Blown for Good Behind the Iron Curtain of Scientology (2 page)

Ironically, Marc supplies the first comprehensive and largely accurate report on the monster Miscavige has created which may mark the beginning of the only thing that can save the subject from the avarice of Miscavige. The multiple viewpoint system applied from without. The Lord knows, and as Marc makes clear, it can never be applied from within. And ironic that this report comes from the very person Miscavige has been spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to destroy for the past few years.

Marc’s account of the trials and tribulations one goes through in leaving it all behind captures the agony and ecstasy one inevitably experiences in following through with abiding by his or her conscience. It is not an easy barrier to break through. Before Marc’s book the only artistic expression that came close to expressing that passion for me was U2’s Walk On:
and I know it aches, and your heart it breaks, but you can only take so much, Walk on...
Marc has now provided a narrative that allows the reader to experience that treacherous ride for his or her self.

Finally, Marc deserves props for speaking out during a period when few with quality, inside information did. I know what he faced. I helped to create it. Hopefully this book will help to civilize it.

At the age of 16, I started working for Scientology in Los Angeles. Soon I was promoted up the ranks and within one year I was placed at Golden Era Productions, located at the International Headquarters (Int Base) in Hemet, California, where I would spend the next fifteen years. Fifteen years within the confines of Scientology would eventually result in my isolation and total disconnection from my friends and family for the rest of my life.

When I eventually left in 2005, it took me over a year to speak out about my experiences as a Scientology staff member, the abuse and the inner workings of the Sea Organization.

After writing several of my accounts on different internet sites, I was flooded with hundreds of requests to put them all in a book. Everything that I have written in this book are my own experiences and my opinion of what happened to me. I have detailed the working conditions and labor practices of my former employers.

Many words and terms used throughout the book are foreign to most outsiders. While I have tried to define these within the text, there is also a glossary in the back, which defines all of them. It could be said that if two Scientologists were talking to each other about Scientology it would almost seem they were speaking a different language, I have done my best to translate the language of Scientology.

My experience as a member and an employee of Scientology’s Sea Organization have been chronicled to expose the inner workings of the institution and to shed some light on the internal abuse, discrimination and mistreatment within the organization.

While I am not a lawyer and not familiar with the ins and outs of the laws, it is my intention to publish these experiences in the hopes that others will read this and become aware of institutions like Scientology and in turn, avoid falling prey to
any
organization that might attempt to perpetrate similar abuses against them or someone they love in the future.

Why and how did I let this happen? In this book, I attempt to lay the groundwork enough so that you can see that, like language, culture and other environmental factors, some of this stuff is programmed in at an early age. It just happened that way, and I try to explain the key points where I thought this was happening.

I also have a hard time trying to compare my experience to something else that exists. The closest comparison I have been able to find has been the Iron Curtain. The people who were behind the Iron Curtain might have been considered “free” by their leaders. They also probably did what they were told and lived their lives as best they knew how under those conditions. They were not allowed to leave and if they attempted to it was dangerous and, in many cases, fatal.

Since I left in 2005, I have had hundreds of nightmares about being recaptured. After writing this book I have fewer and less frequent nightmares. Whether this is a direct result of me writing down and reliving several years of experiences is anybody’s guess. Either way, I feel that this book has been a therapeutic process for me and helped me to heal my mental and emotional wounds as well as understand what happened.

Thanks.

Marc Headley - 2009

They are driving right alongside me in the black Nissan Pathfinder. The roads are slick from the rain and I am in no position to do any sort of maneuvering with my bags on the motorbike. I round the turn past the golf course heading into town. For a split second I contemplate going off road down into the riverbed but with the rain, there is a good chance that it might contain water, and it is just too risky with the security guards right on my tail.

After we get over the bridge, Danny and Matt yell out through the window of the SUV that I need to pull over to the side of the road or they are going to make me pull over. My helmet visor is now starting to fog up. I am trying to keep my attention on the road. “I just need to get into town and I will be fine,” I keep telling myself. The truck is right next to me, and they are yelling out the window for me to pull over. I can’t look over, it’s too dangerous to take my eyes off the road and I need to pretend they aren’t there. That is when I realize that the truck is drifting further and further towards the shoulder. They are going to run me off the road! I cannot believe this is happening! There is nowhere for me to go. They are keeping up with me, no problem. I have not factored in the rain. If only it hadn’t rained! It rains about ten times a year in Southern California, and the day I decide to blow is one of those days! The truck continues to drift over; I am now out of space. The shoulder is not drivable, even for my dual sport Yamaha TW 200. My attempt to blow is going to end right here with a bang. I have been gone for a whole minute and this is it. What a lousy attempt I am making to leave.

As I run out of road, it is only a matter of seconds before I hit the ground and the bike goes skidding. My two bags of clothes are sliding along in newly wet dirt that is becoming muddier as each drop hits the ground. One of the bags is a small suitcase. Secured to the bike with a single bungee cord, it will never stay on in a full-blown crash. The other is a large duffle bag on my lap, held there only by gravity, which is no longer on my side.

Somehow I manage a stuntman type fall off the bike in anticipation of the crash. I had crashed my bike a few times before over the years and never really gotten badly hurt. Wearing a helmet, I know that I can expect only a few broken limbs should the worst happen. I think it was the adrenaline that really saved me. When you are locked up for 15 years and there is no way out, when you finally decide you are going to break out, the rush you get is indescribable. I was now being run off the road by the security truck, needless to say my fight or flight response was working double duty.

