By Anna Pulley
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Erin Sherbert
By Rachel Swan
By Joe Eskenazi
By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
Just a few short days after the World Trade Centers were gored by two passenger planes, a jet airliner roars overhead, low enough in the sky to make the company logo visible, as it prepares for descent into San Jose International Airport. As the bone-rattling sound fades into the seemingly peaceful azure distance, a volley of screams perforates the midmorning air. Intellectually, I know that Paramount's Great Americais just around the bend -- I can see the crest of several roller coasters rising in primary-colored splendor less than a baseball's throw away -- but viscerally I know something else: I'm frightened and on alert. I wonder at the fortitude, or fortunate insensibility, of the folks who drove to Santa Clara today to invoke terror by way of a 91-foot climb to the top of the Vortex, instead of just watching CNN. I also wonder at the multitudinous other techniques the human psyche has developed to battle the effects of tragedy.
"In light of the horrible events that occurred on Tuesday, I think it's even more important and urgent that we open up communication with extraterrestrials on a global scale," says Arizona music instructor Pinchemel Luz, one of the 900 people who made it to the third annual Bay Area UFO Expo, in spite of airport closures. "If we had access to alien technology, we'd have an endless power source, and we wouldn't have to meddle in the affairs of Middle Eastern countries. This whole thing could have been avoided if the government would just come clean with what they already know. We don't need oil. Our government knows that. They've known it for years."
Luz turns on his heel and marches into the Marriott Hotel with the air of a man doing his solemn duty. In the hall, he passes a woman cheerfully toying with two green alien finger puppets. (I am told the race represented by the puppets should be closer to "dolphin-gray" in color.) But for the most part, the conventioneers in the hallway are as grave as botanists as they map their hectic schedules, juggling over a dozen lectures and workshops while trying to squeeze in time for lunch and shopping/research in the expo hall. The average age of the conventioneers is older than I expected, and not a single soul is wearing antennae.
"What, did you think this was going to be like a Star Trekconvention?" mocks a Washington nurse practitioner. "A lot of these people are doctors, researchers, businessmen, activists ... thoughtful people."
Thoughtful people with interesting childhoods.
"I saw a UFO when I was 12," admits first-time conventioneer and Oregon resident Barbara Courseyafter some persistent wheedling. "There had been sightings all through the South that summer. It was the summer of 1948 or '49. Whole towns were seeing it. Together. But the government dismissed it, saying these people were drunk, those people were crazy, that whole town was under mass hypnosis -- just making stuff up to hide the facts. But I know what I saw. It was cigar-shaped and had a red, sparkly glow. It rose up very slowly, almost elegantly, and then just took off -- pteewww -- at a right angle." To illustrate the fact, Coursey slices her hand through the air as fast as she is physically able, a gesture that is duplicated by numerous people throughout the day in a futile attempt to convey speed. "It was really, really fast."
"But my grandfather said, "Don't you tell anyone about this. I won't have folks saying mine are crazy,'" continues Coursey. "In my family, you listened to Grandpa, so I didn't mention it to a soul for almost 30 years."
"That's the problem," says Sharon Macek, a local optometrist who "sadly" has never seen a UFO herself. "Credible people are afraid to put their reputations on the line, so people walk around with these huge experiences, these huge ... experiences, buried in their subconscious because society says anyone who believes in aliens is completely woo-woo. The government could change all that tomorrow if they wanted. Full disclosure."
The Disclosure Project, directed by Dr. Steven M. Greer, a family practitioner from North Carolina with four daughters and a golden retriever, is a "nonprofit research project working to fully disclose the facts about UFOs, extraterrestrial intelligence, and classified advanced energy and propulsion systems." In May of this year, the Disclosure Project staged one of the largest press conferences in the recent history of the National Press Club in Washington, D.C., during which Greer brought forward more than 20 military, government, and corporate eyewitnesses to offer testimony about their UFO and extraterrestrial sightings. In the course of his campaign, Greer has recorded more than 120 hours of interviews with such witnesses, which he distilled to two hours for Senate hearings. On July 27, prompted by the conviction and information offered by Greer in a lecture, Berkeley resident Lara Johnstoneembarked on a 44-day hunger strike (her diet did include water, fresh fruit and vegetable juices mixed with spirulina and protein powder, herbal teas, wheatgrass juice, and soup drained of solids) in support of the Disclosure Project even though she didn't consider herself a member of the UFO community prior to seeing Greer speak.
"The witnesses were so courageous," says 34-year-old Johnstone, who is, admittedly, no stranger to hunger strikes. (Since moving to Berkeley two years ago she has also embarked on a hunger strike against the policies of the California Department of Corrections.) "And I wanted to support their right to speak openly in court. Dr. Greer's speech was incredibly strong and powerful. And he said, "I'm prepared to give my life for this cause because this is that important.' And I thought, "What am I willing to give?'"
