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| Two Yaohnanen tribesmens show framed pictures of their 2007 visit with Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. |
Cargo Cults
On
One Pacific Island, a U.S. Soldier and Prince Philip Are Gods
In Vanuatu, a South Pacific island nation that's a three-hour or so flight east-northeast of Sydney, Australia, the mystic figure known as John Frum is alive.
Well,
as much as he's ever been
alive. He is not alone. John Frums, some will argue, "live" all over
the world. Even in places you wouldn't expect.
On
the tiny island of Tanna in the Vanuatu archipelago — overall population about
250,000 — a vocal lot of locals still worship John Frum, a mythical personage
often depicted as a white American World War II soldier (though he has been
described in different ways).
Every
year on Feb. 15, Frum followers celebrate John Frum Day.
They
raise the U.S. flag. They march in formation with rifles made of bamboo. Older
islanders dress in military outfits, complete with medals.
Years
ago, they carved airstrips out of the jungle, complete with fake planes.
They
honor John Frum and prepare for his return and the good times — and material
things —that will come with it.
All
this, it should be noted, for someone that outsiders believe sprung from the
minds of elders high on kava, a local plant with slightly psychoactive
properties.
Frum
followers are leading examples of what many anthropologists label a "cargo
cult," which is in itself a kind of moving target of a term that
scientists now struggle to accept.
The
term has been used largely for groups in the Pacific, those in less-developed
societies conducting what are seemingly strange and primitive rituals.
The
label is still used, but not as much. Calling something a "cult,"
after all, is a tad pejorative. Even the word "cargo" may not
represent what it once did.
However
the groups are tagged, they persist, some to the point that they have become
legitimized parts of society. And they're not all relegated to the jungles of
faraway islands.
"It's
not just something that's in Vanuatu or New Caledonia or New Guinea. It's not
just the 'primitive' spots,"
says John Edward Terrell, the Regenstein Curator of Pacific Anthropology at
the Field Museum in Chicago. "That's
why I argue that Trumpism is a 'cargo cult.' It's right here at home."
The
Granddaddy of Cargo Cults
The term "cargo cult"
originated in 1945 with the John Frum movement, which began in the early part
of the 20th century.
The
Frum movement gained followers during and after World War II when islanders,
seeing cargoes of food and goods that American soldiers brought, went full-in
(probably after a night of sipping kava drinks) on the idea that an American
savior would reappear after the war, bringing gifts of "cargo."
"John
promised he'll bring planeloads and shiploads of cargo to us from America if we
pray to him," a village elder told Smithsonian
Magazine in 2006. "Radios, TVs,
trucks, boats, watches, iceboxes, medicine, Coca-Cola and many other wonderful
things."
More
than cargo, though — and one reason that anthropologists avoid using the term
"cargo cult" - the promise of John Frum then, and now, is to throw
off the yoke of colonials who for years pushed strange religions and
customs on a people rich with their own history and kastom.
The followers of Frum at one time were told by their
leaders (who, ostensibly, heard from John himself ... again with the kava) to
stop listening to the missionaries and to "drink
kava, worship the magic stones and perform our ritual dances,"
according to what a village leader told Smithsonian.
That
desire for more than just cargo — for a better, more authentic life — has paid
dividends on the island, even as worshippers await the return of their man. The
John Frum Party is now represented in the Vanuatu parliament.
The
Frum movement is not the only "cargo cult" still active in the
Pacific.
Also
on Tanna, a small sect worships the United Kingdom’s Prince Philip, believing
the Duke of Edinburgh (and husband to Queen Elizabeth II) is a divine being.
Several
other groups have been ID'd as "cargo cults" in Papua New Guinea and
elsewhere.
"It
is a social phenomenon; you have to be able to, in a sense, tell it to other
people," Terrell says. "People can connect with the idea that,
'It's all going to get better if we do X or Y.'"
What Cargo Cultists Want
These "revitalization
movements," as famed anthropologist Anthony F.C. Wallace more
tastefully called them, are no different than what many cultures throughout the
world experience throughout history.
The
people in these crusades want what we all do — a better life.
Wallace
spelled out five phases in the development of these movements; Terrell has
boiled them down here, from the point of view of those experiencing it. (We've
shrunk them even more.)
1. Once,
life was good. We were happy.
2. Things
got worse, and we got a little less happy and more restless.
3. It
got really bad, and we started looking for ways to make things better.
"Disillusionment and apathy became common."
4. Somebody
with what Wallace called a "vision dream" — gained in any number of
ways, tangible or intangible, of this world or beyond it — suggested a better
way. Converts were made. More people, seeking a better life, joined in. A
movement was born.
5. The
movement lives until the dream is realized or dashed.
How Cargo Cults Relate to Today's
World
The idea of people wanting to
improve their lot, and waiting on someone to help them do it, should not be,
Terrell suggests, some strange concept.
Entire
religions — not just John Frum — are based on it. Whole societies turn on it.
Unhappy?
Looking for more meaning in your life? Want to return to a happier time? A,
shall we say, "greater" time?
Donald
Trump, anyone? Brexit, perhaps? The Arab Spring? Russia under Putin?
It
turns out that the "cargo cults" of Vanuatu aren't all that different
from the rest of the world when it comes to what they want.
"I
don't think it always has to be about 'How it had been was much better, and if
we can only get back, we'll all be fine,'" Terrell says. "But
Trumpism clearly does [that]. I don't think it's any exaggeration that Trumpism
has all the earmarks of a cargo cult. It's about the power of belief. And the
power of persuasion."
NOW THAT'S INTERESTING
Anthropologist Lamont Lindstrom explains the early
labeling of "cargo cults" this way: "Any sort of woeful or forlorn desire for material goods or other
coveted objective, joined with a seemingly irrational program to obtain this,
can be blasted as a wrongheaded cargo cult."
Whether
it's stories about John Frum followers in Vanuatu or Trump followers in Iowa,
Lindstrom says, they all rest on this basic human trait. "Cargo stories are desire stories. They function to remind us how
modern, consumerist desire operates. This is desire — for things as for others
— that is never sated."
John Donovan
CONTRIBUTING
WRITER
John is a
freelance writer based in the suburbs of Atlanta. A longtime sports scribe with
too much time covering college sports, the NFL, the NBA and Major League
Baseball, he now writes on science, health, history, current events and
whatever other weird non-sports stories that he and the editors at
HowStuffWorks dream up. He has a journalism degree from Arizona State, a wife,
a son, a dog that sheds too much and a bad case of eyestrain.
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