As quickly as I hit the dirt on the side of the road I get back up yelling at Danny. I do not even think about being hurt or that I have rolled on the ground a bit. I just pop up and start freaking out.

“What are you trying to do? Kill me?”

Without an ounce of emotion, Danny says, “You need to come back, Marc. Get in the truck!”

I do not reply.

I survey the scene and see where my bags have landed. I walk over to where the suitcase is and pick it up. No major damage. As I turn around, I catch Danny moving towards my bike. He takes the key out of the ignition! This is going from bad to worse in milliseconds.

“Give me the key back, Danny! Give me my key back right now, Danny, or I am going to go ballistic!”

Danny starts to get back in the Pathfinder. I know he will never give it back. Unless…

I make my way into the middle of the highway and start waving my hands at passing cars for help. Danny throws that key back to me faster than you can say, “This is going to get us in some big trouble!” I catch the key. Both Danny and Matt stand there as if I had just pushed a button that put them in “standby” mode. I am amazed at how waving one’s arms at passing cars triggers their total inaction – instantly. We are outside of their little playground and their rules mean nothing out here. They are helpless.

I am back in play. Back to the plan. What was the plan? Well I am going to get into town. That is the first part of the plan. Actually, that is pretty much the whole plan. The rest of the plan will depend on how the first part of the plan plays out. Not going so well right now. As I stand the bike back up, I notice that the clutch lever has snapped off in the crash. Great news. Even better, the carburetor is leaking gas and is surely flooded or at least not fully operational. Just what I need, a broken bike to slow down my carefully planned escape. Oh yeah, it’s still raining too. Did I mention that one of the rear view mirrors has snapped off as well? I get the bags back on the bike. Danny and Matt climb back in the truck as if to continue our little game of follow the leader. The bike has an electric starter. I pray that it fires up. It does. Now to get it into first gear. Without a clutch lever, I have to get the bike rolling and bump it into gear so as not to stall it out. My first attempt is a joke. I am so anxious to get out of there; I jump the gun and shift too soon. My second attempt works and I quickly move to second gear. A lot of good that does me. Whatever happened in the crash has completely destroyed the bike’s carburetor. I am at full throttle and get it up to only 5-10 miles per hour. The black Pathfinder creeps along behind me. I am starting to wonder how I can possibly ditch these guys at 5 miles per hour?

I am also thinking, “Did these guys just almost kill me?” What the hell was that all about? I just got run off the road by a truck and here they are behind me again. At least we are slowly getting closer to town and there are more cars around. Hopefully that will thwart any more crazy attempts to get me back to the Base.

As we are driving down State Street towards Hemet, in the rain, at 5 mph, the Pathfinder suddenly pulls a U-turn and speeds off in the opposite direction faster than you can say “Danger - Will Robinson!” Odd. Why would they take off like that? Don’t know - don’t care.

I am completely baffled, but whatever. They are leaving and I am leaving. Now I can get into town, get my bike working and get the hell out of here.

Before I am accustomed to no longer having the Pathfinder on my tail, I see a police car jamming up the road in the direction of the Gold Base. No faster than I see him, he has already passed me and as I watch in my one remaining rearview mirror I see him pull a U-turn and up go the lights and siren. This isn’t my day! I am now getting pulled over! This sucks.

First, I get run off the road, next pulled over. If this guy gives me a ticket for the broken mirror, I am going to lose it!

Since I am going a whopping 5 miles per hour, it is no big deal for me to pull over. If I were going any slower, I would be walking.

I take off my helmet, it is still raining although not as much as a few minutes ago. I see the cop sitting in the car getting his stuff together. He has to get his notepad, run my plates, all the normal stuff while I sit wondering how bad this is going to be.

He gets out of the car and comes towards me. I turn off the bike and put the kickstand down.

I hang the helmet on the one good mirror.

“Good morning, Officer,” I say like everybody says when they get pulled over by a cop and it’s morning time.

“Good morning. Can I see your license?” he asks, in stereotypical cop lingo.

I dig it out of my wallet and hand it over. I got a driver’s license in 1991. Every few years, I get a letter from the DMV and I renew it by mail. The picture is 14 years old and barely resembles me, but nonetheless, it is me.

He takes the license and goes back to his squad car. I don’t have anything on my record. No moving violations or accidents, nothing. I think I might have had a speeding ticket years ago, but besides that I was clean. No arrests. No felonies. I was at Golden Era Productions for 15 years, so I was, by all accounts, a model citizen according to police records. If you even get pulled over for speeding, you can’t drive anymore, so I was pretty clean on the driving record.

He is back in less than a minute.

“So, where are you headed?” he asks.

“Just into town,” I reply, wondering where the hell this is going.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” all the while thinking that I am the furthest thing from it right now.

“You’ve got a bit of mud on your pants,” he says, sounding like someone who would consider that other than “fine.”

“Yeah, damn rain. I must have brushed up against something muddy this morning.” Brilliant, I am the most retarded person in the world with this dialog. “Is he buying this?” I think to myself.

“Well, we got a 911 call that there was an altercation on the road a bit back with two vehicles, and one of them fits your vehicle’s description,” he says to me.