Religious
Leader Felt Sorry For Clinton
By
Brooks Jackson and John Gilmore/CNN
WASHINGTON
(Jan. 9) -- A Taiwan-based religious leader who raised thousands of dollars
for President Bill Clinton's legal defense fund says she felt sorry for
the president.
In
an interview with CNN, Suma Ching Hai, leader of a worldwide religious
sect, talked at length for the first time about why she and her followers
raised hundreds of thousands of dollars to help pay Clinton's massive legal
bills.
"I
can help the homeless on the street with five thousand or hundred thousand
dollars," Ching Hai said. "Why couldn't I help a president of the United
States when he's in trouble? He's more poor than the homeless and he has
only $200,000 a year. He earns less than I earn."(96K AIFF or WAV sound)
She
says it was early last year in Taiwan when she got her first and only visit
from Charlie Trie. Trie is an old friend of the president from Little Rock,
Ark., and a political fund-raiser.
Ching
Hai says Trie came to her seeking spiritual guidance. But they also discussed
money and he also offered to set up a meeting with the president. "So he
thinks I should meet Mr. Clinton," Ching Hai recalled. "So I say that's
not the purpose of our work. We like to do it quietly."
She
said other followers already had asked her if they should help the president.
"And I say to them you are Americans; you have to do as American citizen
should do. And if your president is good and you think by helping him you
can help your country and help the world, then do it!"(128K AIFF or WAV
sound)
"He's
a man of peace and dignity," Ching Hai said. "I think he deserves the help
of anyone who can help him. He's innocent, you know; he's not proven guilty."
Though
Ching Hai denied Trie came looking for money, it was Trie who later delivered
nearly $640,000 in manila envelopes to the Clinton legal trust, money the
trust eventually rejected because of suspicious-looking checks and too
many questions.
Ching
Hai said she did not even know how much was raised until she read about
it in the newspapers.
"I
don't know why people make so much fuss," she said. "If we give him something
and if the thing is not appropriate, the president does not accept it...all
right, that suits me."
This
story originally appeared on CNN's "Inside Politics."
http://www.cnn.com/ALLPOLITICS/1997/01/09/ching.hai/
Supreme
Master Ching Hai
By
Louis Hughes; Ireland
The
"Supreme Master Ching Hai" visited Ireland recently and gave a seminar
entitled: "Immediate Enlightenment, Eternal Liberation". The event took
place in the main hall of the Royal Dublin Society, venue for major sporting
and cultural events. It was well publicized both through street posters
and substantial ads in national newspapers, highlighting the news that
"Heaven is here and now!" and inviting the Irish public to "see God while
living". More than 1000 people turned up to hear and see the "Supreme Master",
many of them conveyed to the hall in mini-buses chartered by the group,
which had been cruising the streets of Dublin all afternoon offering free
one-way transport.
Ms.
Ching Hai, a handsome Chinese-Vietnamese woman, appeared in evening dress
on the flower-bedecked stage. She connected easily with her audience, even
inviting those who were seatless to share her space and her cushions onstage.
Her informality was in stark contrast to the dozens of mainly oriental-looking
minders in business suits, who silently monitored the proceedings.
The
content of Ching Hai’s address was part Buddhist, part Hindu, but given
a New Age twist in, for example, her insistence that the term ‘Christ’
refers not to a person, but to a power that emanates from God and manifests
the authority of God in exceptionally enlightened individuals. With a touch
that seemed to owe something to Wordsworth’s poem Ode on the Intimations
of Mortality, she explained that when we are born, we may remember past
existences. As we grow, things crowd around, and we lose the vision of
God which we had when we left heaven.
The
relevant passage from this poem is:
Our
birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The
Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath
had elsewhere its setting,
And
cometh from afar:
Not
in entire forgetfulness,
And
not in utter nakedness,
But
trailing clouds of glory do we come
From
God, who is our home:
Heaven
lies about us in our infancy!
Shades
of the prison-house begin to close
Upon
the growing Boy,
Then,
going far beyond Wordsworth, she reasoned that if God lives in here (pointing
to her heart), logically one should be able to see him at any time –
"we just have to know where to direct our attention. Seeing (the Light
of God) is believing". Consequently, she declared: "I am offering proof
of God’s existence". This proof however, is evident only to those who
have been initiated into what she terms the "Quan Yin Method" of meditation.
"Quan
Yin" is the name of a goddess, the most popular in China. Worshipped both
by Buddhists and Taoists, Quan Yin is represented as a female figure with
many arms to signify her generosity towards her devotees. She is particularly
favoured by women who pray to her for the birth of a son. ( See Kari Harbakk,
"Kuan Yin Revisited" and "Goddess of a Thousand Eyes" in Areopagus [Hong
Kong] II, 2 (Epiphany 1989), 35 - 37).
However,
the "Quan Yin Method" of meditation bears little relationship to the traditional
simple prayers and offerings made to the goddess. While reluctant to explain
the method to the uninitiated, Ching Hai did indicate in replies to questions
from the audience that it involves turning our attention inwards to listen
to God – something we have forgotten in the course of our busy lives.
During meditation one will hear musical sounds, such as that of the bagpipe.
Quan
Yin meditation is practised with one’s attention focused on the ‘third
eye’ centre, located in the middle of the forehead. This, she
said, is the wisdom centre and the highest gateway for leaving one’s
body.
However,
the technique should be learned properly and practised correctly. She warned
of the danger of focusing on any chakras or centres of energy without proper
guidance. That guidance is given during the process of initiation into
the method. All present were invited to take initiation there and then.
About 100 people took up the offer. Some underwent full initiation which
involves a life-long commitment to a vegan diet and at least two hours
meditation daily, as well as refraining from all alternative forms of meditation
and other spiritual practices. Others received the "quick initiation" or
"convenient method", requiring a half-hours meditation daily and abstinence
from meat for ten days each month.
Ms.
Ching Hai is portrayed as a talented and energetic woman - evident in the
displays round the hall of paintings, jewelry, Chinese lanterns and fashion.
All – we were told – were designed by herself and available for purchase.
Also on sale were her videos, CDs, tapes and books. A magazine and a booklet
of her talks were available for free. Proceeds of sales are used to fund
charitable activities and disaster relief in various parts of the world.
Ching Hai was brought up as a Catholic, but learnt the rudiments of Buddhism
from her grandmother. However, in a brief autobiography she explains that
her significant spiritual experience came about as a result of time spent
in the Himalayas where she discovered "the Quan Yin Method and the Divine
Transmission". ("A Brief Biography of the Supreme Master Ching Hai" in
The Key of Immediate Enlightenment by the Supreme Master Ching Hai [Formosa,
27th edition, 1999], p.9).
Nowhere
in the movement’s literature is any mention made of how she came upon
this enlightenment. An enquiry to one of her retinue as to who Ching Hai’s
teacher was, yielded the vague reply: "Kutaji – he lives in a cave in
the Himalayas – maybe has left his body now." Such reticence in regard
to the identity of one’s initiating guru is quite unusual among Oriental
religious teachers and begs the question as to the true origins of Ching
Hai’s teaching. Some clues however, are to be found in the language that
she uses in her writings and talks.
There
are notable similarities between Ching Hai’s philosophy and that
of the surat shabd or "sound and light" yogic tradition of Northern
India. This tradition is represented at its best in the Radha Soami movements
of Agra and Beas. Julian Johnson’s book, The Path of the Masters is the
classical English language source for the philosophy and teachings of the
Radha Soamis.
The
main features held in common both by the Radha Soamis and Ching Hai include:
the requirement to practise long hours of meditation under the direction
of the Master; focussing on the Master himself/herself as the object of
meditation ; the practice of meditation at the "third eye"; the idea of
spiritual progression through ascending planes or levels of consciousness;
the prediction that the meditator will see inner light and hear inner sounds,
particularly musical sounds; the ability
to leave the body at will during meditation and explore the astral world.
Former
disciples of Ching Hai have alleged that disciples are taught to meditate
with a blanket over their heads. This practice tends to induce
hyper-ventilation which makes people more susceptible to mind-control.
It has also been reported that disciples were strongly encouraged by Ching
Hai herself to put together a six-figure donation towards U.S. President
Clinton’s personal legal defence fund. (See
Tom Fitton’s, "Brain-washed Clinton Donors" in Opinion Inc 08/05/97,
down-loaded from www.freerepublic.com, August 4, 1999).
And,
as for the Dublin mission, several letters appeared subsquently in the
"Irish Times" from some of those initiated. They complained that, though
they attempted to practise the "Quan Yin Method", their efforts to see
God ended in failure.
CHING
HAI AND RADHASOAMIS COMPARED
Apart
from the various groups calling themselves "Radhasoamis" that have split
off from the original movement based in Agra, there are a number of independent
movements with their own names based on Radhasoami philosophy and spirituality.
The most notable of these is the Ruhani Satsang established by Kirpal Singh,
a disciple of Sawan Singh, former head of Radhasoami Beas. But apart from
these, there are numerous movements using surat-shabd ideology and methods,
which are shy about acknowledging the sources of their teaching.
