The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple

by Jeff Guinn

Read decades later, such declarations seem nothing more than obvious, grandiose self-delusion. But many among Jones’s followers didn’t regard them that way.

Followers who joined from the first Ukiah days onward had become conditioned to his claims as they gradually escalated. Tim Carter says, “It was like the frog in the pot of water. If you drop him in water that’s already boiling, he’ll try to hop right out. But put him first in a pot of lukewarm water and then turn up the heat little by little, and he’ll stay in the pot even though he’s finally being boiled to death.” Some didn’t believe any of it but followed Jones to help bring about the advancement of socialism.

And there were plenty somewhere in the middle, who believed in socialism and stopped short of considering Jones to be God, but still felt that he had some sort of power, whether to read minds or to see the future or to heal. To almost all Temple members, Jones was clearly special even if only in some undefinable way, and, thanks to him, great things were being accomplished.

Though their leader continued preaching about solemn subjects—Jones promised, “If you give yourself to socialism, you will not die by accident or in a sick bed, but you will determine your destiny and die where and when it can best serve socialism”—the congregation felt a growing sense of accomplishment.

Praise in the newspapers for Jones was, followers believed, praise for the Temple and for them. The reverse would also be true. Any attack on him was taken personally by his followers.

The 1976 presidential campaign was well under way with Republican incumbent Gerald Ford challenged by Democrat Jimmy Carter. Carter’s wife, Rosalynn, was coming to San Francisco for an event at the city’s Carter campaign headquarters, and she had requested a private meeting with Jones.

Eldridge Cleaver

Only a month after Jones’s gala testimonial dinner in San Francisco, the California State Senate in Sacramento also lauded Jones. Its Rules Committee passed a resolution citing him and Peoples Temple for “exemplary display of diligent and devoted service to, and concern for, their fellow man, not only in this state and nation, but throughout the world.”

Walter Mondale

For perhaps the only time in his life, Jones seemed almost content, even a little overwhelmed by his success.

Back in San Francisco, Jones preached a lot about reincarnation, comparing the moment of death and then immediate additional life to a flame passed from one candle to the next. Suicide continued to be a constant topic.

“Inside Peoples Temple,”

As a tactic to delay any fatal orders by Jones, Marceline arranged for Angela Davis and Eldridge Cleaver to send radio messages of support for the Temple cause.

The September 1977 “White Night”—a settlement term for those occasions when Jones summoned everyone to deal with a sudden, life-threatening crisis—would prove to be only the first.

Moore was struck by how quickly the others picked up on Jones’s complaints and added their own: “They fed each other’s fears. There seemed to be no objective voice questioning the reality of those fears. Jim went on and on, and they agreed with everything and encouraged him to say more.”

Jones began relying on drugs not only for personal relief from stress, but to control certain followers.

A commotion triggered what would become hours of unfolding tragedy.

“Dad said, ‘You’re going to meet Mr. Frazier,’ which was code for everybody dies.

“Well, someday everybody dies, some place that hope runs out, because everybody dies. I haven’t seen anybody yet [who] didn’t die. And I’d like to choose my own kind of death for a change. I’m tired of being tormented to hell, that’s what I’m tired of.” Most of the crowd shouted in approval.

Because of the corpses’ continuing deterioration, no firm count of those forcibly injected could be made. Estimates ranged from as few as twenty to as many as a third of the Jonestown dead.

The announced number of dead grew to 700 on Thursday, 780 on Friday, and finally, a week after the tragic event, 909. Counting Sharon Amos and her three children, plus Ryan and the other four killed in Port Kaituma, the final death count of November 18, 1978, was 918.

Jim Jones had wanted his grand gesture to make an impression on the entire world, and, to that extent, he succeeded. But the Jonestown deaths quickly became renowned not as a grandly defiant revolutionary gesture, but as the ultimate example of human gullibility.

“Don’t drink the Kool-Aid” became a jokey catchphrase for not foolishly following deranged leaders.

Was Jim Jones always bad, or was he gradually corrupted by a combination of ambition, drugs, and hubris?

Jim Jones was undeniably a man of great gifts, and one who, for much of his life and ministry, achieved admirable results on behalf of the downtrodden. Yet he was also a demagogue who ultimately betrayed his followers whether he always intended to or not.

Jim Jones attracted followers by appealing to the best in their nature, a desire for everyone to share equally.