Showing posts with label David Koresh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Koresh. Show all posts
Monday, November 18, 2013
Drinking the Kool-Aid
Thirty–five years ago today, the world was shocked to learn of what was being dubbed the "Jonestown massacre" in the South American nation of Guayana.
I have always thought it was misleading, though, to use the word "massacre" because, while there were some people who resisted, the available evidence suggests that most of the 918 people who died took their lives willingly. But you can still find those who will argue that what happened in Jonestown was mass murder, that the victims were coerced into drinking the poisoned Flavor–Aid (yes, that is what it was called. I guess I always assumed it was some sort of generic equivalent of Kool–Aid).
To a degree, I suppose, that was true. Ironically, apparently there were those who drank the Flavor–Aid against their will. Still, all available evidence suggests the vast majority of those who drank it did so willingly, giving birth to the pop culture cliche "drinking the Kool–Aid," which is generally understood to mean blind, unquestioning acceptance of something.
(I often wonder how many people who use that phrase but weren't born when Jonestown happened know how it came to be.)
The Rev. Jim Jones' People's Temple Agricultural Project (aka "Jonestown") was a planned socialist community established in the South American nation of Guyana.
Originally, Jones, a charismatic leader similar to David Koresh, formed the People's Temple in his home state of Indiana not long after he started attending Communist Party rallies in the 1950s. He was active in local pro–integration politics and adopted several children who were at least partly non–white.
By the 1960s, Jones apparently had his eye on South America as a safe place to be in the event of a nuclear war, but instead he told his congregation that they would find their garden of Eden in California. And the People's Temple migrated west, where it enjoyed considerable success in its endeavors. Jones became an influential figure in the San Francisco area, rubbing elbows with important Democrats, both local and national.
By the mid–1970s, they had relocated again — to South America — and formed, under Jones' guidance, the People's Temple Agricultural Project.
And some of the relatives of Temple members were concerned that, among other things, no one who was part of what Jones called a "model of socialism" was permitted to leave.
There were other complaints, some from within. There was talk of long workdays and six–day work weeks followed by hours of study and lectures on socialism. Jones was said to have had sex with most of the women in the community and to have fathered several children.
Jones held what he called "White Nights" — simulated emergencies involving the CIA or some other investigatory agency that sometimes included Jones' call for "revolutionary suicides." Members would be given cups of a red liquid to drink. They would be told that the liquid was poisoned and that they would die within 45 minutes.
When the members realized that the liquid they drank was not poisoned after all, Jones told them it had been a loyalty test.
Thirty–five years ago today, it was not a test. It was the real thing.
Jonestown was being investigated again — a familiar experience for the People's Temple and its corrupt/paranoid leader. A U.S. congressman was leading this one, though, and that definitely was not a familiar experience.
The congressman was Leo Ryan. He represented a portion of San Francisco, and some of his constituents were former Temple members or relatives of Temple members. They had contacted him about their concerns over conditions in Jonestown. And they were denied access to Jonestown for the first couple of days following their arrival in Guyana.
When Ryan and his party were finally allowed into Jonestown on Nov. 17, 1978, the Temple members put their best foot forward, but some of the members who wanted to leave managed to contact the visitors, and the facade began to unravel.
And then, 35 years ago today, Ryan and others were gunned down on the airstrip at Port Kaituma as they tried to leave. Back at Jonestown, Jones announced what had happened and issued another call for "revolutionary suicides." This time, there was cyanide in the Flavor–Aid, and, before long more than 900 Temple members lay dead around the compound.
Jones died that night, but he did not die from poisoning. His body was found with an apparently self–inflicted gunshot wound to his left temple. I don't think it has ever been established whether Jones shot himself or he was shot by someone else.
The Guyanese coroner who examined him said the wound was consisted with a self–inflicted wound.
I have seen few articles on Jonestown's milestone anniversary.
Rachel Sheeley writes, in the Palladium–Item, the newspaper in the small east–central Indiana town of Richmond, where Jones attended high school, that the town was unprepared for the massive media attention that came its way after the events in South America.
The San Francisco Bay Guardian took the opportunity of the anniversary to call for the establishment of a memorial to those who died.
"San Francisco should stop trying to whitewash Jones from its history books," writes Court Haslett, equating what happened 35 years ago today to two more recent tragedies, the 1995 bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City and the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks.
