> MY (SCARY, DESTRUCTIVE) BRUSH WITH SCIENTOLOGY LIGHT

> So. Is it a cult? Technically, no. But, if it walks like cult, talks

> like a cult, and preys on people like a cult, it just might be

> Landmark.

> Everyone told me not to go.

> "It's a cult, Sarah. Don't get sucked in!"

> “The Landmark Forum? It’s like 'Scientology Light.' Run the opposite

> direction!”

> I'd just begun a trial separation from my husband. I was heartbroken,

> confused and vulnerable.  That’s when my good friend, Ed, a

> fantastically positive, well-put-together human being, told me

> emphatically that The Landmark Forum had changed his life and invited

> me to a free seminar.

> Eager, I went online to check it out, and began to worry.

> On the net, opinions and experiences ran the gamut. There were

> warnings against Landmark, video testimonials about how-Landmark-saved-

> my-life, letters of both support and condemnation from psychologists,

> priests and university scholars.

> I had other friends who all but begged me not to go, citing it as

> destructive and dangerous. Now, I was intrigued. Such a range of

> reactions and emotions! I had to find out for myself.

> Still, something didn’t feel right. On the day of the free seminar, I

> had a sinking feeling deep in my gut. Don’t go. But I'd told Ed I

> would see him there and felt bad bowing out. I explained my conflicted

> feelings to another friend who advised me to “Go, just don’t part with

> any money.”

> Huh. Why would I part with any money?

> I left late (subconsciously on purpose? Hoping it would be half over

> when I arrived?) and drove with trepidation to the location, a crappy

> hotel by the airport.

> There, I was greeted by what seemed like an endless supply of grinning

> volunteers. Each name-tagged little helper gushed how happy they were

> to see me. After tacking a nametag across my chest, they ushered me

> into a dank, depressing ballroom. Heavy draperies kept out the light

> of a gorgeous California day.

> On stage, people stood in line to give witness to how Landmark changed

> their lives. I thought it would be over -- I was almost an hour late

> -- but it was nowhere near over, and would go on another two hours.

> Somehow, despite my skepticism, halfway through I ended up sobbing my

> marital sadness to the two Landmark women with whom I was put into a

> small group. And by the end of the afternoon, I had written a check

> for $300 (merely a deposit) and registered for the course.

> I know.

> By the time I got back on the highway, I regretted it. What the hell

> was that? I asked myself aloud. I called to get a refund.

> At first, the Landmark rep on the phone acted as if a refund was no

> problem. Great, I thought. That was easy. But when she smoothly

> launched into a series of circular questions, I didn’t have a chance.

> “Mmm, this refund, let’s talk about this. Why do you feel this way?

> What could you be resisting in your life? What if 'I want my money

> back' is just a story you are telling yourself?”

> Hm. Gosh. Never thought if it that way.

> And she seemed so nice. So caring. I said I’d think about it and hung

> up.

> Every single day for the next month, I was barraged with phone calls

> and messages from Landmark. It was like having a collection agent who

> also needed to buy crack from you. I had been willing to consider

> doing the course, but now I was pissed.

> The phone rang yet again. I saw the Landmark name (I had labeled it on

> my phone as a warning to screen the call) and picked up. This time I

> would give them a piece of my mind!

> Of course, the Landmark rep, “Paul,” wasn’t having any of it.

> “Sarah, can you honestly say you are where you want to be in your

> life?"

> Uh, well.

> “What is really going on here? What are you resisting?”

> Apparently, “resisting,” as they labeled my decision to get my money

> back, was proof of how much I needed their help. You know, the help I

> needed to stop resisting THEM. Get it?

> “I just want a refund,” I stumbled, somehow getting roped back into

> another big ass, circular conversation. They’re really good at that.

> After almost 20 minutes on the phone it was clear I wasn't getting my

> deposit back. Paul “reframed” it for me: essentially I could lose the

> $300 or pony up the additional $200 and just see what the fuss was all

> about.

> Even then, as I was agreeing to pay the balance, I could feel my heart

> pounding, stuffing down a little voice that said, This isn’t right.

> Don’t go.

> “All righty!” Paul interrupted my inner monologue. "So the total on

> your Visa will be…” he slowed down. “Oooh, Sarah,” I could hear him

> inhale through his teeth, “It looks like since you registered last

> summer, but didn’t complete the forum, we can’t honor your deposit.”

> What?

> “And, it looks like the price of the course has gone up since you

> registered.”

> "Seriously?" I balked.

> “I hear you, Sarah, but I want you to be open to the possibilities

> that lay ahead for you.”

> I didn’t feel open to new possibilities. I felt taken advantage of,

> swindled, even a little bullied. But bullied in a really nice way.

> As the seminar weekend approached, the feeling in the pit of my

> stomach returned. But I had spent the money. I was going. The schedule

> was as follows: Friday 10am-Midnight, Saturday 10am-Midnight, Sunday

> 10am-Midnight.

> The leader, a stern, non-nonsense woman I’ll call Chris, explained the

> contract we must all agree to: no use of alcohol, drugs.  No problem.