The
best known of these is Eckankar, established by Paul Twitchell, one-time
disciple of Kirpal Singh. His movement consists mainly of plagiarized Radhasoami
elements with a few added idiosyncratic twists. John-Roger Hinkins, a former
disciple of Twitchell’s, in 1968 started his own movement M.S.I.A., which
is plagiarized Eckankar! It has also suggested that the Divine Light Mission
has a connection with the Radhasoami tradition. According to some accounts,
the father of Guru Maharaj had been a follower of one or other branch of
the Radhasoamis.
(David
Rife "Shabdism in North America", paper presented to the American Academy
of Religion's Western Region Conference at Stanford University on March
26, 1982; downloaded from http://www.ex-premie.org/papers/shabd.htm. Rife
quotes Mark Juergensmeyer’s "Radhasoami Reality" in support of this point.
I am particularly indebted generally to this source in preparing this paper).
Some
of those who have not wished to acknowledge their indebtedness to the mainline
Radhasoami tradition or to any other living tradition, have stated that
they were enlightened or initiated by unidentified Masters at various undefined
locations "in the Himalayas". An example of this was Dr. Bhagat Singh Thind,
an initiate of Sawan Singh, who built his movement in the U.S. in the first
half of the twentieth century. Another such example is, I believe, Ching
Hai. However, at the moment it is not known to me where or from whom she
received initiation.
Ching
Hai’s teaching combines Radhasoami elements with bits and pieces from
other religious traditions in a way that lacks coherence. For example,
she speaks about the three bodies in Buddhism, which she terms respectively
the ‘dharma body’, the ‘manifestation body’ and the ‘physical
body’ and then she states: "Catholics speak of this as the Trinity."
("Trinity – spoken by Supreme Master Ching Hai, Chuongli, Formosa, February
25, 1989", published in The Supreme Master Ching Hai [News No. 105, September
1999], 9).
She
is also heavily into New Age. Her speeches contain on occasion liberal
dollops of astrology, ecology, alternative medicine and diet, use of positive
thinking’ and ‘positive energy’. Her movement also appears to be
highly commercialized.
http://a4.nu/ching-hai/louis_hughes.htm
Clinton's
Buddhist Martha Stewart
By
Howard Chua-Eoan
(TIME,
January 20) -- To bring Suma Ching Hai into focus, imagine Martha Stewart
as the Dalai Lama. The Supreme Master, 46, is an elegant hostess--and clever
merchandiser. At a vegetarian dinner with a TIME correspondent last week
in Alhambra, California, she wore a bright yellow dress that she designed
herself--embroidered with the Supreme Master monogram (SM) and available
to followers by catalog. When she gestured with her hands, she flashed
gold and diamond rings with the SM design, part of her Celestial Jewelry
collection--available by catalog as well. (Also for sale: Celestial purses,
hats, gold dinnerware, chopsticks, inspirational videos, floor lamps.)
A petite woman with long, dark brown hair that cascades past her shoulders,
the Supreme Master is passionate, earthy (she says she needs a husband)
and more fun than the average saint. "Of course I'm divine," she says,
laughing. "But so are you."
At
the moment, Suma Ching Hai is more than divine: she is controversial. Late
last year, officials of Bill Clinton's legal-defense fund rather shamefacedly
disclosed that they had returned a donation of more than $600,000 from
the followers of the Taiwan-based mystic, adding to the President's "Asian
money" scandal. Nevertheless, the Supreme Master remains a fervent Clintonite.
"The poor man," she says, erupting in his defense. "You must respect his
office. How can he solve America's problems if he is distracted? He's in
debt. He's a suspect. This is terrible." She knows what it feels like to
be investigated: the Taiwan government is looking into alleged "fund-raising
improprieties" by her sect, including the transfer of $2 million out of
the country.
Scandal-plagued
politicians are not the only objects of Suma Ching Hai's charity. Whenever
there is a natural disaster, she is there--with money. She says she has
given hundreds of thousands of dollars to victims of the 1993 Mississippi
River floods and to survivors of the Oklahoma City bombing. "Before we
enter the spiritual world, we are in the mundane world," she says. "If
the Buddha isn't a helpful Buddha, he is a boring Buddha. He is a useless
Buddha."
The
core of Suma Ching Hai's teachings is what she calls Quan Yin meditation.
It involves no chanting, no mantras, but a "contemplation of the inner
sound stream," as her disciple and U.S. spokesperson Pamela Millar describes
it. The Supreme Master's lectures are laced with Taoist, Buddhist and Christian
references (she likes the Bible verse "In the beginning was the Word...and
the Word was God.") She denies she is an incarnation of the Chinese goddess
of mercy. Still, her publications and Website always capitalize pronouns
that refer to her. Suma Ching Hai simply says she is enlightened and that
"there are certain things that I know."
Raised
a devout Roman Catholic in Quang Ngai, Vietnam, she left home at 22 to
study in England, eventually becoming an interpreter for the Red Cross.
At 30, she met and married a German doctor but left him, amicably she says,
to become a Buddhist nun and pursue enlightenment in India. Her recognition
as a spiritual leader came rather suddenly in 1982 when she tried to buy
a copy of the Hindu sacred work the Bhagavad-Gita that she says she saw
in a shop along the Ganges. The shopkeepers said there were none in stock;
she insisted she had seen it. Then they discovered the book in a sealed
box and began hailing her for the keenness of her third eye. She fled the
sudden acclaim but eventually came to terms with her status. She claims
her disciples number "maybe a million, maybe more."
In
Taiwan she reportedly has 300,000 followers. However, when the government
closed down her headquarters (it had been constructed without a license),
the sect produced a membership list of only 804 names. That belies the
6,000 who appeared in Taiwan on Ching Hai Day in October 1995. At that
ceremony, she wore queenly robes ("under orders from God," she says), riding
a sedan chair carried by eight bearers to the cheers of "your royal majesty."
Those followers are keeping faithfully silent as investigators go through
the sect's records. One admitted, though, that "believers are not allowed
to speak to outsiders without permission from above."
Other
religious leaders in Taiwan are barely polite. The secretary-general of
the Taoist Association says he has information that she has bought up vast
tracts of land in Cambodia. Master Chinhsing, a Buddhist monk of Vietnamese
origin who may have been Ching Hai's mentor, disapproves of her departure
from the austere ways of Buddhist tradition. He has reportedly warned her
never to identify herself as his former student.
The
Supreme Master has been away from Taiwan for a while, traveling among disciples
around the world. From that global perspective, the hubbub about the Clinton
donation is rather pesky. "The Clinton money is nothing," she complains.
"It's only $600,000, for God's sake!" Indeed, she says, "I'd forgotten
all about it" until the press reported that the amount had been returned.
And why shouldn't she help Clinton? "If I help a man who has some stress
because of a flood, why would I not help a President who is stressed?"
Says she: "If the American people would allow me, I would give him $2 million
right now." Even so, Clinton couldn't touch it.
--Reported
by Donald Shapiro/Taipei and James Willwerth/Alhambra
http://www.cnn.com/ALLPOLITICS/1996/analysis/time/9701/20/chua-eoan.html
Immaterial
Girl
Part
Buddha, part Madonna, Supreme Master Ching Hai promises immediate enlightenment
to San Jose's Asian immigrants
By
Rafer Guzmán ( March 28- April 3, 1996 issue of San Jose Metro )
Photographs
by Christopher Gardner
As
flight 717 circles the sky on a recent Wednesday evening, a group of about
150 people sit meditating on the þoor of a waiting area at San Jose International
Airport. Dozens of Asian men in dark suits, each wearing a yellow ribbon
on his lapel, walk the airport halls and direct wanderers to the group.
Men outside wave cars into the short-term parking lot, which is Þlling
up fast.
Suddenly,
the meditators rise to their feet and storm Gate A8, which is already swarming
with bodies. American Airlines Flight 717 is pulling in. With some persuasion,
the admirers line up on either side of the gate's walkway, and the yellow-
ribboned officials link hands to form barriers against the masses, whose
numbers continue to grow. Chinese, Vietnamese and broken English combine
to make a rising din. An elderly Chinese woman thrusts her arms into the
crowd, trying to pry open a place for herself. Gate A8 is a parted sea
of ecstatic faces, all of them waiting for the appearance of the Supreme
Master Suma Ching Hai.
Ching
Hai is many things: painter, poet, Buddhist nun and spiritual leader. She
is also a fashion designer, beauty makeover consultant and restaurateur.
According to most of her followers, Ching Hai is not only a saintly philanthropist
who took the Vietnamese refugees in Hong Kong under her wing, she is also
the living reincarnation of the Buddha and Jesus Christ. According to her
critics -- and they are few -- she operates one of the largest and fastest-growing
religious
cults in the world.