Talk about drinking the Kool–Aid.
Labels:
1978,
David Koresh,
Guyana,
history,
Jim Jones,
Jonestown,
Leo Ryan,
mass suicide,
People's Temple
Friday, April 19, 2013
The Ashes of Waco

It was 20 years ago today that the Branch Davidians' compound in Waco, Texas, burned to the ground when federal agents stormed the compound after a seven–week standoff.
In the aftermath of the bombing at the finish line of the Boston Marathon this week, it was natural for people to wonder if there was some connection between the two. When one considers the events of the last few hours, though, it is natural to wonder if there is a connection.
The focus of the investigation and manhunt was two brothers reported to be from Chechnya, but they are now said to have left Chechnya while children. At this writing, their allegiances/motivations are uncertain. About all that is certain is that one of the brothers is dead and the other is on the loose.
I suppose such questions will be answered at some point and in one way or another.
If the perpetrator(s) turns out to be domestic, there may be a pretty good chance that the explosions were planned to coincide (almost) with the anniversary of Waco. It was, after all, the inspiration for the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City two years later.
I remember exactly where I was on this day in 1993. I was in Columbia, Mo., with a group of my journalism students from the University of Oklahoma. We were attending a weekend seminar on the University of Missouri campus.
April 19, 1993 was a Monday, the last day of the conference. When things wrapped up around midday, we were planning to hit the road for Norman. I remember waking up in my motel room that morning and switching on the TV. As I got dressed for the day, I kept track of the start of the fatal siege.
It began early that day when the feds tried to use armored vehicles to puncture the walls of the compound — through which, the plan went, tear gas would be tossed in an attempt to flush the occupants out.
But somehow the compound went up in flames instead — some say the Davidians set the fire(s) themselves — and, when it was all said and done, more than 70 people, including their leader, the charismatic David Koresh (born Vernon Howell), were dead.
I've never been sure of the sequence of events. The students and I were busy until around 12:30 or so, but we learned, just before the seminar adjourned, that a fire — well, several fires — broke out shortly after noon. As the host of the seminar concluded the activities, he advised that "all hell has broken loose in Waco."
(I'm not alone in that uncertainty about the event sequence, by the way. Even among those who were at the scene and participated in the siege, there has been and continues to be disagreement about what happened when and who was responsible.)
The students and I didn't see footage of the burning compound until we got back to Norman, but we heard reports on the radio all the way.
That night, when I was back in my apartment, I stayed up late watching news accounts, marveling at what we had missed and at the irony that a bunch of journalism students and professors had missed what was probably the greatest news story of the year because they were attending a seminar about how to present the news more effectively.

I had no idea that, two years later to the day, a bomb would go off in Oklahoma City, less than 30 miles from where I lived, and the timing would be connected to the anniversary of the assault on the Branch Davidians' compound in Texas.
(That was an even bigger news story, one in which I would find myself involved indirectly — as teacher and unofficial adviser to the students who staffed the OU campus newspaper, who produced all their own copy and photos and graphics, unlike nearly all newspapers, professional and collegiate, who depended upon the Associated Press.
(Frankly, I will never be able to say adequately — or often enough — how proud I was and am of the work those young people did on a story that undoubtedly was intensely personal for them. Many had grown up in Oklahoma City or nearby communities; one student even lost her father.)
But no one knew there was a link until later.
Somehow, that seems appropriate. Like other charismatic figures who led their followers to their destruction, Koresh was a mysterious individual. Judging from what I have read of Koresh — and the video clips I have seen of him preaching to his followers — virtually no one (perhaps not even Koresh himself) could have foreseen the fiery end of the Waco compound.
In many ways, Koresh and the Davidians remain shrouded in mystery.
Two decades later, Koresh still casts a mystifying spell.
"His legacy," writes Allan Turner in the Beaumont (Texas) Enterprise, "is one of righteousness, duplicity and showmanship."
A survivor of the inferno told Tim Madigan of the Fort Worth Star–Telegram that he still believes Koresh was who he claimed to be — in spite of the many questions that swirled around the standoff and final siege at the time.
There are many questions about those events that remain unanswered.
Labels:
1993,
bombing,
Boston Marathon,
Branch Davidians,
David Koresh,
fire,
Oklahoma City,
siege,
standoff,
Waco
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