Karen#1
Well-known member
Author’s Note~~Tom deVocht
David Miscavige was never a leader in the true sense. He was a product of L. Ron Hubbard’s teachings and a “Messenger” trained to execute, not to think.
In 1979, Scientology was on the verge of collapse. Hubbard turned not to his own Tech or Policy, not to Scientology management bodies or his Messengers, but to outside “wog” counsel as a last ditch effort to save both it and himself.
Devo’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Miscavige was nineteen at the time and, like me, had become involved through his family when he was ten or eleven. We like most “Messengers” knew little beyond the inner workings of this insular and secretive group.
When Hubbard died in 1986, his most faithful Messenger, David, simply kept following and enforcing orders: first from Hubbard’s lawyers, and later from the IRS compliance blueprint that defined what a “church” must look like.
Miscavige mistook obedience for leadership, and legal mimicry for salvation.
The tragedy is that what so many still refer to—or participate in—today as the Church of Scientology is, in truth, the Church of David Miscavige.
Prelude to a Revelation
I once had a conversation with L. Ron Hubbard’s personal attorney, a man named Sherman Lenske, and that conversation changed how I saw everything; not then, but in retrospect, now that we can look back.
I will share that conversation with you in detail.
At the time, I didn’t realize it would become the final piece in understanding what really happened to Scientology how it went from what we might now look back on as a self-help movement to a machine, and from a church of faith to the Church of David Miscavige.
But before I tell you how it came about and what was revealed to me—privately, and at Miscavige’s behest—I want to start at the beginning. It’s important to understand the inner workings, structure, and positions within Scientology to get the punchline.
Whether you’re an active Scientologist, currently “on lines” at Flag, sitting on the fence, an ex-Scientologist, or now an outspoken critic, we all share a somewhat similar beginning and a story of how we first got involved in Scientology.
We all saw cracks in the facade and changes that concerned us over time, which led us to where we sit today.
I’m summarizing my own experience here not so much for whichever category of Scientologist you may be—or may no longer be—but also for those watching from the sidelines. Without a personal backstory, it might otherwise be hard to follow.
I’m also writing this because I recently promised it to some still-on-lines Flag Public who insisted it should be known by all active Scientologists. They see it as the backstory and confirmation of Debbie Cook’s January 1, 2012 email to Flag Public who personally knew her.
In the early to mid-1970s, I was a kid growing up in Central Florida with my mom, my stepdad, and three siblings. We were an ordinary, middle-class family that listened to the Steve Miller Band and watched Welcome Back, Kotter after dinner.
My cousin Dicky Thompson was our claim to fame. He was in Steve Miller’s band when The Joker hit the charts. So when he showed up one summer riding a Harley with a glamorous blonde on the back, he wasn’t just family to me, he was a movie star.
He had this intense stare. When he talked to you, he looked directly into your eyes and listened like you were the only person in the world. He was confident, successful, and completely sure of himself.
Within a few months, my sister Nancy flew to Los Angeles to check it out for herself. When she came back, she was on fire. She’d found her purpose. The word Scientology was suddenly everywhere in our house.
It wasn’t long before we found out there was a Mission in Orlando, only an hour away and that was it. We packed up and moved.
The Church of Scientology Mission of Orlando, Florida
The Orlando Mission was small but full of energy. The walls were lined with black-and-white portraits of Hubbard, and his name was spoken constantly. He even had an “office” there in case he came to visit.
Every day we studied his words, quoted his policies, and clapped at the end of every course completion to thank “Source.”
I was nine or ten when I was “routed onto course.” The first one was the Hubbard Communication Course, which taught me to make unwavering eye contact, to listen without flinching, and to acknowledge every word another person said. For a shy kid who had never done well in school, it felt like discovering a kind of magic.
Next came the Basic Study Manual, which told me to look up every misunderstood word and to work things out until I understood them. I had never been taught how to study before, and this seemed to give me a foundation for everything that followed.
We were broke, but it didn’t matter. Everyone was happy, united by purpose. We lived on spaghetti and optimism—literally. Things were simple and fun.
Once, my real father, who thought Scientology was a cult, visited from Europe and gave me a solid-gold coin he expected I would hold onto for life. After he left, I sold it to a jeweler in the same building as the Mission and announced that dinner, a large pot of spaghetti, was on me.
For the first time, I felt like part of something bigger than myself, and I felt a real sense of community.
The Call to the Sea Org
One night, two men in naval-style uniforms showed up at the Mission. They were from the Sea Organization, Hubbard’s elite inner circle.
They said the Sea Org worked directly for Source himself at the new Flag Land Base in Clearwater, Florida, just a couple of hours away. They showed us slides of the Apollo and uniformed Scientologists, some of them kids, my age.
And they did.
Read More :
devodevocht.substack.com
David Miscavige was never a leader in the true sense. He was a product of L. Ron Hubbard’s teachings and a “Messenger” trained to execute, not to think.
