The Rev. Sun Myung Moon has been down, but never
out. Now he's focusing on family values with conferences and big-name
speakers such as George Bush. But is he just trying to buy credibility?
By MEREDITH FERGUSON, Special to The Times
WASHINGTON, D.C.--Amid the grandeur of giant Corinthian
columns and the soaring archways of the great hall of the National
Building Museum, 1,500 smartly dressed men and women from around
the world have convened to talk about family values and world peace.
Seated in rows of dainty, bamboo-style chairs, the
mostly middle-aged attendees await speeches from an all-star cast
of religious leaders, entertainers and former heads of state, including
George Bush and Gerald Ford. Many delegates adjust their earphones
as interpreters stand ready to translate into five languages.
A United Nations conference?
Far from it.
This high-powered Inaugural World Convention of the
Family Federation for World Peace held this summer is sponsored
by the Rev. Sun Myung Moon, founder of the Unification Church, and
his wife, Hak Ja Han Moon.
Yes, the same Rev. Moon who calls himself the Messiah
and claims he is the second coming of Christ, with a special calling
to unite all people, all nations and all religions to create a world
centered on God and true love. Since Moon founded the Unification
Church in Seoul in 1954, it has experienced more than its share
of ups and downs. Starting in the '60s, followers of Moon became
a familiar sight on U.S. college campuses, where they recruited
members and collected donations for flowers amid allegations that
the church fostered controversial fund-raising practices and used
mind-controlling recruitment techniques.
Moon was imprisoned for a year in the early 1980s
for U.S. income tax evasion. He also has faced criticism for presiding
over mass "holy weddings" and for his right-wing political
views. But what almost did him in was the end of the Cold War, which
all but undermined his identity--and primary drawing card--as a
staunch anti-communist.
"The end of the Cold War just about destroyed
Moon," said G. Gordon Melton, director of the Santa Barbara-based
Institute of the Study of American Religion, an independent research
center that studies new religions. "He was as strong an anti-communist
as there was. He had to deal with the fact that communism is no
longer a threat."
Yet Moon and the church have endured, displaying a
resilience that few could have predicted.
Perhaps the best illustration of their staying power
was evident here during the recent world peace convention, one in
a series of conferences founded by the Moons. Moon, 76, sat just
a few feet away from Ford as the former president delivered a speech
on the importance of family.
That striking picture recalls what Moon said a year
ago, upon receiving an honorary degree from the University of Bridgeport
in Connecticut, which the Moon-founded Professors Academy of World
Peace took over in 1992, investing $98 million in the school.
"The entire world did everything it could to
put an end to me, yet I did not die, and today I am sitting on top
of the world," enthused Moon. Moon's comeback can be tied to
the whopping speakers' fees that help draw marquee names to his
conferences that showcase America's cultural conservatism, helping
him attain a respectability that some find troublesome. His conservative
message--featuring some of America's most well-known public figures--is
gaining him new credibility, and perhaps expanding the church's
appeal.
"He teaches the importance of family," said
Andrew Bacus, an attorney and church spokesman. "We strive
to be accepted as a mainline religion. We want to spread our religion
in the marketplace of ideas." "Family values is a salable
commodity to get speakers and bring people out," said Steve
Hassan, a former church member and mental health counselor in Massachusetts.
In recent years, Moon and his wife have highlighted
family values with a series of conferences sponsored by such organizations
as the Women's Federation for World Peace and the Family Federation
for World Peace. Speakers have included George and Barbara Bush,
Jack Kemp, Geraldine Ferraro, Jeane Kirkpatrick, William Bennett
and Bill Cosby.
For the most part, they talk about noncontroversial
subjects: the need for strong families, the dangers of drugs and
crime, the importance of grandparents, the benefits of free enterprise.
Yet critics say their presence at Moon conferences legitimizes Moon
and his organizations.
When asked about her participation, Ferraro, the Democratic
vice presidential candidate in 1984 and now a commentator on CNN's
"Crossfire," responded defensively.
"I speak to lots of groups I don't agree with.
Because I speak to them doesn't mean I endorse their policies. What
about people who read the Washington Times?" she said, referring
to the newspaper that Moon founded here in 1982. "Do they give
credence to Moon by reading the paper?"
Bennett, a former U.S. drug czar and secretary of
education, spoke to the Family Federation for World Peace four times
in 1995. Don Walker, his agent, said: "He makes his living
giving speeches. This group approached us. They met his honorarium.
