Authors: Jenna Miscavige Hill
Beyond Belief (29 page)
When I look at this photograph of my husband, my son, my daughter, and me, it all seems worth it. Having a close-knit family is an experience I may have never gotten the chance to have if I had not left the Church.
P
EOPLE WERE STARTING TO NOTICE THAT
M
ARTINO AND
I
WERE
seeing a lot of each other. Some said that we were in love. Cece, who had once had a crush on him, told me that he had completely changed since we started spending time together, transforming from the kid who was always the jokester and pest to someone who was a real person with feelings and compassion for other people. Her comment made me happy.
Unfortunately, people at all levels began to notice, including adults. Martino was told that he should be spending less time with me, and more time working on clearing his misunderstood words. So we started working with each other only a few days per week. On those days, we often didn’t have to say anything to make it clear how much we missed each other. It was apparent just from how he would lean in close or wrap his legs around mine and covertly take my hand. I desperately wanted to return the gesture, but I knew it would mean serious trouble.
I found myself increasingly resentful about being in the CMO and having no control over my friendships or love life. I’d been dealing with rules, regulations, and requirements my entire life, but never had it been so difficult to obey them. Since becoming friends with Martino and his friends, I had gotten back into music, which I had always loved. I’d even started drawing in the evenings before I went to bed. I used to do this during the five minutes before lights went out at the Ranch or during meals, but in the years since then, all of the rules I’d encountered seemed to have stifled my creativity. The rules in Scientology all forced us to act as if we were the same: They didn’t encourage people to have their own thoughts, despite Scientology’s new slogan, “Think for yourself.” When I got back into drawing and music, I realized how much I missed them and how I hated being so confined; it felt natural to let my creative side show.
With Martino, I felt I didn’t need to have the responsibility of being a role model all the time. I just wanted freedom to be myself, but I knew how impossible that was. I became conflicted by the whole situation: on the one hand I wanted to spend as much time as I could with him; on the other I feared that our friendship was unsustainable. And I wasn’t the only one who saw the risk. Friends who saw us together would warn us under their breath, telling us to be careful.
I decided to write a letter to Aunt Shelly requesting a transfer back to the Ranch. In my petition, I didn’t say anything about Martino but made it clear that I wanted to rejoin the Cadet Org at the Ranch and finish school. I knew that asking to leave the CMO and the Sea Org to become a Cadet again was a big deal—if it happened. I’d be taking a big step backward in the eyes of the Church—but there was precedent for it. It had happened before. It all depended on how my aunt Shelly decided to apply the Church law to my situation. If my request was accepted, I would not see Martino again, but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about getting into trouble for so much as kissing someone who wasn’t technically a Sea Org member, which would be an out 2D and could land me on the RPF like my mom. If I wasn’t allowed to go back to the Ranch then maybe I could be with Martino, as well as my other friends, at the Flag Cadet Org. Both scenarios meant quitting the CMO and the Sea Org for the time being. The way I figured it, it couldn’t hurt to ask, because LRH policy stated that you weren’t allowed to get in trouble for writing a petition.
Sending the petition was bold, but I convinced myself it was the only way I could stay out of trouble and do the right thing. As it was, I was already dangerously close to crossing a line—in love with Martino, fighting hard against my teenage urges, and fearing I would lose. I was afraid that if things kept going the way they were, I would end up in an even worse situation. I was very torn, as was Martino, who was shocked that I’d written my aunt.
Confusing as my situation was, there was also turmoil at the base, which complicated everyone’s life even more. Every day there were demonstrators in front of the base, intensifying the air of paranoia that usually surrounded us.
The whole mess started when the church had been charged with two felony counts in the death of Lisa McPherson, a public Scientologist who had died on December 5, 1995, while under the care of church staff at the Flag Land Base. It had all begun with a minor car accident on November 18, 1995, in the Tampa/Clearwater area. Paramedics determined that Lisa, who was thirty-six at the time, was unharmed physically, but was exhibiting unusual behavior, like trying to take her clothes off. The medical team wanted to admit her to the hospital for psychiatric observation, but she refused on the grounds that she wanted the religious care and assistance of fellow Scientologists. People from the Church came to help her with her discharge and brought her back to Flag for rest and relaxation. Having been a Scientologist since the age of eighteen, she trusted them with her welfare. Instead, she was put on a so-called isolation watch, essentially 24/7 monitoring. This was despite the fact she had attested to a state of Clear a few months earlier.
