After Scientology’s 9-11 fakery, a Sea Org slave makes his dicey run for freedom

Over at the Daily Beast today we have a story looking back at Scientology’s reaction to the 9-11 attacks in New York for the 20th anniversary of that infamous day. In the story, we featured Bruce Hines, who was actually on the roof of the New York org that morning when the attacks began. His work at Ground Zero aiding first responders had a profound effect on him and led him, two years later, to ditch Scientology altogether. But making that decision was just the beginning of an amazing story, and he tells it himself in this gripping narrative.

 
It started on the 19th of April, 2003. I was living in Manhattan in an apartment just off 51st and 9th. The short version is that I walked out of that apartment carrying just a few personal belongings, walked up to Port Authority on 42nd Street (went in a back entrance), travelled by bus to Denver, and started a new life.

OK, so how do I start filling in some of the details? Well, that day was a Saturday. I had the morning until noon to get breakfast, clean the apartment, wash my clothes at a nearby laundromat, maybe buy some shampoo or toothpaste, maybe get a haircut, and get ready for work. The rest of the week, and every week, I had to work from 8:30 A.M. until about 11:00 P.M., Sunday through Friday, with 30 minutes for lunch and 30 minutes for dinner. Meals were eaten in the communal mess hall, located in a converted office building on 48th between 8th and 9th Avenues.

You see, I was in a cult. What’s more, I was a member of the innermost part of the cult, made up of those most dedicated to the cause. Those members joined this inner organization, called the Sea Org, for one billion years. We even had to sign a contract to that effect. Our beliefs included the idea that we would be born again in a new body in our next life, and so on lifetime after lifetime, and in all those future lives we would remain Sea Org members. The founder of this cult said that it would take about a billion years for us to carry out our mission – to clear, or de-aberrate, this sector of the galaxy. We would start with Earth and then move on to other planets. Sounds reasonable, right?

Planet Earth was a hard one to have to start with. It was a prison and a dumping ground for other space civilizations. Almost all the people on Earth did not remember that they originally had lived in other parts of the universe. They had been given mental implants to make them forget. So our world was thought to have the dregs of the cosmos as its inhabitants, making the place especially crazy. We Sea Org members really had our work cut out for us. Because of the enormity of our task, we were expected to work very hard for very long hours with no time off. After all, the salvation of Earth depended on us and us alone.

For this reason, we were only given a few hours every Saturday morning to take care of our “personal hygiene.” The people I worked with looked forward to this interlude. The rest of the time one was nearly constantly around other Sea Org members. We had all been indoctrinated to keep an eye on each other and make written reports if any failings were observed in another member. One couldn’t complain or protest or express disagreements without being dealt with by the Ethics Department. As a result, everyone was careful to try to follow the extensive policies that had been laid out. These rules defined our existence. As examples, we all lived communally. No one had their own apartment or house. Married couples got a small bedroom.

Single people lived in dorms. We all wore uniforms, much like the military. After every meal, including breakfast, a muster was held, in which we stood at attention in lines and every member of the organization, the continental headquarters of the Church of Scientology for the eastern half of the U.S., was accounted for.

The one exception was Saturday morning. There was no muster after breakfast on that day. The next muster was after lunch. We could spend time on our own. If I was going to start a new life, before noon on that day was the best time to do so. I had been in the Sea Org for 24 years at that point. I was a little short on my billion. But I felt a strong need to get away, for reasons too involved to get into here. The only option, as I saw it, was to sneak away. That was not a decision that someone in my position could make lightly. It meant that every person I knew who was a Scientologist would disconnect from me – i.e. there would be no communication of any kind with them. That included my nieces and their families, my brother-in-law, my ex-wife who was the mother of my son, and many good friends of many years. It meant that I would be declared to be a “suppressive person,” someone totally anathema to all Scientologists in good standing. Because I had been immersed in the cult for so long, I barely had any relationship at all to the rest of my family nor to my friends from earlier. I didn’t know how much support I’d get from them in the outside world. On top of that, I had no credit card, no bank account, and only about $300 in cash that I had managed to save. I didn’t have many clothes that weren’t part of a Sea Org uniform. I didn’t have a work resume as I hadn’t held a real job in nearly 25 years. Employment prospects seemed slim at best. Plus, I would be giving away any possibility for me to achieve eternal salvation, only available to those who faithfully followed the practices of that cult.

