Tag: Recht

Settlement talks: to want a pie and eat it

Stockholm, Tuesday, 26 May 1998

[Previous installment: ‘The material’, or: ‘NOTS? Which NOTS?’ Note: This is a mixed issue: part of it is written by Zenon, and part by Karin. The main reason for that is that most of the day Zenon was in a closed courtroom doing settlement talks, while Karin was closed in in a smoking room.]

This court case is the main one in RTC vs Panoussis. It deals with the question whether Zenon has infringed upon Scientology’s, or rather, RTC’s copyright of L. Ron Hubbard’s text when he had the OTs on his homepage and posted the NOTS. This case will be heard by three judges; one of them has been concerning himself with it for one year and a half already.

Zenon:

I had met the entire scientology delegation the day before, on my TRO case, and I had taken the opportunity to ask McShane what he thought about a possible settlement; our meeting is described in UC #2. So on Tuesday, when the “main” case was opened and the chairman asked in a rather imperative tone if there was any possibility that the parties could reach a settlement, I was in position to raise my shoulders and say that yes, I proposed that yesterday, but RTC seems quite unwilling. Magnusson said that my conditions were utterly unreasonable.

The chairman was not prepared to dismiss the matter that easily and I, on my part, was not prepared to let Magnusson call me unreasonable. I turned the tables and said that I will listen to any settlement proposal that RTC might want to put forward. This opened for formal settlement discussions, that the court was not only prepared to assist, but actually very eager to see come through.

Settlement discussions are not part of the court proceedings, so they are not open to the public unless both parties agree they should be. RTC did not agree and the courtroom was cleared. The judge that has handled the case during the 1,5 year preparation was to handle the settlement talks as well.

Karin:

This was the weirdest day of all. The public was let into the courtroom and, almost immediately afterward, requested to vacate it. This happened a couple of times, to the point where everybody in the audience started to feel a bit dizzy and believed they were being trained in order to take the part of the puppets you’ll find in weather boxes. In. Out. Sunshine. Rain. In. Sun. Out. Thunder.

Zenon’s face reflected the many changes in the weather. Whenever there was a break in the negotiations, or when the judges wanted to speak with each party separately, he joined us in the smoking room and attempted to briefly explain how things stood. Rain. Sun. Unsettled, mainly.

Zenon:

Being the plaintiff, RTC was first to be subjected to pressure from the court to settle. I don’t know what they were told, but they looked less than happy when they left the courtroom and I entered it for my one-to-one discussion with the judge. I guess I looked less than happy myself after it.

The point of the court was that both parties had something to lose by insisting on a ruling, that both parties could gain something by settling and that the main characteristic of a settlement is that it leaves both parties dissatisfied, albeit less dissatisfied than what they risk to be if the case comes to a ruling. I have to admit they are right on this.

I put forward the same proposal I had given McShane the previous day (incidentally the same one I put forward last year): RTC admits that the OTs and NOTS are open to fair use and I admit copyright infringement, pay damages and treat the OTs and NOTS with the same amount of respect (in the copyright sense) that I treat any other text with. I was confronted with RTC’s counterproposal: that I admit infringement and they let me off damages and legal costs.

I explained that (1) I didn’t publish the disputed texts in order to avoid paying damages because if that had been my goal, I would have abstained from publishing them in the first place and (2) given the fact that I am basically broke, I won’t be paying any damages or legal costs anyway, so there’s nothing in for me in RTC’s proposal.

There was evidently a hope for a settlement on both sides, but not a basis for it. So the court brought us together, face to face with each-other and with all three judges. Let’s argue.

We did. The chairman took the initiative, “took” as in “categorically refused to let anyone else have it”. Both Magnusson and myself were quite prone to escalate arguments into dead-ends, so the chairman wouldn’t let us argue with each-other, but rather take over and apply pressure to both sides to decrease their demands.

Karin:

As time progressed, the critics in the smoking room became increasingly nervous. Joe Harrington was having his birthday. Somebody started singing him a birthday song and before he knew it, he was treated to anniversary songs in Swedish, Danish, Dutch and English. Whenever the door would open, we would expectantly turn our eyes, hoping it was Zenon.

The Scientologists in the corridor were increasingly nervous, too. There was much pacing. Hardly anybody spoke, let alone sang. Some lawyers leafed through papers. Most Scientologists simply sat or paced, eyes vacantly staring into space. Then again, they are trained to stare hard. So perhaps they were practising Training Routines while we were practising birthday songs.

