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Scientology Head’s Father Was Spied On, Police Report Says

Scientology Head’s Father Was Spied On, Police Report Says

By Kim Christensen, Los Angeles Times (TNS)

For 18 months private detectives tracked every move made by the father of David Miscavige, leader of the Church of Scientology, as they eavesdropped, spied on his emails and planted a GPS unit on his car, according to police records.

The church paid the two detectives $10,000 a week through an intermediary, the records indicate, all because Miscavige feared that his father would divulge too much about the organization’s activities.

The episode, detailed in documents obtained by the Los Angeles Times, is the latest in a decades-long series of allegations that the church has intimidated, harassed, or abused current and former members, at times going to great lengths to dissuade them from discussing their experiences or knowledge of the secretive religion.

The surveillance of Ronald Miscavige Sr., a longtime Scientologist who had recently parted ways with the church, was described by Florida private eye Dwayne S. Powell, after he was arrested in July 2013 near Milwaukee with two rifles, four handguns, 2,000 rounds of ammunition, and a homemade silencer in his rented SUV.

When confronted by West Allis, Wis., police responding to a report of a suspicious man in the neighborhood, Powell said he was house-hunting, according to the documents.

“Do I have to give you my name?” he asked the officers. “What law did I break?”

Police placed Powell, now 43, under arrest on suspicion of obstruction and in his pockets found a folding knife, a flashlight, and his Florida driver’s license and private investigator credentials. His Ford Edge also contained two laptop computers, binoculars, a GPS tracking device, and a stun gun.

Powell initially declined to name his employer. But at the police station, he told Detective Nicholas Pye that he was hired by the Church of Scientology to conduct “full-time” surveillance of the elder Miscavige, now 79, who lived in a nearby town, the records state.

David Miscavige and the church deny any connection to Powell.

“Please be advised that Mr. Miscavige does not know Mr. Powell, has never heard of Mr. Powell, has never met Mr. Powell, has never spoken to Mr. Powell, never hired Mr. Powell, and never directed any investigations by Mr. Powell,” Michael Lee Hertzberg, Miscavige’s attorney, said in an email to The Times.

Gary Soter, an attorney for the church, said Scientology lawyers hire private investigators “in matters related to litigation” but he called the allegations involving David Miscavige “blatantly false.” He declined to answer questions about David Miscavige’s relationship with his father.

Once, while tailing Miscavige on a shopping trip, Powell and his partner watched him grasp his chest and slump over while loading his car. After his arrest, Powell told police he’d thought Miscavige was having a heart attack and might die. He said he phoned his intermediary for instructions.

Two minutes later a man who identified himself as David Miscavige called him back, according to records.

“David told him that if it was Ron’s time to die, to let him die and not intervene in any way,” the records state, noting that the apparent emergency passed “and nothing further happened.”

Miscavige’s lawyer, Hertzberg, did not specifically respond to The Times‘ question about the incident.

Scientology was founded in 1954 by L. Ron Hubbard, a science fiction writer who parlayed his self-help system, Dianetics, into a worldwide religion-without-a-deity. It has its own “study technology” developed by Hubbard, a quirky vocabulary, and long held secret story of Xenu, a soul-stealing galactic overlord from 75 million years ago.

The church teaches that spiritual freedom — the state of “clear” — can be reached through one-on-one counseling known as auditing, aided by a polygraph-like device called an “e-meter.” The sessions, along with extensive training courses, can cost Scientologists hundreds of thousands of dollars.

David Miscavige, 54, who spent his teenage years as an aide to Hubbard, has divided his time between the church’s international headquarters near Hemet in Riverside County, Calif., known as the Gold Base, and its facilities in Clearwater, Fla.

He rose to the head of Scientology after the founder’s death in 1986 amid a federal tax investigation that was later settled, resulting in the church’s tax-exempt status. As chairman of the board of the Religious Technology Center, which holds the lucrative rights to the Scientology and Dianetics trademarks, he is the church’s ultimate authority.

