In the late 19th century, observers documented peculiar movements across Melanesia. Followers of these so-called 'cargo cults' believed that by mimicking the rituals of colonial missionaries – through ecstatic dancing or discarding money into the sea – they would be blessed with manufactured goods like clothes, tools and mirrors.
From War to Wishful Thinking
These beliefs intensified during World War II. Islanders watched in awe as Japanese and American forces delivered staggering technological marvels – ships, planes, and crates of supplies parachuted from the sky. The term 'cargo cult' was born from this phenomenon.
Veteran journalist John Hanscombe argues this mindset never truly vanished. He is convinced it migrated far beyond the remote Pacific islands, taking root in the economic development strategies of modern Australia.
A Pattern of Promises and Disappointment
Hanscombe points to his own experience arriving on the New South Wales South Coast two decades ago. The local council, led by a hopeful mayor, pinned regional revival hopes on an elaborate Shaolin temple complex. Artists' impressions depicted a miniature Forbidden City nestled in the Australian bush.
Ratepayer funds financed trips to China, and public land was earmarked. Yet the project collapsed. The promised temple never materialised. The abbot involved, Xi Yong Shin, faced arrest in China on suspicion of embezzlement and commercialising Buddhism. The economic cargo never arrived.
Subsequent schemes followed a familiar pattern. A proposed motor sport complex promised jobs and tourist dollars, only to be scuttled by the discovery of endangered flora on the site. Earlier, a casino plan for a flood-prone river island failed to launch. A campaign for a local jail succeeded, providing some jobs but also straining housing and social services with an influx of inmates' families.
The Tasmanian Stadium: A Modern Cargo Cult?
Hanscombe now hears loud echoes of this cargo cult mentality in the heated debate surrounding the Macquarie Point stadium in Tasmania, recently greenlit by the state parliament. This approval came despite independent expert advice labelling the business case flawed and the location problematic.
The familiar 'just-build-it' chant has returned, he notes, accompanied by faith in a cascade of economic, cultural and social benefits. Proponents believe money will rain from the sky – or more accurately, flow from the mainland – and that the project will stem the tide of young Tasmanians leaving for Melbourne and Sydney.
This faith persists even as the same state government struggles with basic infrastructure, famously failing to build a functional jetty for its new Bass Strait ferries in Devonport.
Hanscombe's central question is poignant: will a new generation of islanders be left disappointed, realising they have thrown good money into the sea, if the stadium's promised cargo fails to materialise?
