� In this diary, I record my life as a transvestite. Perhaps it will help somebody else, who finds their lifestyle doesn't quite match that endorsed by the 'tranny mafia'. Well, I've been there... and survived. The debriefing starts here.
�loves: All kinds of stuff that society thinks I shouldn't.
2008: When the Good Guys wore masks 6:06 p.m. -- 2009-01-09
Sometimes, something �blogworthy� happens in my life, and I keep it in reserve, since to blab about it immediately would put a dent in my anonymity. For instance, if I were to blog about how I celebrated my birthday, the reader would get a pretty good idea of my date of birth.
Actually, when registering for any website, I always say that my birthday is January 1st. I bet a lot of people do, as a simple way of telling the website to sod off. You ain�t getting any personal details from me! If you looked at the statistics gathered from the web, I suspect that something like twenty percent of humanity was born on the first of January.
We are anonymous. We are legion.
Actually, I am a member of Anonymous: the secretive non-organisation dedicated to bringing about the end of the Cult of $ci�nto�og�. And that�s what I�m here to tell you about, today.
Now that the event is safely in the distant past, I can tell you about the first time I ever took part in an Anonymous protest against the Cult. To have blogged about it in the immediate aftermath would have semi-identified me, potentially linking my blog and one of the new folks photographed at the protest. Even now, I�ll decline to say which town or city I protested in.
Paranoia? Well, that depends how much you fear the �OSA� or Office of Special Affairs (formerly the �Guardian's Office�). You can learn more about $ci�nto�og��s secret service if you look up �Operation Snow White� or �Operation Freakout�. Given the things that $ci�nto�ogists have done to their critics in the past, it seems wise to remain nameless.
So, taking part in a protest, or �going on a raid� as it�s called: masking up, positioning oneself across the street from a Cult operation, holding a placard with an anti-$ci�nto�og� slogan, filming them filming us... handing out leaflets and singing protest songs.
A bit immature, at times... but it still felt like something I ought to do. I didn�t really know what to expect, despite having watched numerous YouTube videos of previous �raids�. Sometimes the �Clams� just clam up, draw their blinds and hide inside their building, while at other times they come out and shout abuse in your face, try to pull your mask off, try to follow you home...
I really had no idea. Would I be encountering confused parishioners, brainwashed staffers who might be aggressive, sneaky private investigators, or $ci�nto�og��s elite paramilitary, the �Sea Org�?
Since I couldn�t know their tactics, step one had to be to become as anonymous as possible.
Before they go on a combat mission, aircrew are required to remove their insignia. For this reason, modern-day flight suits have velcro patches for squadron badges. Equally, they are required to empty all their pockets. If you get shot down, even an old bus ticket could tell the enemy what town you�re from; which squadron is operating against them, and their capabilities.
A �raid� on the Cult of Scientology is hardly in the same league as the liberation of Kuwait, but I decided the principle was the same. $ci�nto�ogists are told that their critics are �fair-game�, so I had to take steps to conceal my identity.
Cash only. Take no credit cards or other forms of identification. Wait... NO identification? But what if I get arrested? I�ll be held because I won�t be able to prove my name and address. Arse. Risk police detention, or risk getting pick-pocketed by a private investigator in the pay of the $cilons?
I decide to be a Very Good Boy, and not get arrested.
But: what if the cops demand that I remove my mask? Unlikely, but a chief inspector who�s had too many free dinners from the Cult of $ci�nto�og� might suddenly pull a Section 60 Order out of his fat arse. This is one of the crappy things about living in the UK: it seems there�s a �postcode lottery� as to how the law is interpreted. Section 60 of the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act of 1994 was originally designed to prevent trouble between football fans, but it basically allows the police to do whatever they like, if they claim there is reason to believe that violence is imminent). Never mind that no Anonymous protester has been violent in a year of protests so far... Section 60 can still be invoked, requiring us to unmask.
Contingency plan. I add a hat, a pair of shades and a scarf to the pile of items I must take with me.
My camera: shit! I property-marked it with my postcode. It seemed like a good idea at the time... but if a $cilon snatches it off me, they�ll know where I live. Ditch the main camera; take one that I haven�t got around to marking yet.
�Forbidden Planet� carrier bag. No, no, no. Forbidden Planet is where Anonymous protesters buy their Guy Fawkes masks. (Remember the film �V for Vendetta�? Those masks.) Arriving at a station while carrying a Forbidden Planet bag and wearing a dark suit is as good as screaming �Hey! I�m with Anonymous! In a minute, I�m going to put my mask on - better photograph me now.� The carrier bag is ditched.
My rucksack was a freebie. Crap! It�s got a distinctive logo on it. An obscure company name that could lead back to me. I borrow a different one. I check for other distinguishing marks... and decide to leave my wedding ring at home. It feels funny, not wearing it... but it's one less piece of information.
iPod. That�s easy. Leave the iPod. I�ll want to be fully aware when I�m returning home, so I can tell if I�m being followed. If so, I�ll be too busy playing bus-hopping games to listen to music.
Shoes: the most comfortable ones. I expect long hours on my feet.
Umbrella: a gamble. I decide to leave it. Xenu[*] will not allow it to rain on the righteous! Besides, with leaflets, a placard and a camera, I am rapidly running out of limbs.
