hate.

With the SPLC relying upon such a seemingly objective and widely accepted definition of hate, why do the vast majority of the groups on the hate list fall on the right side of the ideological spectrum? Cohen says there are just far fewer groups on the left that condemn categories of people for who they are.

Can that possibly be true? What about antifascists, or antifa, those black-clad anarchists who hate capitalists and even Democrats, and who love to run amok during events like Trump's inauguration?

While often violent, the antifa movement doesn't have an ideology against people for their immutable characteristics, Cohen says. The SPLC has condemned antifa's violent tactics and has spotlighted acts of ecoterrorism and animal rights extremism. But to the SPLC and other hate watchdogs, not all violent groups are hate groups, and not all hate groups are violent.

What about Black Lives Matter? "We have heard nothing from the founders and leaders of the Black Lives Matter movement that is remotely comparable to the racism espoused by, for example, the leaders of the New Black Panther Party — and nothing at all to suggest that the bulk of the demonstrators hold supremacist or black separatist views," the SPLC says in its online FAQ on hate.

Boykin of the FRC — the first group on my itinerary — scoffed at these distinctions. "At the same time we're listed as a hate group … antifa, which advocates violence, is not," he said. "Black Lives Matter, which advocates killing cops, is not." (Boykin says he has heard cop-killing sentiments voiced in some chants captured in videos of BLM rallies.) "If there was anything other than a political motivation for doing this, or a financial motivation, you would think that these groups would be included."

(The SPLC's stated goal is to create an unbiased hate list, but forays into political activism by other parts of the organization could certainly hurt the list's reputation. For the first time, the SPLC recently took a stand on a Supreme Court nomination, urging Alabama's senators to vote against Brett M. Kavanaugh. It also just formed a political arm called the SPLC Action Fund that can lobby and support ballot measures. I asked Cohen if those advances onto political ground threaten to erode the SPLC's credibility as a nonpartisan arbiter of hate. "We think it's important to protect our integrity, the power of our brand, you might say," Cohen said. "But we also think the issues that we're advocating for are important.")

By this time, Boykin and I were up in his office, having completed our tour of the bullet holes. He assured me that the FRC doesn't hate gay people. I asked him what word he would use instead. Perhaps pity? Boykin thought for a moment. "Would it be possible to say 'love'?" he said. "I love you enough to tell you the truth. Is that possible? See, that's the way I look at it."

Groups like the FRC that are listed as anti-LGBT make much of being persecuted supposedly for advancing policy informed by their biblical outlook on marriage, sexuality and religious liberty. Beirich says this is incorrect: "We have never, ever considered a position on gay marriage on the hate group listing." Same with opposition to homosexuality for religious reasons. That alone is not hate, Beirich says. Nor is supporting exceptions to federal or state law for religious beliefs, or fighting the proposed law to bar employment discrimination against gays, or advocating against transgender students being able to use the bathrooms they choose, or opposing gays in the military.

But there are some bright lines that the SPLC absolutely considers hate. Along with advocating the criminalization of gay sex, a big one is linking homosexuality to pedophilia. "When you say that gay men are a bunch of pedophiles and molesters, for some people that's an opportunity to victimize that person because they're not a real person," Beirich says. "Disparaging a population and calling them perverts is very different than saying, 'I don't think you should engage in this conduct because my theology says that it's bad and it's bad for you.'"

This issue has appeared in FRC publications and also in leaders' comments, but the FRC insists it doesn't think all gay men are molesters — just that it's more likely, on average, that a gay man will be a molester than a straight one. But still, I wondered, doesn't that mean that parents must be on the lookout for all gay men, because how can you tell?

Its view, the FRC says, is based on science. Peter Sprigg, a senior fellow and the FRC's expert on sexuality, laid out the case on the phone after my visit to the council. It starts with the fact that nearly all child molesters are men — whether their targets are boys or girls. Then, the proportion of male abusers who attack boys is significantly greater than the estimated proportion of gays in the general population. "That in itself would seem to indicate that the relative rate of sexual abuse of minors by homosexual men is disproportionate to their representation in the overall population," Sprigg said.

To advance its case, the FRC cites a number of studies, including one that Sprigg sent me from a series co-authored in the 1980s and 1990s by Kurt Freund of the Clarke Institute of Psychiatry in Toronto. However, while highlighting some of Freund's data, the FRC discounts Freund's own assessment that the charge that gays are more likely to molest children is a "myth."

"We do reserve the right to draw our own conclusions from the data that's presented in these articles and not necessarily to agree with the interpretations or the conclusions that are drawn by the author from the same data," Sprigg told me. "They will not necessarily agree with our interpretation of their studies, but we think that we've quoted them correctly. … The fact that we disagree with others' interpretations I don't think is grounds for labeling us a hate group. The data is unclear enough or ambiguous enough that there are grounds for legitimate debate."

In the end, it seemed to me that the four groups I visited contained unequal quantities of what even the SPLC calls hate. Yet by its nature, the hate list draws no distinctions, and the SPLC is unapologetic in its view that hate is hate: "I don't see gradations with these organizations," Beirich says.

Among hate scholars and watchdogs, the SPLC is unique in going so far as to publish a list of hate groups. Specialists I talked to said they appreciate that the SPLC has taken on the role of labeler, as labels do add a stark clarity to the discussion. But is there a downside to applying this admittedly blunt, either-or instrument?

Brian Levin, director of the Center for the Study of Hate and Extremism at California State University in San Bernardino, told me he supports the SPLC's approach; indeed, he used to work there in the 1990s. But he cautioned: "How much high-fructose corn syrup do you have to put into something until it's not juice anymore? How much bigotry do you have to put into a mainstream policy organization before it becomes a hate group?"

"I think the Southern Poverty Law Center is a victim of its own success," Levin continued. "The traditional violent hate groups that they've successfully sued have now yielded to a much more mottled landscape, where the defining line is more amorphous. We're seeing a society that is changing with respect to" how it defines hate.

Meanwhile, both sides of the debate over the meaning of "hate" continue to make their cases to the public and, specifically, to donors — ensuring that the war will go on. "If you're outraged about the path President Trump is taking, I urge you to join us in the fight against the mainstreaming of hate," stated an SPLC direct-mail appeal sent last month over Dees's signature. "Please join our fight today with a gift of $25, $35, or $100 to help us. Working together, we can push back against these bigots."

Messages like that are what the FRC's Boykin cited to me as proof that the SPLC invokes the specter of hate to promote and finance a left-wing agenda. I mentioned to Boykin that I had heard that the SPLC's enemies, including the FRC, similarly raise money by invoking the boogeyman of the SPLC. He chortled in response. "Prove that one," he said. "I don't think you'll find any evidence of us specifically using the SPLC to raise money. … We appeal to our people based on a more positive message."

Later, four of the FRC's 2018 fundraising appeals mentioning the SPLC came into my hands, including this from January, over the signature of FRC president Tony Perkins: "The Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC), originally chartered as a national 'civil rights' organization based in Alabama, is now working to marginalize and ultimately silence the voice of Christians all across America. … One look at the SPLC's 'hate map' tells the story. … FRC's goal is to raise $200,000 over the next 45 days to dedicate to this battle. … The SPLC must be stopped or we risk jeopardizing the security of everything good, true, and beautiful: our faith, our families, and our freedom."

As these letters make painfully clear, hate, like so much in American life, has become highly ideological. In this climate, seeking widespread credibility for a hate list — with its inherently blunt methodology — seems at once quaint, noble and, possibly, futile.

David Montgomery is a staff writer for the magazine.



https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/magazine/wp/2018/11/08/feature/is-the-southern-poverty-law-center-judging-hate-fairly/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.394af021e5d4

Terrorists, cultists - or champions of Iranian democracy? The wild wild story of the MEK

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Maryam Rajavi in Tirana, Albania in September 2017. Photograph: NurPhoto via Getty
They fought for the Iranian revolution – and then for Saddam Hussein. The US and UK once condemned them. But now their opposition to Tehran has made them favourites of Trump White House hardliners. 

Arron Merat
The Guardian
November 9, 2018

Mostafa and Robabe Mohammadi came to Albania to rescue their daughter. But in Tirana, the capital, the middle-aged couple have been followed everywhere by two Albanian intelligence agents. Men in sunglasses trailed them from their hotel on George W Bush Road to their lawyer’s office; from the lawyer’s office to the ministry of internal affairs; and from the ministry back to the hotel.

The Mohammadis say their daughter, Somayeh, is being held against her will by a fringe Iranian revolutionary group that has been exiled to Albania, known as the People’s Mujahedin of Iran, or MEK (Mujahedin-e Khalq). Widely regarded as a cult, the MEK was once designated as a terrorist organisation by the US and UK, but its opposition to the Iranian government has now earned it the support of powerful hawks in the Trump administration, including national security adviser John Bolton and the secretary of state, Mike Pompeo.

Somayeh Mohammadi is one of about 2,300 members of the MEK living inside a heavily fortified base that has been built on 34 hectares of farmland in north-west Albania. Her parents, who were once supporters of the group, say that 21 years ago, Somayeh flew to Iraq to attend a summer camp and to visit her maternal aunt’s grave. She never came back.

The couple have spent the past two decades trying to get their daughter out of the MEK, travelling from their home in Canada to Paris, Jordan, Iraq and now Albania. “We are not against any group or any country,” Mostafa said, sitting outside a meatball restaurant in central Tirana. “We just want to see our daughter outside the camp and without her commanders. She can choose to stay or she can choose to come home with us.” The MEK insists Somayeh does not wish to leave the camp, and has released a letter in which she accuses her father of working for Iranian intelligence.

“Somayeh is a shy girl,” her mother said. “They threaten people like her. She wants to leave but she is scared that they will kill her.”

Since its exile from Iran in the early 1980s, the MEK has been committed to the overthrow of the Islamic republic. But it began in the 1960s as an Islamist-Marxist student militia, which played a decisive role in helping to topple the Shah during the 1979 Iranian revolution.

