“The Road to Jonestown” by Jeff Guinn
Lessons from a Cult Leader
I was only four years old at the time of the Jonestown Massacre—the largest mass suicide in recorded history. A generation (or two or three) has grown up since that macabre, fateful day in 1979 when over 900 people died in a Guyana settlement, after drinking poison at the behest of their charismatic leader, Jim Jones.
In his carefully researched book, “The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple,” author Jeff Guinn aims to remind us what went down, and how it all went so tragically wrong.
Everything in this book was news to me. I didn’t know that Jim Jones, the leader of Peoples Temple in California, was a raised a midwestern kid in Indiana. I didn’t know he was more of a radical socialist and not very religious, and that the Bible was nothing more than a prop for him. I didn’t know that he faked healings by taking congregants into a private room behind the stage and brought them out with a handful of chicken innards that he said were cancerous tumors he had removed. (The “tumors” could not be inspected, of course.) I didn’t know that he had a national reputation as a civil rights pioneer who met with Rosalynn Carter and other political notables before some California journalists decided to finally do their jobs. I didn’t know that Jones and his followers were looking for possible new locations for their utopian colony in Russia and North Korea, as the heat on them was being turned up in Guyana. Nor did I know that a congressman and several reporters were killed by Jones’ henchmen during the investigative trip that was a precursor to the largest mass-suicide in history.
(Nor did I know, by the way, that it wasn’t actually Kool-Aid they drank in Jonestown, but Flavor-Aid. But “Don’t drink the Flavor-Aid” doesn’t have as much of a ring to it.)
I spent much of my time reading “The Road to Jonestown” wondering how on earth this could possibly happen. How could so many people—including intelligent professionals—be so blind as to give their money, lives, loyalty, and children to a certified madman?
For his part, Jim Jones was a compelling figure, sincere in his belief in building a colorblind, socialist utopia. Some of his followers saw him clearly, and decided the ends justified the means. (Many came to regret this calculation—including my favorite character in the story, Timothy Stoen, Jones’ lawyer who lost his son and marriage to the movement.) Others of his followers were more down-and-out, desperate for the assistance and community the group was eager to provide. As Guinn observed, but for the manner the movement went off the rails at the end, Jones could have been remembered as one of America’s most important civil rights leaders. He was—to some—an inspiring figure.
However it happened, it happened. And it still happens. Guinn doesn’t analyze Jones as a cult leader per say, nor does he delve into the sociology of cult life. With restraint, he just lets the horrors of the story speak for themselves. But Jones’ life is a warning that what happened once can happen again. There remains an instinct in many of us to follow madmen, sacrificing our intellectual and moral integrity for the cause, or for the sense of community we have finally found, or as a bulwark against our perceived enemies. And there will always be charismatic leaders without conscience who, however sincerely motivated they may be, grow fat off the souls of the vulnerable. One doesn’t need to try too hard to argue that many of our favorite political leaders are more cult leaders than politicians, asking us to turn a blind eye to their moral foibles while we dedicate our time, energy, and lives to their self-serving political (and personal) agenda. The best manipulators can do so without us realizing it’s even happening.
I know this because I feel the temptation. I’m not a cult leader (at least I don’t think so), but I’m a Christian pastor. The forces that led Jones to become what he became are alive in me, too: moral imperfection, the pressure that comes with success, emotional neediness, devoted followers, spiritual narcissism. I can see how leaders like me become leaders like him. And the temptation is real—the temptation to punish dissenters, abuse my power for personal gain, hide my flaws from public view, and treat congregants as pawns in my game.
What has saved me? Well, thankfully, I don’t have all the gifts required to be a cult-leader. I’m way too awkward. I lack the charisma, the ambition, and work ethic. (In order to maintain the ruse, Jones practically lived off amphetamines to attend to all his duties.) More fundamentally, though, I’m not a psychopath. I had a happy childhood. My mama taught me right and wrong and would kill me if I went culty. (As opposed to Jones’ mother, who seemed to enjoy the attention and enabled the act.) And importantly, my church has been structured in such a way that I can’t get away with squat. All our financial and leadership systems are based on accountability, early intervention, and rigorous honesty. The people overseeing me actually oversee me.
But not every leader is so well-protected from the forces that corrupt us. Nor do we always care. That’s what’s scariest about Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple. Many of us are so desperate for leadership and purpose that we don’t WANT to hold our leaders accountable. We don’t WANT to look too deeply into their lives. If they give us a place to belong, a cause to fight for, and enemies to hate…
many of us will happily drink the Flavor-Aid.
-Matt Herndon (10/30/2020)