Petey C
Silver Meritorious Patron
About this time 29 years ago today, I stepped off the Qantas plane in Sydney to a blinding sun and big blue skies. A few days earlier I had escaped from the Sea Org and Happy Valley.
Three months before that, I’d been called to Int from The Complex (as it’s now known, then known as PAC) for an unspecified reason following a sec check. You’d think that after eight years in the SO I would have guessed what was in store for me, but I naively thought I was going to be exonerated for whatever the unknown crimes were that had taken me off post a few weeks earlier. What was in store for me was a giant comm ev, hard labour in the fields of Int, and weeks of being woken up in the middle of the night to be harangued by Scientology’s lawyers and executives and forced to confess my crimes and high crimes. As there were none – apart from a tendency to kick against authority and to think my own thoughts – this became an exhausting process. In the relative calm of Happy Valley, stuck there with a dozen or so senior executives, I wondered what I was going to do next and how I would achieve it since I had no money, no way of getting back to LA to get my passport, and pretty much no idea of where I was exactly other than two hours out of LA.
My buddy’s young daughter, who had been separated from her mother for months, arrived at Happy Valley. Their wonderful reunion meant I had to find another buddy. Luckily I did; someone who I trusted enough to confide in, to tell about my desire to leave. Even luckier, he felt the same way and had the connections (damaging inside knowledge) and resources (i.e. money) to negotiate his own and my release. His occurred almost immediately, and before he was taken away he managed to slip me $5 and his brother’s phone number. I was taken back to Happy Valley and spent the next few days in isolation, refusing to do my chores (cooking, mainly) and waiting all dressed up and packed to be taken away. Only Kerry Gleeson tried to talk me out of leaving.
Eventually a van arrived and I was ordered in. Yes, even at the last moment, no civility was due to a pariah like me, but a pariah only because someone had deemed I was an enemy of the church. (By then, it was true.) I got in and off we drove into the evening. The driver told me he was taking me to the airport. I protested, saying that all my things including my passport were at The Complex. He shouted back nastily, saying he didn’t care, his orders were to take me to the airport. I was sitting in the back of the van, so I made my way into the front seat and eyeballed him. I was enraged. Look, I said, I’m going to start shouting out the window that I’m being kidnapped by Scientologists. Somebody’s going to call the police. Is that what you want? He growled and took me to The Complex where I had about 10 minutes to rush to my room, pick up my two suitcases and one box, and get to a phone to call my family collect. Get me a ticket, I said, I can’t answer questions but I’m on my way to the airport. I’ll call again from there.
Back in the van I tugged off my filthy jeans (I’d been wearing them for three months). Fuck you, Scientology! I screamed as I threw them out the window.
I got dumped outside the airport, even though I asked the driver to wait till I went inside the terminal to get a baggage cart. Luckily (again), my pitiful possessions were intact on the sidewalk, even though it was now dark. Inside, I got my ticket and checked my luggage. I had $5 and a phone number. I got a soda and some change, and called my number – and got voicemail. I left my message – I’m at the Qantas terminal at LAX and the plane leaves tomorrow morning. I spent the next few hours trying to stay alert though I was almost weeping with fear and relief. Towards midnight the terminal emptied and I started panicking. What if my friend didn’t show up? I became aware of a man following me as I moved from gate to gate, trying to stay with groups of people for safety. As the gates closed, I ran down the escalator thinking I could just stay close to the ticketing desks. I found them all closed and the silent. The man was coming down the escalator, his eye on me. I knew he could smell my vulnerability. Terrified, I ran outside onto the roadside and saw him following me. I turned my head and saw my friend, jauntily coming down the sidewalk towards me, a pair of ridiculous yellow sunglasses on, despite the fact it was midnight. I have never been so glad to see someone.
We got drunk and I missed my plane. (As you do.) But I did get on the plane a day or so later and then, on the 26th, landed in Sydney where I was met by my mother and sister.
They told me their part of the story yesterday over Christmas lunch. They had received the call one evening. They were stunned but exhilarated, and rushed around trying to find a travel agent that was open. Only my brother held a credit card – unlimited. Thank god for Amex! When I arrived home, I didn’t want to talk about anything. They said, you were determined to put it behind you and all you wanted to do was go forward. You didn’t tell us much; we didn’t want to upset you by asking. In truth, I was too ashamed about what had happened to me.
All of these years later, I carry those times with me like a scar on my body. It doesn’t hurt any more, but the scar tissue remains to remind me. Since then, like many others here I’ve sworn to help anyone I can to leave a cult and start over. I’m determined to be a witness about the dangers of Scientology and other cults. Today I celebrate being alive, being free, and being wiser than I was. And from the bottom of my heart I thank old and new friends, who helped me in a thousand ways along the journey, and whose kindnesses and insights have shown me the nature of humanity.
