Vanessa Richardson (31:43)
Leading up to the November 1984 election in Wasco County, Ma Anand Sheela started busing thousands of unhoused people to Rajneeshpuram from all over the nation. She planned to register them to vote and replace the critics on the Wasco County Commission with Rajnishis. As the election approached, concerned residents and state election officials challenged the flood of new voter registrations. In court, Rajneesh Purim's lawyers responded by saying that all the new residents were American citizens who had a constitutional right to vote wherever they lived. While people all over Oregon breathlessly awaited a decision in the court case, Sheila was working on plan B. If she could ensure that a large number of Wasco county voters weren't able to make it to the polls on election day, the Rajneeshis would be certain to win. The commune's medical director, Ma Anand Pooja, started studying ways to poison people without killing them. In August of 1984, she even set up a secret laboratory where she tested different poisons on mice. She learned a lot. And soon, Pooja and Sheela decided to run a much larger experiment with human test subjects. In September 1984, small groups of Rajneeshis started traveling 90 miles north to the Dalles. It was the largest town in Wasco county and home to most of the county's voters. Instead of wearing red, the Rajneeshis dressed in normal colored clothes so nobody would identify them as followers of Rajneesh. And they brought along small Ziploc bags full of a light brown liquid, which they referred to as salsa. This so called salsa had been purposefully infected with salmonella, a bacteria that can cause severe illness and even death. Over the course of several visits, Rajneeshis covertly spread their salsa over vegetables and dressings at salad bars at 10 different restaurants in the Dalles. They also dumped their infected salsa on produce at local grocery stores and spread it on doorknobs at the county courthouse. Once their mission was complete, they returned to Rajneeshpuram to wait for the chaos to begin. Within days, people in the Dalles started getting sick. Local clinics and hospitals were small, swamped with patients suffering from vomiting, diarrhea, stomach cramps, fevers, and chills. One victim, a 34 year old pregnant woman, went into labor while infected and gave birth to a baby who was born with severe septic shock. Both the mother and child barely survived. Thankfully, no one died during the outbreak. But by the end of the month, local officials estimated that more than 750 people had gotten sick and 45 were hospitalized. Public health officials and experts from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention investigated the incident. They traced the outbreak back to salad bars at multiple restaurants, but not back to the kitchens, which was unusual. And they found the same relatively rare strain of salmonella at all 10 restaurants, something that wouldn't happen in a naturally occurring outbreak. It would be months before investigators could prove Rajneeshis were responsible for the mass poisoning. But people in the Dalles were already suspicious of the cult and its confrontational leader. Even before they had proof, most residents of Wasco county correctly assumed Sheelah and the Rajneeshis had something to do with the outbreak. Even then, Sheelah still thought she could come out on top. Sheila's salad bar sabotage was the largest act of bioterrorism in American history. But as far as she was concerned, it was only a test run. Now that she knew salmonella was an effective poison, she planned to sneak it into the Dale's water supply days before the November elections. She hoped this would incapacitate tens of thousands of people, clearing the way for the Rajneeshis to vote in their preferred candidates. Fortunately, Sheila didn't get the chance to put her plan into action. In mid October, the courts ruled in favor of state election officials. Right away, they enacted new policies that made it much harder for the Rajneeshis to add their Share a Home participants to the state's voter rolls. Officials also disqualified thousands of new Rajneeshpuram voters after discovering they'd filled out their registration cards with fraudulent information. To make matters worse, people in the Dalles were so outraged by the salmonella attack that thousands of new legitimate voters registered specifically to vote against the Rajneeshi's preferred candidates on election day. All of the Rajneeshi candidates lost in a landslide. Sheila's plan had backfired spectacularly, and it set them back financially, too. Thanks to their many public controversies, the cult had been bringing in less and less money in donations over the past few years. And the Share a Home program had only made things worse. Housing