A Cult Goes on Trial — Scientology’s practices: religious or fraudulent?
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Reporter Richard H. Meeker covered Julie Christofferson v. The Church of Scientology for six weeks, during which he attended the civil fraud trial by day and served as WW’s de facto editor at night, sometimes sleeping on the floor under his desk.
The place where Meeker lived at the time was burglarized, but curiously only his notes from the trial were missing. Equally suspicious, someone drilled a small hole in the wall between the office next door and Meeker’s work area in Willamette Week’s office on the third floor of the Oregon Pioneer Building on Southwest Stark Street.
His story first appeared in the July 18, 1979, edition of WW.
In the posh, futuristic headquarters of the Church of Scientology, at the corner of Broadway and SW Salmon Street downtown, it’s business as usual these days. The writings and teachings of church founder L. Ron Hubbard are displayed prominently; there is a constant bustle of activity; and new members continue to sign up.
Outside on the sidewalks representatives of America’s largest cult try to interest passersby in taking “personality tests,” an introduction to the self-styled religious group that promises personal improvement in return for large cash donations.
Only four blocks away, however, in the courtroom of Multnomah County Circuit Court Judge Robert Paul Jones, Scientology is on trial. In what may be the cult’s severest test to date, local church affiliates, the religion’s founder, and other Scientology officials are the target of a $4 million lawsuit which alleges that the church runs a massive confidence racket here.
Specifically, a young Portland woman named Julie Christofferson, who was a member of the cult in 1975 and 1976, says local Scientology organizations used unfair trade practices on her, deceived her and engaged in outrageous conduct in the process. By employing an Oregon statute designed to prohibit consumer fraud, Christofferson’s allegations amount to a new departure in attacking the church. If the tactic works, it is certain to be used again elsewhere.
In their defense, the Scientologists are asserting their rights to the free exercise of their religion. They say Christofferson’s complaint attacks religious practices and beliefs which are protected by provisions of the Oregon and U.S. constitutions. (The Scientologists also have interposed two technical defenses: that Christofferson waited too long to file her lawsuit and that the church offered to refund to her some $672 of the more than $3,000 she gave the church in return for training and counseling during her membership.)
The trial, which is expected to last three to six weeks, should contain a good deal of drama. First, there’s Christofferson’s story of her experiences with the cult and her charge that she was declared “fair game”—subject to severe punishment, even murder—by church members.
Second, there’s the matter of Scientology’s finances. People have wondered for years how much money Hubbard’s religion makes and where the money goes. Documents in the court file for the case indicate that extensive pretrial discovery has been allowed concerning the church’s Oregon finances. The 1976-1978 federal income tax returns of Scientology’s two top officials here have been made available to Christofferson’s attorneys, as have many of the local church’s financial records.
The Scientologists are sure to object to the introduction of this sensitive information during the course of the trial. If they are unsuccessful, the mask will come off one of the best-guarded secrets in the state.
Third, there’s the matter of the psychological effects of Scientology’s practices on its members. Critics have accused Scientology of being the most dangerous and the most mentally damaging of the modern cult groups. Christofferson’s complaint alleges severe mental and emotional distress resulting from her experiences in 1975 and 1976.
Content retrieved from: https://www.wweek.com/archive/2024/12/14/a-cult-goes-on-trial/.