Is
Ching Hai truly the Messiah? Of the several hundred assembled worshippers
here tonight, only I will later be fortunate enough to sit just inches
from the Supreme Master and ask her this very question. For if she is the
Messiah, she has inexplicably chosen to manifest herself as the owner of
56 vegetarian restaurants which cover the globe from Taipei to Melbourne
to San Jose. On the corner of Twelfth Street and East Santa Clara Street,
once the site of Paolo's, the posh Italian restaurant that was for decades
the hangout of the Valley's agricultural and political elite, Ching Hai's
establishment now serves a stunning, if overly ambitious, variety of vegetarian
dishes ranging from spring rolls and faux swordfish to pasta marinara.
It
also doubles as a library and museum containing hundreds of Ching Hai magazines,
books and videotapes. On posters and laminated photographs, the Master's
face smiles beatifically, though her slightly paralyzed left cheek gives
her the appearance of wearing a sort of foxy grin. Mannequins stand adorned
in her own haute couture outfits, which seem to draw from the fashions
of both Star Trek and Dallas. On the walls hang her simple paintings of
flowers, trees and landscapes. Above the tables of the dining patrons looms
a gigantic TV screen which broadcasts the Master's teachings and, occasionally,
her music video, which features her singing in dance-club duds and vogueing
like Madonna.
Though
Ching Hai may appear to have come from another planet, she was actually
born in Vietnam and spent much of her adult life in Taiwan. Though she
refers to the two countries by their respective colonial names of "Au Lac"
and "Formosa," she has a strong affinity for both, and reportedly has her
largest followings there. Here in America, almost all of Ching Hai's followers
are new arrivals from Vietnam and China.
There
seems to be something about the five-foot-tall leader which strongly appeals
to these immigrant groups. She avoids overtly authoritarian cliches and
instead cultivates the image of a wise old aunt. Rather than preach fire
and brimstone, she frames her lectures in a Q&A format vaguely reminiscent
of Confucius and his students. (In the transcript of one lecture, when
a disciple asks if he would be justified in killing a murderer to prevent
future bloodshed, Ching Hai sagely advises him to go to the police instead.)
In addition, the title of her new book, I Have Come to Take You Home, may
resonate strongly with new arrivals to the States. But perhaps more significantly,
Ching Hai seems to offer ancient religion's comfortable familiarity and
America's crass but coveted commercialism.
Both
a religious idol and a Third World aristocrat, Ching Hai bears more than
a passing resemblance to Imelda Marcos, adorned in her self-styled "fairy
clothes," which models have paraded down runways in the world's fashion
capitals. A Buddhist nun who preaches asceticism, Ching Hai can nevertheless
be seen in her magazine, Suma Ching Hai News, giving makeovers and fashion
tips to female followers. "A listless-looking and middle-aged fellow sister,
after being made up by Master, turned into a totally new person in five
minutes," reads the article next to a full-color photo spread. "Everyone
exclaimed:'Even the not-so-great ones become beautiful!' " And though Ching
Hai claims that one has no need of anything on earth except the truth,
she freely admits that selling her merchandising creations supports her
worldwide organization.
The
Hai Life
Like
many Eastern belief systems, Ching Hai's centers around meditation, but
her own method, called Quan Yin, contains "The Key of Immediate Enlightenment"--
no waiting necessary. "Quan means 'contemplation,' and Yin means 'inner
vibration,'" explains Pam-ela Millar, a Ching Hai representative living
in Palo Alto. "It's kind of the light and the sound. It's basically a silent
meditation."
This
is about all the information one can coax from the Ching Hai group about
the Quan Yin method, which they guard like a secret recipe. "I will explain
everything during initiation," Ching Hai says in public. Initiations take
place at the 40-acre Ching Hai Meditation Center in Morgan Hill, to which
actual visits are discouraged. Almost all that is known about the group's
actual methods is that it requires keeping a strict vegetarian diet and
meditating a minimum of two and a half hours per day while chanting the
Master's name.
Ching
Hai also teaches what she calls the Convenient Method -- a sort of Quan
Yin Lite for new initiates -- which requires meditating only half an hour
per day, and eating vegetarian for 10 days per month. "When children are
6 years old, if they are with initiated parents, they can be half-initiated,"
Ching Hai rather arbitrarily mandates. "When they are 12, if they have
parents who also practice, they can be initiated fully."
Food
for Thought
At
the restaurant, a smiling volunteer serves a dish of simulated chicken
to Millar. A Ching Hai "liaison" and one of the organization's few Caucasian
members, Millar possesses none of the zombie-like qualities one tends to
attribute to cultists. Millar calls herself a "skeptic" and says she's
"not big on authority." She grew up in Oregon near a small town that was
once called Antelope before the followers of cult leader Bhagwan Shree
Rajneesh successfully changed its name to Rajneeshpuram. Millar says she
has looked into various religious organizations, but found them all to
be scams. "It seemed like they wanted to give you something, but they always
wanted something back," she says.
Traveling
in Taiwan on a business trip, Millar discovered Ching Hai's teachings through
the niece of a business contact. Her skeptical nature, she claims, made
her unreceptive at first. "I thought, 'I'll wait and see.' " But before
long, she began to feel that Ching Hai was different from other leaders.
"She
won't accept any contributions," Millar says. "We can't give her gifts."
The Master does not charge for teaching her meditation methods, she adds,
"but it requires a commitment."
Seven
years after her introduction to the Ching Hai group, Millar has risen to
become a high-level member responsible for tasks such as putting together
the Master's books, arranging ceremonies and talking to the press. But
she insists that the organization is very "laissez-faire." "We change the
rules all the time," she laughs. "We don't have a hierarchy. ... I like
it, it's really formless. It's a formless teaching, too."
As
to the Master's role in all this, Miller cannot quite say. "I don't know
-- she's like a guide. She teaches us a lot. This role is both inside and
outside."
For
Millar, all the proof of the Master's divine nature comes from the Quan
Yin method. "It's not just the videos, the books," she says. "She comes
to me during meditation sometimes."
I found
that Millar, a high-level member of the group, and the "not so great ones"
seem equally enraptured with this new religion.
"No,
no, it's not a religion," said one young Vietnamese girl. "It's more like,
just finding out about you, who you are." Every follower answered the same
question with almost the same words: "No, it's about finding yourself."
Their religion, they proudly say, is Buddhist, Christian, Catholic or Hindu
-- it just so happens that they also worship the Supreme Master Suma Ching
Hai.
In
fact, they worship her so much that anything she touches becomes a prized
possession. Ching Hai's new book features a picture of the Master about
to engage in one of her favorite activities: scattering handfuls of candy
to her disciples. The caption reads, "Master offers her love and blessing
by sharing candies with the gathered initiates." Indeed, after a recent
Ching Hai lecture, one follower offered me a handful of Jolly Ranchers
and Fun-Size Hershey bars, saying, "Here is Master candy! We love the candy
Master gives us. You know, it's different from other candy. We love going
around to get it, it's like being little kids."
Trance
With Me
Ching
Hai's name is new to most cult experts, but her behavior, and that of her
followers, is not. The Chicago-based Cult Awareness Network provides lists
and definitions of common cult practices. Under "Techniques of mind-control,"
one finds a description of "thought-stopping techniques" such as "meditating,
chanting and repetitious activities which, when used excessively, induce
a state of high suggestibility." Also noted is the concept of "love-bombing,"
which "discourages doubts and reinforces the need to belong through use
of child-like games.
Joe
Kelly, an exit counselor in Philadelphia, once belonged to the infamous
Transcendental Meditation movement begun by the Beatles' guru, the Maharishi
Mahesh Yogi. The Maharishi promises to teach his members Yogic Flying,
a levitation-like ability achieved through meditation.
Without
condemning meditation, Kelly posits that "the result of being in a trance
state is that it unhooks your critical thinking skills." Furthermore, Kelly
says, a trance state can result in what he calls "an internal experience."
"It's
context-dependent," he explains. "A Christian might experience Jesus, a
Buddhist might experience Nirvana." It's no stretch to imagine, then, that
a Ching Hai follower might experience Ching Hai. "When teaching comes after
we have an internal experience," Kelly says, "we tend to be more receptive
to it."
Kelly
also says that cults encourage members to "become dependent, like a child."
Kelly scoffs at Ching Hai's candy-tossing ritual. "This is something that's
so typical," he says, recalling that the Maharishi did exactly the same
thing. "Our Master would throw the candy, and we would dive for it because
it had been blessed." He adds, "That is not a Buddhist concept."
According
to Kelly, even Ching Hai's strange line of fashion wear is not unheard
of in the cult trade. "Yeah, TM did the same thing," he recalls. "They
put out a line of these dowdy women's dresses that the Maharishi believed
heightened female spirituality."
Kelly's
strongest bit of advice in identifying cults is to look for "the subjective
nature of the doctrine. That's the clincher with these meditation groups.
They're always changing the rules so you can't get a handle on anything."
Recalling the words "laissez-faire" and "formless" from Millar, I wonder
if Kelly might not be prophetic himself.