Ex-members, including four former top officials who told their stories to the St. Petersburg Times in 2009, have accused Miscavige of physical assaults and other violent behavior — all previously denied by Miscavige and the church.

Among other things that day in West Allis, Detective Pye quizzed Powell about the guns in his SUV.

“I asked Powell if he was hired as a hit man to kill Ron if the Church of Scientology ordered such action and he stated that he was not,” Pye wrote in his report.

The weapons were for “sport shooting,” Powell told Pye. He said his only mission was to keep a close watch on Ronald Miscavige, the records state.

“He explained that Ron and his younger wife, Becky, left the church and David is worried that they will divulge details about the church’s activities and that their job was to know who Ron talked to, emailed with, where he went, what he did, etc.,” Pye wrote.

Powell told police the church paid him through another Florida investigations company, Terry Roffler and Associates. Although he reported directly to that business — hourly, from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. — “the main client is a David Miscavige, who is the son of Ronald Miscavige,” the records note.

Roffler, reached by telephone, said he was “not too familiar” with the case and declined to discuss it.

In a brief telephone interview, Powell said he had let his investigator’s license expire and no longer worked for the church. He declined to comment further.

Ronald Miscavige Sr. also declined to comment, although he and his wife told police as recently as last September that they believed they were still being followed.

“They advised that Ronald’s son, David Miscavige, the leader of the Church of Scientology, is obviously having them watched because they left the church two years ago and David is afraid that Ronald will speak with the media about the negative inner workings of the church and David’s abuse of the members of the church,” a police report states.

In his July 2013 interview with police, Powell said he and a second investigator, his 21-year-old son Daniel, searched the elder Miscavige’s garbage, photographed him wherever he went, and tracked him with a GPS device attached to his car and linked to an iPad that read out his location, the documents state. Police found marks on the underside of the car that they concluded were made by the magnetic GPS device, the records say.

(c)2015 Los Angeles Times, Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC

Photo: Scientology Media via Flickr

Scientology Did It. How Do You Make Your Religion ‘Real’?

Scientology Did It. How Do You Make Your Religion ‘Real’?

Alex Gibney’s documentary Going Clear, which probes into the notoriously opaque and controversial Church of Scientology, aired on HBO Sunday night to an eruption of positive reviews and social media exultation.

In weighing the relative merits of the film and the assiduously researched book upon which it is based, one moment from the movie stands out for its cinematic impact: Scientology leader David Miscavige, standing alone in the center of a stage in the Los Angeles Sports Arena, before an audience of 10,000, exclaiming: “The war is over!” while fireworks explode all around him.

The “war” Miscavige refers to is the 26-year campaign waged by the church against the IRS, using private investigators to discredit the agency and inundating it with litigation. The aim and result of these efforts was to coerce the IRS into recognizing Scientology as a religion and therefore granting its several dozen entities tax-exempt status.

For nearly three decades, the IRS claimed that the church operated and behaved like a business. For any organization, such as a religious institution, to qualify for 501(c)3 status, its “net earnings may not inure to the benefit of any private individual,” a condition not exactly affirmed by the lavish lifestyle of Miscavige or the several highly valuable gifts that the church has bestowed upon its most prominent member, Tom Cruise. Compounded with the long, troubling list of allegations against the church, these facts have led many to suggest that Scientology is not only undeserving of tax exemption, but is simply not a real religion at all. Which only raises the question: When does a religion become “real”?

The First Amendment precludes the U.S. government from privileging any religion; there is no status the state is supposed to confer that validates a faith. Tokens of official recognition for a religion are somewhat scattershot. In 2007, the Department of Veterans’ Affairs began to allow the Wiccan pentacle symbol on veterans’ tombstones, after a 10-year dispute; states permit participants of any number of practices to officiate religious ceremonies that result in legally binding marriages. But tax-exempt status arguably has become the strongest government imprimatur of a religion’s legitimacy. The onus has fallen on the taxman to decide when a religion becomes, for lack of a better word, “real.” As Lawrence Wright, the author of Going Clear, put it in a recent interview with Salon, it’s somewhat incongruous that the IRS is the “only agency empowered to make this distinction,” since it’s “not exactly stocked full of theologians.”