The word was that she had been extremely mentally agitated during the last few months of her life. The coroner’s office had initially called the cause of death “dehydration.” A subsequent investigation led two criminal charges against the Church, “abuse and/or neglect of a disabled adult” and “practicing medicine without a license.” However, the Church fiercely denied any wrongdoing on its part.
The fact that Lisa had been under the care of Scientologists at the time of her death incited outrage. There were even accounts that my uncle had been directly involved in the auditing that led to her being declared Clear, so there was a stain on his name too. Lisa McPherson’s family filed a civil suit against the Church in 1997, alleging wrongful death.
The anti-Scientology sentiment really got fired up in 1999 when multimillionaire businessman Bob Minton created the Lisa McPherson Trust with the purpose of “exposing the deceptive and abusive practices of Scientology” and “helping those victimized by [the Church of Scientology].” It had a staff of five, four of whom were former Scientologists; the fifth was Minton.
To mark the four-year anniversary of Lisa’s death, Minton organized a huge picket line in Clearwater, demanding the Church be held accountable for Lisa’s death. Due to all the protesters on the base, we got regular briefings from the Office of Special Affairs explaining to us what was being done to handle the crowd of people who called themselves the Lisa McPherson Trust.
I knew a little bit about what was going on. Uncle Dave had briefed the whole Flag crew. He had sounded angry when he told us that the whole thing was happening because we, the base staff and those who had been responsible for delivering the services, had allowed someone (Lisa) who was a PTS, a “Potential Trouble Source,” access to Scientology, which was strictly forbidden. Supposedly, Lisa had been a PTS Type 3, which was essentially someone who was crazy and saw Martians, as defined by LRH.
After the briefing, I tried to talk to Aunt Shelly about the case, but she blew up at me. “Of all the things we could talk about, you have to ask me about
this
? Weren’t you at the briefing? Do you know that if the Church loses this case, we will have a criminal record? We will be the first church in history to have a criminal record,” she said angrily.
Later on after the criminal charges against the Church were dropped, it was explained to Scientologists by my Uncle Dave that a conviction in this case would have endangered the Church’s tax exempt status, and thus its hold on the copyrights themselves, which would have been catastrophic to the Church.
Office of Special Affairs (OSA), which handled external public relations for Church matters, said they were on top of the protesters and the situation. In reality, they were trying to get the protesters removed by having OSA members bait the protesters into acting out, at which point the OSA person would act as though they had been pushed or hit, when, in reality, they had not. They would then call the police and try to get the protest called off or have the protester arrested. OSA also put up mug shots of all of the protesters all over their neighborhoods, alleging that the protesters were sexual perverts and deadbeat dads. They did the same inside our buildings as well, posting the protesters’ photographs and lists of their alleged crimes in case anyone started wondering about them.
As if all that weren’t enough, OSA also warned us not to read the protesters’ signs, saying the signs might contain OT Level III material. They reminded us that if you were not at that level on The Bridge, having it revealed to you prematurely had serious consequences. After all, encountering knowledge of this magnitude out of sequence was said to cause serious harm or even death.
The Office of Special Affairs said the best way to keep us from inadvertently reading about levels that were beyond us was to put restrictions on travel. An order was passed that we were no longer allowed to walk between buildings because of the outrage. Instead, we had to take vans everywhere, even just across the street. The windows of the vans were covered with blurry contact paper, so that we couldn’t see what was happening on the streets or read any of the posters. Sometimes the protesters would try to film us as we were getting off the vans. It was unnerving to get out of a van or a bus and see cameras recording our every move. Sometimes, because of the filming, the buses would have to go around the block several times, causing us to miss breakfast. All this fear of the protesters made our lives even more claustrophobic, since we were only allowed to go outside to pass from the Church vans to the door of our destination.