Janja
Lalich, author of Captive Hearts, Captive Minds, a book on post-cult recovery,
provides a similar diagnosis. Her assertion that "66 percent of the people
who join cults are recruited by friends or family members" seems borne
out by the Asian members interviewed for this story, all of whom had been
indoctrinated by relatives. "It's not like the '60s, where we were scared
of the Moonies standing on the street," Lalich says.
She
also advised me to "see how they're answering questions. Are they scripted?"
I could only think of this passage from Ching Hai's literature: "Our path
isn't a religion. ... I simply offer you a way to know yourself."
"If
anything is indicative of a cult, it's when people can't give you a straight
answer," Lalich says. She adds, "They're very good at turning the questions
back on you. That's a classic technique. Or they'll talk gobbledygook."
In
her list of cult characteristics, Lalich includes a "hidden agenda," or
what she calls a "double set of ethics. As a member, you can be open and
honest. To outsiders, you can lie." Ching Hai's followers may or may not
be consciously deceptive, but I did find that, despite their refusal to
describe themselves as a religion, Ching Hai's San Jose and Los Angeles
branches are registered with the IRS as tax-exempt organizations, with
their principal activities noted as "religious" and "church/synagogue,"
respectively.
Till
Cult Do Us Part
"It
looks to me like one of the fastest-growing cults in the world," says Dr.
Margaret Singer, perhaps the country's first and foremost cult expert.
Dr. Singer, who has been following modern cults since their appearance
in the late 1950s (she cites the Moonies, the TM movement as the earliest
examples), gained national fame for her work with the defense team of heiress
Patty Hearst, who killed a man in a bank robbery while under the influence
of a revolutionary cult. Singer, who keeps extensive files on cultic groups
around the world, considers Ching Hai unusual only in that most large,
far-reaching organizations are led by men. Female cult leaders, says Singer,
usually control small, local groups of anywhere from five to 50 members.
"And they keep a very tight hold on the group," she adds.
Only
within the last nine or ten months has she begun receiving calls from men
and women -- just over a dozen of them, and almost all from San Francisco
and San Jose-- who have lost their spouses to the Ching Hai organization.
"Almost everyone I talked to," she says, "had lost a partner--a girlfriend,
a husband--because they had given up everything to go to work in a restaurant
or join the group."
Singer
says that the callers also complained about the tremendous sums of money
their spouses gave to the Ching Hai organization. "Husbands and wives would
be very distressed about the amount of money the spouse paid for trinkets,"
she says. From what she heard, she says, it seems the Ching Hai group pressures
its members to buy merchandise. "They would have meetings where they would
sell these trinkets, and the asking price would be five dollars, but the
group would urge people to pay more and more, like $50."
Pendantic:
The Supreme Master's image graces Web pages, newsletters, the walls of
her restaurants and the homes of her supporters.
In
her talks with these abandoned spouses, Singer says she has heard no evidence
of physical or sexual abuse. Nor does she think Ching Hai's doctrines,
which include relatively few apocalyptic prophecies, point toward the sort
of fiery endings met with by the self-immolated Branch Davidians or the
self-poisoned followers of Jim Jones.
"This
one doesn't seem to be on that pathway," Singer says. "The way the group
ends up is usually quite predictable based on the personality of the leader."
Singer sees this group as dominated by its leader's personality and ego.
"Ching Hai seems to have fantasies about being around lots of people, educated
people, wearing fancy clothes and having a lot of power. But she doesn't
seem to have fantasies about suicidal revolutions or apocalyptic endings."
Though
Ching Hai may not pose any physical threat to her followers, she may nevertheless
be doing them other forms of damage. "It was mostly just the money, and
the breaking up of the family," Singer says of her callers' laments. "That's
what was causing the greatest pain. Telling the spouse that if they don't
join Ching Hai, they would have to leave them."
Spiritual
Tug of War
San
Jose resident Steve Krysiak, who was involved with a Vietnamese follower
of Ching Hai, has his own story to tell. "I compare it with Manson," Krysiak
says. "He imprinted them with LSD--I think Ching Hai uses meditation."
In
1990, Krysiak met Trang (not her real name), a Vietnamese immigrant who
had been captured by the Communists in her homeland, but had escaped on
the boats to America where she found work as a hairdresser. When the couple
met in Fremont, Trang had three children and was already following Ching
Hai. Krysiak says he cautioned Trang against Ching Hai, but took her in
anyway. "We had a wonderful relationship," says Krysiak. "Highly sexual.
She was the most highly sexual person I ever met."
That
soon changed, however. "She just said, 'I have no sexual energy,'" Krysiak
laments. "All my Vietnamese friends told me it would happen. The women
die sexually with Ching Hai."
The
relationship suffered, says Krysiak, as he and the Ching Hai group vied
for Trang's affections. "Ching Hai wants them to meditate five hours a
day, don't worry about the kids," says Krysiak. He claims he sometimes
walked in upon Trang meditating with a blanket on her lap, which she had
been instructed to throw over herself so as not to reveal the secret Quan
Yin method. "I'd see her doing it, and I'd say, 'You've been seeing that
damn Ching Hai again!' And she'd say, 'You've been spying on me!' "
Trang
ran up $9,000 worth of credit card debt, which Krysiak assumed was going
to Ching Hai. "You know, those videos are $10 for people who are into the
cult, but they're $28 or $30 for actual members," he says. He adds that
Trang charged a plane ticket to fly to New York for her initiation into
the group, bought a flute because Ching Hai played the instrument, decorated
her room with Ching Hai posters, and got plastic surgery and breast implants
because Ching Hai had supposedly undergone the same operations.
Trang
also became a "fanatic vegetarian," Krysiak says. "She tried to get the
kids involved in it, but they hated it. It was lucky that they were so
Americanized that they had to have their McDonald's."
Trang
was not so lucky. "She got thyroid disease," says Krysiak. "The Vietnamese
use coarse salt for cooking, with no iodine added, you know. And when Trang
cut out her fish, she got thyroid disease. She had to go twice for radioactive
thyroid treatment, and they killed a little bit too much thyroid. Now she
has to take thyroid [medication] for the rest of her life."
Even
after the illness, the Ching Hai group won the tug-of-war for Trang. "People
told me that when they get them away from the Master, they might get away
for a while, but the members will call them on the phone and try to pull
them back." Trang left Krysiak in 1992.
Krysiak
moved to San Jose to get away from the memories of Trang only to see the
Ching Hai restaurant open a few blocks from his house. "I'm calm about
all this now," he says, "but I didn't used to be." Krysiak tells of the
day he lost his temper and stormed down to the restaurant. "I was out front,
screaming, 'Ching Hai is a fake!' Well, I went back later and apologized
to the owner there, and you know what she told me? 'Don't worry--this happens
to all our men.' "
Krysiak
returned home to find he had locked himself out of his house. "I called
a locksmith, a Vietnamese guy, and I told him all about it. He laughed.
He said, 'In Vietnamese community, there are two causes for divorce: Bay
101, and Ching Hai.' "
Advertisements
For Herself
Ching
Hai may be a recognizable figure to some in the Asian community, but despite
her restaurants, approximately 100,000 followers, and contact persons in
37 countries, the mainstream press seems almost completely unaware of her
existence. Even most cult experts knew nothing or little about her. The
only readily available material on Ching Hai comes from her own literature
and the numerous sites that line the World Wide Web, which usually offer
little more than color photos of the Master and suspiciously favorable
interviews by foreign journalists.
A tireless
publicity seeker, Ching Hai never misses an opportunity to gain credibility
and clout for her organization. She often claims to have been invited to
the conspicuously prestigious locations for her lectures--Georgetown University,
UCLA and the United Nations buildings in Geneva and New York--but rarely
says by whom. She also claims that seven United States governors proclaimed
Feb. 22, 1994, as "Supreme Master Ching Hai Day." As it turns out, the
governor of Iowa, Terry Branstad, actually did, in recognition of her $65,000
donation to relief efforts for victims of the Mississippi River flooding.
Ching
Hai's attempts in 1992 to help the Vietnamese refugees in Hong Kong remain
a feather in the leader's cap, though they apparently failed. But the $200,000
she promised to the Laguna Beach Fire Relief Coalition after Southern California
was ravaged by fires in 1993 reportedly never arrived. In Taiwan, the story
goes, Ching Hai even set up two front organizations to bestow awards upon
her in a public ceremony, and successfully persuaded a baffled United States
official to pose as the president of one.
Reality
Check
Ching
Hai's knack for self-promotion shines in her official biography, which
reads more like a hagiography. In it, Ching Hai appears as a "rare and
noble child" who taught herself philosophy at an early age and cried at
the sight of slaughtered animals. The prophecies of clairvoyants back up
Ching Hai's claims to gurudom: "She has come to this world, on the mission
of Quan Yin, to save sentient beings from misery." After Ching Hai learned
the Quan Yin meditation method from a mysterious Master in the Himalayas,
according to the biography, she relocated to Taiwan, where a group of students
guided by their prayers found her and coaxed the reluctant woman into becoming
their Master. The rest of the biography is a paean to the Master's humility,
humanitarian efforts and impressive output of saleable products.
