The Power of the Written Word

We descended into Jacksonville, Florida, through dark clouds laden with rain. Maybe it was our mood or the reason we were there, but the city, in my estimation, could never qualify as a destination hot spot. Everything seemed gray and cheerless. The air reeked of sulfur and damp newspaper, reminding me of an old factory town suffering through a toxic overspill. Even though it’s touted as a “super cool” U.S. city, Jacksonville was a place we’d never expected to visit. It was the end of the road for our court case.

It hadn’t been much of a shock to discover that the Scientology lawyers and a few identified Office of Special Affairs (or OSA) operatives were also staying in our hotel. Compared by many to CIA or KGB agents, OSA people, according to the Church, are responsible for directing legal affairs and pursuing investigations. They target Scientology’s critics. Fighting a case in court against Scientology is stressful and anxiety-producing enough. But having a posse of secret-agent-like Scientologists and their lawyers park themselves at tables within earshot was extremely disconcerting.

But now, much to my relief, they were gone; the small hotel bistro was empty. The four of us sat around a small table. We were somber and reflective. Joe Childs, a journalist from the Tampa Bay Times, casually leaned back against the restaurant’s papered wall, his tall, thin frame stretching across the confined space, taking up space for two.

Still decked out in his courtroom attire, Kyle’s lawyer, Luke Lirot, broke the silence: “I’m sorry that it had to come down to this, Victoria. Kyle deserved better. We can walk away knowing that we did everything we could to get justice for him.”

After a brief pause, he continued: “I don’t want you carrying any regrets.”

We knew before we arrived that the outcome would be bad. When Luke first heard the names of the judges appointed to hear Kyle’s case, he delivered a grim assessment.

“Frank Hull?!” Luke exclaimed. “She’s the judge involved with Judge Robert Beach when he wanted to stop Ken Dandar from being your attorney. This is the worst!”

Engaging in litigation with Scientology is precarious. When you’re assigned a judge, there are numerous factors that come into play, factors of which the general public is unaware. For example, can OSA find compromising dirt on the judge? Can that information be used to sway the judge’s ruling? These concerns became a very real part of the litigation.

“Having Hull involved in an earlier proceeding of Kyle’s case should have resulted in her recusing herself,” I said. “But, after all, this is Florida.”

(Hull’s judicial legacy to date—other than ruling against our appeal and trying to make me lawyer-less—was being a nominee in a ridiculous contest called “Who’s Hot Under Their Robes.”)

Nodding in agreement with my sentiment and looking at me with compassion, Joe added exactly what you’d expect from a writer: “No matter the outcome of today’s hearing, it’s a good story that should be told.”

“That’s right, Victoria,” Luke adds, turning towards me. “There’s a book waiting to be written. What do you say?”

The judicial system failed Kyle, but at that moment, I realized we weren’t out of options. If the Church of Scientology expected us to limp away broken and beaten, they were sorely mistaken.

What all of us at that crowded bistro table knew was that the written word is a powerful weapon. Along with the truth, the written word is a formidable enemy of injustice.

And, as I thought about it, I remembered Kyle—barely out of his teens—had learned this lesson as well. He’d been introduced to the world of journalism by his stepfather, Rick Britton. Rick had worked for Media General as a print and broadcast journalist with The Richmond Times-Dispatch. Kyle got to experience him writing travel/feature pieces for The Washington Times and even joined him on a few assignments. This opened Kyle’s eyes and sparked his interest in writing.

Words have power, and writing a book seemed like the natural next step. As Thomas Jefferson wrote to historian and abolitionist William Roscoe in 1820: “We are not afraid to follow the truth wherever it may lead. . .”