I looked into what the group was and they said they were sponsored
by the Washington Times Foundation. Mr. Bennett told them ahead
of time, before agreeing to give the speeches, that he would talk
about what he wanted to talk about."
Although the speaking fees paid by Moon are confidential,
they are said by industry sources to top $100,000 per speech in
a few cases. "In a sense they have bought legitimacy,"
said Ronald Enroth, professor of sociology at Westmont College in
Santa Barbara.
And that angers Cynthia Lilley, who founded Mothers
Opposed to Moon after her college-age daughter was recruited, she
says, by the church and subjected to mind-control techniques that
left her severely depressed--an allegation the church denies.
"These conventions are being touted as being
for the family. The recruitment practices of the Unification Church
destroys families. They use clips of these famous people to convince
parents that the organization is OK." Despite the impressive
list of well-paid luminaries at Moon-founded events, some believe
that the impact of Moon's conferences are marginal at best.
"Does anyone seriously regard the content of
these meetings?" asked Michael Warder, a former Unification
Church official who now is vice president of the Claremont Institute,
a conservative think tank in Claremont. The answer begins to crystallize
at the recent convention for world peace farewell banquet, which
is running late.
The famous speakers are long gone and the weary delegates
are now seated at round tables in the Washington Ballroom of the
Sheraton Washington Hotel, where they are finishing their cheesecake.
Pat Boone, resplendent in a sparking silver jacket,
is delivering a stirring rendition of "The Song of Exodus."
After a reverential introduction by Dr. Bo Hi Pak,
one of Moon's chief lieutenants, Moon steps spryly to the stage.
He stands beside the podium, one arm draped over its
corner. Despite a slight cough, the sturdily built Moon begins to
speak animatedly in Korean, preaching a seemingly endless sermon
on his views of fidelity in marriage. A few feet away, a translator
struggles to keep up in English.
Church theology holds that mankind is under Satan's
power because of sexual sin, and Moon's sermon is right on message.
"A man's sexual organ belongs to his wife, this
truth will never change," Moon says, waving his hands.
"Look at the world--all decaying because men
and women don't realize the sexual organ belongs to their husbands
and wives. . . . Anyone who doesn't agree is crazy," Moon tells
his rapt audience. Forty minutes later, he is still going strong.
"He may go on for sometime," says a devout church member.
"It's all inspirational."
But Moon is more than just a charismatic religious
leader. He is also a financial genius who has shrewdly adapted to
changing times. Today, Moon is engaging his former enemies--such
as the communists--in joint business ventures. The movement controls
interests that manufacture cars in southern China, own fishing fleets
around the world, operate casinos in South America, and is making
inroads in the former Soviet Union, including sponsoring Russian
students to study in America. It's all part of a billion-dollar
financial empire that is owned not by Moon himself, but by a network
of Unification Church officials and members who provide funding
for Moon-sponsored projects.
Here in the nation's capital, the Washington Times
continues to enjoy an influence far beyond its 100,000 circulation.
Starting in the Reagan years and continuing right through the 1995
Republican takeover of Congress, the Times remains a must-read among
the nation's political power brokers.
Much of Moon's core financial base is generated by
donations and businesses in Japan, a nation where many nontraditional
religions have held an appeal since government control of religion
decreased markedly after World War II. But a rash of lawsuits and
negative media attention have weakened his Japanese base and may
be one reason behind Moon's increasing focus on Latin America.
According to Bacus, there are only 200 full-time fund-raisers
operating within the church in the U.S., which he said has a membership
of 30,000 to 40,000, with at least two congregations in each state.
Scholars who follow the church say membership peaked in the '70s
and has stabilized at about 6,000 members, with a total of 50,000,
if former members are included. "One of the main goals of the
Unification Church is to receive legitimacy by association. They
constantly play up their association with the respectable mainstream,"
said Enroth, the sociology professor.
Despite Moon's efforts to gain legitimacy for his
movement, the Unification Church remains quite isolated from the
religious mainstream. "I expect the Washington Times will become
another Christian Science Monitor," said Melton, the director
of the Institute of the Study of American Religion. "The church
will grow very slowly through Korean immigration and by an influx
of a modest number of young people. They will become like the Jehovah's
Witnesses or the Seventh-Day Adventists--another group on the fringe."
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