But the 1993 granting of tax-exempt status solidified Scientology’s claim to legitimacy. The State Department had been mum on the issue of religious discrimination against Scientologists abroad, but once the IRS made its determination, that all changed. Beginning in 1993 and continuing into the most recent report, the department mentioned in its International Religious Freedom Report that German state and federal government agencies maintain policies that exclude and diminish the church and its members. The German government continues to maintain that Scientology is a commercial enterprise, not a religion, just as the U.S. did for nearly 30 years.

The IRS cannot make its determinations based on how silly a belief system may or may not be. The agency is given latitude to investigate the church’s assets and organizational structure, but interrogating the wisdom and logic of any faith or practice is outside its purview. In trying to establish whether or not a purported religion is a fake, it is unavailing to examine the ridiculousness of the doctrine. Of course, this doesn’t mean there aren’t scams.

In an especially colorful recent example of fraud, on March 10 a church in Panama City, FL, called The Life Center: A Spiritual Community had its tax-exempt status revoked after officials discovered the church was operating a nightclub called Amnesia: The Tabernacle on the premises. The nominal church, situated in a tax-exempt building, hosted all-night lingerie parties and an event called “Wet ‘n Wild,” which was advertised as “white water meets Tabernacle PCB with a little twerkin’,” according to reporting by the Panama City News Herald. Would-be religions are rarely so unequivocally false. (It’s possible — though admittedly highly dubious — that the church might have squeaked by, had Amnesia claimed nightly raves were part of its sacred practice.)

While tax-exempt status demonstrates government recognition, a religious organization that doesn’t have it is by no means precluded from receiving the same protections and rights granted to those that do. The Church of Satan is not tax-exempt as a matter of preference (so they claim), choosing instead to adhere to founder Anton LaVey’s conviction that all churches should be taxed to “remove the government sanction of religion,” a position shared by other LaVey-influenced sects. (At least one Satanist sect, Satan’s Chapel, is tax-exempt.)

Yet regardless of tax-exempt status, the rights of several different sects of Satanism to practice have been recognized in a wide swath of court decisions. For instance, in 2014, the Satanic Temple (yet another group) won the right to erect a statue of Baphomet on Oklahoma state grounds after a Christian group was allowed to place a Ten Commandments monument in front of the state capitol building.

As for Scientology, the film won’t necessarily enlighten anyone who has read Wright’s book, or any of the other journalistic exposés of the last decade or so. If you need a refresher on Scientology’s risible theology, the South Park episode “Trapped In The Closet” offers an arguably more cogent, and certainly more entertaining, explanation. But Gibney’s documentary draws its considerable power from the personal narratives of several apostates, some of whom worked in the church’s highest echelons, whose disclosures form the film’s backbone.

And in another neat trick that only a movie can pull off, Gibney juxtaposes archive footage of church executives denying the accusations leveled at Scientology with new interviews of those same former executives, contrite and owning up to the church’s deceptive practices. The meaning is clear: Whatever Scientology is, it is not what it claims to be.

Photo courtesy of HBO

TV Review: HBO’s ‘Going Clear’ Details Scientology’s Theater Of The Surreal

TV Review: HBO’s ‘Going Clear’ Details Scientology’s Theater Of The Surreal

By Sara Smith, The Kansas City Star (TNS)

Scientology won’t be destroyed when Going Clear, filmmaker Alex Gibney’s documentary, airs on Sunday.

Unlike another recent HBO documentary project, The Jinx, Going Clear probably won’t lead to the high-profile arrest of an eccentric millionaire.