I went out a couple of times and mingled with the Scientologists. All refused to even acknowledge my presence — except Cowboy Boots, that is, who tried to strike up a conversation about my t-shirt. Church of Euthanasia. Yes, ordered via the net. I expected him to flinch at the word ‘net’, but he didn’t. I jotted down the url for him.

Zenon:

At some point, RTC in the person of McShane accepted in principle that they could concede certain limited use by the public of the OTs and NOTS. The discussion turned into how that could be put into an agreement between RTC and me, that would be binding for RTC towards the public. At that moment everything looked bright: if we agreed in essence, putting the agreement on paper should pose no problem. I was naive, and so was the court: RTC had no intention to give away anything at all.

Karin:

Zenon entered the smoking room, fuming without the aide of a Camel. ‘Guess what,’ he said. ‘They will allow fair use. But to me only!’ And before he’d taken three puffs of a freshly lighted cigarette he would be ordered back in again.

‘We’re this close to an agreement,’ he would say. Or: ‘Fuck, they are redefining terms again!’ And once, during a slightly longer break: ‘I simply don’t understand. McShane seems prepared to accept the current settlement terms, the court is obviously pressing him to accept, and yet he doesn’t. It is as if something were holding him back. And he knows he will lose the case in as far as their claim that this is unpublished material is concerned.’

‘Perhaps it’s not something that is holding him back, but somebody,’ I conjectured. ‘He anwers to Miscavage. And RTC’s license with CST binds him to sue under all circumstances. Perhaps he’d like to strike a deal with you but simply cannot.’

‘I’ll ask him,’ said Zenon, and left the smoking room again, this time to talk with McShane in the corridor, without any judges present.

Ten minutes later, I could no longer wait. I went out as well.

And found Zenon in the corridor, surrounded by Scientologists. I joined them. McShane was standing face to face with Zenon, upper body bent towards him, shoulders hunched, looking terribly red in the face. He was angry, arrogantly angry. ‘Bullshit,’ he said, in a most derogatory tone, ‘bullshit.’ ‘But why do you think I’m doing this?’ Zenon asked. ‘Why do you think all of us are doing this? Do you really believe that we do this just to harass you?’ McShane threw me a sideways glance and returned his gaze at Zenon. My presence there obviously confirmed his beliefs that yes, there was this major conspiracy against Scientology going on and that we were partaking in it. ‘Bullshit!’ he repeated. ‘It is to harass us. That is your only motive,’ and for one moment I truly believed he was going to spit on the court’s carpet. He spoke as if Z was vermin, a despicable entity, an irritating insect that needed to be trampled and crushed and utterly wiped out, and as if he, and he alone, had the power to do so. Yet his facial expression and his posture belied him. McShane was arrogant, no doubt about it, but very unsettled as well.

It turned out that the question Zenon had posed to McShane was: ‘Is there anybody else you need to consult on this settlement matter? Do you need anybody’s permission to sign an agreement?’

‘You’re looking at the man,’ McShane had proudly answered (thereby, and that is rather interesting, belying both Vorn’s and Small’s testimony of the following day).

‘Then what is the reason why you don’t?’ Z had continued. And that is when McShane had exploded.

Before they could finish their argument, Zenon was called back in. Five minutes later, McShane followed suit.

What was keeping McShane from agreeing to a settlement, we later decided, was L. Ron Hubbard. Elron had said that OTs and NOTS are to be considered unpublished, and so they shall be. You cannot argue with source, and you must obey the Tech.

Zenon:

For every formulation proposed by me or the court, Magnusson would have an objection and introduce a new reservation. At first they would accept that “the material” could be subject to fair use. Then “fair use” was not any normal fair use. Next, they would accept that individuals are allowed to make copies for personal use, but only if the original used to make the copy was legal. “Legal”, as it turned out, was to be defined by RTC, probably as “RTC’s own copies only”, their standard claim being that all copies not in their own possession – even the ones in this same Stockholm court that are being lent out on a daily basis – are illegal by definition. Then “personal use” had to be re-defined to mean strictly personal use, so that the normal right to spread a personal use copy to family and friends would be excluded. Consequently, a copy for personal use could not be used as an original to another copy for personal use. In short, RTC was only prepared to allow the public to make copies of originals that are not available, and such copies could be used for nothing more than their original could be used for.