Entertaining
though this mishmash of religious mythology, Eastern folklore and public-
relations razzle-dazzle may be, it's rather less interesting than the story
of Ching Hai revealed in the thesis of UC-Berkeley graduate Eric Lai.
According
to Lai's research, the Supreme Master was born Hue Dang Trinh on May 12,
1950, in a small village in Vietnam, in the same province which later saw
the My Lai massacre. The daughter of a Vietnamese mother and an ethnic
Chinese father, Trinh reportedly hung out with American soldiers as a teenager,
and bore one a daughter. At 19, during the height of the Vietnam War, Trinh
left home with a German doctor working for an international relief organization.
Trinh's daughter later killed herself at 20. Trinh married the doctor,
and the couple moved first to Britain and then to Germany.
There,
in 1979, she met a Buddhist monk whom she followed for three years until
she was denied entrance to his monastery on the basis of gender. Trinh
then moved to India to study Buddhism. It was here that she became a prize
pupil of Thakar Singh, who had just splintered off from a Buddhist order,
Radhasoami, to form his own sect, Kirpal Light Satsang.
"Thakar
Singh turned out to be the most scandalous guru in the history of Radhasoami,"
writes David Christopher Lane, who while a graduate student at UC- Berkeley
met Singh in India in 1978 and has since traced the guru's checkered career.
According to Lane's findings: "By the mid-1980s reports circulated
throughout the world about how Thakar had embezzled money, indulged in
sexual affairs with numerous women, and had engaged in violent interactions
with disciples." Some of the accusations included tying women
up and beating them regularly. But by the time Singh's crimes came
to light, Ching Hai had already learned from him the "light and sound"
meditation technique, and had left for Taiwan.
Lai's
research revealed that in Taiwan, in 1983, Trinh studied with a Buddhist
nun named Xing-jing. Unaware of her association with Singh, Xing-jing officially
ordained Trinh in the order and gave her the religious name "Ching Hai,"
which translates from Mandarin as "pure ocean."
The
next year, Ching Hai moved to a Buddhist temple in Queens, New York. She
taught meditation, and meditated herself for up to four hours a day. One
former colleague told Lai, "We were all impressed by her devotion and sincerity."
But a year and a half later, Ching Hai began teaching the "light and sound"
technique to her students, though few responded favorably.
Returning
to Taiwan in 1986, Ching Hai lured followers away from her former master,
Xing-jing, and set up a makeshift temple in an apartment in the Taipei
suburbs. Rumors about her prophetic abilities and unique meditation methods
earned her a large following, and by 1987 posters of Ching Hai appeared
all over Taipei. By the time the Taiwanese Buddhist community learned of
Ching Hai's past connection to the disgraced Satsang cult, it was too late.
The new Messiah had been born.
Messiah:
A Job Like Any Other
And
now she is among us in San Jose. Her arrival is a rare and momentous occasion
which her followers have been anticipating since her last appearance here
in 1994. For new initiates (personally selected by Ching Hai through their
written applications and photos) their only contact with the Master has
been through the literature and videos available in the restaurant's library.
Perhaps a fortunate few have been able to channel her as promised. Now,
however, they will be able to see and hear her in person. Some may even
be touched by her.
Cries
of adoration greet Ching Hai when she appears in the portals of Gate A8.
As she walks, her path is strewn with flowers, prostrate bodies and outstretched
hands. She smiles modestly. Once outside, she is escorted into the back
seat of a black Isuzu Trooper. She waves to the undulating crowd as the
car speeds away, heading for the nearby Red Lion Hotel. For the next hour,
the short-term parking lot of the San Jose Airport is jammed with cars
heading for the exit to follow her.
The
Fir Room of the Red Lion has been prepared for the Master's arrival. On
the stage is an assortment of pillows on a white chair. Above it hangs
a giant banner, decorated by stick-on gift bows, which reads, "Welcome
SUMA CHING HAI to San Jose." Mylar party balloons float in the air, displaying
Hallmark-style messages: "World's Greatest!" and "I Love You." A yellow
microphone waits for its Master's voice. The 600-person audience chatters
happily until an announcer approaches the microphone.
"Please
meditate while waiting for Master," he scolds. Within two seconds, the
room grows completely silent. Upon the request of a yellow-ribboned official,
a fussing newborn is whisked through the doors by its mother. For the next
hour, the only sounds in the Fir Room are the microphone tests and the
setting up of several video cameras and klieg lights.
When
Ching Hai enters the room, the crowd stands and applauds. She walks under
an arch of party balloons strung together by multicolored ribbons and down
the center aisle toward the stage, stopping now and then to direct a smile
at a lucky follower who inevitably convulses with delight. She takes the
stage, soaking up the adoration and barely able to conceal her pleasure.
She begins her talk with phrases that are alternately humble and self-congratulatory:
"Thank you for your love. I don't know if I'm good enough for you." She
sighs. "I just try to be ordinary citizen. Then someone must come along
and remind me I am Supreme Master Suma Ching Hai!" All laugh heartily.
After
a long and tortuous lecture, Ching Hai takes questions from the audience,
even answering once or twice in Mandarin.
"I'm
having trouble practicing the Quan Yin," laments a young Vietnamese man.
"I'm okay with the sound and the light, but the Quan Yin is different."
Ching Hai asks, "Why?" but the young man doesn't know. "Try to practice
for one minute," Ching Hai responds patiently. "Then practice for two.
Soon, it will get easier." The young man's shoulders collapse with gratitude.
"Oh, thank you, Master," he gushes. The crowd applauds.
Later,
Ching Hai gets flustered by a more difficult question. A young medical
student wants to know if the Master condones euthanasia. "Are you trying
to get me into trouble?" she snaps. She paces the stage. "What's that?
What's that for?" The medical student hesitantly replies, "It's mercy killing,"
and begins to explain about comas and brain death, but Ching Hai talks
over him. "Is that a law in America?" she asks. Before the student can
answer, she sighs crabbily. "I don't know--I'm from Taiwan. Why am I responsible
for all the countries?" She picks at the pillows where she was sitting:
"Is that my hair?" Finally, she confronts the student. "Sometimes, people
wake up. So it's hard for me to tell you which one to kill and which one
not," she says. Laughter erupts from the crowd, and then applause.
"Is
God a person or an idea?" someone asks, to which Ching Hai replies, "I
have no idea." More delighted laughter from the audience. "Anyone here
want to describe God?" From the front row comes the correct answer: "A
loving master who doesn't eat meat!" Ching Hai chuckles. "Yes, something
like that," she says.
Ching
Hai wraps up her talk well after midnight. She makes her last rounds through
the audience, touching a head here, smiling beatifically there. A black
man in African garb shrinks in his seat as she passes, his hands clasped
together in worship, sobbing in great gasps, looking into the Master's
face while tears stream down his. Ching Hai chortles as she passes him,
and stops to poke her green umbrella at him, which he fondles gratefully.
I have
stayed only because I want to arrange for a private interview with the
Master. When I find Millar, she says she will see about it--and within
seconds, I find myself sitting in a chair face to face with the Supreme
Master Ching Hai. Our knees are almost touching. Six hundred pairs of eyes
are riveted to us, several men hold microphones less than an inch from
my nose, and every video camera and flood light in the house bears down
upon me and the Master.
With
sweat already soaking through my shirt, I begin asking questions. Ching
Hai tells me her organization is "rather big," with "a lot of centers around
the world--40 or 50 countries." (The number, if one assumes that every
country listed in her book boasts not just a liaison but an entire center,
is actually 37.)
My
next question--about funding--is answered with much humility. Though she
calmly explains that the sales of clothing and jewelry accounts for most
of her money, she adds, "We don't really need that much."
She
claims, as does Millar, that she and her followers sleep in plastic tents.
"We don't have a temple. Use tents. Plastic cheap. $40, $50 and you have
a temple of your own. We live very simple. We eat vegetarian." Yet, one
elderly woman I spoke with bragged that Ching Hai dwells in a beautiful
house on top of a hill, and that she and other followers traveled there
to camp out in tents around the house.
Ching
Hai talks briefly of her philanthropic work in Thailand, Indonesia, the
Philippines, Hong Kong and here in the United States. "Where," I ask again,
"does this money come from? Ching Hai shakes her head. "I don't know. God
gives it to me." She laughs. Neither of us seem to take this answer seriously--but
I write it down anyway.
According
to Millar, the Master's clothing and jewelry are "very expensive, but it's
very high quality." In the same breath, Millar also tells me that when
the Master wishes to donate money to charities, she establishes a bank
account to which followers can contribute. God has certainly been kind
to Ching Hai: in 1993, her Los Angeles branch alone took in $395,518.
