Podcast transcription:
On and For the Record
A multi-part series
Analysis of Eleven Naked Emperors
(Review of Chapter Eleven)
by Kailäsa Candra däsa
HARIÙ OÀ NAMAÙ
By the mid-Eighties, fanaticism and reliability became issues in “ISKCON”: Too much of one and not nearly enough of the other. The second and third echelon fanatics were confronted with an unexpected problem: The gurus which energized their fanaticism were being exposed as frauds. They had placed blind and fervent faith in those so-called perfect men, but it was being demonstrated on a regular basis that their faith was misplaced. Of course, this was the case for only some of them.
Besides the rank-and-file that had no position one way or the other, amongst all loyalists, there was an unspoken, in-house split within “ISKCON.” On one hand, there were the Party Men who adhered to the G.B.C. (and not the gurus) being the source of legitimacy and connection to the guru-paramparä. By the late Seventies and the early Eighties, those who believed this constituted a minority report. Nevertheless, it was a substantial subset of the movement.
At every center in the world—with the notable exception of the Kåñëa-Balaräm complex in Raman Reti, India—the gurus and their men were the be-all and end-all in the eyes and minds of this majority faction. That spirit, however, was being severely tested in the mid-Eighties. A significant number of devotees yearned for a solution to the developing situation in which the gurus were being exposed.
In our running commentary of Eleven Naked Emperors (henceforward, referred to by its acronym, ENE), the second major publication of Henry Doktorski, we now reach Chapter Eleven. The previous chapter was a bridge between the ninth and the one we now analyze. This one, Chapter Eleven, contains more substance.
In no small part, that is because, during the years 1984 and 1985, “ISKCON” and its fanatics were being rocked by a perfect storm. Eight new gurus had been added previous to and during those years. The zonal system of principalities for the great enjoyers was thus breaking down. Nevertheless, all nineteen of them still took utterly undeserved uttama-adhikäré worship from their improperly initiated disciples.
However, the gurus’ remaining godbrothers and godsisters who were genuinely initiated by Prabhupäda—an ever-dwindling lot—were not worshiping them anymore . . . at least, not very many of them. This provoked doubt in the new people, all of whom barely grasped the spiritual science. These newcomers, with some exceptions, had little contact with their own spiritual masters. As such, they relied upon their temple presidents and the advanced members of the local congregation to be representatives of their gurus. Or they relied more upon a local sannyäsé who bivouacked at a given center.
One of the waves of this perfect storm was that many, if not most, of these presidents and sannyäsés–outside the inner sanctum of the approved dékñä-gurus—were beginning to have doubts about what had been imposed on their movement since the Spring of 1978. Some of these malcontents were expressing these doubts. Some were having meetings where these doubts were being discussed. Even if the doubts weren’t being outwardly expressed, these sannyäsés and presidents were no longer fired up about any of the gurus, including the zonal who was featured the center which they ran on his behalf.
This was ever-increasingly problematic for the gurus, because they were all enjoyers. They depended upon local sannyäsés and their temple presidents to keep their (the gurus’) disciples faithful and loyal to them. They depended upon the local sannyäsés and their temple presidents (of their zones, for those who still had zones) for their disciples to stay in those centers and be productive, especially in the matter of collections.
The gurus wanted nothing to do with management. However, the management which these gurus depended upon was becoming jeopardized, because the presidents—at least, many of them in America—were doubting the whole arrangement. Even if they did not openly express doubt, their lack of enthusiasm vibed it to the newcomers.
This first wave of the perfect storm hitting the “ISKCON” gurus was tough enough for the gurus, but there was more than this hitting them. The second wave buffetting the deviated cult was that of Neo-Mutt and its allegiance to Swämi B. R. Çrédhar of Navadvipa. This was an outgrowth from second echelon “ISKCON” men.
They were led to this new faction by the foolish decision of the G.B.C. to promote Swämi B. R. Çrédhar into something he never was. While Prabhupäda was physically manifest, Swämi B. R. Çrédhar was not at all prominent in the movement. He was, more or less, a nobody in it. Almost no one in the rank-and-file knew anything about him.