I was under just as severe a pressure from the court as the RTC was, so I went along and accepted many more limitations to my original proposal than I would ever have been happy with. Yet that didn’t help. Every time I went along with yet another limitation, Magnusson put forward yet another reservation. At the end, when I exploded and refused to discuss settlements any more, RTC’s proposal of a settlement agreement stood as follows:

Panoussis admits copyright infringement.
RTC accepts every use of the material that is legal.

Taste this. They accept every use that is legal. As if they had any alternative to accepting legal use. They keep their position that no use whatsoever is legal, and then “accept” the rest – i.e. nothing. And they expect me to sign an agreement that would constitute a statement on my part that it is up to RTC to accept legal use or not, and that we should all be grateful to them that they do. In practice they were asking me to sign an admission that they stand above the law, but are so generous as to concede to abide by it anyway. End of settlement talks.

Yet, I don’t think they were satisfied with the outcome. McShane looked really pressed during the talks. At times he looked like somebody between a hard place and a rock, just short of being in agony, in all contrast to what you would expect from a high OT representative of the almighty RTC, in court against a lowly copyright terrorist. He looked as if he thought that both his alternatives – settle and not settle – were equally bad, and he was anyway forced to take the predestined road to self-destruction.

At 13.54 the settlement talks broke down definitely and the normal hearing of the case was resumed. The public was let in, Magnusson made his opening statement. At 16.45 it was my turn, and I had no idea where to begin; I was as badly prepared as one can be. Thanks to the delay the settlement talks brought about, I was able to postpone my opening statement to the next day. Had it not been for this, I’d have been in very deep shit.

We left court and bought binders. A lot of them. And started sorting out the paperwork.

[Unbiased columnism is a series of seven court reports on the proceedings of Scientology versus Zenon Panoussis. This series covers the May 22,1998 – June 3, 1998 sessions. Next: Brochures with a bite.]

“The material”, or: “NOTS? Which NOTS?”

Stockholm, Monday, 25 May 1998

[Previous installment: Zenon does research.] And of course, during the weekend, both of us worked less than we wanted (and needed) to. There were friends to see, places to go, sleep to catch up with. I did some work on a play I’m supposed to have finished by the end of the month, Zenon did some work on the computer we would need so badly in the upcoming week.

On Monday morning we left early. Or at least tried to. There was no free taxi to be found in the whole of Stockholm, it would appear: Z was on the phone for almost half an hour and then finally decided that he would try to find one on the street. It was a quarter to nine by then; the court session was to start at 9:30, traffic was still busy and we needed to buy extension electricity cables for our gear.

9:20. We arrive and dump & connect some of our stuff in the courtroom which then needs to be cleared of anything human, so that the judge can make a proper entrance. We walk through the corridor, to the smoking room, passing some people who stand there, talking. A couple of steps removed from them, standing apart from the rest, is McShame, president of RTC, the plaintiffs. I recognise him immediately: he was present at my lawsuit. He recognises us, too, without missing a beat. We pass him and look him in the face. He looks straight back at us and says, dead-pan voice, only slightly rising his tone while uttering the last syllable: “Panoussis…. Spaink….” We should have acknowledged him by saying “McShane…” using this same flat tone, but we didn’t.

Court opens. There are seven Scientologists who flock together on one side of the courtroom. Lots of dark suits. The only one who stands out is McShane himself, the only one in a light grey suit and the only one who doesn’t wear glasses. Next to him is one of Magnusson’s colleagues; he is to act as interpreter. Tarja Vulto is there: Swedish OSA. Immediately behind the lawyer/translator is an American wearing cowboy boots, a four-day stubble and a partially opened shirt, who will often lean forward when something interesting occurs, in order to catch the translator’s words as he relays them to McShane. (We will later learn that this is hired lawyer William Hart.) There is a small man with a rodent appearance: short dark hair; Swedish. Another man: blond, nearly bald, Swedish. And another American dark hair, striking tie. Plus me, since the power outlet is on that side of the room.

There are two people who take seats in what would become the critic’s section of the audience. Later, more people join them. Bid (Birgitta Dagnell), Swedish a.r.s.-regular and former Scientology member –; Anti-Cult, a.r.s.-regular and also from Sweden; Karsten, from the Dialog Centre in Copenhagen (which provides information about cults and offer support to former cult members and their families — “I thought you were a CoS-goon,” he later tells me); and, much to our surprise and delight, Joe Harrington from the US. And us, from the Netherlands. Oooh! This was turning out to be an international suppressive convention.