> I agree.

> They went on to reject the use of coffee, caffeine, painkillers like

> Advil, and snacks. Coffee? Snacks? Tylenol?

> Also, there would be very limited breaks. As in one meal break for the

> 13-hour day. I didn’t think this was a big deal until I’d been sitting

> for four hours in a hot room in a stiff row of people in a very

> uncomfortable chair. One person got up after about an hour, presumably

> for the bathroom, and Chris made quick work of explaining all the

> reasons this was not okay. The tone was set: You followed the

> schedule; you did not veer from the group.

> Later, after spotting a few travel mugs of coffee in the audience and

> more unofficial bathroom breaks, Chris exploded.

> “You can’t control yourselves? Geez, you’re like babies here whining

> about going to the bathroom and having your snacks.” She mocked us in

> a high-pitched voice. Then, she got very serious.

> “You get up and take a break? Don’t blame me if come Sunday everyone

> else 'gets it' and you don’t. I can’t guarantee the transformation

> that will happen Sunday at 5pm unless you are here and present every

> second.”

> Within the first hour of the seminar we were pressured to take the

> $800 “advanced course.” To push us along, the drones in the back of

> the room came up and gave testimonials like “I was like you once!

> Skeptical, unsure.”

> I look around the room. Does anyone else see what’s going on here? A

> few do -- we make eye contact and quickly look away before the drones

> can see us connecting and possibly staging a rebellion.

> Nametags: They were very strict about them. I mean hardcore. You had

> to have your nametag on and in view at all times. They were collected

> anytime you left the room. Presumably to keep tabs on who had returned

> (or were late returning) and who had not. It was weird.

> Also within the first few hours, we were “challenged” to “powerfully

> enroll our friends and family in the possibilities Landmark is giving

> you!” This would mean using the few and far between breaks we did have

> to call our friends and “get complete” with them. Then we were

> supposed to bring them Sunday night to our own “completion” where they

> could hear about our transformative weekend (and pay their own $300

> deposit).

> One woman raised her hand.

> She was handed a microphone, and was thus allowed to speak. “I’m

> sorry,” she started, her voice wobbling in preliminary apology, “but

> do we have to tell them about Landmark? All of this feels like a big

> commercial for Landmark.”

> By the time Chris was done with her, this young woman had shrunk about

> two inches and said, “I guess I wasn’t seeing the possibilities,” she

> smiled hopefully, “Thank you.”

> Cheers and applause broke out. “Yes! Look at that, people! She just

> grew tenfold!”

> But, not everyone was buying it. A man raised his hand. I'd noticed

> this man before because it seemed whenever I was sighing or looking

> askance he was doing the same thing.

> In a very reasonable, professional manner, he raised his hand and

> said, “Excuse me.  I’ve been here for a little over three hours now.

> And the only thing I’ve heard is how I should sign up and pay for more

> Landmark classes.”

> A small wave of nods rippled across the room.

> In a roller coaster two minutes, Chris lauded the man for his honesty,

> encouraging others who felt this way to show themselves. Then she went

> in for the kill, spinning it around so anyone who questioned the

> program or its tactics was “resisting.”

> The second day, the man expressed the same feeling. This time, the mic

> was ripped out of his hand, campaign manager style, “We are not

> discussing that right now!” Chris snapped

> On the third day he was “asked” to leave.

> All of those things were freaky, but none truly scared me until we go

> to this rule:

> NO WRITING.

> This was when the little hairs on the back of my neck came to

> attention. Writing, whether it’s journaling, taking notes, even just

> having a pen in my hand, is how I process the world.

> When I expressed my concern over this, I was used as an example of

> someone who is clearly resisting the work by choosing not to follow

> the rules. Others around me, who only moments before had echoed my

> feelings, now clammed up. They wouldn’t even meet my gaze.

> So, after we’d all been given our East German Stasi cards -- oops, I

> mean our nametags -- we were reminded that if someone is doing

> something they’re not supposed to (taking notes, taking unofficial

> breaks), you say something. Hold them accountable.

> Yes, we were asked to police our neighbors.

> About15 minutes after this “reminder,” the woman next to me tapped me

> hard on my arm. “Yes?” I looked up, assuming she wanted to borrow

> something or ask for a piece of gum.

> “No writing!” she said, and waved her finger back and forth in my

> face.

> I almost stabbed her with my Bic Roller Gel.

> I nearly walked out so many times, usually during the abusive

> interactions between the leader and whatever emotionally wracked

> person onstage. These were serious emotional breakdowns being handled

> in five-minute increments by this Landmark leader. Not a well-trained,

> experienced therapist in a safe environment but an arrogant, would-be

> dictator who egged on these breakdowns, gave them a quickie “tool” to

> get over their childhood trauma, and moved right along to the next

> person.

> There were first-time revelations of childhood molestations, my-father-

> murdered-my-mother divulgements, I-think-I’m-gay moments. The words

> that best sum up Landmark’s catch-and-release handling of these

> fragile situations are dangerous and irresponsible.