And that’s too bad.

The movie version of Going Clear does manage to distill Scientology — the celebrity-infused, money-driven spiritual movement founded by L. Ron Hubbard in 1950 — down to its most objectionable practices. Aided by its source material (New Yorker writer Lawrence Wright’s 2011 article and 2013 book), Gibney’s film explains a bit, too, about the movement’s appeal, mostly by speaking with former believers.

Why would these seemingly thoughtful, intelligent people sign a billion-year contract to work for pennies a day? Why would these clear-eyed Americans cut off their families, divorce their spouses, and leave their children based on the work of a science fiction novelist?

The answer rests with “auditing,” the therapy-esque sessions Scientologists undergo with the assistance of another church member and a device called an E-meter, sometimes referred to as “one-third of a lie detector test.”

It starts out as a glorified self-help program, designed to make recruits more effective communicators and creators. Auditors ask questions like, “Can you remember a time when your mother denied you love?”

Auditing lets Scientologists work through troublesome memories (some from past lives) until they aren’t sending negative energy through “cans” of the E-meter. Meanwhile, it’s all being recorded and written down, so that every Scientologist has a collection of files in what’s called a “preclear folder.” If you try to leave the church, those files can be used against you.

The documentary leaves out some of the church leadership’s more frightening misdeeds detailed in its source material, but Gibney nonetheless talks to so many expats that Going Clear never has time to go very deep with anyone.

The stories of ex-Scientologists, like the memories of survivors of many other insular sects, oscillate between infuriating and terrifying. And what Hubbard himself called Scientology’s “space opera” mythology of “Operating Thetans” pushes its reputation far into the most fantastical corners of recent history.

In one of the most gripping scenes in Wright’s book, former Scientologist and Oscar-winning director Paul Haggis recalls receiving the secretive “Operating Thetan III” documents, kept in a locked briefcase that was lashed to his arm. Like every other Scientologist at this rung on Hubbard’s ladder of enlightenment, he had invested years and many thousands of dollars before he was deemed ready for OT III.

Inside a locked study room, he opened a manila envelope and read the handful of pages, scrawled in Hubbard’s own hand.

This is the story Hubbard called “The Wall of Fire,” the tale of Galactic Confederacy overlord Xenu; of interstellar DC-8s dropping frozen people into Earth’s volcanoes; of hydrogen bombs and alien souls that cling to humans and harm us.

After a few minutes, Haggis returned to the supervisor.

“I don’t understand,” Haggis said.

“Do you know the words?”

“I know the words, I just don’t understand.”

“Go back and read it again.” In a moment, he returned. “Is this a metaphor?” he asked.

“No,” the supervisor responded. “It is what it is.”

Haggis’ journey into and out of Scientology could have made a fascinating film by itself, and he’s just one of a dozen articulate talking heads.

Having too much good material to work with is a problem Gibney has faced before: In Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God, he tackled the Roman Catholic Church’s culpability in child sex abuse scandals.

But Mea Maxima Culpa didn’t have the candid perspectives that Going Clear gets from the likes of former top lieutenants like Marty Rathbun, who performed the extensive auditing that put Scientology poster boy Tom Cruise near the top OT levels.

Men and women who escaped from the highest levels of Scientology under current church leader David Miscavige describe bloody beatings, many delivered directly by the leader. Multiple witnesses have described Miscavige, who barely clears 5 feet, flying across a conference table during meetings to strangle Scientology department heads in their seats.

Some ex-church members, whose problem is more with Miscavige than Scientology itself, are taking what they learned and offering auditing outside the church’s purview. This makes them what the church calls “squirrels.”

Squads of Scientologists wearing cameras on their heads harass these “squirrels,” banging on their doors and wandering their neighborhoods in hats and T-shirts reading “SQUIRREL BUSTERS!”