One could wonder why I thought I should sneak away. Fair question. I could just go to my boss and say, “I quit; I’ll be seeking employment elsewhere.” Right? No. It was a serious offense to tell anyone in the organization, except the Master-at-Arms or a few other designated people, that one wanted to leave. In my case, even if I told the right people, I would have been sent back to Los Angeles, incarcerated, and made to perform manual labor for some months while receiving hours of interrogation sessions every day. No, I am not exaggerating. If I were to openly, within view of any other members, pack my things and walk out, many people in the organization would be alerted and there would be a concerted effort to keep me from leaving. I had seen things like that many times over the years. Someone trying to leave would be surrounded, reasoned with, cajoled, led back inside, threatened with excommunication, and sometimes physically restrained. The only people who had successfully gotten away that I was aware of in my 24 years had escaped secretly.

That Saturday morning I was in the apartment where I lived, having just done my laundry. It was about 11:30. It was a small Manhattan apartment on the third floor. It was narrow and long in comparison. Inside the one and only door there was a short hallway with a bathroom on the left. Continuing into the apartment, there was a kitchen area, then a small living room, and then two tiny bedrooms in the back. The doors to the bedrooms opened directly into the living room. I’d estimate the width of the apartment to be about 12 feet and the depth a little over 30 feet. In the living room there were two sets of three-high bunk beds, a chest of drawers, and a small wardrobe. Six guys slept in those beds and had very little space for their clothes – each person got a few inches to hang things in the wardrobe and a single drawer in the dresser. A married couple lived in each of the two bedrooms. That adds up to ten people living in that apartment. Since we all spent most of our time working, the apartment was mainly for sleeping and showering.

That morning all the people who lived there were coming and going – to a nearby store or laundromat or deli or barber. In amongst this activity I had to pack the things I wanted to take with me without it being noticed. I didn’t have a suitcase. I had only a small backpack and a couple of laundry bags. I had to leave stuff behind that I would have liked to keep, such as a collection of photographs that went back at least 35 years. These were in a box that would have been too bulky and heavy. I was acting like I was putting my clothes away, making my bed, rearranging the drawer, and the like, while slipping some things into the bags as if storing them. I had already thought out what I would be taking with me. Rather suddenly I had an opportunity. By chance, for a brief time, only I and my good friend Hiro were in the apartment. He had put his clean laundry away. He laid down on his bed and dozed off. If I was going to go, I had to go right then. I honestly didn’t know if I would get the chance that morning. I packed the last things, put on the backpack, picked up the laundry bags, and headed towards the door.

From that point on, if one of the other Sea Org members had seen me, it would have been obvious to them what I was doing. I proceeded out the door, fingers crossed, hoping that I did not encounter someone coming in. Outside the door was a small corridor and an elevator. Luckily no one was out there. I knew I couldn’t risk taking the elevator, so I went down the stairs. I reached the ground floor and looked out the small window in the door to the stairwell.

The lobby was empty. Wasting no time, I went across to the door to the outside, again in the hope that I wouldn’t run into someone coming in or out on the sidewalk. I got out the door and immediately headed towards 10th Avenue. My Sea Org mates would be coming back to the apartment from 9th, not 10th, which was much less busy and didn’t have the places where we would go for our Saturday-morning activities.

I hadn’t seen anyone. I walked as fast as I could up 51st Street to 10th and then turned left towards Port Authority. So far so good. I kept going. It was a good mile to where I was walking and the things I was carrying began to feel heavy. I turned left onto 42nd, continued east to 9th and went in an entrance on the west end of Port Authority. That side of the building would be less busy, I figured. There was generally a lot of foot traffic near the intersection of 8th and 42nd, bordering the northeast corner of the building. So I avoided that area where there was a greater likelihood of running into another Sea Org member, especially on a Saturday morning when they were out taking care of their weekly personal tasks, or worse, if they were already out looking for me.