and feeding thousands of unhoused people, many of whom had costly medical conditions, wasn't cheap. It's estimated that Sheila's failed election plot cost over a million dollars. Afterwards, she she discontinued the Share a Home program and kicked the participants out of Rajneeshpuram. Most of them were bused to nearby towns, where they were cut loose with no money and left for the locals to deal with. Sheila's plan was such a disaster that even her boss couldn't ignore it anymore. After years of silence, Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh decided it was time to step back into the spotlight. Over the next several months, Rajneesh offered to give interviews to any news organization that wanted to talk to him. He was desperate to repair the cult's public image, but he had an uphill battle. He'd been a captivating public speaker earlier in his life, but now, at 54 years old, he wasn't as charismatic, especially on TV. And after three years of Sheila's rule, the damage was done. Polls showed that more than 2/3 of Oregonians were strongly opposed to the Rajneeshis. Soon, lawsuits started to pile up. The plaintiffs were former cult members, residents of communities the cult had targeted and unhoused. People who claimed they'd been abused during the share a home debacle. As if that wasn't bad enough, the state's largest newspaper, the Oregonian, was about to publish a lengthy investigative report port into Rajneeshpuram. And county officials started to crack down, issuing multi million dollar fines for building code violations at Rajneeshpuram. But Sheila was still a powerful figure in the cult, and she hadn't become any less confrontational. In early 1985, in response to the fines, Sheila ordered a group of her followers to firebomb the Wasco County Planning department offices in in the Dales. The blaze severely damaged the building and destroyed roughly half of the county's records and files. She also sent loyalists to the offices of the Oregonian to try to sabotage the newspaper before it could publish its story. The attackers were scared off by security guards before they could do any damage. So in a last ditch effort to maintain control, Sheila drew up a hit list of public officials, officials and reporters to assassinate, which included the state attorney general. But before she could put yet another murderous plot into action, Sheila learned the federal government had its eye on her. The IRS had opened an investigation into the cult's finances. Not only that, but Sheila learned she was about to be indicted for immigration fraud. It turned out out she'd helped arrange sham marriages so that Indian Rajneeshis could get green cards. But the biggest blow came when she found out Rajneesh wasn't coming to save her. He'd had enough of her mismanagement and manufactured crises and was ready to be done with her. On September 13, 1985, Sheela and several of her remaining loyalists boarded a private plane at the Rajneesh Purim airport and fled to Europe. She would never set foot in the commune again. But there wouldn't be a commune for much longer. Three days after Sheila left the country, Rajneesh held a press conference where he publicly called her and her associates, quote, a gang of fascists. In front of news cameras, he accused Sheila of the the salmonella attack in the Dalles, the firebombing, and the poisonings of multiple high ranking Rajneeshis. Even though he'd been present for all of this, Rajneesh claimed he didn't know about her illegal activities until now. Shortly after his press conference, an interagency task force of county, state and federal law enforcement officers set up shop at Rajneesh Puram to conduct a full investigation. They reviewed financial records and found that Sheila had committed widespread fraud, leaving the organization $55 million in debt. She'd wiretapped nearly every phone and private room at the commune, and when investigators searched the basement of her house, they found lab equipment containing samples of salmonella that matched the strain used in the poisoning in the Dales. At first, Rajneesh cooperated fully with the investigation and appointed reformers to leadership positions within the cult. But in late October 1985, a grand jury indicted him, Sheila, and several other leaders on 35 counts of immigration fraud. Like Sheila, Rajneesh tried to flee the country by plane, but was arrested at an airfield in North Carolina when his jet stopped to refuel. He eventually pled guilty, accepted a $400,000 fine, and was deported back to India on November 14. Rajneesh never returned to the United States and died in 1990 at the age of 58. One week after Rajneesh's deportation, the cult leaders gathered the remaining residents of Rajneesh Puram and informed them that the communist would be closing down