Reports from protest against the Co$, East Grinstead, March 2004

Report by John Ritson

A wet and very windy day, but six intrepid suppressives turned up in East Grinstead to rain on the official L. Ron Hubbard birthday celebrations at Saint Hill. One had problems with his colon-thetans so didn't fancy being out in the countryside for a long period and set off for a chemist's and the next pub. ARSCC (UK) directives state that at least one picketer should be wearing a fedora. Because of the high wind, Jens turned up in a woolly hat, and I had to do fedora duty. So five of us travelled by taxi to the gates of Saint Hill, to find a row of rented white Transit vans parked opposite to the entrance. (Saint Hill is on a busy, narrow road, and normally we have to stand opposite the entrance, squashed up against the hedge) But now we could stand in the road, as traffic would have to move out to pass the vans. So we set up the boombox, and displayed the placards, to the great annoyance of the Eastern European security guard and of Scientologists driving in to celebrate the birthday. Eventually a Scientologist in a long coat emerged and told us that another van would be parked where we were standing. Obviously parking is not one of those abilities that can be sorted out by an expensive Scientology course and the van ended up at an angle, so blocking half the roadway and allowing me to deliver my anti-scientology truths safely from in its lee. Clearly the guy in the long coat was objectively aiding the suppressives. Upset by this he organised a Scientology public to park his car even further up the road, even knocking it into Tam, who was holding a placard there. Immediately afterwards the police arrived and were horrified to find that the Scientologists had blocked off half of a busy road when they had acres of parking space within Saint Hill. More senior Scientologists appeared, including Graeme Wilson, and another character who proclaimed "I'm the boss" (sorry to hear about the demotion, Graeme, but let's face it, you don't look too healthy these days, so perhaps someone younger should take over). The three of them carried on with their game about not knowing who had the keys to the vans and allowed us the best access to the gates and incoming traffic that we have ever had (Thanks to whichever mole in Saint Hill organised that for us).

After an hour taxis arrived to take us to the Ship pub opposite Scientology's new low-profile site in East Grinstead. We watched some rugby on television, had some food and a few beers, then crossed the road to picket again. The unholy trinity were there again, plus Graeme was accompanied by some blonde female who gave the police an ear-bashing for not shutting us up. When one of the picketers approached her, she asked for a leaflet, and then snatched the lot - to no avail as we had plenty more .Two separate Scientologists tried to grab placards out of our hands and had to be pursued by the police (the same guys who had been outside Saint Hill) to have the errors of their ways explained to them, with Graeme and blonde acting as ineffectual counsels for the defence. ("The boss" kept a discreet distance away) When we returned to the pub, we were actually greeted with a round of applause from people who had been watching us through the window, which shows how unpopular Scientology has become in its last UK redoubt.

We had a few more beers and then set off home.

Report by Thomas J Best

(Disclaimer: All dialogue and actions are from memory, not recordings. I still have my reactive mind.)

Five of the usual suspects, armed collectively with boom box, pamphlets, and placards, managed to find each other as (loosely) planned at Victoria Station to catch a handy train to East Grinstead. A sixth SP climbed aboard in the vicinity of Croydon.

Arrival was uneventful, except that one SP was disabled by an attack of Tummy Wogs! We counselled the poor victim to go seek a 'Touch Assist', but he insisted on finding a pharmacy. Can you believe it!? We made arrangements to meet later.

Pausing only for brief refreshment, we hopped a couple of cabs out to the Saint Hill Manor gates. We began to set up opposite the gates. We couldn't picket by the gates on their side of the road, being their property. There were a couple of hired vans/people movers parked on the roadside where we were, but not directly opposite the gates.

There was a uniformed Caucasian male in a small gatehouse (to our left as we looked across the road) who was very quickly on the radio as the placards were unfurled and the litany of fraud, deceipt, quackery and thuggery, interspersed with free teachings about Xenu and Body Thetans boomed across the tarmac.

Shortly thereafter, a burly and very annoyed Caucasian male appeared from the main gatehouse (called 'Main Lodge') on the right of the gates. He berated us for disturbing his lunch with our racket, claiming "I'm not one of them, but I'm going to complain to the police!" (Or words to that effect.) That was fine, we said. We apologised for disturbing his lunch, and advised him that peace and tranquillity would be restored shortly. He harrumphed a bit more, then went back in, closing his five-bar gate behind him.