That would change when the vitiated G.B.C. used him in order to formulate and form their zonal imposition. It was Swämi B. R. Çrédhar who coined the bromide “äcärya of the zone,” which then got converted into the term used in “ISKCON,” zonal äcärya. It was Swämi B. R. Çrédhar who used the Bengali slogan mat-guru si jagat guru in order to allege that the guru—even if he is only a madhyam-adhikäré—must be seen by the disciple as a mahä-bhägavat and worshiped accordingly.
There were so many of these tropes. All of them were manufactured ideas meant to spoil Prabhupäda’s branch of the Hare Kåñëa movement of Kåñëa consciousness, although this was not recognized by the leading secretaries. Instead, these manufactured ideas became the basis of a transformation that indeed spoiled the Kåñëa consciousness Prabhupäda gave us.
“ISKCON” and its G.B.C. followed that bad advice. They followed all of the man’s bad advice. This would bite them big-time in the early Eighties, and that pain would only worsen by the mid-Eighties. With the exception of Jayatértha (obviously, a first echelon man), an ever-growing number of the second echelon “ISKCON” stalwarts “crossed the river” and joined his Navadvipa cult. They became a new branch of Gouòéya Mutt.
Initially, they adopted The Mahä-Maëòala label. They are now known as the World Vaishnava Association. None of this would have transpired had not “ISKCON” bestowed all of that prominence, in the Spring of 1978, on the Navadvipa mahant. They used him at that time, but inadvertently made him out to be the father figure guru of the new gurus, since his manufactured ideas were adopted entirely by Ocean’s Eleven.
By the mid-Eighties, when the legitimacy of the zonal imposition and its opulent worship scheme was being profoundly questioned, Neo-Mutt was stirring the pot. It was recruiting more stalwarts, such as the influential Tripuräré Swämi, who at that time was president at San Francisco. The Great Schism of 1982, although necessary, did not stop this second wave from crashing into “ISKCON” when it was even more vulnerable in the mid-Eighties. For awhile, it appeared as if the cult would crater.
Swämi B. R. Çrédhar was making propaganda against it, as he had been doing even before the schism. The needle in and the damage done. He had said: “Rittvik-äcärya, then it becomes as good as äcärya.” The G.B.C. accepted this, which got parlayed into rittviks automatically becoming gurus, who then automatically were uttamas, who then were automatically Successors to Prabhupäda in the disciplic succession.
The Navadvipa mahant advocated for an Äcärya Board within the vitiated G.B.C.. That was adopted by the Commish, believing that the non-guru faction cannot have any authority to rule over, chastise, punish, correct, or even advise the new gurus. This made Ocean’s Eleven untouchable. It was never the intention of Prabhupäda, but it was Swämi B. R. Çrédhar’s vision in the form of his advice . . . all of which was swallowed hook, line, and sinker and converted into The First Transformation.
By the mid-Eighties, a Neo-Mutt center had been created in Santa Cruz by Dhéra Kåñëa, the former temple president at Los Angeles. This second Neo-Mutt wave was recruiting and hitting the cult hard, and it had its own rationalization as to why things were going awry in “ISKCON.” It preached that all of the problems were due to “ISKCON” not strictly following Swämi B. R. Çrédhar. Ironically, just the opposite was the actual truth: So many of the problems the cult was being harmed by in the mid-Eighties was due to imbibing and implementing all of that disastrous advice from the Navadvipa Mahant.
Neo-Mutt had now become the “ISKCON” nemesis. Neo-Mutt was against the teachings of Kåñëa consciousness brought to the West by His Divine Grace Çréla Prabhupäda, particularly in relation to his siddhänta that the jivätmä originated in the spiritual world. Devotees in general were now being misled by both of these warring cults.
The third wave of the perfect storm hitting “ISKCON” in the mid-Eighties consisted of what may be called the outsiders. These were the initiated men and women of the movement—none of them higher than the third echelon while they were in it—who left. Many of them were not kicked out but could not tolerate the deviation imposed when Ocean’s Eleven came back from India in the Spring of 1978 with a new dispensation.
