The Other Side of Enlightenment

A civil suit filed in California in 2002 against Dahn by a former employee claims that, among other things, she was brainwashed by the group and then coerced to take a vow of celibacy and divorce her husband, and that later, while working without pay to open a string of Dahn centers, she was sent to the Dahn headquarters in Sedona to have sex with Lee. In 2005 Lee was also sued in connection with the death of aspiring Dahn master Julia Siverls. In the case, Dahn employees are accused of secretly drugging Siverls and forcing her to hike in the 90-degree heat of the Arizona desert with little water and a backpack full of rocks during an initiation ritual. Dahn denies the allegations in both lawsuits.

Six former Dahn members—all of whom asked that their names be withheld out of fear of retribution—say they believe they were under some form of mind control when they allowed Dahn to consume their thoughts and bank accounts. “My relationships with my friends and family suffered,” says one. “I lost my job. I racked up thousands of dollars of credit card debt. Dahn became the only thing I thought about all day long.” Other former members say their “masters,” as instructors were called, had such aggressive sales quotas that they put unrelenting pressure on students to sign up for more classes, workshops, and healing sessions. The former members say the masters appeared to be “Dahndroids,” with matching clothes, mannerisms, speech patterns, and incessant smiles.

But there are also thousands of happy Dahn customers. In 2006, in fact, Dahn was voted the top yoga studio in Boston on WBZ’s A List. Dahn supporters say the cult accusations originated partly from online smear campaigns started in Korea. They say the poor experiences people report stateside are largely the result of cultural misunderstandings, and insist the organization has gotten a bad rap because Americans are naturally suspicious of anything that falls outside the mainstream. “Who expects a corporation to have 100 percent customer satisfaction?” says Connors, the Dahn spokesperson. “No one flinches when a car salesman puts a hard sell on a customer, but if we try to promote our product, critics complain we are pressuring our customers.”

Ari Laquidara wonders why people think nothing of spending thousands on furs, shoes, and hairstyling on Newbury Street, but then criticize as exorbitantly priced the health-improving Dahn practice. Another satisfied member wonders why Dahn classes are deemed cultish when no one questions her relatives who spend all day, every day, at a country club playing golf and bridge. Why is working 18-hour days to get rich acceptable, another member asks, but working long days for the cause of health and spiritual enlightenment is evidence of brainwashing? These members say it hurts that a practice that has made such a difference in their lives is derided as a cult.

That’s not to say Dahn supporters haven’t taken some of the criticism to heart. Ari and a few other Boston-area Dahn instructors recently formed a board and are trying to get headquarters in Sedona to allow them to run the centers here as more egalitarian, member-driven enterprises, and to be more up-front about Dahn’s spiritual tilt when recruiting new members. The group has made other modifications in recent years. Masters are now called instructors. Lee no longer drives a Hummer. There is a professional customer service department attending to complaints. And a nonprofit arm of Dahn does community work.

Dahn members like Ellen Miller of Arlington say they couldn’t be happier. “I’ve never felt better in my life,” Miller says. “I feel 10 years younger. Since starting Dahn I haven’t been to a doctor, haven’t had a single cold. I’ve lost 25 pounds. All my friends say my eyes sparkle and that I look great. Cult-shmult. I am more well than any friend I have.”