If advertising is about anything, it's about influence and persuasion. So allow me to tell you a tale which perfectly illustrates the strange and mysterious ways in which the human psyche is influenced and persuaded.
This is the story of a man who doesn't exist, but who is worshipped with unwavering loyalty and belief. The man's name is John Frum.
Visit the island of Tanna (part of the Republic of Vanuatu in the South Pacific Ocean, northeast of Australia and southeast of Malaysia) on any 15th February and you'll enjoy the spectacle of hundreds of local villagers staging an extravagant celebration. Dressed in homemade uniforms resembling the kit of the US Army and with the letters 'USA' painted on their bodies, they hoist a 'stars and stripes' flag up a pole before marching over the foot of a volcano with bamboo 'guns' on their shoulders. This is no military pageant, however - it's a religious ritual. It is John Frum day.
Before colonisation by the English and French, Vanuatu was populated by tribal communities virtually cut-off from the rest of the world. Cannibalism wasn't uncommon. After thirty years of pretty drastic European oppression, the islanders rose up and simply moved away from the ports and harbours of their rulers, restoring their traditions and living in the interior forests. They were led by a native who called himself John Frum. This wasn't his real name. He took his alias from John The Baptist or 'John From Jesus' - a person he had learned about from missionaries.
Then, in the early 1940s, everything changed. The island was inundated by thousands of American service men as World War Two flared across the globe.
These troops had come to build bases at this remote but strategically important location and they 'employed' the locals to help in the construction of roads, medical centres, bridges and airstrips. The natives were amazed and impressed by this new civilization, particularly when they saw food, tents, guns and medicines being parachuted onto their island from USAF planes. They knew their visitors called this 'cargo' - and consequently adopted the noun into their own language.
As luck would have it, they already believed their dead ancestors would return one day to shower riches from the sky. To them, this was a prophecy fulfilled. The GIs were simply the servants of the ancestors, charged with sending treasure from above. Logically, the story of John Frum was altered to make him a black American soldier who lived inside the Yasur volcano.
As the war ended in 1945, the battalions disappeared - almost overnight. The bases were left to rot, and the precious 'cargo' stopped falling from the sky. By now, the people of Tanna Island had grown fond of the radios, clocks, medicine and Coca-Cola the Americans brought. Alarmed at the end of the bounty, they devised a means of luring it back. Watching the visitors had taught them the process of summoning 'cargo', so they wasted little time in creating new landing strips and setting up their own air traffic control towers (without electricity and using string and wood as aerials). Bamboo headsets were carved and set on the heads of dummy flight controllers, fashioned from stuffed sacks. For weeks the villagers sat in their towers and stood on the runways, beckoning to the empty skies.
When this was unsuccessful, they decided to contact John Frum, in his volcano, for help. Empty cans were deployed as imitation microphones, the better to speak to John. Remembering the red crosses of the US ambulances, the symbol was painted everywhere in a desperate bid to bring the cargo back. Convinced John Frum wouldn't fail them, they left their small-holdings untended and let their livestock go free.
Today, although the 'cargo' has stubbornly refused to re-appear - and Frum remains steadfastly inside the mountain - the landing strips are still diligently tended and red crosses adorn every fence. Apparently, if you ask an islander about these beliefs, they will tell you that Christians have been waiting for their messiah to return for almost 2000 years – while followers of Frum have been waiting only 70.
To call the John Frum cargo cult a bunch of naive fools would be very unfair. Their story tells us a great deal about the workings of human psychology and the nature of belief. In many ways, the Americans (albeit unintentionally) advertised the wonders of an industrialised, developed society, invited the audience to sample their benefits, then withdrew them. This resulted in an unprecedented demand for items of which the islanders had no knowledge, let alone a need, a few years before. You know, a bit like a limited edition Kit-Kat.
Magnus Shaw is a freelance copywriter, consultant and blogger
additional facts: www.damninteresting.com
Michael Tomes November 23rd, 2013, in the morning
What a great story. Is this really true Magnus?