Things began to hot up then. A number of agitated people appeared from the grounds. Our lead SP reported that Graeme Wilson, head of PR in the UK, had arrived. He'd bolted across the road into the grounds with nary a glance at us. Then the 'tech' was deployed in all it's glory.

A mid-20s Caucasian male, skinny, blond, glasses, wearing a calf-length black woollen coat (of good cut and quality) began directing another people mover into position behind those already parked across from the gates. Right in front of our boom box and picketing spot!

This action was met by cries of: "Hiding! Where is 'hiding' on the Tone Scale? See 'parking tech' in action!"

The people in the van were so distraught that they couldn't actually complete a proper parallel park, so the rear end of the van stuck out into the road!

Any traffic coming from our right heading towards the gates had to slow to a crawl to negotiate the turn into the grounds! We could stand right behind the van with our placards, safe from passing traffic, and enturbulate the hell out of them! It worked a treat!

Who was responsible for the incompetent application of 'hiding tech'? There has to be a 'who', surely? At least a 'PTP'? Maybe a full-blown 'SP'? Oh, say it isn't so.

Traffic wasn't heavy, but regular. I'd say that about one in four or five cars passing from that direction (as well as a couple of other people movers) turned into the Manor. They all got an eyeful and an earful.

The assembled victims who'd been ordered to 'make it go right' milled about the gate (mostly behind the little gatehouse), clearly disturbed.

Then an astonishing thing occurred.

There was a brief flurry of traffic, I was calling out in my best Tone 40: "You can get away! You can be free! It won't cost you a penny! Just walk away! They have no power!", when the coat guy appeared by me and said: "You've got to move."

"Eh?", said I, "I'm on a public road, I'm not obliged to move for you or anyone else." "He's going to park here", he said, gesturing behind me. Blow me down, there's a couple of publics in an ancient Ford, edging in.

"No", I said, "if he wants to park, there's fifty-odd acres of ground across the road. Let him park there." Now the coat guy said something that took my breath away: "If he has to, he'll run you over." All this time, he was gesturing at the driver to keep coming on. The passenger leaned out of his window and called: "Move! We want to park!" I replied: "No!"

The idiot driver actually nosed his bumper up against my leg! I looked at coat guy and said, very fiercely: "You've just set yourself up for a charge of aggravated assault."

Meanwhile, our lead SP had arrived and asked coat guy to repeat what he'd just said. Just then, a couple of local bobbies arrived, blue lights flashing on their Noddy Car. Phew! The publics in the old Ford disappeared sharpish and coat guy also took a powder.

The bobbies began what appeared to be some forceful conversation with the assembled denizens of the hive, started noting down number plates of the parked vans, and asked us, politely and civilly, how we were doing. To which we replied: "We're fine. Glad to see you. Thanks for coming. Horrible weather."

By this time, another senior victim had appeared. He behaved in a most truculent manner, demanding to see the bobbie's numbers. It seems, from what I was told by another SP, that the coat guy fingered this new guy as his boss.

Shortly thereafter, another squad car appeared, soon followed by a Divy van, blue lights flashing. From what I can gather, the head honcho of the day's watch had been called out because the clams were complaining that the bobbies weren't doing enough to get rid of us!

Soon, there were five bobbies, two of whom spent most of their time directing traffic around the van that the idiots had parked. The head honcho asked us if this was our van! Bwahahahahaha! He was not pleased.

The picket went on from there, uneventful, really. There was a bit more moaning and griping from a female Caucasian who emerged from the 'Main Lodge' building. Another couple of female Caucasians emerged from the grounds and engaged one of the traffic bobbies in an extended bit of palaver to no apparent effect.

Then, after a good solid hour's ruination of Ron's Birthday Party (Yah! Boo! Sucks to you, Ron!) we whistled up a couple of cabs and headed back into East Grinstead.

Our cab driver was vastly amused by the shenanigans. Like all cab drivers, her opinions went something along the lines of: "Know what yer mean, squire, ought to be strung up, the lot of them".....:-)

Back in town we found our disabled colleague much recovered, having purchased for a trifling sum a disgusting pink concoction which, he said, "Was like Plaster of Paris with bubble gum flavouring....."

