Long Live the Evil Librarian!
I was reading Smithsonian Magazine the other day when I came across an article about a cargo cult. I had no idea what a cargo cult was so I read on. Apparently during WWII when American troops poured through the South Pacific they can in contact with many islands with natives that were easily impressed. When the American’s left they promised to send back many wondrous things like Coca Cola and iceboxes in exchange for the hospitality of the villagers. These islanders took these promises of cargo that would transform their lives and adapted their religion so that their prayers would expedite the Cola delivery. Of course the Americans never came back. Over time these cults grew.
This particular article was about an island that worships a soldier named John Frum. This guy must have been the bee’s knees or these villagers had a royally crappy existence because sixty years later they still worship this guy. They have John Frum day with a parade complete with a processional of men marching down the dirt road wearing jeans with no shirt, barefooted, and sporting bamboo rifle replica. They have priest of Frum, including Prophet Fred who tends the volcano that John Frum apparently lives in. They even have a highly secret holy inner sanctum that’s off limits to all but senior cult leaders and the journalist writing the article complete with US flag, a bald eagle statue, imitation US military uniforms, carved stone silver dollars, and a globe.
While I’m reading this article I’m feeling conflicted. Should I feel pity for these people who had their indigenous culture destroyed by a careless drunk sailor or be amused at their lack of identity. It sounds like a pretty good deal, promise a washing machine and you get to be a god. Then the article goes on to interview some of the priests of the cult and they say that John wants them to return to their traditional ways, how they were before the Scottish Presbyterian missionaries arrived and put a stop to their drinking of narcotic kava juice, dancing, penis wrapping?!?, polygamy, swearing, and amusement on Sunday. If I had a dime for every time a Scottish Presbyterian tried to get me to stop dancing I could afford to fly to the South Pacific and find my own crappy island of worshippers.
Then they say that “frum” actually means “broom” or “to sweep” and that maybe John didn’t exist at all and the natives simply created themselves a white savior to help sweep away the influence that previous white colonials. Way to go island people! Perhaps they just took what they saw during the war and used it to convince themselves that hope is a powerful tool and sometimes it doesn’t really matter what you are praying to or praying for it’s just that you have hope that tomorrow will be better than today.
The article ended with the journalist asking the priests why after all these years with no magical lawn mowers raining from the sky do they still have faith and pray to John Frum. The priests countered with why do you Christians still pray to Jesus after waiting two thousand years for him to return. I don’t know if that’s really what the priests said or if it’s just a damn good ending to a well-written article but I don’t care. All I know is reading this article has made me decide that my apartment is now holy ground and that all those within it are promised great riches and free cable if they worship me. I’ll even clear a bookcase out of the way if they want to put up a statue or something. Long live the Evil Librarian!
This particular article was about an island that worships a soldier named John Frum. This guy must have been the bee’s knees or these villagers had a royally crappy existence because sixty years later they still worship this guy. They have John Frum day with a parade complete with a processional of men marching down the dirt road wearing jeans with no shirt, barefooted, and sporting bamboo rifle replica. They have priest of Frum, including Prophet Fred who tends the volcano that John Frum apparently lives in. They even have a highly secret holy inner sanctum that’s off limits to all but senior cult leaders and the journalist writing the article complete with US flag, a bald eagle statue, imitation US military uniforms, carved stone silver dollars, and a globe.
While I’m reading this article I’m feeling conflicted. Should I feel pity for these people who had their indigenous culture destroyed by a careless drunk sailor or be amused at their lack of identity. It sounds like a pretty good deal, promise a washing machine and you get to be a god. Then the article goes on to interview some of the priests of the cult and they say that John wants them to return to their traditional ways, how they were before the Scottish Presbyterian missionaries arrived and put a stop to their drinking of narcotic kava juice, dancing, penis wrapping?!?, polygamy, swearing, and amusement on Sunday. If I had a dime for every time a Scottish Presbyterian tried to get me to stop dancing I could afford to fly to the South Pacific and find my own crappy island of worshippers.
Then they say that “frum” actually means “broom” or “to sweep” and that maybe John didn’t exist at all and the natives simply created themselves a white savior to help sweep away the influence that previous white colonials. Way to go island people! Perhaps they just took what they saw during the war and used it to convince themselves that hope is a powerful tool and sometimes it doesn’t really matter what you are praying to or praying for it’s just that you have hope that tomorrow will be better than today.
The article ended with the journalist asking the priests why after all these years with no magical lawn mowers raining from the sky do they still have faith and pray to John Frum. The priests countered with why do you Christians still pray to Jesus after waiting two thousand years for him to return. I don’t know if that’s really what the priests said or if it’s just a damn good ending to a well-written article but I don’t care. All I know is reading this article has made me decide that my apartment is now holy ground and that all those within it are promised great riches and free cable if they worship me. I’ll even clear a bookcase out of the way if they want to put up a statue or something. Long live the Evil Librarian!