My immediate goal was to buy a bus ticket and get out of there as soon as possible. Port Authority is a big place. I looked around and found a row of counters where one got tickets. It had ropes arranged so a line of people snaked through to get up to the front, where there were several people at their respective stations servicing the customers. Behind the counters was a large, illuminated board that listed departure times and gate numbers for buses going to many places in the New York area and beyond. I studied that board, while feeling very nervous that a group of my co-workers might come into that area and see me. The queue of people seemed to crawl along.

I decided that I would by a ticket to Philadelphia. I had never been there nor did I know anyone there. But it was relatively far from the city. And I could afford the price of the ticket out of the money I was carrying. That bus would be departing in about a quarter of an hour, which was a key factor in my decision. I finally got up to the counter and bought my ticket, all the while constantly looking around for anyone familiar.

Next, I had to find the gate from which the bus would be leaving. Luckily it was relatively close to the ticket counters, so I didn’t have to walk around the bus station very much. I took my place in another line of people waiting to board that bus. The line was inside the terminal, visible to people who could have been looking for me. By this time it was nearing 1:00 P.M. and my absence from the after-lunch muster must have been noted. I was ardently wishing for someone to open the door so we could go out and get on the bus.

In earlier years at other Scientology facilities, I had observed how a staff member going missing was treated as a kind of emergency. Many people would get involved in trying to find the missing person and bringing them back. Some of them would check nearby bus stops and bus stations. Some would go to where the absent person lived (which in their parlance was called “berthing”). Usually there was someone within the organization who was a registered travel agent and could therefore learn the names of people who had purchased plane tickets. Others would walk or drive up and down streets. I stood there uneasily.

At long last the door out to the bus opened and the passengers started filing out. I felt some relief when I finally boarded and found a seat, near the back and on the side opposite to the door. But I still had visions of some other staff member or members bursting onto the bus and getting me to get off and go back with them to the Sea Org facility. I knew of an instance where a person who was trying to leave the organization was sitting on an airplane waiting to fly off somewhere when another staff member, who had bought their own ticket for that flight (paid for by the organization), came onto the plane and convinced the one who wanted to get away to not leave. They got off the plane and the wayward person was taken back for “handling.” I don’t know if I ever felt the elation that I felt when the bus driver finally closed the door and pulled away.

Now, granted, looking back, I did not have to make such a big deal about all that. If someone had approached me on the street or inside the bus terminal, I could have, for example, simply told them to leave me alone and move away or I would start yelling, or something. But, as I said earlier, this was a cult. Thought-reform is a real thing. I did not know that then, but I do know that now. I had been through years of indoctrination and manipulation to condition me against any idea of leaving the organization. On that Saturday morning my state of mind was not exactly rational. But some urge within me to get away was stronger than a whole slew of reasons why I should stay.

I spent the next two days and nights riding on a bus or waiting to transfer buses in stations along the way. Initially I still had no final destination in mind. That first bus pulled into a station in downtown Philadelphia. I stepped out into a sunny afternoon, feeling relieved and maybe a bit disoriented. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was hungry. There was a place nearby where I treated myself to a Philly Cheesesteak. I had never had one before, and it was delicious.

I had to figure out what I would do next. My options were limited by the little money that I had, all of which was in my pocket. Philadelphia in that area was much nicer than I expected. But I had no reason to stay in that city, which ruled out finding somewhere to spend the night. I found a pay phone, called an airline, and quickly realized that taking a flight someplace was out of the question. All I could think of was getting on another bus. But where to? Denver seemed to offer the most possibilities. My brother, the only surviving member of my family, lived there. He was a successful doctor. I had visited him and his family two years earlier for a few days and re-established, to a degree, my relationship with him, which had been more or less ruined prior to that. Life in a cult that did not value family, together with very long work hours and no time off, had resulted in me basically ignoring my family. Another reason for choosing Denver is that I had grown up there and had some old friends who still lived in the area, though I hadn’t spoken to them in a long time either. It was a familiar place to me. I had the idea that I could move up into the mountains, where I would be far from the reaches of Scientology, and find a simple job.