When we re-enter the courtroom, the judge is sitting there. As it turns out, Ingrid Forsström is indeed presiding the court. She carries a formal, severe and most attentive expression on her face. Her attitude makes it overtly clear that she is not going to buy anything from anybody. (Especially not a bridge.) She wants information; she wants it to be presented to her in a precise, concise and clear-cut manner; she wants answers, and she is not to be toyed with. (Somehow she is the personification of what I have always imagined Judge Brinkema to be like.) The clerk is the man we had met earlier, last Friday, while we were going through the sealed documents. He smiles at us.

This case concerns itself whether or not Z has violated the Temporary Restraining Order he was subjected to in1996, for instance when he handed in copies of the NOTS to parliament, to the administrative court, and to the Court of Appeals. Magnusson stipulates that Z has violated the TRO. Z maintains he hasn’t; that besides, it is most unclear to which materials the term “the materials” the TRO bar him from publishing exactly refer to, and moreover that he hasn’t published these NOTS after getting the TRO, but just provided the three institutes mentioned with copies. The case is a semi-penal one: while the alleged copyright infringement is a civil case, violating a TRO is not, but it could cost Z 50.000 crowns.

The judge asks Magnusson a great deal of questions. Magnusson may be well versed in law (although Z believes he isn’t), but he surely isn’t endowed with the gift of the gab. He stutters, he hesitates, he sometimes cringes when asked to give a clarification — and the judge wanted a lot of them –, he flushes when being rebuked or proven wrong, needs to look up stuff in his files and binders almost continuously, and generally does not strike one as being very effective or convincing. His definition of presenting a coherent and motivated argument seems to be to refer to documents, to mention dates and numbers, and to subsequently start leafing through files. Magnusson refers to postings, to Z’s statements on the net, and to his generally ‘provocative’ behaviour.

While the judge is directing her questions at Magnusson, the lawyer/translator has an easy job. When he does whisper something in McShane’s ear, McShane never looks at him but keeps staring right in front of himself, nodding slowly. His face is devoid of all expression.

The judge now turns her attention towards Z. He needs to explain a lot about the net: the difference between e-mail and postings; that the name of the sender of e-mail or postings cannot be taken at face-value, because anybody can put any name there; that therefore, one needs to scrutinise the headers of postings and e-mail; that even these can be faked and that therefore a more solid proof of authorship, such as an ISP log, is needed when accusations are brought before court; and that whatever somebody says on the net does not automatically reflect on their actual behaviour, be it past, present or future, because words and acts are two separate things and that moreover, everybody has the right to lie or to not do what they said they would do.

10:30. Break. We — by now ‘we’ is Anti-Cult, Karsten, Z, a journalist and me — make a dash for the smoking room. When we open the door, we discover the little room to be crammed with Scientologists and their lawyers. We enter. You want a smoke or you don’t, eh, and all of us are heavy addicts. Immediately, the plaintiff and their representatives clear the room. (Could they only clear the planet as easily!) “All of you running away, for only two SP’s?” Z teases them.

10:45. It’s Z’s turn to present his arguments. While Scientology refers to all materials — the NOTS he posted to a.r.s. and got the TRO over, the NOTS-pack he handed over to parliament, the NOTS-pack filed at the administrative court, the NOTS-pack sealed by the Court of Appeals (Attachment 126) — simply as “the NOTS” or “the material” and has identified each and every of these packs to be their copyrighted material, Z argues that these purportedly identical packs (which, in RTC vs Panoussis, are each referred to by their file attachment number) do, as a matter of fact, differ. Some even differ widely. The translator/lawyer tries to keep track of Z’s argument, jotting down file numbers, and goes cabalistic on McShane. I see notes such as:

or

McShane seems a tad upset. The lawyer/translator is by now slightly raising his voice. Instead of staring in front of him as per usual, McShane looks straight at Z.

Z postulates that it is impossible to determine exactly which materials are “the” materials, since the various packs differ. What makes such a determination even more difficult is that Scientology appears to be claiming everything to be theirs, as long as there are a few recognisable Hubbard-sentences in it,s I catch McShane making an ugly face towards Z.

12:00. Another break. Bid and Joe join us when we have lunch.

