This entry was written by Robyn.
We thought it would be interesting to go see the weekly ceremonies of the John Frum adherents. This religion, sometimes called a “cargo cult”, started in 1936 with the brief visit of its mysterious namesake, John Frum. It exists only on Tanna. Among its tenets are that John Frum will come back, bringing great quantities of material goods to all the believers. During WWII, as the GIs stationed here had huge quantities of equipment, and were friendly and generous, John Frum became associated with America. According to the Lonely Planet guidebook, “Some supporters made radio aerials out of tin cans and wire to contact Jon Frum. Others built an airfield in the bush and constructed wooden aircraft to entice his cargo planes to land. Still others erected wharves where his ships could berth. Small red crosses were placed all over Tanna and remain a feature in Jon Frum villages, where flags are raised each evening to this god of their collective imagination.”
We thought it would be interesting to go see the weekly ceremonies of the John Frum adherents. This religion, sometimes called a “cargo cult”, started in 1936 with the brief visit of its mysterious namesake, John Frum. It exists only on Tanna. Among its tenets are that John Frum will come back, bringing great quantities of material goods to all the believers. During WWII, as the GIs stationed here had huge quantities of equipment, and were friendly and generous, John Frum became associated with America. According to the Lonely Planet guidebook, “Some supporters made radio aerials out of tin cans and wire to contact Jon Frum. Others built an airfield in the bush and constructed wooden aircraft to entice his cargo planes to land. Still others erected wharves where his ships could berth. Small red crosses were placed all over Tanna and remain a feature in Jon Frum villages, where flags are raised each evening to this god of their collective imagination.”
I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but it seemed like it might be interesting. Thirteen of us, nine yachties and two land tourists, piled in the back of a truck for an hour’s 4WD ride to the thatched-roof village. A tattered American flag flew over a concrete community building, but other than some kids playing, not much was going on. We hung out until dusk, when dozens of people began gathering in an open-sided thatched structure. They sat down on the woven mats which covered the ground and began singing to the accompaniment of guitars. Just outside, little boys break-danced to the music, gyrating and hopping around energetically. Behind them, girls and young women danced sedately, colorful grass skirts swaying. More of a rhythmic walk, they took eight or ten steps forward with arms swaying, did a quick pivot, then the same distance back, again and again.
Every Friday the singing and dancing goes on all through the night. Members from four different villages come together, and each village takes its turn playing and singing hymns. After a few hours it was clear that the rest of the night would be pretty much the same. The singing was very nice, but by then we were all ready to return to our boats and call it a night.
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