And I was right. The weather stayed dry, and a good time was had by all. The Culties largely stayed holed up inside their building, so there was no risk of any trouble. On the plus side, they didn�t manage to entice anybody inside all day. (We all shouted �It�s a TRAP!� each time anybody so much as glanced inside.) We formed quite an impressive crowd, but the number of people who gathered to watch us was even bigger. All were offered leaflets, and many expressed support for us. Numerous passing drivers responded with a cheery honk. Verdict: the British public doesn't like the Cult.
It�s funny, with hindsight... there is masses of information available to help the neophyte protester to attend their first protest: where to go, what to bring, when to meet, what to do. The whole business of getting to a �raid� is made simple, but as the shadows lengthened it was only then that it occurred to me that none of the information I had read described the best way to �exfil�. If you�ve spent the day shouting at a violent crime syndicate worth at least a billion dollars... how do you stop?
I mean... how does a person in fancy dress melt back into the crowd? One minute, you want the public to notice you, and the next, you want to be inconspicuous. You see, the cult members have been told that Anonymous is a terrorist organisation. It seems they genuinely believe that we are preparing to bomb their offices - and that discovering the identity of the �terrorists� is the right thing to do. That�s the trouble with the people who sign up to be a member of Hu88ard�s twisted Master Race: they really do believe that they�re doing the right thing. That�s why they photograph us, follow us, try to record our vehicle number plates and so on.
It was past the time that had been announced for the protest to end, but everybody was still having fun and nobody looked like they were about to make a move. I decided that I couldn�t wait for everybody to pack up and head for home: I had a dinner date, so it would be necessary to slip away into the crowd.
I had to play �James Bond�. I set off, walking away from the protest and still wearing my mask. Many of the shoppers I passed had been seeing protesters in masks all day, so perhaps I wasn�t a particularly strange sight. In fact, I was surprised that almost nobody looked at me. Maybe that�s just a very British thing: don�t stare. Don�t make eye contact with an oddball.
After a hundred meters or so, and without looking back, I removed the mask, and stuffed it in my rucksack. Next the tie. Seeing a gap in the traffic, I dashed across the street and into a shop. One of those large department stores that has entrances on more than one side. I loitered, to see who came in after me, then crossed the shop and left on a different street. I walked fast, then paused to study the reflections in a plate glass window. Was that guy in the department store? Hmm. I changed direction, and entered a station concourse. Paid an extortionate fee to �spend a penny� (as my dad would say)... and was happy to do so. Inside a toilet cubicle, I switched my clothing for the stuff in the rucksack. A crumpled suit is the price of anonymity.
Washed my face (which felt really strange, having been inside a mask all day)... and left. Took a couple of trains (deliberately disembarking onto a deserted platform, to see who else would be dumb enough to leave a perfectly good train, only to take the next one to the same destination... and breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn�t being followed.
Some of the teenagers are quite blas� about the �OSA�, and in a way I think they�re probably right. The Cult has had a very bad year. They�re haemorrhaging cash, and they can no longer conduct dirty tricks campaigns against all their critics. Still, I�m not some penniless student. I�ve got a house and a business... so I�m worth suing. Not good. Or maybe if a $ci�nto�ogist knew who I was they�d just send a letter to each of my neighbours, telling them I�m into kiddie porn. It�s one of their favourite tricks... so you see, it�s worth a certain amount of shenanigans to make sure you remain anonymous. Also, my wife is an innocent bystander in all this. I don�t want to bring trouble like that home.
Seriously. $ci�nto�og� is that evil. Not the kind of conduct you�d expect from a religion... but then my friends and I believe that $ci�nto�og� isn�t a legitimate religion.
And that�s why it felt so damn good to have taken a stand against it. I had a good time, and my unknown friends and I inoculated a few thousand more people against this bizarre American UFO cult. I reckon that during 2008 we set the Cult back a generation: there can�t be many young people who haven�t seen the ridiculous side of $ci�nto�og�, and I doubt they�ll be rushing to sign up. Many of the existing parishioners are still loyal, but I think they even they are increasingly aware that there is a viable alternative to life inside the Cult. Plus they�ve been bled dry, anyway. The crime syndicate can extract no more cash from them.
Despite the setbacks of their annus horribilis, $ci�nto�og� still managed to do some real harm in 2008. Long-time critic Shawn Lonsdale died in mysterious circumstances in February. In April a Norwegian girl called Kaja Bordevich Ballo committed suicide just hours after taking one of $ci�nto�og��s �free personality tests�, designed to identify vulnerable people and play upon their fears. In October, Uwe Stuckenbrock died while a prisoner in $ci�nto�og��s gulag, the �Rehabilitation Project Force�. Numerous other people lived in misery, and in fear.
I�ll keep on fighting.
Footnote: * Actually, Xenu is a figure in $ci�nto�ogist mythology... but because they deny his existence, Anonymous celebrate him. Until you�ve undergone about �50,000 worth of brainwashing, you�re not ready to learn about Xenu. You can learn the truth about $ci�nto�og� and Xenu in this YouTube video... or you can join the Cult, sell your house and wait a few years until you reach �OT3� level.