Shortly after lunch, there’s a typical May-25th scene. The issue at stake is the masked NOTS. Magnusson maintains that they are identical to attachment 24, 37 and 126. The judge poses Magnusson a question (sorry, didn’t catch that. My Swedish is too bad). Magnusson hesitates, is silent for a while, and then proceeds to give a short answer. “How do you know?” Z interrupts. “Yes,” the judge says, redirecting her stern and unwavering gaze at Magnusson, “how do you know?”

13:30. The notary who made a comparison between “the material”, in this case, the purportedly original NOTS, and file attachment 126, and then claimed the latter material was the same as the former and thus copyrighted by RTC, is called in as a witness.

Since this part of today’s session is surely dealing with actual quotes taken from “the material”, the doors will close and the audience is requested to vacate the room. Magnusson, McShane, the translator/lawyer, Z and the court are the only ones allowed to hear what Birgitta Alexandersson, the notary, has to relay.

We leave. As it turns out, we have the smoking room to ourselves; it will remain ours in the days to follow. The Scientologists either hang around in the corridors or sit in the court’s cafeteria. We wait. Karsten entertains us with myriad stories, Joe explains why he dislikes big cities, we make lot of ARSCC and Prozac jokes and wait. Oh and we smoke, of course.

A break during the closed hearing allows Z a smoke and him and me a short conference. The notary/witness claims to have made a random selection, in this way arriving at seven NOTS from attachment 126, which she then proceeded to compare to RTC’s purportedly “originals”, and found that yes, they were the same. I have seen attachment 126 and know what is amiss with it. Attachment 126 is most certainly not an original NOTS pack.

We’re only allowed back in the court room after two hours, perhaps three, of closed hearing. As it turns out, Z was able to challenge the notary statement. Many, if not most, of the NOTS included in attachment 126 are, erm, let me put it this way, mocked up. There are Borkified versions of purportedly original NOTS. (Yes, RTC claimed these to be their own.) There are Soul-Bro’ified versions of purportedly original NOTS. (Yes, RTC claimed these to be their own.) There are cut-up and re-montaged versions of purportedly original NOTS. (Yes, RTC claimed these to be their own.)

I myself have seen at least ten versions of NOTS 1, each one different, all of them making no sense, not even in the Hubbardian meaning of the word, because the order of paragraphs, the order of sentences and sometimes even parts of sentences have been completely reshuffled. (Hmmm. Didn’t Alice end a courtcase in which the prosecutor demanded that her head be cut off, simply by calling her opponents ‘a deck of cards’?) Yes, RTC claimed these montaged version of NOTS 1 to be their own. “Look,” they had said during the closed session, “this sentence here” (pointing at a file included in attachment 126) “is exactly the same as this sentence there” (pointing at a purportedly original NOTS 1). At this point, everybody — the notary/witness, the lawyer/translator, Magnusson, McShane, Zenon — had gathered around the judge’s table and were leaning over her shoulder. “But the sentence preceding it and the sentence following it, are not the same as in your supposed original,” Zenon pointed out. “Yeah but well…” McShane said, “those sentences appear elsewhere in the same scrambled NOTS.”

They even claimed (as we found out last Friday), copyright to one of my articles. In the list the notary had provided Magnusson and the court with, it says: “File Attachment 126, no. 143, OT III Course”. This file 126/143 was however most certainly not the original OT3 course but my summary of and comment on OT3, the one that has been on my homepage ever since February 1996. “But it contains Hubbard quotes,” McShane said. “Quotes,” Z repeated. “They are even ascribed to Hubbard. But the copyright of this article, of the entire article itself, resides with Karin Spaink. It even says so at the end. It’s not copyrighted by RTC but by her.” “But we’re suing her over that,” McShane argued. “Until now, you’ve lost,” Z kindly reminded him, “and the Dutch court has approved of this article and has stated that it is not to be considered a copyright infringement.”

[I wonder whether I should sue RTC over falsely claiming copyright over something I wrote.]

16:00 or so. Scientology was to call another witness — a Scientology-member who was going to state that Z had handed out copies of the NOTS on the street — but RTC by now decides that they will drop this witness. Perhaps they were afraid Z would grill him about which NOTS Z allegedly handed out. Or perhaps they were scared that Z would ask the witness to explain how he ascertained that these NOTS were original. (Z was really looking forward to the witness saying: “well, my superiors told me”.) Or perhaps this Scientology member had by now defected. You never know. Shit happens.

Time for both parties’ final plea.

