In 1908, a vicious tropical storm ravaged the San Juan de la Maguana region of the Dominican Republic. Crops, livestock, homes, and people were wiped out on a record scale. There was an eccentric old man living in the area at the time, Olivorio Mateo. He had no family, no home, and slept in the woods. Locals labeled him un vagabundo, un loco. He was illiterate and worked as a farmhand occasionally. During the storm, he disappeared. Everybody assumed that he was dead, and even held a half-hearted makeshift service. Nine days later, he would emerge from the mountainous landscape, unscathed.
He arrived a changed man, vocal and articulate. He went on to explain that he was gathering firewood when the storm hit, and that the very hand of God lifted him up to the heavens to keep him safe. He claimed that this God revealed the mysteries of life to him, and furthermore, endowed him with powers. Olivorio gained popularity as a thaumaturge, or miracle healer. Witness accounts claimed that he raised a little girl from the dead who had clearly drowned hours before. Word spread, and sick folks traveled from far away for his treatments. Many stayed, and many others made the pilgrimage to follow him; to become part of what was a fully independent commune.
In 1916, US Marines invaded the Dominican Republic, disarmed the general populace, and seized control with the clear intention of making it another “banana republic.” The pretext to the invasion was due to a 1907 US/Dominican treaty in which Americans were promised receivership of certain customs revenues in exchange for aid. They claimed that the Dominican government had increased the public debt without the required prior agreement of Washington officials. In truth, they were looking to exert their power and dominate Central and South America even further, as they had in Nicaragua (1912), Mexico (1914), and Haiti (1915). Controlling these smaller, poorer nations through aid, dependence, and intervention was a key tactic in installing US military bases at strategic locations and dominating the hemisphere with pro-American ideology.
Part of this occupation in the Dominican Republic would entail dismantling any group, movement, or individual with too much popular support. Governors and police Chiefs were replaced. Caciques were incarcerated. And offbeat, fringe religions were snuffed out. Olivorio was targeted along with his 500 followers. Marines would eventually track him through the woods as he fled, execute him, and display the body in the town square in 1922. Two years later, the US would pull out of D.R. Fast forward some forty years, and Olivorismo (as the semi-established religion would come to be known) reemerged in the region. Twin brothers Leon and Plinio Ventura claimed to be the modern embodiment of Olivorio, split in two. They gained 1,000 followers who called themselves the Palma Solistas. This group was also eradicated by military elements of the Dominican government.
I’ve used this rather obscure example to illustrate a universal fascination that society seems to harbor for cults and their leaders; one that transcends time, geography, and socio-economic class. We are all familiar with case studies like Jim Jones, David Koresh, Heaven’s Gate, and even the Manson Family as prime examples of a flock of individuals buying into the “teachings” of one, and accepting it as a form of gospel. This blind loyalty always ends in tragedy, it seems, and yet we can’t look away. It’s evident on every streaming service; take a peek. Whether in documentary form, or in stylized fictitious tales, cults have become their own sub-genre within the realm of our entertainment spectrum. But why this morbid fascination?
I don’t claim to know anything about psychology, but I am just as guilty of tuning into these shows, so allow me to chime in. Despite how much we proclaim our individuality, there is an inherent herd mentality hard-wired into human nature. This is how we established societies, conquered crippling diseases, and formulated basic ideals. We find comfort in the familiar. This is the founding principle behind all of organized religion. Cults take this concept and spin it to where it almost always revolves around one individual, who is usually a narcissistic megalomaniac and declares themself as a new Christ-like figure.
We live in a society where the “cult of personality” permeates all of pop culture, and even the press. Social media has solidified the idea that perception is everything; morals, character, or identity mean nothing. It’s what we post that is perpetual. In a world where a Trump-type could rule over the free world, the idea that Jim Jones could convince thousands to drink the Kool-Aid doesn’t seem so crazy. We use cults as a barometer to rationalize some of the chaos in our own lives.
In addition, we are instinctively drawn to magnetic personalities, even if we don’t agree with them, or like them. Cult leaders require a certain charisma to attract hordes of the disenfranchised and the impressionable. It can be fundamentally fascinating to witness how these savvy soothsayers have swayed masses over millennia. Like watching a good horror movie, or a tragic train crash, we are entranced, and we’ll continue to watch. The current commercialization of cults in entertainment is clear evidence of that.
Excerpts from this article have appeared in the author’s novel The Thaumaturge of Providence