This third wave comprised those who chose to take action, not to remain silent about what was going down. Most of those who left the cult of the new gurus–or were, directly or indirectly, driven out—just went away on their own. They created no ripples or spiritual sequence. Many of them threw out the baby with the bathwater and became non-devotees again, taking up their previous lifestyles.
This third wave was a factor in the mid-Eighties, although it was ostracized, ignored, and mostly kept away from “ISKCON” centers. The third wave took action. It was kind of a subterranean movement. Their position papers hit hard and tackled formerly taboo subjects. The “underground Hare Krishnas,” as one Hindu newspaper labeled them, punched above the weight of their limited numbers.
A handful did not, however. They took action. They made propaganda both of the verbal and written variety. Your host speaker was a part of this contingent. Position papers were produced. There was no INTERNET yet, so this preaching did not spread quickly . . . but it did spread. These dedicated disciples, from one perspective, were put into a lose-lose situation at the onset of the zonal äcärya scheme. They chose the lesser of two evils, as staying within the cult required buying its unauthorized transformation, which they were not willing to do.
The February, 1979 confrontation at the Kåñëa-Balaräm complex in Raman Reti (discussed previously in one of our podcasts) was the leading edge of this third wave. This third wave was anti-Neo-Mutt, however, and it had to be distinguished from any allegiance to Swämi B. R. Çrédhar and Gouòéya Mutt. Neo-Mutt was unable to recruit these particular outsiders, who stayed true to Prabhupäda’s tattva, siddhänta, and process.
This third wave was a factor in the mid-Eighties, although it was ostracized, ignored, and mostly kept away from “the walls of ‘ISKCON.’” It was kind of a subterranean movement. An article in a prominent Hindu newspaper at the time labeled it as “the underground Hare Krishnas,” designating your host speaker as its leader.
With these three waves of a perfect storm hitting “ISKCON” in the mid-Eighties, the cult was reeling. It needed a savior. And, although he was imperfect and did not tackle or uproot the real problem, that savior emerged in the form of Ravéndra Svarüpa däs Adhikäré. 1
In 1984, Professor Blueblood issued a position paper entitled “Ending the Fratricidal War.” He insisted that it was only meant for a handful of his close associates, as he was a temple president at the top of the second echelon of “ISKCON.” I doubt that this was his intention. Instead, I am convinced he issued it so that it would spread like wildfire, which it did, although it could not have as much impact—or immediate effect—as it would have had if the INTERNET had existed then.
Thus, Ravéndra became the leader of what he called a revolution. However, this is a mislabel, although he was only the immediate leader of an incipient development. It was never a revolution. It was never a rejuvenation. It did not return to square one. It was always nothing more than a reform, a transformation.
As we shall see, his tracts against the new gurus got him appointed by the G.B.C. as the nineteenth institutional dékñä-guru in the cult. Was this actually unexpected? How could it be? He was expert at knowing institutional cause and effect, and he admitted that he had to accept a leadership role in his so-called revolution.
He had a couple of assets that other men in the cult did not. For starters, he claims (and it is likely true) that he was never a hippie. Fine, although they were Prabhupäda’s best customers. As already mentioned, he was an established professor at a well-known university in Philadelphia, where he was temple President. These assets were utilized and manipulated well by him. He had peers who would back him in his reform effort, ultimately successful, meant to transform “ISKCON” into something different.
We find the following excerpt in Chapter Eleven:
“’When we got the gurus, we got eleven different ISKCONs,’” Ravéndra Svarüpa confirmed. “’There were some real unfriendly tensions between the gurus right from the start. They propped each other up because if the power of one guru was threatened, they all felt threatened. But when somebody finally fell, they turned on him and destroyed him.’” 2
That was Ravéndra’s main argument, to wit: It had become a sole äcärya movement instead of a united confederation under the G.B.C.. There were eleven sole äcäryas, and the movement was thus cut into pieces since the preaching, mood, and worship systems varied from zone to zone. It was a powerful argument, but not as legitimate as you might first surmise. All eleven of those great pretenders were dependent upon G.B.C. imprimatur in order to keep their scam going.