Magnusson is first. By now McShane is getting a sentence-by-sentence translation and is far more interested than he was earlier this morning; he even sits askance in his chair to not miss a word. The cowboy-boots man listens closely as well. Magnusson is as eloquent as usual, that is: not. Z listens attentively, sometimes making a note or asking for a clarification.

Zenon’s turn. He argues. Calmly. He speaks. Rather fluently. He talks again about the net and about the NOTS — “the NOTS? Which ‘the’ NOTS?” — and argues that giving a copy of the NOTS — any NOTS — to parliament doesn’t equal publishing or distributing it, and so on and so forth; he uses a certain amount of rhetoric, but presents his arguments in a concise, and it would seem convincing way. Then again, I’m prejudiced.

The court wraps up. How much will each party request as for legal costs if they win, she wants to know. “30.000 kronor,” Magnusson says; which translates to plm. 4000 US$, a very small amount compared to what RTC has requested in the US in similar cases, although for Swedish courts, it’s much in cases like these. The court asks Z how much he requests. “Erm, some copies, and phone calls, and other stuff…. let me see…. Well, 500 kronor.” (Equals 70 US$.)

He’s not in it for the money, that’s for sure.

The court adjourns. Verdict due on June 8th.

17:30. We’re outside the courtroom. I’m disconnecting (now don’t you take me wrong. There were just so many plugs to undo: Z’computer, mine, an MD recorder, a microphone, extension cables) and repacking the gear. McShane walks by, and Z asks whether he could have a word with him. (He’d asked earlier, during lunch. “Of course,” McShane had answered.) “Public or private?” Z asks. “I don’t care,” McShane answers. They go to the next couch and sit down.

Z restates his previous proposal. If RTC would admit to the NOTS having been legally published — and thereby subject them to all the privileges, rules and exceptions to copyright law, not just the ones they like; meaning: granting the right to individuals to keep and make copies for their private use, and allow the right to quote — he would gladly admit to having committed copyright infringement. He is prepared to pay a symbolical tort for this infringement and both parties will pay their own legal costs. McShane flatly refuses. “But take a pragmatic point of view,” Z says. “By accepting such a settlement, you could bow out graciously while you still have room to move and even claim — you do value your public image, that much I know — that I have committed copyright infringement. You may even get some money out of me.”

“But if you do not accept, this will happen. I might lose part of tomorrow’s case. You might lose part of tomorrow’s case. Nobody knows. It is not up to us. But what I will surely win is the court stating that the NOTS have been legally published. You might even lose more than that. Now of course you will appeal this part of the decision anyway, even if it is the only part you lose, and perhaps then you can undo it. But meanwhile, people are in their full right when they abide by this ruling. They will start quoting. They will have legal copies. They will start quoting more. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“And if you win this whole case, you’re perhaps even worse off. People will get angry over my losing this case, and I predict that more havoc will ensue.”

“Now, if you yourself, of your own free will, without the court forcing you, grant others this right, you will re-earn some of the respect you’ve lost, prevent another stage of escalation, and earn yourself some peace. What do you say?” [All this is my summary. Don’t bind Z to this.]

Again, McShane refuses. “What do you win if you do continue?” Z insists. “There’s no money to be gotten out of me. I’m broke. I will not pay you. I cannot even pay you.”

McShane refuses. Scientology has basic tenets of belief, and keeping the NOTS secret is part of that, he explains. “But apart from the fact that they are being spread via the net and that secrecy has already been broken, if it ever existed, and apart from the fact that by now this secrecy has become legally void — there’s copies from parliament, from the court that everybody can request; as a matter of fact, one member of today’s court audience bought a copy of a NOTS pack here today — you will only get yourself more adulterated copies if you do not admit to your NOTS having been published and putting out an original version yourself. Everybody will attempt to post everything they can get their hands on, they will claim it’s yours, and you have no way to control that,” Z argued. [Perhaps they want adulterated copies floating around, I tend to think. That way only RTC, and Scientology, can exert this hold over their followers and are able to disavow anything else somebody else claims to be an original OT or NOTS.]

“And it will remain a sport to find them and publish them on the net and you will never rid yourself of this struggle. Don’t you realise that by being so rigid, you create your own opposition? I’m offering you a way out of that. The more you fight, the more opposition you create.”

I join them. Z explains to McShane that he had stumbled upon my homepages, had found this fight regarding the Fishman Affidavit interesting, read up, and had decided to join. Out of which sprung this case, which has by now already resulted in open copies of NOTS in court and in parliament. McShane seemed to disbelieve this. It can’t have been an accident that Z started his homepage; there must have been more to it than that. I explain that there wasn’t; nor was there in my case; there was nothing except Scientology’s own utter rudeness which had gotten me into this net fight.