I bought another bus ticket to Denver and set off on that leg of the journey. A cross-country bus trip is pretty tedious and boring. From time to time, I think every few hours, we would stop at a place where we could get some food, use the restroom, and stretch our legs. I was trying to be careful about how much I spent, as I had by then, as I remember, only a bit over a hundred dollars to my name. At one point during the night, I think it was somewhere in rural Pennsylvania, our bus broke down. We had to wait for another bus to come pick us up. That sucked.

Sometime Sunday morning, or early afternoon, I’m not sure, we arrived at a large bus station in Chicago. There we transferred to a different bus with some waiting time in between. Along the way I had gotten into a conversation with a man sitting next to me. He was friendly and complained about how bad the traffic had gotten in Denver in recent years. He had a cell phone. I knew little about cell phones. I had never owned one. I had used one that belonged to the organization in New York, for official business, a few times. I was quite unfamiliar with how to use one, and knew nothing about having to buy cell phone plans with limits on usage and all that. But in my wallet was a small scrap of paper with a phone number on it. It belonged to a guy named Hank, whom I had known since the third grade. When growing up, he lived three houses away, we went all through school together, and he was my roommate during our freshman year of college. While I was in the cult we exchanged letters every year or two.

Somehow I had hung on to this phone number that he had given me at some point. Sitting there in the Chicago bus station, I asked the man with the cell phone if I could use it to make a call. With what I know now, that was a very inappropriate thing to ask of him. But he was generous enough to let me try to phone Hank. For all I know, I could have been using his last minutes. I asked him to show me how I could place a call. I really had no clue what all those buttons did. It seemed that the microphone part should be closer to my mouth. I dialed, waited, and by some miracle Hank answered. He must have been pretty puzzled. He acted like it was a normal conversation though. I explained that I was in a bus station in Chicago and would be arriving in Denver the next day (Monday). I had left Denver 25 years earlier and had had very little contact with him since then. He knew that I had been a full-blown cult member. I don’t know what was going through his mind.

He was very gracious. I didn’t know exactly where in Denver the bus was headed. We decided I would most likely be arriving at the Greyhound station downtown. As luck would have it, Hank was working downtown at that time. He explained how I should walk to 16th Street, which had a free bus shuttle that travelled up and down. I should take the shuttle up to Broadway as he worked near there. We would meet outside a particular building. I handed the cell phone back to my fellow bus traveller, feeling relieved and hopeful. I hadn’t had any other plan. Onward drove my next bus from Chicago. Iowa and Nebraska seemed to take forever. That same bus was going all the way to Denver, via Cheyenne, Wyoming, I think it was. I arrived in Denver, but without my bags. On those buses, luggage is placed in compartments underneath the passenger compartment. When the earlier bus broke down, we were told that our bags would be transferred to the replacement bus. Somehow my backpack and two laundry bags didn’t make it. A couple of days after my arrival, my bags arrived to the bus station in Denver where I could go pick them up. When I met Hank I had only the clothes I was wearing. That was on the 21st of April. Luckily, the weather was mild.

Hank drove me to his home and let me stay there. He lived in a three-bedroom house in southwest Denver. He had gotten divorced and was living there by himself. He was very generous. He fed me meals, took me out to eat, showed me how I could use his computer to look for jobs, let me drive an old Jeep that he was no longer driving himself, and showed me around Denver. It had changed quite a bit over the years.

I had my brother’s phone number but I didn’t call him. I knew that he would be getting calls from people in the Scientology organization asking if he had heard from me. I didn’t want him to be bothered by their efforts to track me down. I was afraid that someone might show up at his house or something. I was in Denver about a month before I contacted my brother.

During that week, Hank went to work in the day time and I looked for a job. I used his old Mac computer as best I could, and looked in the Denver Post want ads. I wasn’t sure where I would be living. After a couple of days I suggested to Hank that maybe I could just live in his house. From my point of view at the time, he had plenty of room, lived there by himself, and maybe would like some company. Hank immediately shot that idea down. In retrospect, it wasn’t a good idea for me to invite myself like that. I was fresh out of life in a cult, where everything was communal. All meals were served buffet style in large mess halls. I had slept in dorms or in a small room with my ex-wife. There had been many times when I slept on a floor or in someone else’s bunk. The times when I had been all by myself had been very rare. I did not have much sense of privacy or personal space. Clearly if Hank had wanted a roommate, it would have been up to him to originate that. This was one of many examples where my way of thinking did not jibe with the real world.