They were not as free as Ravéndra made them out to be. He probably intuited this. Even if he didn’t, he acted upon this fact of division, and that is integral to how he brought them down and introduced the collegiate compromise of The Second Transformation. In summary, the man was a powerful writer, and he had significant influence.
He also was expert at projecting a particular emotion. This basic and fundamental emotion will be directly presented near the end of our presentation. It was used by all of them to great effect, and Ravéndra was adept at it. Besides this, a key plank of his new manifesto for “ISKCON” was that it had degenerated into a neophyte cult.
The implication to this—which was a false pre-supposition—is that it previously was dominated by fixed-up devotees, by madhyams. As such, he was saying that the zonal äcärya imposition was now run by neophytes, who are intrinsically envious, and that this “sole äcärya system” needed to be made unified once again. Then, it would automatically revert (allegedly) to its former status as a worldwide, unified congregation guided by advanced devotees loyal to its G.B.C..
All kinds of falsity was embedded in this pre-supposition. Were they formerly madhyams? They were not, and the track record proves it. Were they, the eleven great pretenders, neophytes? Would abandonment of the zonal äcärya system—and replacing it with a Commission-centric model—automatically produce a movement run by madhyams. History proves that it did not after The Second Transformation gained power.
ENE quotes your host speaker as follows:
“He (Ravéndra) is claiming that ‘ISKCON’ (and that Society certainly was ‘ISKCON’ by 1984-1985) was a kaniñöhä-adhikäré society. It was not. It was led by charismatic sahajiyäs. These men were not kaniñöhäs. In point of fact (with, perhaps, a temple president here and there that may still have been kaniñöhä), all the leaders of ‘ISKCON,’ by 1984-85, were either sahajiyäs or mixed devotees. Mixed devotees are far lower than kaniñöhä-bhaktas, but few devotees know this bhakti science.” 3
This may appear to be radical, but the actual fact is that it may be too soft. Some of them may not have been even sahajiyäs by the mid-Eighties. Remember, although very deviated and fallen, sahajiyäs are, nevertheless, still devotees. Some of those eleven men—as well as some of the eight others who captured the gadi after them (by the mid-Eighties)–may have become either covert Mäyävädés or materialists. There is plenty in and on the record to indicate this potential.
“The Guru Reform Movement” was not only the title of Chapter Eleven, but it was also a sub-header within the chapter. There is a major misconception embedded in this idea, although it was considered just that (a guru reform movement) by the mid-Eighties. The guru is never in need of reform. The guru must be a very perfect man. The movement he founds, if it has not severely deviated from him, may require reform. However, the guru is never in need of correction or reform.
If he is fallen (and was previously a genuine guru), then he needs to elevate himself back to the perfectional stage. However, the implication of the guru reform movement in “ISKCON” was not referring to that; it was referring to men who were still improperly initiating new disciples but remained institutionally approved gurus.