We argue a bit more. And then leave.

Karsten, Bid, Joe, Z and I go for a drink. Then we have another one. It turns into dinner. Joe can’t get enough of this image of Zenon all by himself fighting RTC and have them all worked up and nervous and … and … At twelve, we get back home, get our asses into bed and fall asleep.

Erratum:

Previously I wrote, concerning my recently acquired status as biträde, that I was presented with a TRO regarding my disclosure of whatever I learned during my study of the closed files: “the first thing that officially happened to me while in Sweden was that the court presented me with a Temporary Restraining Order”. That was a Restraining Order, not a Temporary one.

[Unbiased columnism is a series of seven court reports on the proceedings of Scientology versus Zenon Panoussis. This series covers the May 22,1998 – June 3, 1998 sessions. Next: To want to eat a pie and have it.]

Zenon does research

Stockholm, Friday May 22 1998

In order to prepare himself for his upcoming trials, Zenon needed to study some files at the court; the same court where one can request to be provided with a copy of the NOTs and read them.

We arrived there at half past one. (Yes, we were late. We had been drinking and talking the previous night and I had been admiring the strange light. At three at night the sky looked as if it were seven in the morning, and at seven in the early evening the light gave the distinct impression that it was four in the afternoon. It is utterly confusing. My internal clock doesn’t match with what my eyes present me with.) The light promised summer, but outside it was rather cold and windy; so we took a cab to the court. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to smoke in the car.

The court. A high building with heavy doors, bright inside. Zenon went over to the reception desk and asked whether there were still Scienos coming in every day in order to ‘read’ their precious material. “Yes,” the receptionists told us smiling, “they are. They were here this morning and they will be back after lunch.” The ‘service hours’ for the NOTs are from nine to twelve and from one to three, so we had just enough time for a very quick breakfast and – oh! the relief! – a smoke. A couple of minutes before one o’clock we returned to the reception desk and asked for the NOTs. Zenon received a brownish envelope captioned ‘MATERIELET’ (sic) and handed it to me. Ha. At last. I’ve seen the NOTs so often by now that I’m quite prepared to consider posting them on a.r.s. to be an instance of spamming, but this was the first time that I saw analogue copies and could actually touch the NOTs.

In one of the corners of the entry hall, opposite the reception desk, was a wooden bench. And an electricity outlet. It is the place where the Scienos usually sit with the NOTs, Zenon told me. Perfect. Zenon left and went to a higher floor from which he had a good view of both the reception desk and me; I plugged in my computer, leafed through the NOTs until I had found a chapter dealing with illnesses and disabilities, and started taking notes.

If a Scieno were to approach me – such was the plan – I would explain that I was so happy to finally be able to study this material, because I had heard that Scientology Tech could cure illnesses and alleviate disabilities, and well, you know, considering my legs and the wheelchair and all, and wouldn’t everybody in my condition be grasping at each and every straw, so there, you see? The idea was that by feeding them this story, I could maybe lure them into having a conversation with me. (All this, of course, assuming that Swedish Scientology members wouldn’t recognise me; and since Scientology provides their members with information on a need-to-know basis only, whilst being unable to predict when the need to know actually arises, chances were they would indeed not have the faintest idea who I am.)

Perusing the NOTs and typing merrily along, I happened to find something that did indeed incite some interest. A couple of years ago I wrote a book about New Age quack therapies that will be re-issued later this year. These quack therapists believe that illnesses ‘say’ something, that their type and location are symbolical, that infallibly there is a correlation between psychological problems and illnesses, and that language proves this. Thus, some New Age therapists provide their readers with convenient ‘translation’ lists which insist that the cause of having bladder problems is that the sufferer ‘has difficulties in letting go’ and that spine injuries originate in one’s belief that ‘the world is on their back’. In the revised edition, a new chapter is to be added which explains that much of this modern crap is rooted in the more rigid branches of Protestantism and in Christian Science, and that many cults take a similar view upon illnesses. And what did I find in the NOTs? Elron indulging in the same diagnosis-by-proverb that New Agers adore so much and stating that “Phrases such as ‘a man of my kidney’, ‘got no spine’, ‘got to have spine’, ‘no stomach for it’, confuse BTs and clusters in those body parts and play a role in pinning them in.” (HCO Bulletin of 29 October 1978, Issue II; NED for OTs series: ‘Chronic somates, missed BTs’.) I will surely use this quote – and others, probably – in the revised edition of my book.