I inquired about several job offerings. I even had a couple of interviews, to which I drove in Hank’s old Jeep. One of these interviews was for a groundskeeper at an apartment complex in a suburb of Denver. I went in, filled out an application, and then was given a written examination. While this came as a total surprise, fortunately in school I had been a good test-taker. Plus, one thing that I had gained from my time in the Sea Org was a rudimentary knowledge about various construction trades. This experience was from some years of having to do manual labor as a kind of punishment for perceived wrongs. I had also worked for a while as an electrician prior to joining the Sea Org. The manager of the apartment complex was so impressed with the results of my exam that she hired me on the spot.

Wow! I was thrilled. While the pay for that job was not great, it included a free apartment for as long as I worked there. The salary was still way, way more than I had made in my life. I did not need a car to get to work. There was a shopping center across the street that had a bank, a supermarket, and any other stores I might need. That job was the solution to all my problems at the time. What incredible luck!

Good ol’ Hank lent me a bed and a few other pieces of furniture, bought me some dishes and things to cook with, got some other items I would be needing to get started, and helped me move in. I am forever grateful for his generosity. I paid him back as soon as I could after my first couple of pay checks. I occupied the apartment over that weekend, a week after leaving New York City, and started work the following Monday.

I sat in my new apartment and couldn’t believe it. It was like a palace to me. I had it all to myself. It had a bedroom with a large closet, a living room with a dining area, a kitchen with a refrigerator, a stove with an oven, a built-in dishwasher, and lots of drawers and cabinets. It was bigger than the apartment that I shared with nine other people in New York. It had sliding glass doors to a patio that looked out onto a lawn with trees and shrubbery. The apartment complex was pretty nicely landscaped with lots of grassy areas, trees, and gardens. My job would include taking care of those areas.

I am still amazed at my good fortune. I truly was on my way to a new life.

— Bruce Hines

 
——————–

Sign up for a daily email when we post a new story on Scientology.

Did you know you can get an email every morning when we post our daily Scientology story? We know some of the folks who come to the Underground Bunker aren’t here to talk about the politics of the day, and that’s why we created a daily politics feature over at our other blog, The Lowdown, and we ask readers to take their political discussions over there. And if you drop us a line at tonyo94 AT gmail, we’ll put you on the list so you get a morning reminder that a new Scientology story has been posted — and only for our Scientology stories.

 
——————–

Source Code

“You’ll find the artists and musicians of this particular planet always have some schnook alongside of them to cave them in. They always marry the wrong girl, you know, and get the wrong agent, and, because they’re creating. The industrialist, the manufacturer, that sort of thing, these boys, it’s not because of any deep-seated communist plot, it’s just they are in trouble, that’s all. They haven’t got enough force to protect their own creativeness, and as a result, why, people attack them. Elementary. Basic answer on the whole track, if you had never had anybody create anything, you would have no trouble. Nothing had ever been created, why, of course you wouldn’t have any universe to be in trouble with. This is all very elementary.” — L. Ron Hubbard, September 10, 1963

Avast, Ye Mateys

“Did you notice ashore how the native pesetas have inflated??? Wow. We better start getting our stats up. World inflation is ZOOMING. That would eat up all our reserves in a minute. So Hi Ho for the open sea. Farewell and adieu to you Spanish ladies. Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain. Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England. But we hope in a short time to see you again.” — The Commodore, September 10, 1969

 
——————–

Overheard in the FreeZone

“I say LRH had to return like he said he would and he had to create a totally different beingness in order to understand and communicate with the newest most severe levels of degraded beings here on Earth. I myself know: I was a former criminal and even a psych on my track, having done so I could penetrate their veils and then break their spells on others. One never knows all unless one experiences all.”