Anti-capitalist, anti-imperialist and anti-American, MEK fighters killed scores of the Shah’s police in often suicidal street battles during the 1970s. The group targeted US-owned hotels, airlines and oil companies, and was responsible for the deaths of six Americans in Iran. “Death to America by blood and bonfire on the lips of every Muslim is the cry of the Iranian people,” went one of its most famous songs. “May America be annihilated.”

Such attacks helped pave the way for the return of the exiled Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, who quickly identified the MEK as a serious threat to his plan to turn Iran into an Islamic republic under the control of the clergy. The well-armed middle-class guerrillas, although popular among religious students and intellectuals, would prove to be no match for Khomeini’s organisation and ruthlessness.

Following the revolution, Khomeini used the security services, the courts and the media to choke off the MEK’s political support and then crush it entirely. After it fought back, killing more than 70 senior leaders of the Islamic republic – including the president and Iran’s chief justice – in audacious bomb attacks, Khomeini ordered a violent crackdown on MEK members and sympathisers. The survivors fled the country.

Saddam Hussein, who was fighting a bloody war against Iran with the backing of the UK and the US, saw an opportunity to deploy the exiled MEK fighters against the Islamic republic. In 1986, he offered the group weapons, cash and a vast military base named Camp Ashraf, only 50 miles from the border with Iran.

For almost two decades, under their embittered leader Massoud Rajavi, the MEK staged attacks against civilian and military targets across the border in Iran and helped Saddam suppress his own domestic enemies. But after siding with Saddam – who indiscriminately bombed Iranian cities and routinely used chemical weapons in a war that cost a million lives – the MEK lost nearly all the support it had retained inside Iran. Members were now widely regarded as traitors.

Isolated inside its Iraqi base, under Rajavi’s tightening grip, the MEK became cult-like. A report commissioned by the US government, based on interviews within Camp Ashraf, later concluded that the MEK had “many of the typical characteristics of a cult, such as authoritarian control, confiscation of assets, sexual control (including mandatory divorce and celibacy), emotional isolation, forced labour, sleep deprivation, physical abuse and limited exit options”.

After the US invasion of Iraq, the MEK launched a lavish lobbying campaignto reverse its designation as a terrorist organisation – despite reports implicating the group in assassinations of Iranian nuclear scientists as recently as 2012. Rajavi has not been seen since 2003 – most analysts assume he is dead – but under the leadership of his wife, Maryam Rajavi, the MEK has won considerable support from sections of the US and European right, eager for allies in the fight against Tehran.

In 2009, the UK delisted the MEK as a terror group. The Obama administration removed the group from the US terror list in 2012, and later helped negotiate its relocation to Albania.

At the annual “Free Iran” conference that the group stages in Paris each summer, dozens of elected US and UK representatives – along with retired politicians and military officials – openly call for the overthrow of the Islamic republic and the installation of Maryam Rajavi as the leader of Iran. At last year’s Paris rally, the Conservative MP David Amess announced that “regime change … is at long last within our grasp”. At the same event, Bolton – who championed war with Iran long before he joined the Trump administration – announced that he expected the MEK to be in power in Tehran before 2019. “The behaviour and the objectives of the regime are not going to change and, therefore, the only solution is to change the regime itself,” he declared.

The main attraction at this year’s Paris conference was another longtime MEK supporter, former New York mayor Rudy Giuliani, now Donald Trump’s lawyer. “The mullahs must go. The ayatollah must go,” he told the crowd. “And they must be replaced by a democratic government which Madam Rajavi represents.” Giuliani also praised the work of MEK “resistance units” inside Iran, that he credited with stoking a recent wave of protests over the struggling economy. “These protests are not happening by accident,” he said. “They’re being coordinated by many of our people in Albania.” (Giuliani, Bolton and the late John McCain are among the US politicians who have travelled to Albania to show support for the MEK.)

Meanwhile, back in Albania, the MEK is struggling to hold on to its own members, who have begun to defect. The group is also facing increased scrutiny from local media and opposition parties, who question the terms of the deal that brought the MEK fighters to Tirana.

It would be hard to find a serious observer who believes the MEK has the capacity or support within Iran to overthrow the Islamic republic. But the US and UK politicians loudly supporting a tiny revolutionary group stranded in Albania are playing a simpler game: backing the MEK is the easiest way to irritate Tehran. And the MEK, in turn, is only one small part of a wider Trump administration strategy for the Middle East, which aims to isolate and economically strangle Iran.

Before the MEK could become a darling of the American and European right, it had to reinvent itself. Democracy, human rights and secularism would become the group’s new mantra – as its leader, Maryam Rajavi, renounced violence and successfully repositioned an anti-western sect as a pro-American democratic government-in-waiting.

The long march to respectability began with the US invasion of Iraq in 2003. The war toppled Saddam Hussein, the MEK’s patron and protector, but it brought the group into direct contact with US officials – who would soon be looking for additional ammunition against Iran.

The US had designated the MEK as a terrorist group in the late 1990s, as a goodwill gesture toward a new reformist government in Tehran. When George W Bush accused Saddam Hussein of “harbouring terrorists” in a 2002 speech that made the case for invading Iraq, he was actually referring to the MEK. But in the early days of the US occupation of Iraq, a row erupted inside the White House over what to do with the 5,000 MEK fighters inside their base at Camp Ashraf.

Condoleezza Rice, the US secretary of state, argued that the MEK was on the list of terrorist organisations and should be treated as such. But Iran hawks, including then secretary of defence, Donald Rumsfeld, and vice-president Dick Cheney, argued that the MEK should be used as a weapon against the Islamic republic – the next target in the neoconservative roadmap for remaking the Middle East. (“Boys go to Baghdad, but real men go to Tehran,” was their half-joking refrain.)

Rumsfeld’s faction won out. Although the group was still listed as a terrorist organisation, the Pentagon unilaterally designated MEK fighters inside Camp Ashraf as “protected persons” under the Geneva conventions – officially disarmed, but with their security effectively guaranteed by US forces in Iraq. The US was protecting a group it also designated as terrorists.

There is no doubt that US hawks regarded the MEK as a weapon in the fight against Iran: as early as May 2003, the same month that Bush famously declared “mission accomplished” in Iraq, the New York Times reported that “Pentagon hardliners” were moving to protect the MEK, “and perhaps reconstitute it later as a future opposition organisation in Iran, somewhat along the lines of the US-supported Iraqi opposition under Ahmed Chalabi that preceded the war in Iraq”. In 2003, the Bush administration refused an offer, signed off by Iran’s supreme leader, Ali Khamenei, to hand over MEK leaders in Iraq in exchange for members of the military council of al-Qaida and relatives of Osama bin Laden, who had been captured by Iran as they fled Afghanistan after September 11.

As the US occupation of Iraq collapsed into a nightmarish civil war, the American right increasingly blamed Iran for the country’s disintegration. Senior politicians openly called for bombing the Islamic republic, amid growing panic over Iran’s nuclear programme – the existence of which had first been exposed by the MEK in what the BBC called a “propaganda coup” for the group. (Several experts on Israeli intelligence have reported that Mossad passed these documents to the MEK.) By 2007, US news outlets were reporting that Bush had signed a classified directive authorising “covert action” inside Iran.

Between 2007 and 2012, seven Iranian nuclear scientists were attacked with poison or magnetic bombs affixed to moving cars by passing motorcyclists; five were killed. In 2012, NBC news, citing two unnamed US officials, reported that the attacks were planned by Israel’s foreign intelligence agency and executed by MEK agents inside Iran. An MEK spokesperson called this a “false claim … whose main source is the mullahs’ regime”.

It was around this time that the MEK began working to remake its image in the west. Groups associated with the MEK donated to political campaigns, blanketed Washington with advertisements and paid western political influencers fees to pen op-eds and give speeches – and to lobby for its removal from the list of designated terrorist organisations.

A stupendously long list of American politicians from both parties were paid hefty fees to speak at events in favour of the MEK, including Giuliani, John McCain, Newt Gingrich and former Democratic party chairs Edward Rendell and Howard Dean – along with multiple former heads of the FBI and CIA. John Bolton, who has made multiple appearances at events supporting the MEK, is estimated to have received upwards of $180,000. According to financial disclosure forms, Bolton was paid $40,000 for a single appearance at the Free Iran rally in Paris in 2017.

A handful of UK politicians have attended two or more of the MEK’s Paris events in the past three years, including the Conservatives Bob Blackman and Matthew Offord, and the Labour MPs Roger Godsiff and Toby Perkins. The Conservative MP and former minister Theresa Villiers has attended the past two annual Paris events. So has David Amess, the Conservative MP for Southend West – the MEK’s loudest champion in the UK parliament, who has also travelled to the US to speak at a rally in support of the group. (All of the MPs declined to reply to questions about their attendance.)

The other British attendees at this year’s Paris rally included three peers and five former MPs, including Mike Hancock, who resigned from the Liberal Democrats after admitting inappropriate behaviour with a constituent, and Michelle Thomson, who was forced to resign the SNP whip in 2015 in a controversy over property deals. The former Bishop of Oxford, John Pritchard, was also there, carrying a petition in support of the MEK signed by 75 bishops, including the former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams.

At this year’s event, flanked by union jacks and “#RegimeChange” signs, Villiers spoke of the importance of women’s rights, “paid tribute” to Maryam Rajavi – who is barred from entering the UK – and pledged support for her “just cause” in seeking to create “an Iran which is free from the brutal repression of the mullahs”. In a carefully stage-managed performance, Rajavi laid flowers and wrote a tribute in an enormous yearbook of MEK martyrs. “The time has come for the regime’s overthrow,” she said. “Victory is certain, and Iran will be free.”

One day after the conference, the MEK accused Tehran of plotting a bomb attack against the event, following the arrest of four suspects – including an unnamed Iranian diplomat – in Belgium, Germany and France. Iran’s foreign minister, Mohammad Javad Zarif, rejected claims of Iran’s involvement and described the accusations as a “sinister false flag ploy”.

Even as the MEK successfully amassed political allies in the west, its security in Iraq eroded as US troops departed. Between 2009 and 2013, Iraqi security forces raided the MEK base at least twice, killing about 100 people. Nouri al-Maliki, then the prime minister of Iraq – whose ambassador to the US called the group “nothing more than a cult” – insisted it leave the country.