by the end of the year. Over the next few weeks, the last of the Rajneeshis left the ranch and tried to return to their old lives. Meanwhile, the leaders Rajneesh had appointed tried to cover the cult's debts by selling everything they could find on the property. This included several pianos, a high tech flight simulator, and 85 of Rajneesh's Rolls Royce limousines. By early 1986, the once proud utopia of Rajneeshpuram had gone back to what it was before the cult arrived. An abandoned western ghost town. And later that year, the people responsible for the commune's collapse finally faced justice for everything they'd done over the past five years. In the summer of 1986, Shela Ma Anand Pooja, the cult's medical director, and several other co conspirators were arrested in Europe and extradited to the US to face charges. In an Oregon courtroom, Sheila and her companions pled guilty to a long list of charges, including attempted murder, wiretapping, poisoning, the Wasco county commissioners, and the mass salmonella poisoning in the Dales. Sheila was eventually given the maximum sentence of 20 years years in prison. But even though she'd stolen millions, terrorized her followers, and poisoned an entire town to try and steal an election, she only spent two and a half years behind bars. With good behavior and even better lawyers, she was able to get her sentence substantially reduced. She was released and deported to West Germany in December of 1988. Now the woman who once ruled an entire community of devoted followers has started a new life which isn't that different from her old one. As of 2025, Ma Anand Sheila lives in Switzerland where she owns and manages two retirement homes. I'd love to know what you all think about Sheila's punishment and the Rajneesh movement in general. Do you think Sheila got what she deserved after all that she did and all that happened? And had you heard about Rajneeshpuram before this episode? If you're in Oregon, do you know anyone who came into contact with the Rajneeshis? We'd love to hear your stories. Let us know in the comments however you feel. The truth is, the people who flocked to Rajneeshpuram weren't dumb or naive, and they were actually well educated, successful people who believed they'd found a better way of living. And they weren't necessarily wrong. For a short time, Rajneeshpuram worked. The Rajneeshis pooled their knowledge and their labor to make the desert bloom and created a self sufficient community where everyone had a purpose. Rajneesh Puram didn't fail because of those ideals. It failed because of the same forces that drove so so many Rajneeshis away from modern society in the first place. Greedy, untrustworthy people in positions of power. The residents of Rajneesh Puram weren't the first to try to build a better world, and they weren't the last. All we can hope is that someday somebody figures out how to make a utopia that stands the test of time. In Cult Watch this week, I'm highlighting the Kingdom of God Global Church. Established in the Detroit area in 2014, the Kingdom of God Church, or KGC, is run by televangelist David E. Taylor. In elaborate sermons broadcast online, Taylor performs what he claims are miracles, healing the sick and supposedly bringing dead people back to life. But he dedicates most of his energy to demanding donations from his followers. Many members of Taylor's church work in makeshift call centers at church properties, cold calling people to ask them to donate to Taylor's ministry. Followers are often forced to work for as many as 20 hours a day without pay. Not only that, but they're denied food, sleep and medical care until donation quotas are met. Members who fail to bring in enough money are punished with verbal and sometimes physical abuse over the past 11 years, Taylor's church has brought in nearly $50 million in donations. But that money isn't being used for charitable purposes. According to a federal indictment, Taylor and his wife have used the money to buy mansions, luxury cars, and even 125 pounds of crab legs. In August of 2025, Taylor and his wife were arrested on human trafficking charges for their treatment of church members. But that hasn't stopped the KGC's grift. On its website, you can still buy Taylor's dozens of books, including popular titles like My trip to Heaven and Interpreting animals you see in your dreams for $20 apiece. Like the Rajneeshis, followers of the Kingdom of God global church are seeking spiritual fulfillment in a fallen world. But in the end, what they're getting is exploitation and greed. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Vanessa Richardson, and this is Conspiracy Theories, Cults, and Crimes. And now I'm welcoming Sarah Turney and Courtney Nicole back to talk all about Crime House's newest show, the Final Hours.