In 1979, Scientology was on the verge of collapse. Hubbard turned not to his own Tech or Policy, not to Scientology management bodies or his Messengers, but to outside “wog” counsel as a last ditch effort to save both it and himself.
Devo’s Substack is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Miscavige was nineteen at the time and, like me, had become involved through his family when he was ten or eleven. We like most “Messengers” knew little beyond the inner workings of this insular and secretive group.
When Hubbard died in 1986, his most faithful Messenger, David, simply kept following and enforcing orders: first from Hubbard’s lawyers, and later from the IRS compliance blueprint that defined what a “church” must look like.
Miscavige mistook obedience for leadership, and legal mimicry for salvation.
The tragedy is that what so many still refer to—or participate in—today as the Church of Scientology is, in truth, the Church of David Miscavige.
Prelude to a Revelation
I once had a conversation with L. Ron Hubbard’s personal attorney, a man named Sherman Lenske, and that conversation changed how I saw everything; not then, but in retrospect, now that we can look back.
I will share that conversation with you in detail.
At the time, I didn’t realize it would become the final piece in understanding what really happened to Scientology how it went from what we might now look back on as a self-help movement to a machine, and from a church of faith to the Church of David Miscavige.
But before I tell you how it came about and what was revealed to me—privately, and at Miscavige’s behest—I want to start at the beginning. It’s important to understand the inner workings, structure, and positions within Scientology to get the punchline.
Whether you’re an active Scientologist, currently “on lines” at Flag, sitting on the fence, an ex-Scientologist, or now an outspoken critic, we all share a somewhat similar beginning and a story of how we first got involved in Scientology.
We all saw cracks in the facade and changes that concerned us over time, which led us to where we sit today.
I’m summarizing my own experience here not so much for whichever category of Scientologist you may be—or may no longer be—but also for those watching from the sidelines. Without a personal backstory, it might otherwise be hard to follow.
I’m also writing this because I recently promised it to some still-on-lines Flag Public who insisted it should be known by all active Scientologists. They see it as the backstory and confirmation of Debbie Cook’s January 1, 2012 email to Flag Public who personally knew her.
My Introduction and Beginnings in Scientology
In the early to mid-1970s, I was a kid growing up in Central Florida with my mom, my stepdad, and three siblings. We were an ordinary, middle-class family that listened to the Steve Miller Band and watched Welcome Back, Kotter after dinner.
My cousin Dicky Thompson was our claim to fame. He was in Steve Miller’s band when The Joker hit the charts. So when he showed up one summer riding a Harley with a glamorous blonde on the back, he wasn’t just family to me, he was a movie star.
He had this intense stare. When he talked to you, he looked directly into your eyes and listened like you were the only person in the world. He was confident, successful, and completely sure of himself.
To me, it sounded like the secret behind everything that made him who he was. And who didn’t want to be happier?
Within a few months, my sister Nancy flew to Los Angeles to check it out for herself. When she came back, she was on fire. She’d found her purpose. The word Scientology was suddenly everywhere in our house.
It wasn’t long before we found out there was a Mission in Orlando, only an hour away and that was it. We packed up and moved.
The Church of Scientology Mission of Orlando, Florida
The Orlando Mission was small but full of energy. The walls were lined with black-and-white portraits of Hubbard, and his name was spoken constantly. He even had an “office” there in case he came to visit.
Every day we studied his words, quoted his policies, and clapped at the end of every course completion to thank “Source.”
I was nine or ten when I was “routed onto course.” The first one was the Hubbard Communication Course, which taught me to make unwavering eye contact, to listen without flinching, and to acknowledge every word another person said. For a shy kid who had never done well in school, it felt like discovering a kind of magic.
Next came the Basic Study Manual, which told me to look up every misunderstood word and to work things out until I understood them. I had never been taught how to study before, and this seemed to give me a foundation for everything that followed.
We were broke, but it didn’t matter. Everyone was happy, united by purpose. We lived on spaghetti and optimism—literally. Things were simple and fun.
Once, my real father, who thought Scientology was a cult, visited from Europe and gave me a solid-gold coin he expected I would hold onto for life. After he left, I sold it to a jeweler in the same building as the Mission and announced that dinner, a large pot of spaghetti, was on me.
For the first time, I felt like part of something bigger than myself, and I felt a real sense of community.
The Call to the Sea Org
One night, two men in naval-style uniforms showed up at the Mission. They were from the Sea Organization, Hubbard’s elite inner circle.
They said the Sea Org worked directly for Source himself at the new Flag Land Base in Clearwater, Florida, just a couple of hours away. They showed us slides of the Apollo and uniformed Scientologists, some of them kids, my age.
I was closed. From that point forward I dreamt of working for Hubbard directly on this very important mission. I insisted, and pushed my parents, to join the Sea Org in Clearwater so that I could too.
And they did.
Read More :
The Church of David Miscavige
How L. Ron Hubbard’s legal survival plan became a corporate religion and how his last Messenger turned it into his own Church.
devodevocht.substack.com
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