More refreshments were taken. There is no hardship we will not endure. (Except, I really don't want to have to watch our lead SP manouevre his face around a triple-decker sandwich again! Please?)

The hostelry we had chosen happened to have an excellent view of the store front in East Grinstead. It soon became clear (hehehe) that the victims were bracing for another session.

Graeme Wilson was spotted. So was coat guy and his truculent boss. There was a deal of coming and going. Oh well. Perhaps it was time to begin Part The Second?

Nahhhh..... Ireland and Italy's rugby teams were hammering each other on the wide-screen TV. There was plenty of beer on tap. Let 'em stew.......

Finally, we dragged our sorry arses across the road, with the boom box and leaflets and placards, and began again. The weather was very blustery, but not, thankfully, seriously raining. Xenu cared for us in some small measure.

The local bobbies were very much in evidence. We had a brief discussion with the Watch Commander about which placards we could use. Apparently, some of them had been reported as being 'hate speech' and 'incitement'! Well! Imagine!

Not inclined to spend any time at the local nick arguing about Free Speech rights, we simply used the remaining placards that hadn't been complained about.

I had a few words with the Watch Commander about making a formal complaint. No problems. I've got his number. He's got mine. The local bobbies stationed themselves across the road, and we were going again.

Leaflet 'tech' worked a treat. I'd say that at least a third of people I offered took one. Of the rest, at least half declined, saying: "We know about them. Keep it up!"

Graeme Wilson and an unidentified female Caucasian were in almost constant earnest conversation with the bobbies across the road. To what end I have no knowledge.

We occupied the pavement outside the near-invisible store front, ranging up and down. At one point, the apparent owner of a fish and chip shop two doors up, which was closed, turned up with a couple of minders and demanded that we not use the footpath in front of his shop! Oh, dear!

Being the nasty evil SPs we are, we said: "Sure". Which meant that all six of us were now concentrated on a shorter stretch of footpath closer to their store front! Bwahahaha!

We were being constantly videod from inside the store. There were about four or five victims stationed in and outside. The truculent guy who'd been fingered by the coat guy earlier was visible now and again, but half a block down the street and across the road.

I was surprised to be the subject of two separate attempts to rip the placard I was carrying from my hands.

Both times, we were able to call in the local bobbies and have the perpetrators given a Severe Reality Adjustment. Both times, Wilson's female offsider and the truculent guy swiftly got themselves involved in the discussions between the bobbies and the hapless publics tasked to disrupt our peaceful picket.

The local press turned up, too, with a real photographer - I know, because I got to see his NUJ Card and his newspaper ID. He was most intrigued about somebody who'd come all the way from Australia for this event. I had, sadly, to disabuse him. I hadn't come for this, but it was fun!

All in all, it was a most satisfying celebration of El Rum's Birthday. Pity I wasn't born a week later. It could have been my party too.

End of all good things..... off to the local rubbidy....

I was accosted by three or four local people with much laughter and bonhomie. One of them said, "If you'd only let us know.."

Hmmmm..... now there's a thought. What kind of mass enturbulation could ensue? I reckon that the local chapter of ARSCC(wdne) should think about notifying local interest groups. Parish Councils? Neighbourhood Watch? How many subterreanean SPs could be called forth?

This is true.

Report by Jens Tingleff

A Big Suppressive Howdy!

Six suppressives barved the rather bad weather conditions (severe gales, "driving conditions made difficult by gusts" - I'd left the hat at home, it was that bad) to protest in front of the Gate of Saint Hill Manor and in front of the pathetic presence of the criminal organisation known as the "church" of $cientology this saturday.

We'd picked the day of the birthday celebration for the Fat Fraud so as to gain a wider audience for our show. We got a fairly heavy-handed welcome, as is too often the case for East Grinstead. As usual, we were only secure when the police was present.

John, Neil, Tony, new protester, myself and guest protester Thomas J Best managed to get away from London in the same train and on time for a change (maybe there is something to this talk of the protests being organised...).

We arrived and stationed one protester in town to take it easy and continued to the gate of St Hill Manor. When we arrived, a few vans were parked across from the entrance of the manor. We stationed ourselves on the verge across from the gate, welcomed Graeme Wilson (UK spokesclam, in the news lately dissembling in "The Scotsman"), and settled in with John in fine voice on the boombox.

