Read Online Beyond Belief by Jenna Miscavige Hill - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jenna Miscavige Hill
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inspections. If your berthing flunked inspection one time, you would be given a chit. The penalties, which increased with each consecutive flunk, ranged from being required to white-glove the room (cleaning the room so well that a person inspecting the room could run their white-gloved hands across all surfaces without getting them dirty) before going to sleep, to being ordered to Pigs Berthing, which meant spending the night on an old mattress in the shell of the Big House, which was filled with bats. I was never assigned to Pigs Berthing, but my friend told me about it in horrifying detail, like how many bats flew near her head and the shrieking sounds they made that kept her up all night. My room, which was now Room 9, would actually wake up fifteen minutes early each day to allow for extra cleaning time to make sure that we never wound up in Pigs Berthing.
When all inspections were finished, we went to Chinese school. Chinese school was parroting; we had to repeat everything we heard exactly as we heard it. L. Ron Hubbard had originally called it Chinese school because he had observed a Chinese classroom and was very impressed with how the students engaged with the instructor.
During LRH’s version of Chinese school, quotations from him were written in large letters on butcher paper, so that we could all read them when they were held up at the front of the muster. Someone would yell out a part of the quote, then say, “What is it?” We would then be required to repeat it in unison, loudly and clearly and eventually by memory without glancing at the butcher paper. One in particular was the lesson on “backflashing,” which was the Scientology word for talking back. “Backflashes, by definition, are an unnecessary response to an order . . .” We would chant this drill/policy together until everyone said it flawlessly.
The monotony was overwhelming, but it had the impact they wanted. Often, it was hard enough to think about what these slogans meant in order to recite things correctly, let alone question what you were saying. The LRH quotes were also changed frequently, which enabled us to memorize many of them. The whole process was designed to teach us policy by heart. Looking back, however, it was more about teaching us not to question, not to think for ourselves, and to accept without skepticism. We were young enough to sponge up everything we learned, and naive enough not to understand the trouble with trusting everything you’re taught.
Sometimes, there were older kids who were willing to take the risk and challenge authority by doing their own thing. Like many Cadets, I struggled to understand why they couldn’t just follow the rules. They were asking for trouble, and they were always hauled off and dealt with. Every time it happened, I’d watch them be reprimanded.
At the completion of Chinese school, the morning muster was over, and the next part of the morning—fulfilling our posts—began, lasting until breakfast. No matter what age you were, you had an assigned post, which sometimes changed and was commensurate with your responsibility level. When I first became a Cadet as a six-year-old, I was given the post of groundsman, responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of an assigned area of the grounds. This post entailed physical labor, but not every post was physical; some involved helping the group in other ways. After several months, I was given the Medical Liaison Officer post, MLO for short, even though I was only seven. This post required me to visit each child at the Ranch and make what was called the “Sick List.” This meant I had to walk up to everyone and ask him or her, “Do you have any sickness?” Sickness could mean anything from a common cold to poison oak, from dry skin to athlete’s foot.
I would write down all the information. Then, I would try to treat them. An adult at the Ranch had given me basic information, such as athlete’s foot cream was for athlete’s foot, and
When all inspections were finished, we went to Chinese school. Chinese school was parroting; we had to repeat everything we heard exactly as we heard it. L. Ron Hubbard had originally called it Chinese school because he had observed a Chinese classroom and was very impressed with how the students engaged with the instructor.
During LRH’s version of Chinese school, quotations from him were written in large letters on butcher paper, so that we could all read them when they were held up at the front of the muster. Someone would yell out a part of the quote, then say, “What is it?” We would then be required to repeat it in unison, loudly and clearly and eventually by memory without glancing at the butcher paper. One in particular was the lesson on “backflashing,” which was the Scientology word for talking back. “Backflashes, by definition, are an unnecessary response to an order . . .” We would chant this drill/policy together until everyone said it flawlessly.
The monotony was overwhelming, but it had the impact they wanted. Often, it was hard enough to think about what these slogans meant in order to recite things correctly, let alone question what you were saying. The LRH quotes were also changed frequently, which enabled us to memorize many of them. The whole process was designed to teach us policy by heart. Looking back, however, it was more about teaching us not to question, not to think for ourselves, and to accept without skepticism. We were young enough to sponge up everything we learned, and naive enough not to understand the trouble with trusting everything you’re taught.
Sometimes, there were older kids who were willing to take the risk and challenge authority by doing their own thing. Like many Cadets, I struggled to understand why they couldn’t just follow the rules. They were asking for trouble, and they were always hauled off and dealt with. Every time it happened, I’d watch them be reprimanded.
At the completion of Chinese school, the morning muster was over, and the next part of the morning—fulfilling our posts—began, lasting until breakfast. No matter what age you were, you had an assigned post, which sometimes changed and was commensurate with your responsibility level. When I first became a Cadet as a six-year-old, I was given the post of groundsman, responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of an assigned area of the grounds. This post entailed physical labor, but not every post was physical; some involved helping the group in other ways. After several months, I was given the Medical Liaison Officer post, MLO for short, even though I was only seven. This post required me to visit each child at the Ranch and make what was called the “Sick List.” This meant I had to walk up to everyone and ask him or her, “Do you have any sickness?” Sickness could mean anything from a common cold to poison oak, from dry skin to athlete’s foot.
I would write down all the information. Then, I would try to treat them. An adult at the Ranch had given me basic information, such as athlete’s foot cream was for athlete’s foot, and
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