 
——————–

Past is Prologue

1998: The St. Petersburg Times reported that Scientology is opening a new school in Clearwater, the Clearwater Academy. “A new private school using educational concepts promoted by Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard is scheduled to open today downtown. Clearwater Academy International, at Drew Street and Myrtle Avenue, will have an enrollment of 120 students from pre-kindergarten through the 12th grade, said executive director Pam Chipman. A new $1.5-million facility now holds the combined enrollment and resources of three smaller schools that merged last year — A to Be School, Jefferson Academy and Renaissance Academy. About 150 people attended the event, including several top officials from the Church of Scientology, Clearwater’s Assistant City Manager Bob Keller, city Public Works Administrator Rich Baier and Nancy Cartwright. The annual tuition at Clearwater Academy is $7,800. School is in session year-round from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. each weekday, except for 6 weeks of off time sprinkled throughout each year.”

 
——————–

Random Howdy

“After all these years a Scientologist is trying to dox me? I gave vaLLarrr more than enough clues to dox me but OSA was too incompetent to pick up on it. Actually it’s probably just Flunk looking for revenge.”

 
——————–

Full Court Press: What we’re watching at the Underground Bunker

Criminal prosecutions:
— Danny Masterson charged for raping three women: Next hearing set for November 10. Trial tentatively scheduled for February.
— Jay and Jeff Spina, Medicare fraud: Jay sentenced to 9 years in prison. Jeff’s sentencing to be scheduled.
— Hanan and Rizza Islam and other family members, Medi-Cal fraud: Pretrial conference October 7 in Los Angeles
— David Gentile, GPB Capital, fraud: Next pretrial conference set for November 19.

Civil litigation:
— Luis and Rocio Garcia v. Scientology: Oral arguments were heard on July 30, 2020 at the Eleventh Circuit
— Valerie Haney v. Scientology: Forced to ‘religious arbitration.’ Petition to US Supreme Court submitted on May 26. Scientology responded on June 25.
— Chrissie Bixler et al. v. Scientology and Danny Masterson: California Supreme Court granted review on May 26 and asked the Second Appellate Division to direct Judge Steven Kleifield to show cause why he granted Scientology’s motion for arbitration. Oral arguments scheduled for Oct 5.
— Matt and Kathy Feschbach tax debt: Eleventh Circuit ruled on Sept 9 that Feshbachs can’t discharge IRS debt in bankruptcy. Dec 17: Feshbachs sign court judgment obliging them to pay entire $3.674 million tax debt, plus interest from Nov 19.
— Brian Statler Sr v. City of Inglewood: Third amended complaint filed, trial set for Nov 9, 2021.
— Author Steve Cannane defamation trial: Trial concluded, Cannane victorious, awarded court costs. Case appealed on Dec 23. Appeal hearing held Aug 23-27.

Concluded litigation:
— Dennis Nobbe, Medicare fraud, PPP loan fraud: Charged July 29. Bond revoked Sep 14. Nobbe dead, Sep 14.
— Jane Doe v. Scientology (in Miami): Jane Doe dismissed the lawsuit on May 15 after the Clearwater Police dropped their criminal investigation of her allegations.

 
——————–

THE PROSECUTION OF DANNY MASTERSON

We first broke the news of the LAPD’s investigation of Scientology celebrity Danny Masterson on rape allegations in 2017, and we’ve been covering the story every step of the way since then. At this page we’ve collected our most important links, including our four days in Los Angeles covering the preliminary hearing and its ruling, which has Danny facing trial and the potential sentence of 45 years to life in prison.

SCIENTOLOGY: FAIR GAME

After the success of their double-Emmy-winning, three-season A&E series ‘Scientology and the Aftermath,’ Leah Remini and Mike Rinder continue the conversation on their podcast, ‘Scientology: Fair Game.’ We’ve created a landing page where you can hear all of the episodes so far.

LEAH REMINI: SCIENTOLOGY AND THE AFTERMATH

An episode-by-episode guide to Leah Remini’s three-season, double-Emmy winning series that changed everything for Scientology watching. Originally aired from 2016 to 2019 on the A&E network, and now on Netflix.