My
last question to the Master concerns a woman who had earlier stood to proclaim
to Ching Hai, "The world has waited thousands of years for you." I reminded
Ching Hai of these words, and asked, "Do you think this is true?"
"It's
true for her," Ching Hai replied.
"Do
you consider yourself the Messiah?"
"Messiah
not important," Ching Hai says, embarking upon a mini-monologue suggesting
that being a messiah is a job like any other. I find it hard to concentrate
on her words, and stop writing momentarily. "A messiah or a journalist,"
she says. "No difference."
The
interview is done, and the Master and I shake hands. Long after she has
retired to her room, groups of disciples hang around in the lobby to touch
the arm of the journalist who shook hands with the Master. "You were so
close, right next to her," a wide-eyed girl exclaims, stroking my shoulder.
It
occurs to me that I may now be seen on a videotape in the Ching Hai library:
the American reporter conducting an interview with the Supreme Master.
Our words may end up on a Web site, or in the Suma Ching Hai magazine,
or condensed into an aphorism in a book. Against my will, I had become
another prop in Ching Hai's magic show. Like the followers milling about
me, I had stepped into the light and sound of the Master.
From
the March 28- April 3, 1996 issue of Metro
This
page was designed and created by the Boulevards team.
Copyright
© 1996 Metro Publishing and Virtual Valley, Inc.
http://www.metroactive.com/papers/metro/03.28.96/suma-9613.html
Public
Eye
Much
Ado:
Clinton's
legal
defense
fund
returned
donations
received
from
the
Supreme
Master's
followers.
Supreme
Ordeal
Eye
watchers and readers may recall that in March, Metro reporter Rafer Guzmán
interviewed Suma Ching Hai for a cover story, during one of the cult leader's
rare visits to San Jose. The mysterious, Vietnamese-born "Supreme Master"
spoke to 600 of her followers, mostly recent Taiwanese and Chinese immigrants,
on the "key to immediate enlightenment" at the San Jose Red Lion Hotel.
As it turns out, the self-proclaimed Buddhist messiah may have given out
some political advice at the same time. The very next day, in Washington,
D.C., Charles Yah Lin Trie, a Taiwanese businessman and fundraiser for
the Democratic National Committee, delivered a bundle of checks worth $450,000
to President Clinton's Legal Defense Trust, much of it from followers of
Suma Ching Hai. And according to group investigator Loren Berger, many
of the personal checks, cashier's checks and money orders under scrutiny
actually came from San Jose, where Suma Ching Hai has one of her largest
followings outside of Taiwan. ...
Just
last Tuesday, Michael Cardozo, executive director of the legal defense
fund, announced that the contributions had been returned, much to the dismay
of local followers. The reason given by Cardozo was that the donations
looked suspicious: Money orders supposedly given by people in different
cities had sequential numbers, while some checks were written in identical
handwriting. ...
The
xenophobic reaction of the Clinton trust, driven by scandal attack dogs
in Congress, has angered some local Ching Hai followers who say they're
just trying to support the president. Local Ching Hai representative Pamela
Millar of Palo Alto tells Eye that members of the group pooled their checks
after Suma Ching Hai suggested sending a donation to the fund "if you want
to help the president." Millar, a group member for seven years, says she
sent a personal check for $1,000, the maximum amount permitted by the fund.
She stresses that "Master" Suma Ching Hai never directly told her followers
to send money. "She made an announcement saying there is a scandal trying
to blackball the president," says Millar, who works as a computer consultant.
"We said OK, and we found a way to help." ...
Millar's
check was among the ones returned en masse by Cardozo with a letter questioning
the source of the money. "I am offended by that because I am an American,
and there's no reason why I should not be able to help my president," Miller
says. "It is our right as citizens. I don't know why it should be a scandal,"
she adds. ...
Another
representative of Ching Hai, David Bui of San Jose, says that support for
the president is widespread in the group. "We usually vote for him," he
explains, adding that though Suma Ching Hai was born in Vietnam and lives
in Taiwan, she is an "honorary U.S. citizen" who "votes in Hawaii," and
"usually votes for Clinton." ... "We did not give the money for [the Clintons']
personal use," insists Bui, and reiterated that members "vote for him not
because of Master but because they think he's a good guy." ...
As
reported by Guzmán, ["Immaterial Girl," March 28, 1996] Ching Hai's followers
practice what is called the Quan Yin method of meditation, which involves
meditating for two to three hours a day, and a rigid vegan diet which excludes
all meat, eggs and dairy products. Ching Hai's organization derives most
of its income selling to its followers thousands of videos, CDs, magazines
and tapes--all bearing the image of the Master, smiling crookedly due to
a slightly paralyzed cheek. Ching Hai also oversees a worldwide chain of
vegetarian Chinese restaurants, including one here in San Jose, the Suma
Ching Hai International Association Vegetarian House on the corner of 12th
and E. Santa Clara streets, where David Bui works. ...
This
week Metro fielded calls from national press scrambling to get a fix on
the elusive Suma Ching Hai and her flock, as yet unreported by the mainstream
press. The SJ Merc might have had little to add on the subject had it not
tapped the expertise of normally byline-less former Metro managing editor
Steve Buel, who some people may think has fallen into a black hole but
actually now helps hold down the Merc's city desk and was credited at the
end of the Post pickup as having "contributed to this report." (Memo to
Steve: Write again soon!)
More
on the Suma Ching Hai/Clinton tie:
The
Washington Post on Clinton's knowledge of the fishy campaign funds.
CNN's
All Politics Web site reports Clinton's denial of the Trie connections.
Mother
Jones says Charles Trie is number 182 on its list of the top 400 campaign
contributors.
Mother
Jones writer L.J. Davis says Clinton's Indonesian money scandal may be
the real thing.
http://www.metroactive.com/papers/metro/12.19.96/public-eye-9651.html
Cult
leader tries the charity route
MSNBC/October
22, 2001
By
Jeanette Walls
Controversial
characters and groups keep trying to use the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks
to give themselves credibility, some critics are charging. Last month,
the Church of Scientology raised eyebrows when victims were told to call
the group for mental heath counseling. New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani created
a buzz when he turned down a $10 million check from a controversial Saudi
Prince.
Now,
sources say, a woman who has been called a cult leader has been trying
very hard to give major donations to charities benefiting the victims of
the terrorist attacks as well as Afghan refugees. Suma Ching Hai, a
Taiwan-based mystic also known as the Supreme Master, made headlines in
1997 after it was revealed that she made a $600,000 contribution to Bill
Clinton. The red-faced president returned the check. Lately, sources say
Suma Ching Hai's reps have been working the phones hoping to give big money
to major charities, including Unicef and the American Red Cross.
"Ching
Hai has a history of making large gifts in exchange for photo opportunities
and what seems like self-promotion to gain credibility among the general
public and her followers,"
Rick Ross, an expert in cults and controversial religions, told The Scoop.
"Her followers consider her a messianic figure and she derives her income
from tapes, videos and a chain of vegetarian restaurants that are often
staffed by devotees."
The
source says Suma Ching Hai has been calling Unicef and has already made
a two sizeable donations to the American Red Cross. A spokeswoman for Unicef
says the organization doesn't comment on donors or potential donors.
A spokeswoman
for the American Red Cross said she knows nothing of the donations. "We've
had such a huge volume of donations that we haven't had the chance to sort
through them all," she says. "But we're concerned about these allegations.
If they turn out to be true, we will consider returning the donations."
http://www.rickross.com/reference/ching_hai/sumaching7.html
Red-faced
over a guru's gift
New
York Post/October 23, 2001
The
American Red Cross has received $100,000 from a publicity-loving cult leader
whose money isn't good enough even for Bill Clinton.
Suma
Ching Hai, a Taiwan-based guru who calls herself Supreme Master, gets her
income from a chain of vegetarian restaurants run by her followers, who
also buy her overpriced tapes and videos.
In
1997, Ching Hai made headlines when it was revealed she'd made a $600,000
donation to Clinton. The red-faced Prez promptly returned his check from
the messianic mystic.
Ching
Hai evidently viewed the Sept. 11 atrocity as an opportunity to legitimize
herself, and soon had her devotees working the phones to various charities.
On
Monday, msnbc.com dirt-digger Jeannette Walls reported that Ching Hai had
approached both UNICEF and the Red Cross with an open checkbook. UNICEF
declined comment, and the Red Cross said it knew nothing of the donations.
But
insiders told The Post's Jeane MacIntosh that UNICEF did its homework on
Ching Hai, and immediately turned down her $100,000.
Not
so the Red Cross, which has two checks of $50,000 apiece sitting at its
offices - and yesterday was reportedly still mulling cashing in.
"Ching
Hai sent two checks to two different Red Cross locations," says a source.
"That way, it would be less obvious than one big check coming in. She
tried to fly under the radar."
When
Red Cross brass found out about the contribution to UNICEF (Ching Hai had
reportedly bragged to U.N. agency that the Red Cross took her dough), it
looked into the matter, but found nothing donated under the mystic's real
name, says the source. "They finally found them under the name Supreme
Master."