Back at Scientology headquarters, Miscavige sometimes makes people salute his beagles, who wear sweaters with naval insignias. It’s that kind of absurdity that nearly obscures the horror of what can happen to the church’s inner circle.

In one instance, high-ranking church members were forced into an abusive marathon of musical chairs while Queen’s greatest hits blasted. Some call it “The Bohemian Rhapsody Incident.”

Visually, Going Clear relies too often on the quiet imagery of a needle bouncing around an E-meter. But that is probably because Scientologists are not exactly forthcoming with footage.

Clips of some of their training videos do make it in, for yet more surrealist theater. The vertically challenged Miscavige is front and center in Scientology’s “We Stand Tall” music video, part of the celebration of victory over the IRS in 1993.

That’s right: Scientology is recognized by the United States as a legitimate religion, with all the First Amendment freedoms and financial benefits that status affords.

Snapshots of the awkward high-fiving between Scientology’s scoffing henchmen and the gray-suited IRS negotiators who settled with the church for $12 million are some of the most enraging images in Going Clear.

Though it’s admirably light on salacious celebrity revelations, Going Clear alleges that Miscavige would monitor Cruise’s auditing sessions and mock the actor’s sex life. (Miscavige was best man at Cruise’s wedding to Katie Holmes.)

Ex-leaders also claim that John Travolta’s preclear folder was used to threaten him when he wanted to leave the church.

But it’s Miscavige at the center of Going Clear, Miscavige who made the marketing video of Cruise cackling in a black turtleneck, Miscavige who approved the daily footage from the set of Battlefield Earth, Travolta’s Hubbard-based sci-fi flick.

Miscavige’s vaguely named Freedom Magazine has been busy during the run-up to Going Clear. Every ex-Scientologist featured in the film has his or her own little hit piece on Freedom‘s website, with titles like “Sara Goldberg: Crocodile Liar” and “Marc Headley: The Soulless Sellout.”

After years of targeting its external enemies and extorting its own members, the organization excels at smearing people.

But presenting itself in the public eye as a legitimate religion instead of an unhinged cult of greed? That’s another story, and it’s just going to get harder after Going Clear.

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WHERE TO WATCH
Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief premieres at 8 p.m. Eastern Sunday on HBO
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SCIENTOLOGY 101

Clear: A “highly desirable state” in which a person, through auditing, gets rid of all the interference from troubling memories buried in the subconscious, or “reactive mind.”

RPF: Short for Rehabilitation Project Force. Scientologists describe it as a “second chance” program that offers “redemption rather than dismissal” for members deemed to have committed serious offenses. Those in RPF receive intense religious counseling and must perform manual labor. The program reportedly can last months or even years.

Sea Org: Short for Sea Organization, a religious order for those who dedicate their lives to the service of Scientology. Paid $75 a week plus meals, lodging and medical care, members sign a 1-billion-year contract, to symbolize their commitment to serve in this life and the next ones. The Sea Org was developed when Scientology was largely based on ships.

Suppressive person, or SP: A Scientologist who “works to upset, continuously undermine, spread bad news and denigrate other people and their activities.” Often applied to a member who speaks ill of the church. An SP cannot have contact with other Scientologists, even family.

Auditing: “Helps an individual look at his own existence and improves his ability to confront what he is and where he is.” The auditor asks questions and uses a device called an E-meter that is said to measure the person’s reaction, allowing the auditor to locate areas of distress.

Fair Game: A Hubbard policy that says church enemies “may be deprived of property or injured by any means by any Scientologist without any discipline of the Scientologist” and that the person “may be tricked, sued or lied to or destroyed.” Hubbard canceled the policy in 1968, but critics say the church still uses it to justify harassment of opponents.

Introspection Rundown: A Scientology procedure Hubbard devised to calm a person in the throes of psychosis. The person is isolated and not spoken to except for frequent auditing.
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(c)2015 The Kansas City Star (Kansas City, Mo.), Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC

Photo courtesy of HBO