> I’ve done self-help work. I’m an actor, for Christ’s sake!

> Introspection and being alone on stage is what we do! So I asked

> questions in response to “the work” and was struck down, humiliated

> and branded “uncoachable.”

> Chris mocked me, "Oh, you have questions? You’re questioning me? How

> long have you been leading the Forum? Do you think I know a thing or

> two more than you about it?” I could literally hear cackles from

> various part of the audience. It was fucking Animal Farm in there.

> It went on like this as I watched others get worked over. It was

> abusive, demeaning. Yet, people kept coming back for more!

> The only reasonable explanation is Stockholm Syndrome. You are trapped

> like sardines in rows with random people, after hours without food or

> daylight, put into a high-pressure emotional situation, and told the

> only way out of the emotional basket-case-ness that they have

> instigated, is for you to pay for and take more of their seminars.

> (And to “powerfully enroll others to do the same.”)

> Looking back, I can’t believe I stayed as long as I did. I suspect

> some people stay out of curiosity, a wanting-to-get-your-moneys worth

> feeling.

> I might have stayed even longer but then I heard this: Everything in

> your life is your fault, including your rape.

> They were SUCH assholes to me onstage after I'd bared my soul, and

> talked about everything from being raped to my husband never wanting

> to have sex with me. The upshot was essentially, Guess what, bitch?

> It's all your fault!

> Streams of people came up to me after I got up to do "the

> work" (translation: get emotionally eviscerated/abused in public).

> "The way she talked to you up there made me sick."

> "After witnessing that, I don't think I can come back for another

> day."

> "That was unconscionable."

> Yet, they all stayed. Why? Like a crowd around a wagon back medicine

> show, they were desperate to see this "transformation" they had been

> promised (over and over again)  all weekend. ("Don't leave! You are

> this close to "getting" it.)

> That was Saturday night. I could have just gone home and not returned

> for the third day, but something in me woke up. That pit in my

> stomach? It was on fire. And it wasn’t going to go quietly. I had to

> make a statement.

> As homework the night of Day 2, we were supposed to write a letter to

> someone we’ve “been inauthentic with.”

> I went home and wrote out three pages on a legal pad. I returned

> bright and early Sunday morning, on time and sitting in my seat (lest

> I be scolded) like all the other good little sheep.

> When it was my turn, I went up to the microphone and began to read:

> “Dear, Sarah -- I realize now I have been inauthentic with you." I

> could feel sympathetic nods up and down from the crowd. I continued.

> “When I first heard about Landmark Forum, I had this terrible feeling

> in the pit of my stomach. An instinct. A sense of dread. I ignored my

> inner voice. I let myself look past all the unethical business

> practices, the high-pressure sales tactics, the abusive, emotional

> manipulation --"

> “-- Turn off her mic! Turn off her mic!” Chris shouted, her arms

> raised arms up and down like a stiff Henny Penny,  and the drones

> scurried do her bidding.

> A Mack truck couldn’t stop me. I didn’t need a microphone, just my own

> authentic voice. The drones went berserk, buzzing around in the back,

> bumping into each other over the sound equipment. Someone finally just

> ripped the cord out of the wall.

> Chris raced toward me. She tried to shuffle me offstage -- physically.

> I calmly (maybe too calmly) told her not to touch me. The audience

> gasped. Gasped! As if I had done something to HER! Wow, they were

> goners.

> I went on with my letter.

> She interrupted, shouting, “What do you want? Do you want a refund?”

> I said, "Hell, yes!" and then got the hell off stage.

> Three people booed me. Yes, BOOED ME. Another three came to the back

> of the room to shake my hand, clap me on the back, and tell me that I

> had just articulated everything they were thinking. Soon enough,

> though, the drones broke up the conversation.

> “I have to ask you to stop this conversation because you are just

> creating another 'racket,'" which is Landmark-speak for “a persistent

> complaint with someone or something that leads you into a habitual way

> of being, thinking, feeling, or acting.”

> “See?” I said to the three would-be-defectors. You take issue with

> something Landmarkian? You are labeled as having a “racket,”

> “resisting,” or -- my personal favorite -- being “uncoachable.”

> So. Is it a cult? Technically, no. But, if it walks like cult, talks

> like a cult, and preys on people like a cult, it just might be

> Landmark. If this is what people call “Scientology light,” I’d hate

> the get anywhere near the real thing.

> I have since discovered that a couple of my friends have actually done

> the basic Landmark Forum. I still don’t understand quite how they

> couldn’t see through all the mindfucking-disguised-as-enlightenment,

> deceptive business practices, Stockholm Syndrome-y seminars or the

> constant, hard-sells to get more involved.

> That said, if they got something positive out of it, I am truly glad

> for them. (And a little in awe.)

> One of them asked me, hopefully, “But, Sarah, you must have learned

> something from it?”

> I thought for a moment.  “Yes,” I said. “I learned that I should trust

> my instincts.” Like the time my gut told me, "Sarah, run fast. It’s

> totally a cult.”

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