Daniel Benjamin, who was then the head of counter-terrorism at the state department, told me that the US decided to remove the MEK from the list of foreign terrorist organisations not because it believed it had abandoned violence, but to “avoid them all getting killed” if it remained in Iraq. After the MEK was no longer designated a terrorist group, the US was able to convince Albania to accept the 2,700 remaining members – who were brought to Tirana on a series of charter flights between 2014 and 2016.

The group bought up land in Albania and built a new base. But the move from Iraq to the relative safety of Albania has precipitated a wave of defections. Those with means have fled the country to the EU and the US, but around 120 recent MEK escapees remain in Tirana with no right to work or emigrate. I spoke to about a dozen defectors, half of whom are still in Albania, who said that MEK commanders systematically abused members to silence dissent and prevent defections – using torture, solitary confinement, the confiscation of assets and the segregation of families to maintain control over members. In response to these allegations, an MEK spokesperson said: “The individuals who are described as ‘former members’ were being used as part of a demonisation campaign against the MEK.”

The testimony of these recent defectors follows earlier reports from groups such as Human Rights Watch, which reported former members witnessed “beatings, verbal and psychological abuse, coerced confessions, threats of execution and torture that in two cases led to death”.

The MEK grew out of Iran’s Liberation Movement, an Islamic-democratic “loyal opposition” established in 1961 by the supporters of Mohammad Mossadegh, the prime minister ousted in a 1953 coup orchestrated by Britain and the US. The movement called for national sovereignty, freedom of political activity and the separation of mosque and state. The MEK cleaved to these traditions, but responded to the growing repression of the Shah throughout the 1960s and 70s by rejecting nonviolence.

At the time, the MEK, whose members were largely idealistic middle-class students, combined Islamism with Marxist doctrine. They reinterpreted the Qur’anic passages that undergirded their Shia faith as injunctions to socialise the means of production, eliminate the class system and promote the struggles of Iran’s ethnic minorities. Steeped in thinkers such as Frantz Fanon and Régis Debray, they expressed solidarity with national liberation movements in Algeria, Cuba, Palestine and Vietnam. Quoting Lenin’s famous pamphlet, the MEK posed the question: “What Is to Be Done?” “Our answer is straightforward,” the MEK wrote: “Armed struggle.”

Rajavi was among 69 members of the MEK tried in 1972 by a military tribunal for plotting acts of terrorism. “The ruling class is on its deathbed,” he told the tribunal. When the prosecutor interrupted him to ask why he had acquired weapons, Rajavi replied: “To deal with the likes of you.”

Of the 11 members of the MEK central committee tried in 1972, nine were immediately executed and one remained in jail. When Rajavi emerged from prison in 1979, three weeks before the Iranian revolution, he was the undisputed leader of Iran’s most deadly underground rebel group.

The MEK played an important role in the 1979 revolution, seizing the imperial palace and doing much of the fighting to neutralise the police and the army. Two days after the revolution, Massoud Rajavi, who was 30, met the 77-year-old supreme leader. The two did not hit it off. “I met Khomeini,” Rajavi told a journalist in 1981. “He held out his hand for me to kiss, and I refused. Since then, we’ve been enemies.”

Khomeini saw the MEK as a threat to his power, barring Rajavi from running for president and casting his organisation as an enemy of Islam. Armed members of the newly created Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) disrupted MEK events, burned its literature and beat up its members. Without political power, the MEK relied on street protests. Hundreds of thousands of Iranians attended its rallies, which the courts soon banned.

In response, the MEK and the president, Abolhassan Banisadr, who was also antagonistic to Khomeini, organised two days of protests across 30 cities – forcing Khomeini to go on television to reiterate the ban. The MEK, he said, were “waging war on God”. Other clerics warned that demonstrators would be shot on sight. On 20 June 1981, the MEK organised a mass protest of half a million people in Tehran, with the aim of triggering a second revolution. The clerics were true to their word: 50 demonstrators were killed, with 200 wounded. Banisadr was removed from office and a wave of executions followed.

Over the following months and years, the violence escalated. Khomeini rounded up thousands of MEK supporters – while his loyalists launched waves of mob violence against MEK members and sympathisers.

By December, the regime had executed 2,500 members of the MEK. The group counter-attacked with a spate of assassinations and suicide bombings against Friday-prayer leaders, revolutionary court judges and members of the IRGC. “I am willing to die to help hasten the coming of the classless society; to keep alive our revolutionary tradition; and to avenge our colleagues murdered by this bloodthirsty, reactionary regime,” wrote one MEK fighter, Ebrahimzadeh, who killed 13 IRGC and Ayatollah Sadduqi, a close advisor to Khomeini, by detonating a hand grenade in a suicide attack in July 1982.

By the mid-1980s, thousands of people labelled as MEK had been executed or killed in street battles by the Islamic Republic of Iran.

This was the time when Rajavi accepted Saddam’s offer to fight Iran from the safety of Iraq. Over the next few years, Rajavi launched an “ideological revolution”, banning marriage and enforcing mandatory “eternal” divorce on all members, who were required to separate from their husbands or wives. He married one of the new divorcees, Maryam Azodanlu, who became, in effect, his chief lieutenant and took his name.

For Saddam, the MEK was a useful, but disposable, tool in his war against Iran. The MEK, however, was totally dependent on the Iraqi leader. In addition to cash and arms, he sent Iranian prisoners of war to Rajavi as new recruits. “The whole world was Camp Ashraf,” said Edward Tramado, one of these prisoners, remembering his indoctrination. “Nothing else had any meaning for me,” recalled Tramado, who now lives in Germany. “I was living in a delusional world. Even though I knew I had a mother who was waiting for me, my entire world had become what they had constructed for me.”

In July 1988, six days after the ceasefire that officially ended the Iran-Iraq war, the MEK launched a suicidal mission deep into Iranian territory, dubbed Operation Eternal Light. Once again, Rajavi predicted his actions would spark another revolution. “It will be like an avalanche,” Rajavi told the fighters he was about to send to their deaths. “You don’t need to take anything with you. We will be like fish swimming in a sea of people. They will give you whatever you need.”

The mission would end in a massacre: hapless MEK fighters were lured into an ambush by the Iranian army, which crushed them with minimal effort. One Iranian soldier who took part in the operation recently described it to me. Mehrad, who volunteered in 1987 at the age of 15, recalled that his division, which had fought against Iraqi soldiers on the southern front, was redeployed to the north in July 1988 to repel a new assault from Iraq. His division was sent to a location near the city of Kermanshah, about 111 miles (180km) from the border with Iraq. Mehrad and his fellow soldiers were surprised to hear that enemy soldiers had managed to make such a deep incursion into Iran. “We thought our army had given up,” he said.

When he arrived, Mehrad discovered that the enemy was the MEK – which had been led into a trap. “Their military strategy was very stupid,” he told me. “They just drove down the Tehran highway. It was like if the French army wanted to invade England and they just drove down the motorway from Dover to London.”

“We very quickly killed thousands of them,” Mehrad said. “There were piles of bodies on either side of the road. What was interesting to us was that many of them were women.” Some MEK took cyanide rather than be captured alive. The MEK subsequently claimed that 1,304 of its members were martyred, and another 1,100 returned to Iraq injured.

The survivors were tried on the spot and quickly executed; Mehrad watched as hundreds were hanged at gallows erected in the nearby town of Eslamabad. Khomeini then used the failed invasion as a pretext for the mass execution of thousands of MEK and other leftists in Iranian jails. Amnesty estimates that more than 4,500 people were put to death, and some sources say the numbers were even higher.

Eternal Light marked a major turning point for the MEK. Inside the barbed wire of Camp Ashraf, as the reality of indefinite exile sank in, a traumatised and grief-stricken membership turned against itself under the paranoid leadership of Rajavi. Several former members told me that after the bloody defeat, Massoud Rajavi cast himself as the representative of al-Mahdi, the 12th Imam who was “hidden” in the 9th century and who, according to Iranian Shia, will return alongside Jesus to bring peace and justice to the world.

Outside Camp Ashraf, the MEK continued to stage cross-border attacks against Iran, and helped Saddam to crush uprisings against his rule after his defeat by the US in the 1990 Gulf war. In March 1991, Saddam deployed the MEK to help quell the armed Kurdish independence movement in the north. According to the New York Times, Maryam Rajavi told her fighters: “Take the Kurds under your tanks, and save your bullets for the Iranian revolutionary guards.” The MEK vehemently denies it participated in Saddam’s campaigns to put down the Shia and Kurdish rebellions, but an Iraqi human rights tribunal has indicted MEK leaders for their role in suppressing the uprisings.

Karwan Jamal Tahir, the Kurdistan regional government’s high representative in London, was a fighter for the Kurdish peshmerga in 1991. He told me that he remembers how the MEK arrived in the town of Kalar, about 93 miles (150km) south-east of Kirkuk, just after Saddam had lost control of the north of Iraq after the first Gulf war. “They came in Saddam’s tanks,” he said. “We thought they were returning peshmerga because the tanks were covered with portraits of Kurdish leaders … but they opened fire on the town … It was a big atrocity.”

In the next decade, the MEK continued to fight against Iran. In 1992, the group launched concurrent attacks on Iranian diplomatic missions in 10 countries, including Iran’s permanent mission to the UN in New York, which was invaded by five men with knives. The MEK also settled more personal scores. In 1998, an assassin killed Asadollah Lajevardi, the former warden of Evin prison who had personally overseen the executions of thousands of MEK members.

Back at Camp Ashraf, commanders would tell wavering members that if they escaped, they would face certain death at the hands of either Saddam or the Iranian authorities. “We were far away from the world,” one member, who only escaped the MEK after the move to Albania, told me. “We had no information. No television, no radio.” Instead, within the camp, they had “Mojahedin television”, which consisted of looped speeches by Maryam and Massoud Rajavi, played “all day long”.

Rajavi told his followers that the failure of Eternal Light was not a military blunder, but was instead rooted in the members’ thoughts for their spouses; their love had sapped their will to fight. In 1990, all couples inside the camp were ordered to divorce – and women had their wedding rings replaced by pendants engraved with Massoud’s face. Spouses were separated, and their children were sent to be “adopted” by MEK supporters in Europe.

