How TikTok Accidentally Created a Scientology Heartthrob

“His smile is the best,” gushes a caption on a Dec. 26 video of a young man with the physique of a lightweight boxer, a square jaw, and close-cropped dark hair. As he stands on Hollywood Boulevard, the man looks like virtually any other aspiring model or actor trying to eke out a living in Los Angeles; the only distinction is his crisply starched white shirt, tie, and vest, which makes him look like a cast member from the Book of Mormon.

The man in the video, identified only as Sebastian, is a member of the Church of Scientology, the highly controversial religious organization that many critics have accused of being a cult, an allegation they have routinely denied. Sources formerly close to the church say Sebastian is likely what is known in the community as a “body router,” typically a young, attractive staffer who is assigned to stand outside the Church of Scientology Information Center, hand out literature, and invite passersby into the building to learn more about the church. (Karin Pouw, an international spokesperson for the Church, did not respond to questions asking whether this is accurate.)

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Over the past month, Sebastian has achieved TikTok heartthrob status. Ironically, anti-Scientology protesters are partially to blame. For the past few months, a grassroots movement of Los Angeles-based content creators have been attempting to disrupt foot traffic from tourists by protesting outside the Center. Though Sebastian generally ignores the people who have gathered there — as many as 50 at a time — his movie-star good looks have led to the creation of various fan accounts (some ironic, some less so) and the #FreeSebastian hashtag, based around videos of protesters attempting to engage him and convince him to leave the church. (Pouw denied our request to interview him.)

“Look at that smile, he has the best smile in the world,” one protester can be heard saying to an uncomfortably grinning Sebastian in a compilation of footage from the protests, which has nearly 18 million views. “We love you, Sebastian,” another protester says as he is seen walking away. “We just don’t love the cult that you’re in.”

Founded in the early 1950s by science-fiction author L. Ron Hubbard, the Church of Scientology — which boasts such high-profile proponents as Tom Cruise and John Travolta — has been scrutinized for decades, with critics accusing it of engaging in criminal activity such as fraud and human trafficking, as well as threats and intimidation for anyone who chooses to leave. Former members have accused the Church of committing egregious human rights violations, including forcing minors to do hard labor without compensation and using intense psychological manipulation to control its members. (The church has repeatedly denied such claims.)

Though Scientology has long attracted critics, the TikTokers are taking protests against the church to the next level, streaming live outside the Hollywood Boulevard location and tussling with cops on a nightly basis. Yet some former Scientologists and cult deprogramming experts question their tactics, and even  the protesters themselves have expressed concern that their activism is being hijacked by their followers’ obsession with “saving” Sebastian. Because commenters are building a “parasocial relationship” with him — a term used to describe intense emotional investment in social media influencers — they worry it may be distracting from the goal of disrupting church recruitment, and even be working against the movement.

“Sebastian’s one of the best recruiters on the Boulevard,” says Jessica Palmadessa, a content creator with more than a million followers, who says she has been protesting the Center almost every night for the past two months. “He’s luring people into this cult every single day. So at the end of the day, we all know Sebastian’s not going to be saved. We want to save others from Sebastian.”

The Hollywood Boulevard protests were started by William Gude, an L.A.-based activist who runs the LAPD watchdog page @FilmThePoliceLA. Gude tells Rolling Stone his interest in the church was sparked by an altercation he had with a security guard outside the Center last April. “I said, ‘I’m going to end your religion,’” Gude recalls. “And he just kind of laughed at me.” He decided to start TikTok and YouTube accounts that would live stream outside the Center, bringing awareness to what he characterizes as the deceptive tactics Scientologists use to lure tourists into the church.

Since then, Gude has been stationed outside, taunting staffers and warning tourists by yelling at them, “es una secta” (“it’s a cult” in Spanish). In some of the videos, staffers retaliate by launching ad hominem attacks at Gude or the other protesters. In one, a staffer is seen taunting him for the death of his 22-year-old son, who was killed in a drive-by shooting in 2021, falsely alleging that he “died in a gang war” and saying that Gude “should have been a better father.”