By the term “guru reform movement,” what is being referred to in Chapter Eleven of ENE is the initial (and rather tepid) emergence of the temple presidents who were protesting the uttama-adhikäré worship program integral to the cult. Professor Blueblood was preeminent amongst them, and he penned the initial position papers which started the ball rolling. This was distinctly different from the rebellion at Raman Reti in 1979, and it was the chief point made by ENE in Chapter Eleven. Here is an excerpt verifying this fact:
“ . . . this was the first time large numbers of devotees with real political power—the ISKCON temple presidents—began organizing together to combat the menace. Actually, for many years, the temple presidents had been a formidable force in ISKCON. Although they had no legal power over the G.B.C., sometimes they had exerted their influence . . .” 4
The movement was starting to crater, and Professor Blueblood’s first position paper lit the fuse. From his own words in ENE:
“Ravéndra Svarüpa recalled, ‘In the autumn of 1984 a routine meeting of the temple presidents of North America led to a collective and public acknowledgment that nearly everyone held deep private misgivings about the manner in which the position of ‘guru’ had been established in ISKCON. They organized an immediate second meeting, to further consider the issue, and thus the ‘Guru Reform’ movement was born. With the engagement of a significant number of second-tier leaders, men whose loyalty to ISKCON was not in doubt, a credible and potent movement was established. The majority of North American temple presidents believed something was drastically wrong.’” 5
This was the same time-frame in which Ravéndra issued his first position paper, so none of it was accidental. He knew how to play them, and he was already the first amongst equals on the second echelon. The acceptance of his arguments solidified this power for him. ENE describes the situation in “ISKCON” at that time quite well:
“When new devotees began to take initiation from the zonal acharyas, the power of the temple presidents eroded. They no longer could motivate devotees to follow their direct instructions, let alone their vision . . . The new disciples often looked down on temple presidents, especially if they were householders, and consequently they rebelled in subtle and less-than-subtle ways against the temple presidents’ authority.” 6
Such was also the case for the non-guru contingent of the G.B.C.. Their zones became meaningless. The guru zones of the zonal äcäryas was all that the newcomers considered important. As genuinely initiated devotees of Prabhupäda kept departing from “ISKCON,” the idea that there was legitimacy to a non-guru G.B.C. at any given center or temple became, for all practical purposes, an anachronism.
It was costly in terms of airfare and other accouterments for a non-guru G.B.C., or even a temple president, to attend meetings in distant parts of America, what to speak of overseas in India. That these members of the second echelon of the cult were dependent upon the pick to cover those expenses did not sit well with them. The new disciples, all improperly initiated, didn’t want the money they collected to be used by leaders who were now fighting against their own gurus.
TATTVAMASI
“ISKCON” loyalists were coming to tough realizations. One of them—who eventually became completely disloyal, changing his name and status after joining Neo-Mutt—commented as follows:
“Practically the present ISKCON leaders don’t have truly brahminical advisers anymore because everybody in their zone has something to lose and thus will leave or shut up . . . Even though gurus and the G.B.C. amongst themselves and in public will discredit and condemn each other, officially there is no one who can question an acharya in his zone, nor is there anybody to consult in such difficulties.” 7
The temple presidents began outwardly expressing their disgust about what they had repressed for years. They wanted to get together, and thus they had a meeting in New Jersey. Word got out, and then the actual base emotion which controlled everything came to the fore. As excerpted from ENE, here is an example of that base emotion in the words of a major organizer of those initial meetings, Viñëugada:
“However, after we scheduled our next meeting for sometime in the spring of 1985, we immediately got black-balled by a group of gurus. My recollection is that temple presidents were forbidden to attend the next meeting. It was quite a shock to me.” 8
Do you pick up on the emotion underlying this? We shall specify it subsequently. Ravéndra, as aforementioned, was expert at utilizing it. There should have been nothing shocking about it. We all had experienced it. The cult was a tyranny of both thought and action.
You were subject to condemnation and excommunication if you did not accept the self-apotheosis of the “new gurus,” although they were never actually spiritual masters. Their false status as so-called Successors to Prabhupäda could not be questioned by anyone below the level of the vitiated G.B.C.. And the Äcärya Board of the G.B.C. also kept them from being challenged, although that broke down eventually.
Which brings us to the Moundsville compound, a.k.a., New Vrindavan, in August and September of 1985. There would be meetings each month there at that time. These were not solely temple presidents meetings, although many presidents (Ravéndra being one of them, obviously) attended at least the second one. The first one was, technically, a G.B.C. emergency meeting called mostly by American commissioners, as something had to be done. Of course, it really wasn’t. ENE records that one as follows:
“In August 1985, the North American G.B.C., temple presidents and eleven ISKCON gurus attended a two-day emergency meeting at New Vrindaban to discuss issues, such as the development of a constitution, expanding the number of gurus, discussing the role of the spiritual master within ISKCON and evaluating the qualifications of current and future gurus.” 9
Ravéndra confirmed that his second position paper was integral to that meeting. Actually, it was also integral to the next one a month later. ENE quotes him as follows:
“’Under My Order: Reflections on the Guru in ISKCON’ became accepted as the position paper of the reform movement, and the paper’s thesis helped lead, two years later, to the formal dismantling of the zonal-acharya system.’” Indeed, it did.