MEK commanders demanded that all members publicly reveal any errant sexual thoughts. Manouchelur Abdi, a 55-year-old who also left the MEK in Albania, told me that the confession sessions used to take place every morning. Even feelings of love and friendship were outlawed, he says. “I would have to confess that I missed my daughter,” he says. “They would shout at me. They would humiliate me. They would say that my family was the enemy and missing them was strengthening the hand of the mullahs in Tehran.”

Another recent defector, Ali (not his real name) showed me scars on his arms and legs from what he described as weeks of torture after he first joined the group in the early 1990s, including cigarette burns on his arms. When it was over, he said, he was taken to Baghdad to meet the leader. “They took us into a big hall. Massoud Rajavi was sitting there with a group of women,” Ali recalled. “[Rajavi said] ‘If any of you say one word to any one … One word, if any of this is exposed, reaches anyone else’s ears, or if you talk about leaving, you’ll be delivered to [Saddam’s] intelligence service immediately.’”

Batoul Soltani joined the MEK in 1986 with her husband and infant daughter. At first, her family was able to live together, but in 1990, she says she was forced to divorce and give up her five-year-old daughter and newborn son, who were sent abroad to be raised by MEK sympathisers. Soltani alleges that she was forced to have sex with Massoud Rajavi on multiple occasions, beginning in 1999. She says that the last assault was in 2006, the year that she escaped from Camp Ashraf and a time when Rajavi had not been seen in public for three years. When we spoke recently, Soltani accused Maryam Rajavi of helping Massoud to abuse female MEK members over the years. “[Massoud] Rajavi thought that the only achilles heel [for female fighters] was the opposite sex,” Soltani told me. “He would say that the only reason you women would leave me is a man. So, I want all of your hearts.”

Soltani, who was one of three women to speak about sexual abuse inside the MEK in a 2014 documentary aired on Iranian television, alleged that Rajavi had hundreds of “wives” inside the camp.

Another former female member, Zahra Moini, who served as a bodyguard for Maryam Rajavi, told me that women were threatened with punishment if they did not divorce their husbands and “marry” Massoud. “Maryam was involved in this sexual abuse, she used to read the vows to allow for the marriage to be consummated,” Moini said, in a telephone interview from Germany.

“Those who didn’t accept to marry would be disappeared. I was told that if I didn’t divorce [my husband], I would end up in Ramadi prison and I would have to sleep with the Iraqi generals every night.” (In response to questions about these allegations, an MEK spokesperson said: “The mullahs’ propaganda machine has been churning out sexual libels against the resistance and its leader for the past 40 years.”)

Two other female defectors, Zahra Bagheri and Fereshteh Hedayati, have alleged that they were given hysterectomies without their consent in the Camp Ashraf hospital, under the pretext they were being operated on for minor ailments. In the eccentric ideological language of the group, the women say the procedure was retrospectively justified to victims as representing “the peak” of loyalty to their leader.

Hedayati, who survived the massacres of Operation Eternal Light, joined the MEK as a 22-year-old in 1981 with her husband, who is still inside the group. “They said I had a cyst,” she told me. “But they also took out my womb. They told me that it meant that I had an even stronger connection to our ideological leader.” Hedayati, who left the group in Iraq and now lives in Norway, says she was never sexually abused, but was “brainwashed” by the group into divorcing her husband, and alleges that more than 100 other women were sterilised by MEK doctors. “I always ask myself why they did this to us,” Bagheri said. “Of course, to take away our futures.”

Between an escape attempt in 2001 and her exit from the MEK in 2013, Hedayati says she was subject to extraordinarily harsh treatment by her commanders. “They said I was a lesbian,” she says. “They spat on me, they beat me, they locked me up. I was put in jail, in solitary confinement.”

Albania ostensibly accepted the MEK members for humanitarian reasons – but the country’s leaders may have seen an opportunity to curry favour with the US government, which had seen its offers rejected by various other European states. “They were the only ones who would take them,” the former state department official Daniel Benjamin has said.

Olsi Jazexhi, a professor of history at the University of Durres critical of the government’s decision to accept the MEK fighters, says that Albanian politicians hoped the deal would lead the US to turn a blind eye to their own corruption. “The MEK is a card which gives them leverage with the United States,” he said. “They think that by taking the MEK, the Americans will leave their business alone.” (A secret US state department cable from 2009, published by WikiLeaks, said that the country’s three major parties “all have MPs with links to organised crime … Conventional wisdom, backed by other reporting, is that the new parliament has quite a few drug traffickers and money launderers.”)

For the Trump administration, the MEK is a valuable asset in the escalating regional conflict between Saudi Arabia and Iran. This summer, Trump abruptly pulled out of the Iran nuclear agreement and announced new sanctions, triggering a currency collapse and four months of sporadic protests across Iran. The US has reimposed tough sanctions this week, targeting Iranian oil exports and banking. But Trump’s Middle East strategy has come under new scrutiny after the murder of the journalist Jamal Khashoggi by Saudi agents in Istanbul – which has sparked a backlash against the crown prince, Mohammed bin Salman, and his allies in the Trump administration.

For most of its life in exile, the MEK was funded by Saddam. After his downfall, the group says it raised money from Iranian diaspora organisations and individual donors. The MEK has always denied it is financed by Saudi Arabia – but the former Saudi intelligence chief, Prince Turki al-Faisal, made waves when he attended the group’s 2016 rally in Paris and called for the fall of the Iranian regime.

“The money definitely comes from Saudis,” says Ervand Abrahamian, a professor at the City University of New York and author of the definitive academic work on the group’s history, The Iranian Mojahedin. “There is no one else who could be subsidising them with this level of finance.”

Analysts agree that the MEK lacks the capacity or support to overthrow the Iranian government – as even Bolton and Pompeo would surely concede. “They are probably smart enough to know that this group is not democratic and anyway has no constituency inside Iran,” said Paul Pillar, who served in the CIA for 28 years, including a period as the agency’s senior counter-terrorism analyst. Trump and his Iran hawks, Pillar said, are not concerned with replacing the current regime so much as causing it to crumble. “They are pursuing anything that would disrupt the political order in Iran so they and the president can cite such an outcome as a supposed victory no matter what comes afterwards.”

According to one recent MEK defector, Hassan Heyrani, the group’s main work in Albania involves fighting online in an escalating information war between Iran and its rivals. Heyrani, who left the MEK last summer, says that he worked in a “troll farm” of 1,000 people inside the Albanian camp, posting pro-Rajavi and anti-Iran propaganda in English, Farsi and Arabic on Facebook, Twitter, Telegram and newspaper comment sections.

“We worked from morning to night with fake accounts,” he says. “We had orders daily that the commanders would read for us. ‘It is your duty to promote this senator, this politician, or journalist writing against Iran’ and we would say ‘Thank you, the Iranian people support you and Maryam Rajavi is the rightful leader’, but if there was a negative story on the MEK, we would post ‘You are the mercenaries of the Iranian regime, you are not the voice of the Iranian people, you don’t want freedom for Iran’.” An MEK spokesperson called these allegations “another lie” made up to support the Iranian foreign ministry.

According to Marc Owen Jones, an academic who studies political bots on social media, “thousands” of suspicious Twitter accounts emerged in early 2016 with “Iran” as their location and “human rights” in their description or account name, which posted in support of Trump and the MEK. These accounts, says Jones, were created in batches and would promote Trump’s anti-Iran rhetoric using the hashtags #IranRegimeChange, #FreeIran and #IstandwithMaryamRajavi.

Albanian journalists say that the MEK, which has close contacts with senior politicians and the security services, operates with impunity within Albania. Ylli Zyla, who served as head of Albanian military intelligence from 2008 to 2012, accused the MEK of violating Albanian law. “Members of this organisation live in Albania as hostages,” he told me. Its camp, he said, was beyond the jurisdiction of Albanian police and “extraordinary psychological violence and threats of murder” took place inside.

Former members accuse the MEK of responsibility for the death in June of Malek Shara’i, a senior commander who was found drowned by police divers at bottom of a reservoir behind the group’s Albanian base. Shara’i’s sister, Zahra Shara’i, said that his family had received news from former members that Malek was about to escape, and says the MEK was responsible for his death. “I am their enemy and I will not rest until I get my revenge,” she told the Guardian from Iran. The MEK said that Shara’i drowned while attempting to save another member from drowning. The Albanian police said the death was not suspicious.

While defectors with private means have been smuggled out of the country into the EU, many former members live hand-to-mouth in Tirana. The Albanian state has not granted refugee rights to the MEK or its defectors, and a UN monthly stipend of 30,000 lek (£215) lapsed on 1 September. “They’re stuck,” says Jazexhi, who has worked to support the defectors. “They don’t know the languages, they don’t know the laws, they don’t know what democracy is. They are used to dictators. We tell them that they shouldn’t be afraid.”

Migena Balla, the lawyer representing Mostafa and Robabe Mohammadi, the couple in Tirana fighting for the release of their daughter Somayeh, believes that pressure has been put to bear on both the police and the judiciary to ensure the MEK does not “create political problems”. “Politics is interfering in the judicial system,” she says. “When I went to the police station to register their complaint the police officers actually ran away. They are scared of losing their jobs.”

The MEK has not taken kindly to the presence of the Mohammadis in Albania. They accuse Mostafa – and any former member who has spoken out against the MEK – of being a paid agent of the “mullah regime”. On 27 July, Mostafa was hospitalised following an assault by four senior members of the MEK, which was captured on video by his wife. The attackers, who shouted “Terrorist!” at Mohammadi, were briefly detained by Albanian police. But, after a phalanx of MEK members arrived at the police station, the men were promptly released.

The MEK has published letters, purportedly written by Somayeh, accusing her father of being an Iranian intelligence agent. A nervous-looking Somayeh recently gave a video interview inside the MEK base saying that she wishes to remain a member of the group.