In an email exchange with Rolling Stone, Pouw referred to Gude as “a dangerous individual who has a criminal record.” Gude has been arrested numerous times, including a 2021 arrest for allegedly threatening a homeless man (prosecutors later declined to file charges), and was convicted for conspiracy to distribute crack cocaine when he was 19 years old. He confirmed all of these charges to Rolling Stone, laughing off Pouw’s description of him. “I love the fact that they’re that desperate,” he says.

Palmadessa characterizes the movement as an effort to spread awareness about Scientology and prevent tourists, who she says are largely non-native English speakers, from entering the building. “We’re telling them about it before they hear from the recruiters the lies that they tell,” she says.

But while Palmadessa and Gude say the movement is intended to build awareness of the church’s alleged transgressions, even some of Scientology’s critics argue it runs the risk of getting out of hand. They have expressed concern about some of the tactics used by the protesters, as well as some commenters’ focus on “saving” Sebastian.

“The idea of citizens wanting to help someone in a cult is great. I’m worried on TikTok it’s kind of clickbait-y,” says Steven Hassan, PhD, a licensed mental health counselor specializing in cults and the author of Combatting Cult Mind Control. “I’m worried about people using this poor person who is not asking to be an internet celebrity and invading his life.” He refers to some of the tactics used by street protesters as “disrespectful and counterproductive.”

Pouw has classified the campaign as “promoting harassing religious workers who are trying to do their jobs.” (Scientology was granted tax-exempt religious organization status by the IRS in 1993.) She characterizes it as part of a recent wave of “anti-religious bigotry,” claiming the Center has had to ramp up security and has called the police numerous times on protesters for trespassing and harassment.

Gude and Palmadessa deny that any of the protesters have resorted to physical intimidation or broken any laws during altercations with Scientology staff members, and that they stay outside of the building. “The cops have pretty much been there every single night for weeks,” says Palmadessa. “They come, they literally say, ‘they’re doing nothing wrong,’ we can peacefully protest all we want, and they leave. We’re not doing anything illegal.” Gude also alleges that members of the church have followed him and used intimidation tactics, alleging in one police report filed in December that a security guard had knocked his phone out of his hand while he was filming.

The church denies that it has harassed or threatened anyone, saying it has made nearly a dozen police reports against the protesters, accusing them of making multiple violent threats, including a bomb threat on Jan. 8. Gude and Palmadessa strongly deny this, and footage reviewed by Rolling Stone shows that no arrests were made; in a statement, the LAPD said, “Major Crimes Division is investigating a crime report of a bomb threat in the 6700 block of Hollywood Bl, which occurred on January 8, 2024.  This is still under investigation and no further information is available.”

Staffers have also taken to playing popular music on the radio, which Gude believes is a way for the church to prevent them from posting videos featuring potential copyright violations. “They’re so used to people being afraid of speaking out against them, that now when we speak out against them, they go to extremes,” he says.

On TikTok, the focus has largely been on one individual Scientologist, Sebastian, making some uncomfortable. Liz Gale, a former third-generation Scientologist and author of the memoir Confessions of an Ex-Scientologist Pothead, says that while she appreciates that it is drawing attention to the allegations against the Church, Sebastian’s newfound fame is likely putting him in “a very tough position” within the Church.

“Whatever he does, is going to reflect on Scientology,” she says. “So they’re going to put as much control on him as possible.” She is concerned that senior officials could subject Sebastian to extensive “auditing” (a process of rigorous questioning that is at the center of Scientology) as a result of the attention, she says. (Pouw did not address specific questions about whether staffers such as Sebastian have been retaliated against internally as the result of their TikTok fame.)

Gude also has attracted some criticism for mocking or harassing the recruiters in their content, giving staffers various nicknames based on their physical attributes such as “R2D2” or “Lurch.” Hassan says such tactics may lead to Church members becoming even more committed to the church than before. “The more people attack you, the more it confirms your programming that the outside world is ignorant and evil,” he says. “People will not leave a mind control cult because they are ridiculed or attacked.”

But Palmadessa says that argument is missing the point. The protests aren’t about “saving the recruiters,” she says. “This is about spreading awareness to the general public and stopping people on the street from being in the same position.”

Indeed, though Sebastian’s unlikely stardom has undeniably drawn attention to the protests, both Palmadessa and Gude expressed discomfort with the fact that there has been so much focus on him and the supposed details of his life. As commenters trade rumors about Sebastian, Gude is concerned that the intensity of the narratives swirling around Sebastian could detract from the movement.