Someone came out from the house next to the gate and said that he was not a $cientologist and could we please take the protest down to the other gate. We apologised for having to stay where we were and continued.

The parked vans provided a much-needed shelter from the gales but were linked to early attempts by the clams to drive us off. A poor bean-and-rice victim came across the road and mumbled something about them having to park some vans, so we'd better be off. We declined the offer, what with the road being the Public Highway and all, and he proceeded to guide a clam to park a van in front of where we were standing. They left plenty of room for us, by the edge of the road, but blocked the most of half the road (the road in front of the St Hill manor gate is pretty narrow and has poor visibility). We thanked them properly for the added shelter from the traffic, and carried on shouting and waving banners. First effective strike against the enemy by Parking Tech [TM] - we don't think.

A steady trickle of cars streamed past, most into St Hill Manor. The vast majority of the clams were visibly startled, only a few managed to retain their plastic composure and smile - most looked aghast and some made of the kids made rude gestures - tsk, tsk!

More heavy clams went out to the gate, and attempted some more parking tech. After a few mumbled remarks which could possibly have been construed as threatening but which were almost inaudiable, skinny clam directed a red car to park tighly along the edge of the road, up to the point where Tam was standing still. I had the picture in the box and was in the process of getting through to the emergency number when the police appeared with two cars, flashing lights and all that.

The errant red car with its poor clam victim driver were quickly whisked away and one more van was also re-parked away from the road, and we continued the protest with the police directing traffic around the obstruction formed by the remaining vans. The Parking Tech directing clam hissed "you're feeling smug, now" as he directed the clams to unpark the vans from where we wanted to stand. The police just told us to not lean on the vans ;-) Two more police cars arrived and the scene was pretty well covered from then on.

We knocked off when our booked taxis arrived, and went for a spot of lunch in the pub across from what one could chose to describe as the $cientology "presence" in East Grinstead town itself. The clams arrived pretty soon (within 10 minutes) together with the police. I had a long chat with the police who carefully informed me about how to go about doing a demo (i.e., the usual) and we agreed a time for the next leg of the protest.

After a much-welcome restorative lunch and a modest taste of the nice Youngs Special Ale, we positioned ourselves on the pavement to the sides of the "presence" with the police in constant attendance.

Graeme and Stridentia the Angry Clamette engaged as many of the police in as much conversation as possible (not looking too pleased, it must be said). Meanwhile, one or more video cameras were trained on us from the clam "presence" - if somewhat shyly. They were not out in front taking pictures of our noses in the usual way, but hid in a doorway.

John continued in sterling form on the boombox - "Say NO to $cientology - you know it makes no sense," and I tried to keep an eye on everything. In East Grinstead, one does have to be wary, as we found to our cost some time ago[1]. Sure enough, pretty soon a passing clam tried to snatch a poster from a protester. Then another. And then another. All in the space of a handful of minutes. By this time, the police were not particularly impressed and had a talk with Graeme and the "boss" clam. Then the attempts at snatching the posters stopped.

Hmmmmmmmm.

Graeme and the strident clamette and the "boss" left, and no further attempts at disrupting the protest were made.

When our time was up, we thanked the police for taking the time to watch over us and went back to the pub across the road. During the protest, there had been lots of people looking out the window, and it was good to get a round of applause as we entered. Several people checked that we were against the criminal organisation known as the "church" <spit> of $cientology, and agreed wholeheartedly. I heard a long story from a younger guy who had had a class-mate in school whose parents had been picketed at their home by the clams. We didn't even get the usual passer-by ignoramus comments along the lines of "why criticise a religion / why not live and let live / why not protest for something rather than against" which we get occasionally when discussing protests with the general public. In East Grinstead, there was only support for the protest.

We didn't even manage to mess up the transport home (except we had stayed longer than planned, because we liked the pub so much), so all in all it was a marvellous day out.

In conclusion, I just want to thank Ron for making a bunch of paranoid victims get me motivated to do many more demos - it was hard to get up at 06:30 on Saturday morning, but it won't be hard for the foreseeable future.

To whomever gets blamed on the inside, I can only say that we're not actually doing it to you, nor is the rest of the "wog" world, and when you realise that it's the criminal organisation known as the "church" of $cientology which is doing it to you, you'll be able to regain your freedom. You can walk away.

Best Regards

       Jens