The Mohammadis have responded with open letters to their daughter and to Albanian politicians, calling for an unsupervised meeting with their daughter. “I am your mother Mahboubeh Robabe Hamza and I want to meet with you,” Robabe wrote to Somayeh. “I am the woman who fed you at my breast, I held you in the crook of my arm. You are my flesh and blood … I love you more than my life … I’m getting old, I am getting tired, but life is not worth living without seeing you.”

Arron Merat was a Tehran correspondent for the Economist between 2011 and 2014. He has covered Iran for the Guardian, the Sunday Times and Vice News. He tweets at @a_merat

https://www.theguardian.com/news/2018/nov/09/mek-iran-revolution-regime-trump-rajavi

He was a KKK member, then a neo-Nazi: How one white supremacist renounced hate

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Filmmaker Deeyah Khan interviewed Ken Parker for her documentary, "White Right: Meeting the Enemy." (Photo: Fuuse Films)
Filmmaker Deeyah Khan interviewed Ken Parker for her documentary,
 "White Right: Meeting the Enemy." (Photo: Fuuse Films)
Monica Rhor
USA TODAY
November 1, 2018

For years, Ken Parker lived in a world of bigotry and hate.

He wore the green robes of a grand dragon in the Ku Klux Klan. He stood at lecterns and shouted racist catchphrases. He posed shirtless in a photo posted on Facebook, a swastika tattoo on his chest and a gun cradled in his arm.

He paid $30 to ride in a 15-person van from Jacksonville, Florida, to Charlottesville, Virginia, for the 2017 Unite the Right rally, where he marched as part of the National Socialist Movement contingent. They spit out slurs and anti-Semitic slogans, clashed with counterprotesters and celebrated the violence and chaos.

When a neo-Nazi plowed into the crowd, killing Heather Heyer, who was there to stand against white nationalists, Parker and his crew were in a parking garage about a mile away, giddy over what they saw as a victorious day.

Parker was immersed in white supremacist ideology, radicalized by a steady diet of racist propaganda. Like Dylann Roof, who killed nine African-American churchgoers in Charleston, South Carolina. Like Robert Bowers, who police said gunned down 11 Jewish worshipers in a Pittsburgh synagogue.

Hate crimes leave grieving families and terrorized communities – from the Muslims whose Texas mosque was burned to the ground to the Indian-born immigrant gunned down in a Kansas bar to the two African-Americans killed last week in a Kentucky Kroger grocery store.

After Charlottesville, something shifted inside Parker. He began to turn away from hate and toward the people he once might have targeted.

Why did Parker change? And how was the U.S. Navy veteran, who said he grew up in a “good Christian” family outside Chicago, drawn to hate groups in the first place?

The answers offer insight into the dynamics feeding the spread of right-wing extremism.


Need, narrative, network


In many ways, Parker was the perfect recruit for the hate movement.

After serving in the Navy for 11 years, he floundered. Scuffling to find a job in a bad economy. Trapped in a crumbling marriage. Seething about demographic changes that seemed to leave him behind.

One rainy night in early 2012, as he and his now-ex-wife shuffled through shows on Netflix, they stumbled on programs about neo-Nazi skinheads and the Ku Klux Klan.

As they watched the show about the KKK, the oldest hate group in the country, his wife turned to him. "You should look them up," she said, according to Parker. "They seem right up your alley."

Parker reached out to Klan groups he found through an online search and got a call within 15 minutes from the Loyal White Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. At first, he bristled at the anti-Semitic rhetoric the members tossed around, thinking it conflicted with the Christian teachings he had grown up with.

“Within six months, I was head over heels,” said Parker, 38. “I was looking through my Bible just to put down Jewish people.”

Parker’s path is an almost textbook example of how hate group members are radicalized.

They often feel “less than,” searching for someone to blame, for some place to direct their rage, said Tony McAleer, a former leader of the White Aryan Resistance and co-founder of Life After Hate, which helps people leave hate groups.

Parker felt lost without the camaraderie and rank structure of the military – and even more alone after his marriage collapsed and his wife left him.

Arie Kruglanski, a social psychologist at the University of Maryland who has studied extremists around the world, calls that dynamic the three N’s: need, narrative and network.

The “need” is a basic human “quest to matter, to be somebody, to have respect,” Kruglanski said.

In some cases, that need for significance leads people to good deeds; in others, it leads to violent means. The deciding factor, Kruglanski explained, is the narrative to which they are exposed.

“If you’re exposed to a narrative that the way to attain significance is by contributing to society and helping others, then you would follow that particular course of action,” Kruglanski said. “However, if you're exposed to a narrative that tells you the way to do it is through violence, through fighting the enemy of your group or the enemy of your culture, then that is what you are going to do.”

The third “N” refers to network – the community that rewards behavior and dispenses adulation and recognition.

In the 1980s, when McAleer first joined a group of racist skinheads as a student in England, it took months, sometimes years, for someone to be radicalized. They had to order books and material promoting racist beliefs through the mail and look for places to meet in person. Now, someone like Roof, whose descent into hate began with a Google search, can binge on white nationalism through YouTube videos and online forums such as 4chan.

Once in the KKK, Parker was further indoctrinated through weekly “Klan class,” a Bible study that used Scripture to advance racist beliefs, and a Klan website and chat room.

He attended his first Klan rally in May 2012, months after his first contact. Soon, he had risen to the rank of grand dragon, a reward for recruiting other members.

After four years with the KKK, Parker broke away from the organization. Not because he had renounced racist beliefs but because of a woman, who is now his fiancee, whom he met at a cross-burning. The Klan disapproved of her because she associated with black people.

“I said, screw you,” Parker recalled. “That’s how I became a Nazi.”
The rise of 'White Power'

In video footage, Parker stands at a lectern, wearing the black “battle dress” uniform of the National Socialist Movement, one of the largest neo-Nazi groups in this country. Behind him, Confederate flags rustle in the breeze.

He rails against Muslims, refugees and Mexican immigrants and vows to “stop at nothing” to wipe out those groups. He flings his arm out in a Sieg Heil salute and chants, “White Power.”

The NSM, which has roots in the original American Nazi Party, espouses violent anti-Jewish rhetoric and warns of a “white genocide."

The country's demographic changes are part of standard white supremacist talking points. Combined with easy online access to racist propaganda, it is what experts who track extremism call a perfect formula for the spread of hate.

“When these talking points slip into political debate, it lends legitimacy to it,“ said Keegan Hankes, senior research analyst at the Southern Poverty Law Center. “People get sucked into the echo chamber.”

The alleged Pittsburgh synagogue shooter, who blamed Jews for the caravan of asylum seekers making its way north through Mexico, called the immigrants “invaders” – echoing descriptions used by President Donald Trump and by pundits on the Fox cable news network.

Parker, who said he did not hear racist beliefs when he was growing up in a churchgoing Baptist family outside Chicago, absorbed the hate disseminated by the NSM on its website and on a radio station run by the neo-Nazi group, where it promotes an “all-white ethno-state.”

He would let loose with racial slurs if someone from a different ethnicity bumped into him in a store. He was furious when the NSM changed its logo from a swastika to the Odal rune, another Nazi symbol the group thought would be more palatable to a mainstream audience.

And he couldn’t wait to get to Unite the Right in Charlottesville.

“I was so pumped up,” Parker said of the white nationalist rally in August 2017. “Everyone was saying that we were going to start a revolution.”

In reality, he realizes, they did not score a victory. Instead, a “bunch of angry white guys got locked up for a long time,” and an innocent woman was killed. “Her mother doesn’t have a daughter,” Parker said. “That is not cool. At all.”

The rally marked a turning point for Parker – through an unlikely encounter with a Muslim filmmaker.


Confronting 'the enemy'



“This is Ken Parker,” Deeyah Khan narrates in her Netflix documentary “White Right: Meeting the Enemy.” “Ken is exactly the kind of person I’ve always been afraid of.”

Khan, a British Norwegian filmmaker who was targeted by racists, went to Charlottesville to try to understand what drove people into hate groups. She found “broken men” who were afraid – afraid of being marginalized by women and minorities, of being emasculated, of their own trauma and weakness.

She found Parker, whom she followed back to his home in Jacksonville, Florida. There, as Khan’s camera rolled, Parker made flyers with anti-Jewish slogans and swastikas that he tossed into front yards.

At first, he laughed and boasted about the hate act, then grew increasingly anxious as Khan questioned him about his actions. He listened as Khan read samples of racist e-mails she had received.

For Parker, who had often spewed the ugliest kind of anti-Muslim taunts, Khan’s compassion and respect were revelatory. Khan, who said she had previously tried to combat fascism with angry demonstrations and in-your-face retorts, described her approach as a necessary way to retain her own humanity.

"I don't believe it's the job of minorities to reform racists or to have to engage with their abusers," Khan said. "When we're confronted with people who hold such ugly views, who act out in such horrible and violent ways, it's hard to hold onto your own humanity. But I refuse to become like them."

On the last day of filming, Parker surprised Khan, the first Muslim person he had ever spent time with, by referring to her as a friend.

“What does this change?” she asked him. “What is this going to do for you moving forward?”

After Khan’s documentary was completed, Parker watched it over and over. By the fifth or sixth viewing, he saw himself and the NSM with new eyes. “I’m like, dude, I look stupid,” he said. “We all look so stupid. This is foolish.”

Shortly after that, Parker and his fiancee struck up a conversation with a neighbor – the pastor of an African-American church. Like Khan, the neighbor treated the couple with kindness, inviting them to Sunday service.

They became regulars at the All Saints Holiness Church, where they were welcomed by the African-American congregation.

At first, Parker could not discard what he saw as the brotherhood of the NSM, and he planned to go to a rally in Georgia.

The night before, he prayed to the Holy Spirit for guidance – and decided not to attend the rally. Instead, he sent a resignation e-mail to the National Socialist Movement.

“I could not keep living that lifestyle of hate,” Parker said.

Just as Parker’s journey into the KKK and the NSM illustrates the pull of hate groups, his path out shows how extremists can be deradicalized.

“You have to basically reverse the process,” said Kruglanski, the social psychologist. “You’ve got to convince potential recruits that this movement will not bring significance. It only brings humiliation and ignominy.”

That counter-narrative must come not only from friends, Kruglanski said, but also from public officials and political leaders.