Cult
expert Rick Ross said, "Ching Hai has a
history of making large gifts in exchange for photo opportunities and what
seems like self-promotion."
Sources
say she used that m.o. with UNICEF, promising the cash in return for a
photo of herself handing UNICEF bigs an oversized check. When suspicious
UNICEF honchos balked, Ching Hai persisted, asking for the group's bank
account number so she could wire the money.
"She
was very persistent," says one insider. "She just wouldn't take no for
an answer. It was clear she was in it for publicity."
http://www.rickross.com/reference/ching_hai/sumaching8.html
Why
Not to Write About a Supreme Master of the Universe:
A
day with the disciples of Ching Hai
LA
Weekly/June 28, 2002
By
Nancy Rommelmann
I find
the local offices of the International association of the Supreme Master
of the Universe in a squat warehouse in a rather sad-looking industrial
section of El Monte.
"We're
honored to have you here," says Kathryn Hudson, in a honeyed voice. An
attractive blond on the far side of 40, she deposits me in a conference
room amid blown-up photographs of Supreme Master Ching Hai with Martin
Sheen and Swoosie Kurtz, another with Debbie Reynolds, taken at a "One
World . . . of Peace Through Music" event her followers put on at the Shrine
Auditorium. After several minutes, Hudson and a small Vietnamese woman
join me.
"You
in luck," says Trang Vo, inviting me to sit. "We have special chef here
today, she fix you a six-course vegetarian lunch." This, though it is 10:30
in the morning.
I ask
Hudson about the press kit she'd sent promoting Ching Hai's works. Her
cover letter, on letterhead from something called Ocean of Love Entertainment,
detailed the association's post-9/11 donations to the Red Cross and Salvation
Army (in excess of $300,000) and went on to explain that Ching Hai has
funded hundreds of philanthropic efforts (floods in Cincinnati, refugees
in Afghanistan, earthquakes in Kobe) solely through the sale of artwork,
jewelry and clothing of her own design. "Glamorous and eye-catching, this
collection of graceful evening gowns will be the focus of everyone's attention,"
read the copy on glossy shots of models in mirror-encrusted silk sheaths,
swirling capes and pagoda-shaped tiaras. It looked like an evening line
for Far East Barbie.
"Oh,
no, no, I don't want you to get confused," Vo says, before Hudson can respond.
"Ocean of Love Entertainment is not under the Supreme Master Ching Hai
International Association. That's part of World Peace Media."
"It's
my company," says Hudson, whose wide eyes transmit serenity and sincerity.
"I promote world peace, and Supreme Master is world peace in action, so
I really, of course, want to promote her."
"There
are disciples, they are called students, who own companies," says Vo. "So
whatever is needed, they say, okay, they can help to send it out."
A young
Asian woman enters with jasmine tea.
"Thank
you, Linda," says Vo, dismissing the girl.
Does
Linda work for Ching Hai?
"Oh,
no, she just help out," says Vo.
Does
Hudson work here?
"No,
no, no, I just help out, because I really love Master," she says. "It's
not required that you come in here, it's just that you feel so much love
and light that you want to."
So
. . . how often does she come here?
"I
live up north, near Monterey," says Hudson, adding that she's come down
today to meet me, to share her experience.
"I
met some of Supreme Master's disciples in Hawaii in 1994," she says, as
Linda obsequiously delivers a platter of the makings of spring rolls. "Someone
handed me this little green pamphlet, and I was staring at this face and
feeling this energy coming off it that was so powerful. I was like, 'Oh
my god, she is so enlightened.'"
"Can
I do that for you?" asks Vo, reaching for my plate. I tell her I can roll
it, thanks.
"Oh,
you're good," she says, her gaze both merry and intense. As Hudson goes
on to say that she studied world religions for 21 years but did not find
"inner peace" until she began practicing Quan Yin meditation for two and
a half hours a day, as she compares Ching Hai to Mother Teresa and Princess
Diana, Vo continues to stare at me. I get the distinct feeling that, while
Hudson has invited me here, it's Vo who understands what's behind the curtain,
and is waiting to decide how much I need to know and how I will learn it.
Not
that I haven't already learned a little. A quick online search yields more
than 30,000 sites mentioning Ching Hai. Her many official sites, such as
Godsimmediatecontact.com, include bios that read like hagiographies: Born
in Vietnam in 1950, from girlhood she helped the poor and needy, actuating
her higher calling with a years-long mission in the Himalayas, where she
studied under a "great master" and learned the meditation technique called
Quan Yin, which focuses on light and sound. Having found enlightenment,
she has for two decades ministered to the crises of the world, accepting
absolutely not one penny from her followers, who are mostly from Asia,
and who are said to number in the millions.
"She
used to stay in Taiwan," says Vo, "but because the amount of disciple all
over grow each day, now she's constantly on the road."
There
are also less reverent portraits, online and in print: Ching Hai was implicated
in the Democratic National Committee's Asian soft-money scandal; a $600,000
donation she made was eventually returned. A "cult watch" site suggests
that "Ching Hai evidently viewed the September 11 atrocity as an opportunity
to legitimize herself, and soon had her devotees working the phones to
various charities." (Hudson's letter was dated September 18.) She
had a child by an American soldier before she was 19, a daughter who later
committed suicide. She claims to be the
reincarnated Buddha and Jesus Christ, and followers are said to be so obsessed
with their leader that they drink her bath water.
As
a second course of hot-and-sour soup arrives, I ask Vo how long she's been
associated with Ching Hai.
"Let
me see. I came to America in 1984," she says. "I'm almost 30, and I got
involved when I first enter my high school years."
Does
she work for Ching Hai?
"No,
I'm just . . ." She looks at Hudson. "I'm your assistant." And they both
laugh, though I'm not sure why. I ask if they know how Ching Hai raises
the millions she gives away.
Hudson
says, "Through all her --"
"Through
her artistic work!" Vo breaks in. "Yeah, through her artistic work. Basically,
that's it. The people, the so-called disciples, if they want to pitch in
and help with disaster relief, sometimes we gather a lump sum and give
it to them."
So,
if followers want to give money, they can?
"To
Supreme Master Ching Hai International Organization?" asks Vo. "Yeah. Well,
usually we don't accept donation, unless there is a critical disaster or
whatnot happening. We have 501c3, tax-exempt, so we gather the whole thing
and give it that way."
As
something that looks like pork but is actually soy is placed before us,
Vo explains how Ching Hai is able to amass and distribute money -- over
$2 million since 1999, according to the press kit.
"See,
the thing is, what we mean is, she doesn't accept donation, truly she doesn't,
but whoever want to help out, okay. But she doesn't accept any donations,
like personal, so she can build a house, no, there's no such thing as that.
She's more than happy just living in a tent. She's very humble."
So,
she lives in a tent?
"She
can live anywhere!" says Vo. "She love nature!"
I tell
Vo it must be hard for Ching Hai to live in a tent with her tremendous
wardrobe. As evidenced by hundreds of photographs on the Web and in her
magazines and videos, she rarely wears the same thing twice: Here she's
in a fuchsia silk tunic, beatific at her easel; there in a saffron-colored
monk's robe, with hair shorn; in a hot-pink velvet bodice and hair extensions,
giggling at a Moon festival in Florida; in outrageously elaborate Siamese
princess regalia, complete with golden headpiece.
"Actually,
she start originally, she shave her head and put on the monk's robe," says
Vo. "But people criticize her, they say she's not a true monk, not the
true Buddhism -- there's always jealousy on the other end . . . So she
started growing hair and putting on makeup and start design her own clothes,
and everyone start loving that. They say, 'See, finding God means choose
beauty and virtues, we don't have to renounce the world and look bald.'"
"What
I'd really like you to get in the [paper], and I don't know if it's possible,
are all the different looks that Supreme Master has," says Hudson. "I'm
always amazed. There's Supreme Master the Lady, there's Supreme Master
the Noblewoman who meets with world leaders, there's Supreme Master the
Buddhist Monk, there's Supreme Master the Princess. And she does that to
relate to all the different essences in each and every human being."
I mention
that I'd had a hard time finding prices for her clothing designs online,
though one site said the gowns go for up to $10,000.
"Really?"
asks Vo.
"I
also want to tell you that so much magic happens around here," interjects
Hudson, as we're delivered a stew of tofu and eggplant. "Like I once looked
at some of the jewelry, and it was a beautiful necklace with rubies and
rhinestones, and I said, 'How much is it?' and it was under $100. They'll
do that -- it's really not about the money."
I tell
them I appreciate how nice it would be to give the stuff away, yet if Ching
Hai is funding hundreds of relief efforts, the money has to come from somewhere.
"A
lot of people donate their time, to help out, to create things," says Hudson,
looking at Vo, who appears slightly impatient at my lack of understanding.
Where
can one buy her designs?
"You
have to order it through a catalog," says Vo.