“They’ve created their own fantasies about why he’s there and why he does not want to be there, and how they have to help him. It’s truly unhealthy,” he says. “I’ve seen people literally grab him and say, ‘I’m going to save you.’ That’s weird stuff. A lot of people are sort of out of control to the point where they seem like cult members.” Palmadessa agrees, noting that many people in her comments obsessively decode his body language or spread conspiracy theories about him, a level of interest she finds both disturbing and detrimental to the activists’ cause.

This dynamic is made all the more strange by the fact that Sebastian has no direct involvement in this narrative. Though he does, at various points, engage directly with content creators on camera, he is more frequently seen turning his back to the protesters or ignoring them. Indeed, in many of the videos, church staffers argue that the protesters have not obtained their consent to film them, though legally speaking such consent is not required while filming in public, an issue that has come up time and again when discussing viral videos involving unwitting participants on TikTok.

When asked how Sebastian feels about random TikTokers’ affection for him, Pouw bristled against the idea that the TikTok videos constituted anything but harassment. “What you call ‘affection’ is the hate speech of a member of a hate group who professes to want to ‘stop people from Sebastian’ and ‘cancel him out,’” she says. “Do not pretend otherwise.” (Hassan refutes the idea that Scientology is a legitimate religion and that criticism of it or protests of any kind constitute a “hate” campaign. “They use religious freedom as a cloak, when in fact they are violating their members’ human rights,” he says.)

What’s undeniable is that, as the protest movement has grown and the Center has become a de facto destination for TikTokers, it has become significantly more chaotic. On Jan. 4, Palmadessa made a TikTok calling out kids who joined her on her Live outside the building: “99 percent of them were great but there were a few that wanted to act like clowns,” she said, showing footage of a kid banging on the wall repeatedly or ripping fliers off the wall despite warnings not to touch the building.

“For the kids running after Sebastian hugging him and trying to take photos with him, you guys need to realize he is a cult member, not a celebrity, and he will not hesitate to call the cops on you,” she said, concluding, “Respectfully, do not come back.”

Despite this, Gude says the movement has largely proven effective. Though the Center was previously a bustling locus of activity, it is now basically empty, he says, with staffers regularly closing up early due to the chaos caused by protesters. According to Gale, this is likely having a strong negative effect on the Scientology staffers themselves, who she says are tasked with fulfilling “quotas” for people they bring into the building. “They all look miserable. That’s literally the goal,” Gude says. “We are all happy that they look miserable. We take great pride in the fact that they all look miserable.”

In many ways, the TikTok anti-Scientology movement is remarkably well-timed: in the midst of a high-profile lawsuit filed by former member Leah Remini, as well as allegations of harassing women who accused former That 70s Show star and Scientologist Danny Masterson of rape, the Church is currently undergoing one of the most tumultuous periods in its history. (Masterson was convicted on two rape charges in May and sentenced to 30 years to life in prison; the Church has strongly denied harassing his accusers, calling such claims “totally false.”)

“They are really hurting for recruits, desperately, because the public has been taught about this group with books, former members and lawsuits,” says Hassan. (Pouw refuted this characterization, saying that the church “has been experiencing a renaissance over the last decade with greater expansion than in the previous 60 years combined.”)

Now, the objective of the TikTok protests is to hurt the Church even more. Palmadessa wants to continue the movement at centers across Los Angeles, advocating to local and national politicians for the church’s tax-exempt status to be revoked; the protesters also want to expand the movement to other Centers across the country, as a way of permanently disabling the church’s ability to attract new members.

As for the fate of members like Sebastian, Gude and Palmadessa say that is ultimately secondary to the greater goal. “These are grown people. They all make choices,” Gude says. “My goal is not to have confident salespeople. My goal is to have demoralized salespeople. I want them to become less effective. And I am not willing to sacrifice the next family [that may come into the Center], just because I’m worried about Sebastian and what may or may not happen to him.”

Palmadessa agrees: “They’re definitely victims,” she says. “But they can’t just keep making more people victims.”

Tues., Jan. 16, 2023, 10:51 a.m. This story has been updated with further information regarding the Jan. 8 report and comment from the LAPD.

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