Parker, who rejects the message of hate he once promoted, found a new network. Almost a year after he marched as a neo-Nazi in Charlottesville, a few days before he began the process of having his white supremacist tattoos removed, he was baptized in All Saints Holiness Church.

He walked hand-in-hand with his black pastor into the Atlantic Ocean, dipped his head under the water and rose into a new life.

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/2018/11/01/hate-group-white-extremist-radicalization/1847255002/

Bizarre Korean cult leader jets into Harare

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Mandla Ndlovu
Bulawayo24
November 13, 2018

Hak Ja Moon, the Leader of a Korean cult, The Family Federation for World Peace and Unification, is landing at the National Sports Stadium in Harare on the 21st of November to advance her bizarre beliefs that have drawn worldwide condemnation over the years.

Hak is coming under the guise of healing the wounds of the past and to support the Zimbabwean government's endeavours for peace and reconciliation.

The Moon cult has lined up music heavyweights such as Oliver Mtukudzi, Mathias Mhere, Minister Mahendere and Hope Masike among others to offer entertainment during the event which they have dubbed; Peace and Family Festival.
In Zimbabwe, the movement is led by Reverand Bosako Iyolangomo.

Pastor Scotch from Christ the Saviour Ministries spoke to Bulawayo24 and said,"This is very worrying that a time when we are supposed to seek the face of the one true God, we are seeing our country being invaded by strange people of bizarre beliefs. This woman and her late husband have all over the years taught a strange doctrine about our Lord Jesus Christ and they claim they are the physical parents of all humanity. 

"If our government allows this woman to come and preach her doctrine and cement it in Zimbabwe using her money that she is flashing around, we are bound to see God reacting by deserting our country. 

"I am even shocked at how this woman got seriously known Christians like Minister Mahendere and Mathias Mhere to be part of her event. 

Hak is the second wife of Sun Myung Moon the late Founder of the Unification Movement.

The Unification movement believes that God s original intent was for Jesus to form a perfect marriage in order to redeem humanity and undo the harm perpetrated by Adam and Eve.

Because Jesus (the second Adam) was executed before accomplishing his mission, a third Adam was needed to form this perfect marriage and complete Jesus'  task. This third Adam would be recognized as the second coming of Christ. As the perfect man, he would marry the perfect woman and become the true spiritual parents of humankind. 

Members of the Unification Church regard Moon and his second wife, Hak Ja Moon, as these True Parents. Married couples and their families within the movement are regarded as the True Children and linked to God through the True Parents.

https://bulawayo24.com/index-id-news-sc-national-byo-149547.html?fbclid=IwAR2wUqWk0txYX9FYS59VsX0p-6usndeULu9ycGpA2AhtFfWOJnt_S-8fgl8


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Jonestown survivors lost only life they knew, built new ones

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Jonestown
TIM REITERMAN
AP
November 14, 2018

OAKLAND, Calif. (AP) — Jonestown was the highlight of Mike Touchette’s life — for a time.

The 21-year-old Indiana native felt pride pioneering in the distant jungle of Guyana, South America. As a self-taught bulldozer operator, he worked alongside other Peoples Temple members in the humid heat, his blade carving roads and sites for wooden buildings with metal roofs. More than 900 people lived in the agricultural mission, with its dining pavilion, tidy cottages, school, medical facilities and rows of crops.

“We built a community out of nothing in four years,” recalled Touchette, now a 65-year-old grandfather who has worked for a Miami hydraulics company for nearly 30 years. “Being in Jonestown before Jim got there was the best thing in my life.”

Jim was the Rev. Jim Jones — charismatic, volatile and ultimately evil. It was he who dreamed up Jonestown, he who willed it into being, and he who brought it down: First, with the assassination of U.S. Rep. Leo Ryan and four others by temple members on a nearby airstrip on Nov. 18, 1978, then with the mass murders and suicides of hundreds, a horror that remains nearly unimaginable 40 years later.

But some lived. Dozens of members in Guyana slipped out of Jonestown or happened to be away that day. Plunged into a new world, those raised in the temple or who joined as teens lost the only life they knew: church, jobs, housing — and most of all, family and friends.

Over four decades, as they have built new lives, they have struggled with grief and the feeling that they were pariahs. Some have come to acknowledge that they helped enable Jim Jones to seize control over people drawn to his interracial church, socialist preaching and religious hucksterism.

With their lives, the story of Jonestown continues, even now.

CHILD OF BERKELEY


Jordan Vilchez’s parents were Berkeley progressives in the 1960s — her father African-American, her mother Scotch-Irish. They divorced when Jordan was 6.

When a friend invited her family to Peoples Temple’s wine country church, they were impressed by the integrated community. And when her 23-year-old sister joined, Jordan went to live with her at age 12.

“The temple really became my family,” she said.

Devotion to its ideals bolstered her self-worth. At 16, she was put on the Planning Commission where the meetings were a strange mix of church business, sex talk — and adulation for Jones. “What we were calling the cause really was Jim,” she said.

Instead of finishing high school, Vilchez moved to San Francisco, where she lived in the church. Then, after a 1977 New West magazine expose of temple disciplinary beatings and other abuses, she was sent to Jonestown.

Grueling field work was not to her liking. Neither were the White Nights where everyone stayed up, armed with machetes to fight enemies who never arrived.

Vilchez was dispatched to the Guyanan capital of Georgetown to raise money. On Nov. 18 she was at the temple house when a fanatical Jones aide received a dire radio message from Jonestown. The murders and suicides were unfolding, 150 miles away.

“She gives us the order that were supposed to kill ourselves,” Vilchez recalled.

Within minutes, the aide and her three children lay dead in a bloody bathroom, their throats slit.

For years, Vilchez was ashamed of the part he played in an idealistic group that imploded so terribly. “Everyone participated in it and because of that, it went as far as it did,” she said.

Vilchez worked as office manager at a private crime lab for 20 years and now, at 61, sells her artwork.

This past year, she returned to long-overgrown Jonestown. Where the machine shop once stood, there was only rusty equipment. And she could only sense the site of the pavilion, the once-vibrant center of Jonestown life where so many died — including her two sisters and two nephews.

“When I left at 21, I left a part of myself there,” she said. “I was going back to retrieve that young person and also to say goodbye.”

THE JONES FIRSTBORN


Though he waved and smiled at Peoples Temple services, seemingly enraptured like the rest, Stephan Gandhi Jones says he always had his doubts.

“This is really crazy,” he recalls thinking.

But Stephan was the biological son of Jim and Marceline Jones. And the temple was his life — first in Indiana, later in California.

“So much was attractive and unique that we turned a blind eye on what was wrong,” he said, including his father’s sexual excesses, drug abuse and rants.

As a San Francisco high school student, he was dispatched to help build Jonestown. It would become a little town where people of all ages and colors raised food and children.

Stephan helped erect a basketball court and form a team. In the days before Ryan’s fact-finding mission to the settlement, the players were in Georgetown for a tourney with the Guyana national teams.

Rebelling, they refused Jones’ order to come back. Stephan believed he was too cowardly to follow through with the oft-threatened “revolutionary suicide.”

But after temple gunmen killed the congressman, three newsmen and a church defector on the Port Kaituma airstrip, Jones ordered a poisoned grape-flavored drink administered to children first. That way no one else would want to live.

Stephan Jones and some other team members believe they might have changed history if they were there. “The reality was we were folks who could be counted on to stand up,” he said. “There is no way we would be shooting at the airstrip. That’s what triggered it.”

He went through years of nightmares, mourning and shame. To cope, he says he abused drugs and exercised obsessively. “I focused my rage on Dad and his circle, rather than deal with me,” he said.

More than 300 Jonestown victims were children. Now, Stephan Jones is father of three daughters, ages 16, 25 and 29, and works in the office furniture installation business.

He says his daughters have seen him gnash his teeth when he talks about his father, but they also have heard him speak lovingly of the man who taught him compassion and other virtues.

“People ask, ‘How can you ever be proud of your father?’” he said. “I just have to love him and forgive him.”

NINTH GRADER FROM FRESNO


Eugene Smith recalls how his mother, a churchgoing African-American, bought into Jim Jones’ dream after they attended a service in Fresno. She gave her house to the Peoples Temple and they moved to San Francisco.

He was 18 and running a temple construction crew when the church sanctioned his marriage to a talented 16-year-old singer, Ollie Wideman. After Ollie became pregnant, she was sent to Jonestown; Eugene remained behind.

When Smith reunited with his mother and wife in Jonestown, Ollie was 8½ months pregnant.

The reunion with Jones was not as joyous. Jones berated three other new arrivals for misbehavior on the trip; they were beaten and forced to work 24 hours straight.

“He made a promise — once we get to Jonestown there is no corporal punishment,” Smith said. “In an hour, that promise was broken.”

Life became more tolerable after the couple’s baby, Martin Luther Smith, was born. Ollie worked in the nursery, and Eugene felled trees. But he said his discontent festered.

When he was ordered to Georgetown to help with supply shipments, Smith said he concocted an escape plan: Ollie and other temple singers and dancers, he believed, would soon be sent to Georgetown to perform, and the family would flee to the U.S. Embassy.

But the entertainers stayed in Jonestown to entertain Ryan. And Smith’s wife, son and mother died.

“All I could do is weep,” he said.

After more than 22 years at California’s transportation department, Smith retired in 2015. He’s 61 now. He’s never remarried, and Martin Luther Smith was his only child.

BORN INTO TEMPLE FAMILY


When John Cobb was born in 1960 in a black section of Indianapolis, his mother and older siblings already were temple members. But in 1973, John’s oldest brother and a sister, along with six other California college students, quit the church and became its enemies. When the prodigals visited, the Cobbs kept it secret from Jones.

John was attending a San Francisco high school when he was allowed to join his best friends in Jonestown. There, as part of Jones’ personal security detail, Cobb saw the once captivating minister strung out on drugs, afraid to venture anywhere for fear of his legal problems.

“If anything, we felt pity for him,” he said, “and it grew into a dislike, maybe hate.”

He too was a member of the basketball team. His biggest regrets revolve around the team’s refusal to return to Jonestown. “I believe 100 percent that not everyone would have been dead,” he said.