Zenon interrupted me after ten minutes. Not wanting to blow my cover, I had busied myself reading and typing whilst trying to not pay too much attention to my surroundings, trusting that Zenon would observe whatever scene might present itself. And yes, he had indeed witnessed how the Scieno had returned at ten past one, had gone to the reception desk, asked for the NOTs, and was told that, unfortunately for him, (the clerk pointing in my direction) I already had them; the Scieno had stared at me for a couple of seconds and had then left. Caught. Bad boy. Hadn’t done his job properly. (And now, via this article, he has been reported to his superiors as well. Damn. What can I say? Shit happens. Especially when you’re a clam.)

We stayed a couple of minutes more, took some pictures of the rather worn-out NOTs (really! It’s a disgrace. The holy scriptures are all in tatters. Somebody should do something about it, and perhaps present the court with a fresh copy), packed the computer and took the elevator to section seven, where Zenon’s files are kept. We were greeted rather warmly. Zenon asked for a couple of files and informed the court that meanwhile, he had enlisted my help. Some of the files he requested are sealed – at one point Zenon handed in NOTs to the Court of Appeals; and these were subsequently closed – and while he himself has the right to study these sealed files, others are of course not. That’s what sealing is all about, isn’t it. Then again, he does have a right to appoint attorneys and biträden, that is, aides or consultants. So he told the court (who appeared before us in the shape of a friendly woman) that he had appointed me as his biträde, and would they please acknowledge that status and grant me the right to see these sealed documents as well. The court withdrew while pondering their decision.

Within fifteen minutes or so, a formal decision had been reached and both Zenon and me were give copies of the court’s most recent ‘beslut’ regarding RTC vs. Zenon Panoussis. I had now been promoted to biträde and could officially study the sealed files, on condition that I will not disclose to third parties whatever I would learn during this session. (Funny. Downstairs, at the reception desk, the NOTs – which, according to Scientology, are amongst the best kept secrets of the world, were given to me with no hassle whatsoever. Here, a couple of floors higher up in the same building, I needed to have an official status to see the same files, while being forced to promise non-disclosure. There is an almost clownish element of procedures being ritually obeyed in this court case. And even funnier is the fact that the first thing that officially happened to me while in Sweden was that the court presented me with a Temporary Restraining Order. Now that is a souvenir not many tourists would take pride in; I do, however, and will file it with my other Scientology memorabilia.)

We were given the sealed files. Four fat folders. We opened them, found paper and pencils, and started our task. Unfortunately, we couldn’t smoke.

A man who had been working at the same table where we were now sitting, had cleared away his stuff and simply sat there, looking at us. While we had been waiting for the court to reach its decision regarding my status as biträde, Zenon and he had engaged in conversation. My knowledge of Swedish is almost non-existent, but I could figure out that they were talking about Zenon’s upcoming trial. The man seemed rather interested.

He sat there. Just sat there, doing nothing but look at us. Zenon and I worked, every now and then talking or laughing or commenting upon something funny, strange or interesting. (I won’t tell you what. I can’t. I am not allowed to. I am a biträde with a TRO and cannot disclose to third parties what I learned this afternoon.) The man simply kept looking. Every time I looked up from my task I would meet his eyes. After some time, I started feeling slightly uncomfortable. If he was waiting for somebody he would surely at one point have averted his eyes. Was he keeping a watch on us? Yes. He observed our every movement. Why? Was he a Scientologist? Nah, not here, and Zenon would not have been so forthcoming about next week’s events if he had even felt the slightest distrust of this man. But why the fuck was he scrutinising us?

It was only later that I found out that this man was there on the court’s behalf. Ever since some of the Scientology vs. Zenon files were stolen from the court (the NOTs, of course) the court safeguards them, especially when somebody asks for sealed files. This man was here to guard the documents and to see to it that nobody — Zenon, or Magnusson, or whoever is allowed to see them — will fiddle with them.

We did our work, took our notes, greeted everybody and left. Once outside the building, we could finally smoke.

[Unbiased columnism is a series of seven court reports on the proceedings of Scientology versus Zenon Panoussis. This series covers the May 22,1998 – June 3, 1998 sessions. Next: What material?]