When
I ask if I can have a catalog, both Hudson and Vo are silent. Do they,
perhaps, have a catalog I can lookat?
"I
have some samples to show you," says Vo, as a non-chicken chicken dish
arrives. "That's one of the things I want to emphasize, she doesn't accept
donations . . . She believes God is love and God should give things to
the children instead of taking things from the children."
"But
the other thing is, Master appreciates all religions, okay?" says Hudson.
"So it's not about 'ours is so great.' If you're Jewish, if you're Muslim,
if you're Scientologist, whatever you are, you can practice the Quan Yin
method."
Is
Quan Yin what they'd call a religion?
"I
don't think it's a religion," says Vo.
"There
is no religion," says Hudson.
"Ah,
we are having a feast!" says Vo, as cookies and Asian pears arrive. I mention
that my daughter likes these pears, and ask if their non-religion is ever
accused of being a cult.
"Oh,
yeah," says Vo. "People say, 'Aren't you a cult?' They're confused. They
say, 'How come I hear such and such?' But then when they come to us, they
see we are very caring and loving."
"This
is not like Scientology," says Hudson, becoming animated. "They get very
controlling. This is really about the simplicity, because that's really
where that happiness is . . . it's really about being humble, and Master
is so that. I want to cry when I think of that, because that is what she
taught me so much. I am very in awe, but I am . . . I want to be . . .
I rule the world!"
"It's
Queen Kathryn!" laughs Vo. "She has her own show!"
She
has a show called Queen Kathryn ?
"I
do all that. I'm also the head of entertainment here," says Hudson. "It's
not like I have a jobjob here. I'm a producer and a writer and an actress,
I have my own companies, but I also do their weekly show."
"We
have a TV show called A Journey Through Aesthetic Realms ," says Vo. "It's
on KSCI, Channel 18, as well as on ETTV in Taiwan, and international in
Asia."
"The
other thing we wanted to know," says Hudson, dabbing her lips with her
napkin, "is if you'd like to come on our weekly show. We just want to ask
you maybe a few questions, whatever."
I tell
her I'd rather do a little more research before commenting on Ching Hai.
"No,
no, just you, as a human being," she says, her voice again breathy and
lulling.
"Yeah,
you as you," says Vo.
"We're
in the moment, in the now," says Hudson, leading me through the door Linda
has come in and out of. "Master is about teaching people to be very spontaneous."
I find
myself in a studio that is the opposite of spontaneous. There's a raised
stage, with two chairs set up; cameramen and sound people; and a line of
smiling, nodding Asian men pointing still cameras at me. The sound of mechanical
chirping fills the room as Vo tries to get me to sit in the guest's chair.
"Are
you ready?" she asks. "They really love and want you."
I decline,
despite the encouragement of a dozen people, including the chef, Nancy,
who Vo tells me has flown in from Texas, and who wears a locket holding
a photo of Ching Hai. I ask her if she made it.
"No,"
says Nancy, in a thick Vietnamese accent. "Master have a . . ."
"They
make it Taiwan," says Vo. "You can buy it online, and we have a store in
Orange County, they have all kind of her stuff. We take you down there."
Vo
plants me in front of a giant photo of a table laden with steam trays,
below a banner that reads "SUMA CHING HAI RESCUE TEAM." It was taken at
the World Trade Center site.
"This
is at the Ground Zero, where the whole thing collapsed," says Vo.
"She
was there," says Hudson.
"I
flew there a few days later," says Vo. "The people there were very touched
because everyone was exhausted, and to actually bring coffee to their location
. . . They have never realized that some people have that much love and
dedication to the work."
The
men with still cameras motion for Vo and Hudson to stand close beside me,
and then begin taking our pictures. I smile stiffly; I've been here over
three hours. I tell Hudson and Vo I really need to leave.
"Wait,
we have presents for you," says Vo, leading me back to the conference room,
where Linda is waiting with two Tiffany-blue shopping bags, one filled
with Ching Hai videotapes and books and magazines, the other with a large
box of Almond Roca, a tin of tea and half a dozen Asian pears.
"Because
you say your daughter like them," says Vo, smiling.
I thank
them for the materials, but tell them I cannot accept the food, as it might
be construed as their encouraging a positive write-up. Vo's face clouds
over, either because she's truly wounded I would make such a supposition,
or -- and to my eye -- because this is precisely what she's hoping for.
"But
this is a gift," says Vo. "It is brought for you from China."
I move
toward the exit, with Vo, Hudson and Linda pressing the bags on me and
speaking at once.
"We
can get you any materials you need," says Linda.
"And
if you want to go to the Orange County store, we can pick you up and drive
you," says Hudson.
"We
can also drive you to the Sunday meditation and meal at the center in Riverside,"
says Vo. The desire to flee trumps journalistic ethics, and I grab the
bags and push open the door with my butt. The women follow me into the
street. It may be paranoia, but I don't want them to know which car is
mine, and make a show of jangling my keys next to someone else's beater
station wagon. I thank them for their time, and after a protracted goodbye,
they go back inside, though not before Hudson tells me to check out her
own Web site.
"The
Queen of World Peace" reads the caption beneath a harshly lit beauty-queen
shot of Hudson at Queenkathryn.com . There are many items for sale, including
several dozen boudoir shots of Hudson; an assortment of Queen Kathryn products,
such as Fudge Fatale candy and Sacred perfume; and Queen Kathryn, the Movie
, starring Hudson in a gold Xena-like outfit. The synopsis explains that
Queen Kathryn hails from the planet Nebaron, is raised by the Yodecian
tribe in the Himalayas, and opens Starshine Dance Studios in Los Angeles,
from where she and a "harem of young girls" fight the evil force known
as Gregorian Mansoon, whose "mission is to turn the people of L.A. into
Reptilian Lizards." There are many testaments to how loving and giving
Hudson is, and a single mention of Ching Hai, in a link to "Humanitarians
of the 21st Century," a pantheon that includes Prince William, Julia Roberts,
Anthony Robbins and "YOU."
Not
me.
http://www.rickross.com/reference/ching_hai/sumaching9.html
"I
heard nothing and saw nothing"
August
25, 2002
By
a former practitioner of the method of "Suma Ching Hai"
I followed
the "method" of "Suma Ching Hai" for a while, three or four years ago,
before leaving because I saw no point in continuing to waste time on a
method that seemed fictional. "Light and sound" simply did not occur during
any of my meditations!
There
is no evidence of a mantra in this group because nothing is written. The
first few times you meditate, you are instructed to repeat "Suma Ching
Hai" internally for 30 minutes a day. You are advised to give up meat,
fish and eggs and all intoxicants. After a few weeks/months, you are invited
to be "initiated". You are, they hope, fully vegetarian by this time.
You
are simply told that the "Five Names" (of God) that you are to repeat internally
when meditating (2 1/2 hours a day). You are also told how to meditate
on "light and sound", by concentrating on the "third eye," which is supposedly
in the region of the pineal gland, between the eyebrows, and also by blocking
your ears and listening to the celestial sounds within. These can be the
sound of bells or other "heavenly music". I would not know: I heard nothing
and "saw" nothing. You are told of "brilliant light", although sharing
experiences is discouraged, because not everyone is the same. You are also
asked to cover yourself with a sheet or blanket, so no one can see you
even when meditating in a group of fellow "disciples." [These techniques
of meditation appear to be a kind of self-hypnosis to achieve a trance
state.]
The
"Five Names" are YO NI RAN YAN, OM GAR, RA RAN GAR, SO HAM, SATT NAM. I
have no idea how to spell these, of course, since it is all passed on orally.
You are told never to repeat these "names" aloud and, of course, never
to tell anyone else about them. Ooops! Does that mean I am now officially
a "sinner" in the eyes of Ching Hai devotees?
There's
not much more to tell, except that 2 1/2 hours was too much for me. I have
four children and work as well. Also, the books and other paraphernalia
were over-priced. The books and tapes could be borrowed if you liked, and
once you were an official follower, you had an ID card, with your photo
on. This was to be carried with you, although no one ever asked me for
it. You need never give any money at all, if you did not want to. There
was no pressure at all in my Sussex group in England and everyone seemed
very pleasant.
I never
came to any harm from Ching Hai or her following. Meditation made me calmer,
but sitting on your bum thinking of very little is bound to calm you down
anyway!
I did
once see Ching Hai, in London. She was a small woman, dressed in very plain
clothes and with an incredible amount of charisma. She talked for a while
and then invited questions. I asked one and was impressed by her direct
manner and down-to-earth, practical reply. She had a way of looking in
your eyes, as if she knew you completely. I cannot describe it more exactly
than that, but there was definitely some power there, despite her slight
physical frame.
http://www.rickross.com/reference/ching_hai/sumaching10.html
Supreme
Master Ching Hai
Let
Us Reason Ministries
You
have heard of ancient masters of the east, enlightened masters, perfect
masters, now there is a supreme master among us. (1) From what I understand
this is the highest title given, as the name ‘Supreme Master’ and her
Chinese name, means