Cobb lost 11 relatives that day, including his mother, youngest brother and four sisters.

Now 58, he owns a modular office furniture business in the East Bay and is married with a daughter. 29. One day, when she was in high school, she came home and told her parents that her religion class had discussed Peoples Temple; only then did her father share the story of how his family was nearly wiped out.

She wept.

JONESES’ ADOPTED BLACK SON


The Joneses adopted a black baby in Indiana in 1960, and Jim gave the 10-week-old infant his own name. “Little Jimmy” became part of their “Rainbow Family” of white, black, Korean-American and Native American children.

In California, he was steeped in temple life. Those who broke rules were disciplined. At first it was spanking of children. Then it was boxing matches for adults.

“To me the ends justified the means,” he said. “We were trying to build a new world, a progressive socialist organization.”

The church provided free drug rehabilitation, medical care, food. It marched for four jailed Fresno newsmen. When Jim Sr., a local Democratic Party darling, met with future first lady Rosalyn Carter, Jim Jr. proudly went along.

After the temple exodus to Guyana, he was given a public relations post in Georgetown — and was part of the basketball team.

He was summoned to the temple radio room. In code, his father told him everyone was going to die in “revolutionary suicide.”

“I argued with my Dad,” he said. “I said there must be another way.”

Jim Jr. would lose 15 immediate relatives in Jonestown, including his pregnant wife, Yvette Muldrow.

In the aftermath, he built a new life. He remarried three decades ago, and he and his wife Erin raised three sons. He converted to Catholicism and registered Republican. He built a long career in health care, while weathering his own serious health problems.

Of course, even if he wanted to forget Jonestown, his name was an ever-present reminder.

He has taken a lead role in a 40th Jonestown anniversary memorial to be held Sunday at Oakland’s Evergreen Cemetery, where remains of unclaimed and unidentified victims are buried. Four granite slabs are etched with names of the 918 people who died in Guyana— including James Warren Jones, which deeply offends some whose relatives perished.

“Like everyone else, he died there,” his son said. “I’m not saying he didn’t cause it, create it. He did.”

___

Tim Reiterman, AP environment team editor, covered Jonestown for the San Francisco Examiner and was wounded when temple members fired on Rep. Leo Ryan’s party in 1978. He is the author with the late John Jacobs of “Raven: The Untold Story of the Rev. Jim Jones and His People.”

https://www.apnews.com/08719a0375204841ba4efaa718b96dff

Jehovah's Witnesses Recount Stories of Abuse, Estrangement in Leah Remini-Hosted Special

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Scientology and the Aftermath's
Katie Kilkenny
Hollywood Reporter
November 13, 3018

In a special preceding 'Scientology and the Aftermath's' third season, Remini gathered ex-members to discuss their experiences with the church on issues including blood transfusions, justice and women's rights.

Leah Remini kicked off the third season of her A&E series Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath on Tuesday night with a deep-dive, two-hour special on the Christian denomination Jehovah's Witnesses.

On Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath: The Jehovah's Witnesses, Remini led a panel of ex-Jehovah's Witnesses as they explained some of the church's most controversial positions and practices: its belief in Armageddon, disavowal of blood transfusions, disfellowships and subjugation of women.

As Remini explained at the beginning, the special stemmed from letters and social-media messages the production received, asking it to look into the denomination. "I thought Jehovah's Witnesses were just nice people knocking on doors," Remini said. But "We have received many letters, [saying], 'Please look into the Jehovah's Witnesses'" and making the connection between Scientology and Jehovah's Witnesses, she noted.

"Take Scientology, add eight million members, and you've got Jehovah's Witnesses," Lloyd Evans, a former member of the church and author of a book called The Reluctant Apostate, told her.

Jehovah's Witnesses emerged from the International Bible Students Association in the 19th century but was officially given its current name in 1931. Believers differ from other forms of Christianity in denying the the Trinitarian belief that Jesus is divine, instead acknowledging him only as the son of God. Jehovah's Witnesses believe that Armageddon is coming, and when it does, non-Witnesses (or "worldly" people) will go to Hell and God's Kingdom will be established on earth with only Jehovah's Witnesses populating it. They do not celebrate holidays or birthdays and also famously oppose blood transfusions on grounds of faith.

The church has recently weathered accusations that it helped cover up accusations of child sexual abuse and other misconduct worldwide.

In an early discussion on Armageddon during the special, one man noted that his beliefs stopped him from being friends with "worldly" children, as he believed that those could imminently die once Armageddon came. Another, Nate Quarry, said, "As long as you can understand words, you're being told Armageddon is coming … I had the most horrific nightmares for at least 10 years after leaving the organization."

Believing that those Jehovah's Witnesses who stray from scripture also will not survive Armageddon, followers police each other, panelists said. One means of doing this is "disfellowshipping," or shunning church members who have disobeyed rules that range from adultery to smoking a cigarette; family, friends and church members avoid contact with those who have been disfellowshipped.

Quarry and panelist Sharon Follis noted that they had been disfellowshipped for dating "worldly" partners. Another panelist, Cliff Henderson, was disfellowshipped for having a relationship with a woman while he was depressed. After, he says he made "desperate" attempts to re-contact his family, including showing up at his brother's wedding, where his father rebuffed him. When his mother saw him, she started crying but didn't say a word: "I have to accept that I may never have a relationship with them again, and that hurts," Henderson said.

"The basis of this organization is conditional love," Quarry noted.

The panelists lingered on the topic of suicide, which is forbidden in the church but had touched many of their lives. Panelist Jerry Minor attempted to commit suicide because he thought he was too flawed to survive Armageddon; the mother of another panelist, Shannon Rowland, took her own life after experiencing a long period of depression. Panelists Rick and Sharon Follis, who are siblings, noted that they only reunited with their parents after having left the church at the funeral of a brother who also committed suicide.

The last quarter of the special touched on hot topics that have pervaded news coverage of Jehovah's Witnesses in recent years. The Witnesses' position on blood transfusions — that they are forbidden by scripture — led to the death of Rowland's brother, she says, before he was about to get married. "Imagine finding out the one medical thing you cannot do is what your loved one needs," Rowland said. One panelist noted that a Jehovah's Witnesses publication, Awake!magazine, once published a list of "youths who put God first" by dying instead of accepting a blood transfusion.

The church also believes that women should live in subjection to men, using such fictional justifications as their brains are 10 percent smaller and that their skulls are lighter than men's. The only grounds for divorce within the church is adultery, which, three of the female panelists said, led them to be entrapped in marriages with abusive husbands.

One, Cynthia Hampton, reported the alleged abuse to church elders, only to be told to be more submissive and stop "nagging" her husband. Only when she was able to prove he smoked — forbidden by the church — was she able to separate from him.

Rubio described giving her daughter up for adoption to a congregation member when she was disfellowshipped for getting a secular divorce. "I felt I couldn't let her suffer the consequences of my sins," Rubio said. But her daughter, Mikaysha Soto, who was also on the panel, said that the night she was officially adopted, her adoptive father began molesting her.

The special's final discussion, on the topic of child abuse, especially homed in on the church's "two-witness" rule, which does not allow members to punish a crime unless two people have witnessed it (which is naturally rare in cases of child abuse). Followers are strongly encouraged to handle judicial matters within the church, and pedophiles can be forgiven if they say they're sorry, one panelist noted. Soto was eventually able to prosecute her alleged abuser because a 9-year-old friend of hers said she was also being abused by the man, satisfying the two-witness rule.

At the end of the special, Evans noted, "As a Jehovah's Witness you're taught to look forward to paradise. But you never realize that the paradise is being able to think for yourself." The final sequences showed panelists estranged from family members who are still within the church telling them what they wish they could say in person.

Season three of Scientology and the Aftermath will examine the church's tax-exempt status and vast resources that enable its organization. The series will return Nov. 27 at 9 p.m. on A&E, with eight new episodes and four specials.

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/jehovahs-witnesses-recount-stories-abuse-leah-remini-special-1160963

Is There A Cure For Hate?

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Taly Kogon and her son Leo, 10, listen to speakers during an interfaith vigil against anti-Semitism and hate at the Holocaust Memorial late last month in Miami Beach, Fla.
Taly Kogon and her son Leo, 10, listen to speakers
during an interfaith vigil against anti-Semitism
and hate at the Holocaust Memorial late last month in Miami Beach, Fla.
ERIC WESTERVELT
NPR

November 6, 2018




For months prior to the recent shooting at the synagogue in Pittsburgh, suspect Robert Bowers spewed venomous bigotry, hatred and conspiracies online, especially against Jews and immigrants. During the Oct. 27 attack, according to a federal indictment, he said he wanted "to kill Jews."

He is charged with 44 counts — including hate crimes — for the murder of 11 people and wounding of six others at the Tree of Life Congregation synagogue.

The attack follows a spike in anti-Semitic incidents, concerns about the rise in domestic extremism and calls for politicians to rethink their anti-immigrant rhetoric.

We wanted to know what programs, if any, are effective in getting violent and violence-prone far-right extremists in America to cast aside their racist beliefs and abandon their hate-filled ways.

Here are five key takeaways:


1) Neglected, minimized and underfunded

Creating and expanding effective programs to get homegrown far-right racists to find the off-ramp from hate is, overall, an under-studied, underfunded and neglected area.
White supremacy is really a problem throughout the United States. It doesn't know any geographic boundaries. It's not isolated to either urban or rural or suburban — it cuts across all. - Pete Simi, Chapman University
"We haven't wanted to acknowledge that we have a problem with violent right-wing extremism in this kind of domestic terrorism," says sociologist Pete Simi of Chapman University, who has researched and consulted on violent white nationalists and other hate groups for more than two decades.

"White supremacy is really a problem throughout the United States," he says. "It doesn't know any geographic boundaries. It's not isolated to either urban or rural or suburban — it cuts across all."

But it's a problem and topic that America has "tended to hide or minimize," he adds.

That willful denial, Simi says, has left many nonprofits, social workers and police and other interventionists largely flying blind.

"There really haven't been much resources, attention, time, energy devoted to developing efforts to counter that form of violent extremism."