SCIENTOLOGY’S CELEBRITIES, from A to Z

Find your favorite Hubbardite celeb at this index page — or suggest someone to add to the list!

 
Other links: SCIENTOLOGY BLACK OPS: Tom Cruise and dirty tricks. Scientology’s Ideal Orgs, from one end of the planet to the other. Scientology’s sneaky front groups, spreading the good news about L. Ron Hubbard while pretending to benefit society. Scientology Lit: Books reviewed or excerpted in a weekly series. How many have you read?

 
——————–
THE WHOLE TRACK

[ONE year ago] Scientology’s ‘Super Power’ couple slammed down by appeals court over tax debt
[TWO years ago] Scientology: So much effort and heartache, for such little effect
[THREE years ago] A dispatch from the front: Protesting Scientology’s anti-psych quackery
[FOUR years ago] Ideal and Ideal-er: England org coming soon will be Scientology to the max
[FIVE years ago] Laying to rest the obfuscations of L. Fletcher Prouty, Scientology’s conspiracist-for-hire
[SIX years ago] Another trial ordered against Narconon as Scientology derail attempt mostly fails
[SEVEN years ago] Finally! Scientology begins selling its mysterious ‘OT’ levels more openly with slick new videos!
[EIGHT years ago] SCIENTOLOGY MOVES TO DISQUALIFY MONIQUE RATHBUN’S ATTORNEYS
[TEN years ago] Scientology Schweinehund: Commenters of the Week!

 
——————–

——————–

Posted by Tony Ortega on September 10, 2021 at 07:00

E-mail tips to tonyo94 AT gmail DOT com or follow us on Twitter. We also post updates at our Facebook author page. After every new story we send out an alert to our e-mail list and our FB page.

Our new book with Paulette Cooper, Battlefield Scientology: Exposing L. Ron Hubbard’s dangerous ‘religion’ is now on sale at Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats. Our book about Paulette, The Unbreakable Miss Lovely: How the Church of Scientology tried to destroy Paulette Cooper, is on sale at Amazon in paperback, Kindle, and audiobook versions. We’ve posted photographs of Paulette and scenes from her life at a separate location. Reader Sookie put together a complete index. More information can also be found at the book’s dedicated page.

The Best of the Underground Bunker, 1995-2020 Just starting out here? We’ve picked out the most important stories we’ve covered here at the Underground Bunker (2012-2020), The Village Voice (2008-2012), New Times Los Angeles (1999-2002) and the Phoenix New Times (1995-1999)

Other links: BLOGGING DIANETICS: Reading Scientology’s founding text cover to cover | UP THE BRIDGE: Claire Headley and Bruce Hines train us as Scientologists | GETTING OUR ETHICS IN: Jefferson Hawkins explains Scientology’s system of justice | SCIENTOLOGY MYTHBUSTING: Historian Jon Atack discusses key Scientology concepts | Shelly Miscavige, 15 years gone | The Lisa McPherson story told in real time | The Cathriona White stories | The Leah Remini ‘Knowledge Reports’ | Hear audio of a Scientology excommunication | Scientology’s little day care of horrors | Whatever happened to Steve Fishman? | Felony charges for Scientology’s drug rehab scam | Why Scientology digs bomb-proof vaults in the desert | PZ Myers reads L. Ron Hubbard’s “A History of Man” | Scientology’s Master Spies | The mystery of the richest Scientologist and his wayward sons | Scientology’s shocking mistreatment of the mentally ill | The Underground Bunker’s Official Theme Song | The Underground Bunker FAQ

Watch our short videos that explain Scientology’s controversies in three minutes or less…

Check your whale level at our dedicated page for status updates, or join us at the Underground Bunker’s Facebook discussion group for more frivolity.

Our non-Scientology stories: Robert Burnham Jr., the man who inscribed the universe | Notorious alt-right inspiration Kevin MacDonald and his theories about Jewish DNA | The selling of the “Phoenix Lights” | Astronomer Harlow Shapley‘s FBI file | Sex, spies, and local TV news | Battling Babe-Hounds: Ross Jeffries v. R. Don Steele