Through six hours spread over six episodes, Netflix’s “Wild Wild Country” is riveting.
It is the tale of Rajneeshpuram, a commune of the cult of Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh that sprang up in the middle of nowhere in Oregon in 1981. If you lived in these parts during the 1980s, you undoubtedly remember the story. And while the details had been largely forgotten before the new attention-grabbing documentary, there are many that remain relevant today.
Those details are sordid. About how a guru moved his operation from India to a previously forlorn ranch south of The Dalles. About how his followers politically hijacked the nearby town of Antelope. About how they tried to poison an entire county and rig elections, set fire to a government building, plotted to assassinate federal and state officials, amassed a stockpile of weapons, developed biological weapons, arranged sham marriages to skirt immigration laws, and eventually dispersed after the Bhagwan was deported for immigration violations.
Directing it all was Ma Anand Sheela, the Bhagwan’s top lieutenant, who comes across as little more than a self-serving sociopath.
Among the most jaw-dropping — and almost comical — episodes is the one where the Rajneeshees bring in street people from across the country in an attempt to pack the voter rolls in Wasco County. They promise food, shelter and beer — as long as the newcomers register to vote. The plan fails, and when the Rajneeshees discover that thousands of homeless people might bring with them thousands of problems, the newcomers are summarily dropped off in the middle of the night in towns around the Northwest.
“It’s a peace and love thing, right? Wrong! Everywhere you look, there’s someone watching you,” Duane Hartman told The Columbian. Steve Maranwille told the newspaper, “I hated it. It was like a terrorist camp.”
At its foundation, Rajneeshpuram was a pyramid scheme and a crime ring. The Bhagwan’s teachings appealed largely to white middle- and upper-class followers who would happily use their wealth to support a charlatan. In telling the tale, filmmakers Chapman Way and Maclain Way go to great lengths to present all sides of the story; unrepentant Sannyasins recall what they considered a utopian society, Oregonians explain how their lives were upended, and government officials recount the depths of the cult’s crimes.
Fear, bigotry, fraud
But atop that foundation rests stories about fear of others, bigotry vs. acceptance, and the manner in which a charismatic leader can attract followers and convince them to suspend their capacity for rational thought. Hint: If the group insists that everybody dress in the same colors and followers wear a photo of the leader around their necks, and the “bookstore” carries the works of only one author, it might be a cult. The same can be said for a “religion” in which the founder wears diamond-studded watches and amasses a collection of 90-some Rolls-Royces.
Still, the documentary raises valid questions about how local residents were quick to judge the Rajneeshees — and about cult members’ lack of empathy for those who had been living there for years. If you are the newcomers, a little respect for local customs can go a long way. It probably doesn’t help when Ma Anand Sheela says at a press conference, “You tell your governor, your attorney general and all the bigoted pigs outside that if one person on Rancho Rajneesh is harmed I will have 15 of their heads.”
While the documentary engenders some empathy for those who believed in a community of peace and love (and indiscriminate sex), it fails to answer the question of how seemingly bright people could become so devoted to an obvious con artist, one who uses falsehoods and propaganda to dupe people for his own gain.
Indeed, the Bhagwan was neither the first nor the last to pull off such a scam. And that brings up questions that remain pertinent today.
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