In fact, the Trump administration in 2017 rescinded funding that targeted domestic extremism.

The administration, instead, has focused almost exclusively on threats from Islamist extremists and what it sees as the security and social menace of undocumented immigrants including, again, whipping up anti-immigrant sentiment ahead of the midterm elections.

2) There's no consensus on what really works

The research done so far shows that adherence to white supremacist beliefs can be addictive. Some who try to leave can "relapse" and return to the hate fold.

But Simi says, "We're really very much in the early days."

And there is no consensus yet on what works best over the long haul.

Academically, there has been more attention and research on interventions with American gang members or would-be Jihadis.

And while there is some crossover, far-right hate comes with ideological baggage often absent in gangs and is different from the religion-infused Jihadi belief system.

3) Best practices are costly and labor-intensive

Can racist radicals and homegrown right-wing violent extremists successfully be rehabilitated and re-enter civil society?

"The answer to that question is absolutely 'yes,'" Simi says.

The groups with the best approach, he says, seem to be those that partner with a broad section of civil society — educators, social workers, those in health care and police — to tackle the full range of problems someone swept up into an extremist world might face.

They may need additional schooling or employment training, he says or "maybe they have some housing needs, maybe they have some unmet mental health needs," such as past trauma or substance use problems.

It's a more holistic approach that he says, in the end, is far more effective and less costly than prison and packing more people into the already overcrowded U.S. criminal justice system.

But that "wraparound services" model is also labor-intensive, expensive and hard to coordinate.

It's also severely hampered, Simi says, by America's woefully inadequate drug treatment and mental health care systems.

"A big, big problem that we face as a society is abdicating our responsibility in terms of providing this kind of social support and social safety net for individuals that suffer from mental health," as well as drug problems, he says.

4) Life after hate

Tony McAleer knows the mindset of the suspect in the synagogue shooting.

A former member of the White Aryan Resistance and other hate groups, he once echoed the type of racist invective Bowers spewed online; the kind that sees a cabal of malevolent Jews running the world by proxy through banks, Hollywood, corporations and the media.

I think of them as lost...And I can tell you being in that place is not a fun place to be. When you surround yourself with angry and negative people I guarantee you your life is not firing on all cylinders. - Tony McAleer, Life After Hate

And McAleer knows how savvy racist recruiters can be. He was one of them.

"I was a Holocaust denier. I ran a computer-operated voicemail system that was primarily anti-Semitic," he says.

He eventually renounced his bigotry and helped co-found the nonprofit Life After Hate, one of just a handful of groups working to help right-wing extremists find an off-ramp. It also was among those that lost funding — a $400,000 Obama-era federal grant — when the Trump administration changed focus.

In McAleer's experience, adherence to racist beliefs — whether as part of a group or as a lone wolf like the synagogue suspect — is more often sparked by a flawed search for identity and purpose than by a deeply held belief.

The group doesn't attack people's ideology verbally. He calls that approach "the wrong strategy. Because it's about identity."

The best method, he believes, is simply listening and trying to reconnect to the person's buried humanity.

McAleer says he tries to get at what's motivating the hate, to find out why people are really so angry and upset to begin with, and to start the dialogue from there.

You condemn the ideology and the actions, he says, but not the human being.

"I think of them as lost. Somewhere along the line, they find themselves in this place," says McAleer, "and I can tell you being in that place is not a fun place to be. When you surround yourself with angry and negative people, I guarantee you your life is not firing on all cylinders."

He says that's the way he felt. "I was just so disconnected from my heart."

The birth of his children and compassion from a Jewish man, he says, helped him to leave that life and to reconnect with his own humanity and that of others.

People often have never met the people that they purport to hate, he says.

"And there's nothing more powerful — I know because it happened to me in my own life — than receiving compassion from someone who you don't feel you deserve it from, someone from a community that you had dehumanized."

5) How do you scale compassion?

But there are only a few programs like Life After Hate.

And they're often small. Since the summer of 2017, for example, the Chicago-based group has taken on only 41 new people who want to leave their racist hate behind.

"Keep in mind, de-radicalization is a lifelong process," says Life After Hate's Dimitrios Kalantzis. "We consider it a major success when formers remain active in our network, even if that means checking in within our online support group. That means they are engaged and unlikely to relapse."

But is inspiring compassion really scalable, and how can groups more effectively structure and organize similar efforts?

How can researchers and others scale it to reach as large a number of people as possible?

"That's the answer I can't provide because at this point, we really don't know," sociologist Pete Simi says.



https://www.npr.org/2018/11/06/663773514/is-there-a-cure-for-hate

White supremacy can be addictive, and leaving it behind can be like kicking a drug habit.

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White supremacy can be addictive, and leaving it behind can be like kicking a drug habit.
October 10, 2017

The 2016 election and the violence in Charlottesville, Virginia, earlier this year have focused the attention of many on to the resurgence of far-right extremism and radicalization. In new research based on interviews with former white supremacists, Pete Simi, Kathleen Blee, Matthew DeMichele and Steven Windisch find that many of those involved in such movements consider themselves as having been “addicted” to white supremacism. They write that the totalizing lifestyle and extreme hatred-based identity associated with white supremacism may explain why former white supremacists feel they are addicts.

The tragic violence in Charlottesville, Virginia in August prompted many to ask questions about the resurgence of far-right extremism and how individuals become radicalized into these movements. Even before Charlottesville, the 2016 presidential election helped cast a spotlight on the “alt-right’s” efforts to rebrand white supremacy while appealing to a younger and more tech savvy generation. Far less attention, however, has been devoted to understanding what happens when people leave white supremacist hate groups and the challenges they may encounter.

Does leaving hate behind involve a recovery process that mimics what substance users and other types of addicts’ experience? Based on extensive life history interviews with 89 former US white supremacists, we find that a substantial portion of our interview subjects report a difficult time shaking their former thoughts, feelings, and bodily reactions, and, in many cases, come to think of themselves as being “addicted” to white supremacism.

On the one hand, conventional wisdom suggests white supremacists are entirely consumed by hatred where the prospect of change seems unlikely (“once a hater, always a hater”). In this sense, being addicted to hate might make sense. On the other hand, previous studies have noted the high burn-out rate among members of the white supremacist movement and the substantial retention efforts initiated by various groups to sustain participation. The question is not whether people can leave white supremacist hate groups as they clearly do, but, rather, what happens after they leave?

White supremacy has a long political, economic, and social history that permeates US institutions and culture. Our focus on the personal consequences of white supremacy is not an effort to reduce the problem to an individual pathology but rather highlight the deep-seated nature of white supremacy. But sociologists have been reluctant to study the addictive qualities related to identity formation and change and the social significance of hate.

Why would hate result in consequences so severe that former white supremacists use the term addiction to describe their struggles? In truth, we are only beginning to learn about the neurocognitive dynamics related to involuntary and unwanted aspects of a past identity. We think two factors are especially important for understanding what generates these addiction-like qualities among former white supremacists.

First, white supremacy involves a totalizing, all-encompassing lifestyle that typically dominates everything from their thoughts, feelings, and relationships to their selection of television shows, music and even food they consume. In short, becoming a white supremacist is a complete identity transformation similar to what has previously been described in relation to drug and alcohol addiction.

Second, extreme hatred is characterized by rigid boundaries of “us” and “them” and various types of dehumanization. Identities, like white supremacism, that involve extreme hatred related to group-based prejudices, are likely to produce long-term neurophysiological consequences.

The routinized and insular nature of white supremacy along with the focus on extreme hatred produces an identity that may be much harder to leave behind than previously thought. In this sense, disengagement is not really the end of that identity as a whole other layer of unwanted and involuntary thoughts, feelings, bodily reactions, and behaviors may persist and continue to shape the person’s life.

Yet, the persistence of hate is not inevitable. The formers we interviewed also devised extensive self-talk strategies to respond to the sudden resurfacing of their previous identity as a white supremacist. Self-talk is part of a larger process of learning new ways to act by reminding themselves that their past need not be their current or future self.
Self-talk represents an internal dialogue and allows formers to suppress manifestations of a self they no longer embrace. Instances of self-talk may contribute to a person’s sense of self efficacy by cumulatively demonstrating their ability to initiate change.

While we do not endorse the idea, “once a hater, always a hater,” there may be shreds of truth in this statement in that any kind of powerful identity will leave traces on the remainder of a person’s life. The point is not that change is impossible but rather transformation is rarely complete and past identities linger while continuing to shape future selves. It is much better for individuals to understand how these past identities may continue to shape their lives rather than remain oblivious and unaware of these influences.

This article is based on the paper, ‘Addicted to Hate: Identity Residual among Former White Supremacists’ in the American Sociological Review.

About the authors


Kathleen Blee – University of Pittsburgh
Kathleen Blee is Distinguished Professor of Sociology at the University of Pittsburgh. She has written extensively about organized white supremacism, including Inside Organized Racism: Women in the Hate Movement and Women in the Klan: Racism and Gender in the 1920s, as well as methodological approaches and the politics and ethics of studying racist hate groups and strategies for combatting racial hate.


Matthew DeMichele – Research Triangle Institute

Matthew DeMichele is a Senior Research Sociologist at the Research Triangle Institute, where he conducts research on correctional population trends, risk prediction, criminal behavior, community corrections, terrorism/extremism, and program evaluation. He is currently leading research projects for federal and local governments, and for private foundations. DeMichele has several technical reports and policy briefs as well as publications appearing in Crime and Delinquency, Theoretical Criminology, and Criminology and Public Policy.


Pete Simi – Chapman University

Pete Simi is an Associate Professor in the Department of Sociology and Director of the Earl Babbie Research Center at Chapman University. He has published widely on the issues of political violence, social movements, and street gangs.


Steven Windisch – University of Nebraska Omaha

Steven Windisch is a 3rd year doctoral student in the School of Criminology and Criminal Justice at the University of Nebraska Omaha. His research interests include domestic terrorism, extremist radicalization, violence, street gangs, collective behavior, social movements and qualitative research methods.

http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/usappblog/2017/10/10/white-supremacy-can-be-addictive-and-leaving-it-behind-can-be-like-kicking-a-drug-habit/
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