Professor Blueblood’s first position paper, “Ending the Fratricidal War,” was well-received and circulated by “ISKCON” presidents and other malcontents. However, his second position paper carried more weight. The first meeting (in August) was not well known. The September meeting was very well attended, as word got out that the opulent worship arrangement was now going to be challenged. In point of fact, your host speaker thought, for years, that there was only one conclave in the late summer of 1985, but there actually were two of them.
Not much progress was made on formulating or forming a new constitution in either of these. The two issues that were confronted (to a significant extent) were both related: One general and one specific. The specific one centered on Bhävänanda. The general topic centered on the guru system, advocating reform.
After conclusive evidence presented as to Bhävänanda’s homosexual activities while he was (allegedly) a guru, he was suspended from initiating for six months. Bhävänanda was also put on probation by the Privilege Committee. At the September conclave, it was determined that he would again be examined at the Annual G.B.C. Meeting in 1986. The writing was on the wall. Except for Kértanänanda, the high-flying gurus were all being busted down to dedicated Party Men. One by one, they were baling from a Sinking Ship of Fools.
Aside from Bhävänanda’s malfeasance being exposed–along with the cult having disciplined three (of the eleven) gurus previously in the early part of the decade–things were starting to tear apart. The center was not holding. The G.B.C. was supposed to be that center.
However, it was–to a significant (but not complete) degree–controlled by the new gurus up to that time. Ravéndra’s opposition had to be ameliorated somehow–or, at least, compromised. As such, practically out of nowhere and without him going through the bureaucratic process, Ravéndra was awarded guru status at the September conclave.
Bhävänanda took some responsibility for his illicit homosex, but he also blamed the guru system (which, however you cut it, was instituted by the governing body) for his massive deviations. He pleaded that there was really no ill intention on his part. ENE reproduces one of Hansadutta’s former disciples commenting on that plea:
“This is something like the fox saying he had no ill-intention when entering the hen house. Of course those who have committed crimes will attempt to claim innocence.” 11
To his credit, Doktorski in Chapter Eleven covers both the micro and the macro. He gives us important details to and for the historical record. He also allowed all of his readers access to essential overviews of not only what was going down in “ISKCON,” but why. He quotes your host speaker as follows to explain some of that why:
“The Party Men . . . are masters at creating doubt and guilt, masters of deception, masters at bewilderment, masters at enticement, masters at pseudo-persuasion, and, when the situation calls for it, masters at harassment and various psychic punishments. They have their own spheres, both gross and subtle. The various followers, who are weak in knowledge, mind control, and yogic development, can hardly escape the network of the Party Men once they become entangled in it. The Party Men buttress this astral network via the buildings, deities, vehicles, properties, and money on the gross plane, and those innocent but foolish devotee followers are completely trapped by them and their manifestations.” 12
Besides Bhävänanda and the guru issue, Kértanänanda blackballed the whole effort. He issued a paper to counter Ravéndra, and mostly nothing of substance came from this follow-up meeting with his peers at Moundsville. Kértanänanda told his disciples to consider all of his godbrothers to be nothing more than the Rotary Club.
Of course, there were some notable exceptions. Professor Blueblood became a Commission approved spiritual master at the second multi-day meeting, even though he had no disciples ready for initiation at his center. That brought to five the number of new gurus added by 1985, along with the three which were added earlier in the Eighties, totaling eight.
Secondly, the vitiated G.B.C. made a list of resolutions to bring to Mayapur in the Spring of 1986 to be voted on . . . which meant, in effect, kicking the can down the road and buying more time.
Meanwhile, although this was the developing situation throughout America, hardly any of devotees elsewhere in the world knew about it. One exception to this—although he heard about the controversy later—was Jayänta Kåt in France. He was a second echelon man. In the beginning zonal years, he was quite dedicated to Bhagavän, who was one of the most gung-ho of all the high profile gurus.