Three months before that, I’d been called to Int from The Complex (as it’s now known, then known as PAC) for an unspecified reason following a sec check. You’d think that after eight years in the SO I would have guessed what was in store for me, but I naively thought I was going to be exonerated for whatever the unknown crimes were that had taken me off post a few weeks earlier. What was in store for me was a giant comm ev, hard labour in the fields of Int, and weeks of being woken up in the middle of the night to be harangued by Scientology’s lawyers and executives and forced to confess my crimes and high crimes. As there were none – apart from a tendency to kick against authority and to think my own thoughts – this became an exhausting process. In the relative calm of Happy Valley, stuck there with a dozen or so senior executives, I wondered what I was going to do next and how I would achieve it since I had no money, no way of getting back to LA to get my passport, and pretty much no idea of where I was exactly other than two hours out of LA.
My buddy’s young daughter, who had been separated from her mother for months, arrived at Happy Valley. Their wonderful reunion meant I had to find another buddy. Luckily I did; someone who I trusted enough to confide in, to tell about my desire to leave. Even luckier, he felt the same way and had the connections (damaging inside knowledge) and resources (i.e. money) to negotiate his own and my release. His occurred almost immediately, and before he was taken away he managed to slip me $5 and his brother’s phone number. I was taken back to Happy Valley and spent the next few days in isolation, refusing to do my chores (cooking, mainly) and waiting all dressed up and packed to be taken away. Only Kerry Gleeson tried to talk me out of leaving.
Eventually a van arrived and I was ordered in. Yes, even at the last moment, no civility was due to a pariah like me, but a pariah only because someone had deemed I was an enemy of the church. (By then, it was true.) I got in and off we drove into the evening. The driver told me he was taking me to the airport. I protested, saying that all my things including my passport were at The Complex. He shouted back nastily, saying he didn’t care, his orders were to take me to the airport. I was sitting in the back of the van, so I made my way into the front seat and eyeballed him. I was enraged. Look, I said, I’m going to start shouting out the window that I’m being kidnapped by Scientologists. Somebody’s going to call the police. Is that what you want? He growled and took me to The Complex where I had about 10 minutes to rush to my room, pick up my two suitcases and one box, and get to a phone to call my family collect. Get me a ticket, I said, I can’t answer questions but I’m on my way to the airport. I’ll call again from there.
Back in the van I tugged off my filthy jeans (I’d been wearing them for three months). Fuck you, Scientology! I screamed as I threw them out the window.
I got dumped outside the airport, even though I asked the driver to wait till I went inside the terminal to get a baggage cart. Luckily (again), my pitiful possessions were intact on the sidewalk, even though it was now dark. Inside, I got my ticket and checked my luggage. I had $5 and a phone number. I got a soda and some change, and called my number – and got voicemail. I left my message – I’m at the Qantas terminal at LAX and the plane leaves tomorrow morning. I spent the next few hours trying to stay alert though I was almost weeping with fear and relief. Towards midnight the terminal emptied and I started panicking. What if my friend didn’t show up? I became aware of a man following me as I moved from gate to gate, trying to stay with groups of people for safety. As the gates closed, I ran down the escalator thinking I could just stay close to the ticketing desks. I found them all closed and the silent. The man was coming down the escalator, his eye on me. I knew he could smell my vulnerability. Terrified, I ran outside onto the roadside and saw him following me. I turned my head and saw my friend, jauntily coming down the sidewalk towards me, a pair of ridiculous yellow sunglasses on, despite the fact it was midnight. I have never been so glad to see someone.
We got drunk and I missed my plane. (As you do.) But I did get on the plane a day or so later and then, on the 26th, landed in Sydney where I was met by my mother and sister.
They told me their part of the story yesterday over Christmas lunch. They had received the call one evening. They were stunned but exhilarated, and rushed around trying to find a travel agent that was open. Only my brother held a credit card – unlimited. Thank god for Amex! When I arrived home, I didn’t want to talk about anything. They said, you were determined to put it behind you and all you wanted to do was go forward. You didn’t tell us much; we didn’t want to upset you by asking. In truth, I was too ashamed about what had happened to me.
All of these years later, I carry those times with me like a scar on my body. It doesn’t hurt any more, but the scar tissue remains to remind me. Since then, like many others here I’ve sworn to help anyone I can to leave a cult and start over. I’m determined to be a witness about the dangers of Scientology and other cults. Today I celebrate being alive, being free, and being wiser than I was. And from the bottom of my heart I thank old and new friends, who helped me in a thousand ways along the journey, and whose kindnesses and insights have shown me the nature of humanity.
