In the 1970s, the Church of Scientology’s upper echelons orchestrated a real-life spy thriller so audacious it would make James Bond blush—except the villains were wearing E-meters instead of tuxedos. Dubbed “Operation Snow White,” the scheme saw top Scientologists, including L. Ron Hubbard’s third wife, Mary Sue Hubbard, infiltrate U.S. government offices to steal and alter documents. Their mission: erase mentions of Scientology from federal files and discredit critics. The plot unraveled in 1977 when FBI raids uncovered wiretaps, forged IDs, and 90,000 pages of stolen documents. By 1979, Mary Sue and 10 others were convicted of conspiracy and espionage, marking the largest U.S. government infiltration by a religious organization.
Mary Sue, then the church’s controller, received a five-year sentence (she served one) and a $10,000 fine. Her co-conspirators, including Guardian’s Office director Jane Kember, got similar sentences. The operation’s name, “Snow White,” was lifted from the fairy tale—a curious choice for a group that later claimed to be victims of government persecution. The irony? Their goal was to “clean” Scientology’s record, but the trial plastered its name across headlines as a cult gone rogue.
The caper involved Hollywood-worthy tactics: spies posed as journalists to bug IRS meetings, burglarized courthouses, and even plotted to plant listening devices in the Department of Justice. One operative, disguised as a maintenance worker, wheeled out trash bins stuffed with stolen files. The Hubbards’ obsession with “enemies” like journalists and psychiatrists fueled the paranoia, turning church leadership into a DIY intelligence agency.
The fallout was catastrophic for Scientology. The church lost its tax-exempt status (later reinstated in 1993) and became a punchline for late-night comedians. L. Ron Hubbard, though never charged, retreated to a life at sea, steering clear of the legal tsunami. Mary Sue’s conviction shattered the myth of Scientology’s invincibility, proving even billion-year spiritual contracts couldn’t beat federal prison time.
The humor here is darkly absurd. Imagine a church whose doctrine includes space opera mythology and volcano-based souls also dabbling in Watergate-lite espionage. Or picture Mary Sue Hubbard, once the church’s “Mother,” trading her ecclesiastical robes for prison stripes. The trial revealed a group so paranoid about its image that it spent years playing spy vs. spy with Uncle Sam—and lost spectacularly.
Today, Operation Snow White remains a cautionary tale about mixing dogma with delusions of grandeur. It’s also a reminder that no tax form is safe from a determined Scientologist with a Xerox machine. The church now downplays the scandal, but the mugshots live on—a testament to the day federal agents out-scienced the sci-fi religion.
So, next time someone jokes about Tom Cruise and aliens, remember: Scientology’s history includes more than just Hollywood quirks. It’s got prison breaks, wiretaps, and a founder who thought the best way to handle criticism was to burglarize it into oblivion. Just don’t call it a “religion” within earshot of the IRS. They’ve got files on that.
