With the recent revelations about all the spying the NSA is doing on us American citizens (trolling through phone calls, e-mails, and whatnot), some of us may find ourselves nervously reviewing and thinking back over our phone calls and electronic communications over the past several years. Most of us don’t have any links to terrorists or any involvement in terrorist plots to worry about (unless you count sharing dark wishes concerning the fates of Bush and Cheney from time to time with friends similarly appalled at the invasion of Iraq on false pretenses and so on), but what about other indiscretions we may have shared? What about calls to accountants near tax time about clever schemes to lower what is owed the IRS? What about calls or e-mails to friends about getting together to party with illicit substances, or calls to obtain such substances? At the time, you’d have thought, Nothing to worry about! This is America, land of the free!

Well, even if we’re not as free as we thought we were, I certainly don’t have anything to worry about. My phone and electronic communication of all kinds has always been circumspect. It’s a habit I developed long ago, during my years with Ananda Marga in Australia.

In the 1970s and ’80s, the Australian government considered Ananda Marga a terrorist group, largely because it had been suspected of carrying out the only terrorist attack in that country’s history– a 1978 bombing at the Sydney Hilton during a meeting of Commonwealth leaders. At that time, Ananda Marga’s spiritual leader, Shrii Shrii Anandamurti, was imprisoned in India, and the Indian prime minister Morarji Desai claimed that Ananda Marga had attempted to kill him because of it. Although the case has never been solved, Ananda Marga was the prime suspect for years.

Consequently, the Australian government kept close tabs on Ananda Marga. Phones were known to be tapped, so whenever we spoke on the phone to one another, we were always conscious that someone may have been listening in, and we were careful not to divulge any sensitive information about our movements or plans. In particular, we were careful not to say anything to tip off listeners about two particularly sensitive topics: our smuggling business and what we called our “BMs” (bogus marriages).

For many years, when Ananda Marga members went to India, they would carry with them video equipment, either smuggling it into the country (by not declaring it upon entry) or by declaring it, having the information written in their passports, and then getting rid of the incriminating evidence. (The way such evidence could be gotten rid of was by having one’s passport sprayed before the trip, and then, once safely in the country, removing what was written by the custom official with some liquid brought along for the purpose.) Then the contraband would be sold to one of our contacts for a tidy profit, since in those days, India had very high import duties for such equipment. So, whenever we needed to talk about procuring equipment, we’d talk about going shopping. Those listening to such conversations must have been puzzled that nuns and monks, renunciates dedicated to social service, would have had such an avid interest in something so mundane!

“BMs” were done so that Ananda Marga didis and dadas could get citizenship and stay in the country. Obviously, any monk or nun discussing marriage would have caused a few raised eyebrows among our phone tappers, so here we were also models of discretion. Most of these bogus marriages worked out well, and the lucky didi or dada obtained citizenship and could travel back and forth to India without worrying about getting back into Australia. I had one, but mine did not turn out so well. A year or so after my BM, my “husband” disappeared. This was before all of the paperwork was complete, so I was left in limbo, with no legal status, for the rest of my time in the country.

Anyway, all this surveillance, which also included visits (we called them raids) to our centers by Special Branch, the Australian counterpart of the FBI, inculcated in me a lifelong sense of discretion when it came to phone and electronic communication. Back here in the U.S., I might have felt like knocking off Dick Cheney, but I would never have said so over the phone or through an e-mail. The few times I experimented with marijuana after years of abstaining (something I never do now, as marijuana leaves me shivering uncontrollably even in the hottest of weather), I would never have discussed such things over the phone. Code for smoking with one friend included saying, “How about we get together and watch Magical Mystery Tour?”

So I’ve nothing to fear from the NSA. My memoir, The Orange Robe, has lots juicy details about illegal activities, but they are beyond the reach of law enforcement as the statue of limitations has expired on all of them. Likewise the accounts of them in this blog. But, wait! Is the NSA limited by statues of limitations? Uh-oh . . .!