Jayänta Krt was dealt with severely by Bhagavän when he went to the other side on the guru controversy. In the short term, he wound up opening his own center, unaffiliated with “ISKCON,” in southern France. As such, he followed the same path as Dhéra Kåñëa in America, who opened up that aforementioned separate center in Santa Cruz.
However, there was one big difference, since the one in California was a Neo-Mutt center. As Fate would have it, Jayänta Krt soon joined Neo-Mutt and became dedicated to Swämi B. R. Çrédhar. We shall be reproducing excerpts from him in a later presentation of this series. Suffice it to say that he and I are not only on opposite sides but inimical to one another. You will find that out soon enough.
ENE, via the following excerpt, shared Jayänta Krt’s transformation to a completely different viewpoint from Bhagavän in 1985:
“I opened a small preaching center . . . in southern France and started to communicate with my godbrothers everything I had learned in the USA about the acharya issue. They were all flabbergasted, because no information on that topic had ever made it from abroad to the devotees at large in France and in the rest of Bhagavän’s zone . . . Between that meeting and Mayapur, Bhagavän spent thousands of dollars on phone calls all over the world to rally the troops for a counter-reform. In Mayapur, he gave a lecture quoting a verse from the Srimad-Bhagavatam according to which those envious persons who criticize the Vaishnavas will remain in hell as long as the sun and moon exist. . .” 13
Notice the method used by Bhagavän: F-E-A-R. This was always the foundation upon which Ocean’s Eleven utilized. This was that base emotion. Most everything else was window dressing meant to attract followers and keep at least a handful of godbrothers onboard for the purpose of upkeep and management of the centers. However, when the rubber met the road, it always came down to fear.
Doktorski is to be commended for this chapter in his book. It was thorough, painstakingly researched, and it revealed facts and truths that otherwise would have merged into oblivion. Well done.
In summation, the revelations in the late summer of 1985 that Bhävänanda had seduced a teenage boy gave the Guru Reform party encouragement and determination to challenge the high-flying zonals. As a backlash, the vitiated G.B.C.—which was still mostly controlled by the great pretenders—legislated and imposed various political road blocks so that the reformers could not make much progress:
“The G.B.C. knew the zonal acharya gig was up, but they had to act fast to save themselves and keep their power as best they could. The G.B.C. enacted measures to restrain the temple presidents and the opposition movement. They gave every G.B.C. member the right to appoint two people in their zones to participate in the (upcoming) Mayapur meetings with voting rights. However, the G.B.C. did not appoint temple presidents who were opponents to the zonal-acharya system; they appointed sycophants.” 14
The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo-spiritual scam. Let us close this month’s presentation with the following excerpt from Prabhupäda:
“So, don’t spoil the movement by manufacturing ideas. Don’t do that. Go on in the standard way and keep yourself pure. Then this movement is sure to be successful. But if you want to spoil it by whimsical, then what can be done? It will be spoiled. If you manufacture whims and disagree and fight amongst yourself, then it will be another edition of these so-called movements. It will lose the spiritual strength.” 15
SAD EVA SAUMYA
ENDNOTES
1 His Western name is William Deadwyler III, a professor at Temple University. He will be often referred to in this presentation as Professor Blueblood due to his obvious lineage;
2 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors: The Crisis of Charismatic Succession in the Hare Krishna Movement, p. 233, Kindle Edition;
3 Ibid, pp. 234-235, Kindle Edition;
4 Ibid, p. 235, Kindle Edition;
5 Ibid, p. 236, Kindle Edition;
6 Ibid, p. 237, Kindle Edition;
7 Ibid, pp. 237-238, Kindle Edition;
8 Ibid, p. 239, Kindle Edition;
9 Ibid, p. 241, Kindle Edition;
10 Ibid, p. 242, Kindle Edition;
11 Bhakta Eric Johanson, Ibid, p. 243, Kindle Edition;
12 Ibid, pp. 246-247, Kindle Edition;
13 Ibid, p. 256-258, Kindle Edition;
14 Ibid, p. 261, Kindle Edition;
15 Room Conversation in Aukland, New Zealand, 4-27-76.