Drinking the Kool-aid
A common phrase these days, but few know its true origin. It was thirty years ago in Guyana that Jim Jones' cult came to an end when close to nine hundred people committed mass suicide by drinking a cyanide-laced fruit drink. A survivor, who escaped before the November 19, 1978 "massacre," told of numerous rehearsals for the final exit strategy where cult members were told to assemble in the main building of the compound and drink from a vat of a bitter-tasting brew that she said "tasted like that kid's drink, Kool-Aid without the sugar." Later her words would take on a whole new meaning after the horror of Jonestown. Now the phrase, "Drinking the Kool-aid" means accepting the philosophy or position of someone else without question, like a brain-washed cult member.
A couple of years before Jonestown, I had a brush with a cult when I was covering a story for a local Buffalo newspaper. A prominent local businessman/advertiser had a son who was a member of a well-known cult, the ones often seen at airports in those days, whose official name I have conveniently forgotten. He asked that we do a feature story on his son's group. We received a phone call from the son who invited me to visit their headquarters to write the story. I was to meet my "guide" at 11:00 am for a tour of their spacious Victorian quarters on a tree-lined street in a toney section of the West Side. As I parked in front of the beautiful home, I was immediately impressed that pan-handling on street corners and airports could afford such a large sumptuous setting for the local adherents to the religious sect. I had been assigned a female who immediately told me that I was not allowed to take any pictures, just one of many of the rigid rules of the group e.g. diet, food preparation and even laundry. There was a distinct heirarchy as the "leaders," all men, wore different-coloured vestments and even ate in a separate area of the dining area. I had lunch with them, but I was relegated to the "children's table" with the women and children. We all sat on the floor to eat some gruel-like substance which was prepared in the large, well-appointed kitchen by the leaders. The kitchen was cloistered, something I found out accidently by entering unawares. I was quickly ordered out by the food preparers. Pardon me! We ate in silence, except for one woman who read aloud from one of their religious tracts. The scripture sounded like a pot pourri made up from various Eastern religions. By then, I was looking for my own exit strategy. Then one of the children started to make a fuss, perhaps because of the lousy tasteless food and his mother tried to quiet him. The "leader." a very intense young man, turned from his place at the head of the room and gave the woman such a look of pure hatred and venom that I practically gasped. So much for peace and love and Hare Krishna. After the men went back out on the streets, the women, all young and very docile, resumed their housekeeping duties. The place was spotlessly clean. The dining room floor was cleaned with a special mop and the dishes, which I helped with, had to be washed downstairs in the basement laundry tub. When I asked about the kitchen, I was informed that only the "saved ones" could enter the kitchen. My guide was a novice, having been in the cult for only a few months. No men were left behind at the manse; they were part of the fund-raising committee. So, we washed dishes in the laundry tub and that's when I noticed the piles of gowns/saris/vestments near the washing machine. They were sorted by colour, but also, there was at least a foot separation between the piles on the basement floor. I asked about that and was told that the garments of the novices could not be in contact with the garments of the "saved" as they were not sanctified. I asked my guide about her life before joining the group and she told me that she had come to Buffalo to attend college and was recruited on campus. She said that all the others came from local colleges and universities in the area. She came from a very religious Jewish family (as did our newspaper advertiser's son) and she said that many others were from very religious families. She talked about the daily routine of rising at 3:00 am for morning prayers and worship; another round of prayers at 6:00 am and chores the rest of the day between meals. The day ended late with more prayers. Of course, there was no television, radio, or newspapers. There was a phone, but no one was allowed to use it without permission. Contact with family members was very limited. The group was planning a big celebration on the weekend of a wedding between two of the group's members and a special ceremony to dedicate a plant that was a god. The plant was a large, healthy marijuana-like house plant in an attractive urn on a beautiful pedestal in one of the two formal parlours of the house. I was really wanting to leave by then. Last stop, the upstairs dormitories, a warren of rooms where the women and children slept on one side of the house and the men on the other. "Married" couples did not even share private quarters even though there was plenty of evidence of sexual congress: a number of the women were pregnant, nursing infants or herding babies and toddlers in the rooms. They were not allowed on the third floor where the leaders slept. With promises that I would return on Sunday for the marriage and plant celebration, I put my loafers on and left; got into my car; drove immediately to the nearest McDonald's Drive-Thru; bought a Big Mac and fries; went back to the newspaper and quit.