The whole situation often put a monkey wrench in my already short time with Martino. CMO people were always waiting for the vans, so when I was in Martino’s vicinity, I had to act as though I didn’t know him. He didn’t seem to like it, but he’d understand soon why it had to be that way.
A
BOUT TWO WEEKS AFTER
I
HAD WRITTEN THE LETTER TO AUNT
Shelly, Tom, who was now the acting CMO, made an announcement at the lunch muster; much to my surprise, it was about me.
In front of the entire group, Tom announced the details of the petition that I sent to Aunt Shelly, informing everyone that I was requesting to return to the Cadet Org. For an instant, I felt I could hear a pin drop. Everyone was looking at me. Aside from Aunt Shelly, the only other person I’d told was my auditor, but I was supposed to tell her everything. I had also told Martino, but I knew he would never tell on me. Now, suddenly, my private life had been made public; even Julia, the last person I wanted to know something like this, now knew.
After muster, I went to see Tom, whom for the last three years I had had to call Mr. Devocht. At that moment, I wasn’t thinking of his status, though, I was fuming. I couldn’t believe that he would have gone out of his way not only to humiliate me but to do so over a petition, which was not supposed to get anyone in trouble. As I started to explain myself, Tom cut me off, frustrated by my lack of respect. He blew up and started yelling at me.
“Jenna, you are in big trouble,” he began. “You have been fraternizing with Cadets, and you just boss me around like you own this place. You are rude and disrespectful and you belong on the RPF. Now, get out of my office.”
With that, I was taken to my apartment at the Hacienda under house arrest. His rebuke was a slap in the face, and as I walked into my room, I was still reeling.
In truth, I probably should have seen my punishment coming, not just because of Martino, but because there had recently been a crackdown on girls in the CMO for flirting and related behaviors. It had all started with Olivia and Julia, of all people, the rule enforcers themselves. They had been temporarily working for my uncle, and even though they were already married, they got in trouble for flirting with some of his staff. Ironically, I am pretty sure the main reason both Olivia and Julia were chosen to work for my uncle was that they were beautiful, more so than anyone else in CMO. He often worked with attractive women.
Like Olivia and Julia, my roommate Mayra had also been in trouble because of a guy. She was a few years older than me and had been having a relationship with an RTC Rep with whom she had been in the Cadet Org. For years, they had talked about getting married, but it was forbidden because he was in RTC and she was in CMO. When their relationship came to light during a security check, she faced a harsh reprimand, too.
In response to these violations, the Church had started embarrassing people who were “out-ethics” at muster. The idea was to “put a head on a pike,” as LRH wrote in one of his ethics policies, so that it would discourage others from being out ethics as well. Though I’d watched it happen to all three of these girls, somehow I didn’t think it would happen to me so publicly.
Based on Tom’s words to me after the muster, he clearly knew I was doing something unethical. Despite the fact that there was precedent for people going back to the Cadet Org, Tom’s reaction made it clear that they weren’t going to consider it favorably; in fact, I would likely be punished for wanting to leave the Sea Org.
Still, I couldn’t believe that Tom was threatening RPF simply because I’d written a petition. After everything I’d witnessed with my mom and Justin, simply hearing the letters RPF triggered a visceral response. Whatever I was guilty of—whether it was my time with Martino or my desire to become a Cadet again—a punishment of RPF did not fit the crime. After all, I’d been trying to do the right thing.
Collapsing on my bed, I found Mayra in our room as she, too, was under house arrest. In addition to the relationship she’d been having, she’d even tried to take off a few days earlier, resulting in full-time watch and our rear sliding-glass door being bolted closed. She’d tried to blow the Sea Org and had been caught in the process. Escape attempts like hers were a rare thing and a big deal. The punishment was always swift and harsh. Because I hadn’t seen her trying to leave, I’d been considered suspect as well, though now I had bigger problems to worry about.