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SINCE ITS inception in 1992, Falun Gong has grown with lightning speed, and it has done so across generational, geographical, professional, and class lines — a first for a spiritual or political movement in China, according to Goldman. Though Falun Gong leaders have been accused of amping up their membership numbers with claims of up to 100 million practitioners worldwide, even the most conservative independent estimates put membership at 30 to 40 million. Goldman believes the movement’s popularity is a byproduct of the Communist regime’s instability, greatly facilitated by strides in Internet and cell-phone technology. High-tech communications explain the speed with which such a tight community has been able to form.

In Beijing on April 25, 1999, as many as 10,000 Falun Gong members came out of the woodwork — cascading down from mountain villages, emerging from laboratories, and stepping out of government offices — to assemble for a peaceful demonstration in front of the Communist Party compound. Three months later, the government — shocked by the sudden appearance of what it saw as a cultish threat — declared the group illegal and put out an arrest warrant for the man members call “Master” or “Teacher” Li. (These days, Li is rumored to be sequestered somewhere in Queens.) In a statement issued by the Chinese embassy in Washington, DC, the government explained its actions: “The Falun Dafa, or Falun Gong, a cult headed by Li Hongzhi, has deceived and harmed a lot of people and been involved in many illegal activities that have seriously disrupted public order, misguided people, and confused right and wrong.”

Yet the movement has continued to grow, and not just in China. The New England coordinator of Falun Dafa, Michael Tsang, boasts a New England membership of about 150 people. One of their assorted meeting spots is Room 110 at the Harvard Science Center, a room the university lends out to practitioners on Friday and Sunday evenings. On days when sessions are not held at Tufts, Christine Moon heads there for her weekly group-practice and study sessions, on either Friday or Sunday nights.

On a recent Friday evening, a little before seven, Moon is joined in Room 110 by six familiar faces. She sits down on a small exercise mat, peels off her sneakers, and begins swirling her arms slowly around her torso and legs as Master Li — via audio tape — guides the group through the exercises and hashes out the finer points of Zhuan Falun. Whites and Asians, professionals and artists, middle-aged and senior citizens, the wrinkled and the smooth-skinned — all have devoted Friday night’s prime time to the spiritual effort to, in the words of one, “become a better person.”

With the air of friends getting together to discuss the new Tom Wolfe, they form a circle and chitchat about topics ranging from Moon’s recent trip to Geneva (where she joined 600 others speaking out in support of the UN Human Rights Commission’s resolution to condemn China) to one woman’s stiff neck and the exercises that could work magic on the pain. They all agree that they’ve been looking forward to this moment all day. After flipping off the light switch and pushing back desks, they arrange their limbs carefully on their rolled-out mats. Someone punches “Play” on a scratchy boom box, and they embark on what has become a daily ritual for a growing number of Bostonians.

For an hour, they move their arms fluidly and slowly, swishing down to the ground and then up around head level, always returning back to swirl around the belly with languid circular flourishes. The five exercises that make up the total qi gong set are accompanied by Master Li’s lulling monotone, heard over the nostalgic musical strains of old-school Orientalist purrs, twangs, and chimes.

The faithful claim that Falun Gong — whose motto is “Truthfulness, Compassion, and Forbearance” — has cured disease, saved lives, and increased moral tolerance among its members. Asked to explain what keeps her coming back to Room 110 every Friday and Sunday for three hours a crack, Linda DeHart, a 62-year-old silk-screen artist in Cambridge, lets out an overwhelmed sigh. “Whoa,” she laughs. “It’s been a varied experience. Most importantly, though, I have peace of mind, and I’ve been able to let go of material attachments.” DeHart, however, is unable to pinpoint exactly what “material attachments” she has in mind. “I’ll have to get back to you,” she says with a smile.

Followers of Falun Gong exude serenity; in some instances it may be studied, but it is always pronounced. Sitting quietly in the MIT student center before an interview to discuss his imprisonment in China, Zhiyuan Wang, a cardiologist from Beijing who began working at Mass General when he emigrated three years ago, sits quietly with eyes closed and hands neatly folded in his lap, listening intently to a CD of Master Li while students flurry about, grabbing cups of coffee and heading to the library. When the interview begins, Wang again sits with closed eyes, his face and body absolutely still, a soft expression painted on his lips. When it is his turn to speak, he contributes slow, warm, carefully worded sentences, while closely watching an interpreter to make sure everything is just so. “Without Falun Gong,” he says, forming the words precisely, “I would have died.” After peeking around for the effect of this pronouncement, he again closes his eyes.

DRAMATIC CLAIMS like Wang’s have given rise to missionary fervor in the movement. Candlelight vigils, photographic dioramas on Copley Square, and publications strategically distributed around town are continual reminders of Falun Gong’s growing presence. “Our intention is to let the public know the situation in China,” said Tsang last month, monitoring a crew of 10 or so people who had assembled on Copley Square to collect signatures endorsing the UN resolution condemning China’s human-rights violations. (The resolution, which the US supported, was shelved April 18, by a vote of 23 to 17, after China motioned to take “no action.”) He added: “The more people are aware of what’s going on, they will support it more, and maybe clear up the persecution.” The words “persecution” and “crackdown” are used frequently, often as a way of marking time in the movement’s history (i.e., “before the crackdown,” “after the crackdown”). The Falun Dafa Information Center has prominently posted a page devoted to “Crackdown Facts & Figures.”

For some, the compulsion to publicize both the horrors of the crackdown and the tales of healing and redemption is so strong that it’s worth sacrificing personal safety. Wang, who emigrated here from China three years ago, was introduced to Falun Gong when a co-worker took him to a nine-day seminar in Cambridge. After only several months of regular practice, he says, he was wholly cured of a debilitating degenerative muscular disease that had had him hospitalized in China. “I felt the need to go back to China because I felt that Falun Dafa gave me a second life,” says Wang, speaking through an interpreter. “I couldn’t understand why the Chinese government wanted to persecute Falun Gong. I thought it must be a mistake.” After simply saying the words “Falun Dafa,” he says, he was cuffed, slammed into a cell, and left there without food or water for days. It was only when he was passed to a policeman from his hometown, who allowed him to go free, that Wang jumped a plane back to Boston. “I was very lucky,” he says, nodding seriously. Looking at this healthy, robust man, it’s hard to imagine him as he describes himself four years ago — angry, ill, and weak. People like Wang truly feel that this movement — these simple five exercises and a book — have been a godsend. And what could be wrong with that?

It’s stories like these, seemingly endless in number, that help lend the movement an attractive sense of purpose — notwithstanding its leaders’ claims that the group is not political. And for people like Moon, who came to the group before it was even banned, its politicization has been an added bonus. “I’ve gotten so much from it, especially now with the persecution,” says Moon, almost all of whose friends at Tufts are involved in rallying the troops in some way or another.