This post was originally published on The Underground Bunker.
Ah, America.
Despite all its flaws, there’s something endearing about Hollywood. The tacky gift shops, the sightseeing tour buses, the washed out celebrities, the faded hopes of the actors and filmmakers who moved here in order to chase their dreams.
It’s not a bitter resentment, but rather a sweet acceptance that this is the place where stars are made and as the saying goes, the people here “fake it ’til they make it.” They aren’t insincere or dishonest, but ambitious and hungry for their shot in the industry and a chance to make a life for themselves. But scratch the surface and you’ll see that Los Angeles is also a city of broken dreams. For every star made there are hundreds of disappointed adolescents who will simply move on to the next casting call. They’re taught in drama school to view rejection not as a “no,” but as a “no for now.”
For a large proportion of the population, the twilight years approach — and despite decades of rejection, as pensions and retirement plans start to become the topic of conversation, hope persists that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be the day.
Los Angeles is built on the American Dream, and has signs of both its merits and its consequences on display in abundance. The million-dollar mansions that overlook the city have infinity pools and defiant support beams that protrude from the rocky terrain below, a public statement that there’s no problem money can’t handle: even nature itself. Similarly, scruffy homeless people lie passed out on the sidewalk after shooting up in broad daylight; in this town, blacked out SUVs, Lamborghinis and Beverly Hills exist side by side with Skid Row, ICE raids, and soup kitchens.
Disappointment. Success. Failure. Hope. Resentment. Ambition — This is a place of extremes. And I can see why Scientology has such a presence here.
Compared to England, where the so-called Church’s headquarters is nestled deep in the Sussex countryside with modest signage making it almost easy to miss, there’s nothing subtle about Scientology in LA. Countless properties in and around Hollywood Boulevard sport Scientology symbols, and the PAC base, which stands for “Pacific Area Command,” spans an entire city block.
If the address on “L. Ron Hubbard Way” wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the buildings are painted in a prominent shade of blue reminiscent of a property that might be more appropriate for The Sims than reality. Huge signs scream ‘SCIENTOLOGY’ in a variety of kitsch fonts, usually illuminated by spotlights — not as a nod to the city’s significance in the world of film making, but because there’s no other way to illuminate such a large and garish sign. It’s in your face, but it has to be. Everything is in your face here.
At the Author Services, Inc (ASI) building a large banner hangs above the entrance promoting the “Writers and Illustrators of the Future” contest and outside the Information Center stands an A-Board inviting passersby to “discover (their) true potential.” More so than in England, this language speaks to its audience, but the message isn’t getting through.
Look carefully, and you’ll also see green stickers stuck to the lampposts warning people “Scientology trafficks and abuses children systematically.” And billboards promoting the Michael J. Rinder Aftermath Foundation that boldly state “Need help leaving Scientology? Call us.”
As soon as I arrived in LA, I was notified that Scientology’s attack wing, the Office of Special Affairs (OSA), were on high alert. The day after I announced my presence in town, I received an email from my travel agent: “I hope this message finds you well. I was speaking with you earlier about the itinerary confirmation you wanted to discuss, but it seems that our call was unexpectedly disconnected from your end. I attempted to reach you twice afterward, but unfortunately, I was unable to connect. To ensure we can assist you with the changes you wish to make, please feel free to reach out to us at your earliest convenience.”
I hadn’t made any calls to my travel agent, and I certainly hadn’t wanted to make any changes to my flights. When logging in to check with my airline, I was greeted with a warning that said “Access to this booking has now been prohibited due to too many unsuccessful attempts.”
When I showed up outside Scientology’s properties, Sea Org staff and members of the public were rushed off the streets and into the closest building by security guards. OSA knew I was in town — but not why.
Over the weekend I took a walk around the PAC base with former Ventura Mission staff member Tammy Synovec, who hasn’t heard from her daughter for almost a decade because of Scientology’s practice of disconnection. At first, we visited the Celebrity Centre where we saw signage making it clear our movements were being captured on camera. It was the first time Tammy had visited since she left the Church and there was no hesitation in her voice as she approached the intercom to tell them “it’s OK to say no to any reg cycle” (sales pitch) and “The Aftermath will help you leave both financially and logistically.”
On Monday I joined a group of live streamers — a mixture of ex-members and ‘never-ins’ determined to warn people of the dangers of Scientology outside their public outreach centre on Hollywood Boulevard. Dozens of tourists stopped to take pictures in the doorway, saying things like “wait, this is the place I’ve seen on TikTok!” and “This is it!! It’s a cult!” It’s the best thing that could have happened: Scientology has become a tourist attraction, not because people want to join, but because they’ve heard it’s a cult and they want to take part in calling out their abusive practices.
But perhaps most moving of all was a chance encounter I had with Joy Villa, who happened to be in LA at the same time for a film festival. We ended up going for dinner with her pastor and we were joined by Spanky Taylor, who told Joy about how she was pregnant while on the “Rehabilitation Project Force” (RPF) in LA — an inhumane program that left her malnourished, sleep deprived and desperate for medical care. Her son was born underweight at full term and doctors flagged concerns about their welfare, only to be batted away by Scientology representatives.
Joy burst in to tears. The waitress, who had come to clear our plates, took a mindful step back. “I’m just so sorry I was ever even a part of this group. I helped people get in to this thing” Joy sobbed.
Of course, it wasn’t Joy’s fault that Spanky had been harmed in Scientology decades earlier, but it demonstrates the guilt and the shame she understandably feels, having donated millions of dollars and once being at the forefront of the Church’s global propaganda machine, promoting the benefits of auditing and joining the Sea Org.
It’s a feeling we all share as ex-Scientologists. We thought we were helping, but in actual fact we were doing more harm than good. We were sucked in, lied to and deceived after being sold a false hope and sense of security.
For some, it has been possible to establish a successful career and a happy life post-Scientology, but the trauma associated with our time inside unites us all. I have been speaking out for two years now — and I am yet to meet an ex-Scientologist who was not abused in some way, shape, or form.
When I visited LA last year, I found myself the target of countless criticisms for not joining the LA protestors, or ‘TikTok crew’ as they are known. And posting pictures of various individuals I met with during this trip will undoubtedly ruffle a few feathers. But what I wish people could understand is that we are fighting an organisation UK High Court Judge Lord Justice Latey ruled in 1984 is a “dangerous, harmful organisation” that is “out to capture people, especially children and impressionable young people.” Yes, Scientology’s buildings in the UK were recognised as places of worship, but that 2013 Supreme Court judgement did not overturn Latey’s earlier assessment of Scientology’s practices — and its practices are universal.
In the US, Scientology’s 501(c)3 status means its ‘Fair Game’ harassment tactics and its continued abuse of critics and former members is subsidised by the taxpayer — and if that doesn’t anger you, it should.
The fight we are facing in the UK is different in many ways, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last week it’s that when we work together, we can apply the pressure on elected officials that is necessary for change to happen.
People are starting to wake up to the fact this isn’t just a crazy American cult. It’s an abusive, harmful organisation that was once found guilty of the largest infiltration of the US government in its history.
As I head back to the UK, I find myself with a renewed confidence that as a community, we really can work together and put an end to the abuse once and for all. Those protesting, myself included, are not doing so out of bitterness or revenge — but rather hope that things will change.
Scientology are betting on LA reaching its natural state of sweet acceptance, where locals know it’s weird but tolerate their existence, and we can’t afford to allow that to happen.