Even from the back wall of the overcapacity California Ballroom, it's easy to see Greer's sway. As charismatic, well-spoken, and coolly verbose as a well-trained politician, Greer suggests that open knowledge of alien presence and technology will end poverty, facilitate justice, and lead to global peace. If only we all knew what the government knows.
"The Air Force says they are no longer investigating UFOs," says 20-year-old John Greenewald Jr., whose relentless research under the Freedom of Information Act at Canadian government agencies has led to an archive of more than 80,000 government papers, which he makes available at www.blackvault.com. "I have documents that say otherwise. That is the single most important piece of information anyone can offer. It draws everything else into question."
According to Phillip Krapf, a former copy editor for the Los Angeles Times, government disclosure would have been unnecessary if not for the bombing of the World Trade Centers. While aboard a spaceship (800 feet in diameter) in 1997, and again in 2000, he learned, along with 850 prominent humans known as the Ambassadors, that the alien species known as Verdants were planning for imminent, open contact in 2002, but now they're reconsidering.
"The time line has been changed now," says Krapf during his workshop, "but they've seen this before."
Still, according to a large percentage of expo attendees and most lecturers, there is no shortage of contact.
Melinda Leslie, an employee for a large Southern California architectural firm, claims to have been abducted for the first time when she was a child, and says the contact has continued throughout her life.
"My abduction experiences are pretty typical," says Leslie. "They've taken eggs, introduced me to hybrid children, monitored my reactions as I was presented with possible disaster and catastrophe scenarios."
Leslie doesn't seem terribly troubled by the alien abductions; her real concern is with military re-abduction.
"They [the military] want to know what I know," says Leslie with a calm, sure gaze. "The co-author of my book pulled out of the project because her life was threatened. My roommate's daughter moved out of our house because she was scared."
"Purple Rose,"the manager of an Oklahoma trucking office, can offer countless experiences that people might describe as out-of-body, but that she knows to be extraterrestrial in nature. "They started when I was 4," says Rose, lighting her fourth cigarette, her eyes darting across the parking lot, up at the sky, and back again. "They took me and my sister, but my sister doesn't remember; she was too young."
Rose recalls her first ship sighting at the age of 15 while she and a girlfriend were enjoying a beer with a couple of guys in a pickup truck in Northern California. "They were scared," says Rose, showing a tinge of contempt for her friends. "They thought their lives were going to end, but I was just curious. I got out of the truck to look; the ship was directly overhead. I'm not fear-based."
Among Rose's experiences, which include contact with as many as 10 alien races (including one with amphibian features) and numerous styles of spacecraft (including a long "mall-sized" ship with foliage, huge pedestrian thoroughfares, and ambient lighting that materialized from the air), there have been some frightening turns.
"I've felt very uncomfortable with some of the aliens," says Rose, brushing her waist-length blond hair out of her face but still avoiding eye contact. "Some bad things have happened around me afterwards."
A natural reaction, according to Marshall Vian Summers, who conducts one of the more poorly attended lectures of the weekend. "If a human being took you from your home in the middle of the night and physically and mentally tortured you," says Summers, "you'd want them punished."
Anna K., a 37-year-old shiatsu practitioner from San Francisco, counters that while her abduction 14 years ago seemed invasive at first, she has since come to see it as benevolent.
"There's a lot of emphasis on getting abductees to empathize with their attackers," Summers responds. "That way the [abductees] are more responsive to the biological coding. ... No one should give up their power like that."
After the lecture, however, Anna K. considers, and rejects, Summers' stance. "He sounds paranoid," she says. "Saying all aliens are bad is like saying all humans are bad. There's a lot that's positive in the human experiences as well."
Anna K.'s abduction occurred on a New Zealand kiwi farm while she was outside looking at the stars. She recalls the vivid sensation of falling and the next thing she remembers is being shaken awake by two farmhands and taken to a nearby hospital where she was treated for hypothermia. Bruises were found on her inner thighs -- from alien medical exams and extraterrestrial impregnation, says Anna K. Over the years, with the help of rebirthing techniques, she has pieced together memories of her alien abductors.
"I opened myself up to some sort of contact in New Zealand," says Anna K. "I remember saying that I was willing to do anything for the good of humanity. These sorts of things don't come unbidden."
"I think [extraterrestrial] contact is, for the most part, benevolent," says Lucia August, a mild-voiced, purple-clad psychotherapist who operates the East Bay Contact Support Network. "But even mild first contact can, initially, be traumatic. It's a paradigm-shattering experience, and it takes a long time for some people to come to terms with what they've experienced. Some of them have trouble even remembering it. First, they need to remember; then they might need crisis management, education, and contact with other experiencers. That's really important, having a connection with other people that understand."