Cargo Cults

I recently discovered the concept of "cargo cults" while reading about potential pitfalls in science and software development. The term surfaced after World War II. The South Pacific island natives had welcomed the valuable and more advanced cargo brought by the planes during the war. And when the war ended, the planes and cargo stopped coming to the islands. Since the locals never understood why the cargo was coming in the first place, the only thing to do from their perspective was to duplicate the previous conditions--so they built crude runways, wooden planes, bamboo radios and headphones, all in hopes of luring the planes back, and with them the cargo. Some of these ever-optimistic cargo cults persist to this day in the South Pacific.

Now that I've heard the term, I've started to see signs of cargo cults everywhere. At work, I see mixed results from efforts to put the structure of agile development in place (short iterations, Scrums, standup meetings) in some cases without a full understanding of the underlying principles of the Agile Manifesto (e.g., individuals and interactions over processes and tools, working software over comprehensive documentation, responding to change over following a plan, trusting a motivated team to get the job done). I see senior managers without a true belief in the end results possible with agile (greater opportunity to quickly respond to changing customer requirements, better quality much earlier in the process), conducting the scrum meetings with agendas they've devised but being unwilling to listen to and trust their teams enough to let them surface and resolve impediments, grow and improve together each day.

Some organizations go through the motions; they “do agile” without “being agile" and then are perplexed not see the hoped-for results. Without the willingness to trust the teams, good results can be hampered by fear-driven behavior.

If the previous jargon-filled example sounds like mumbo jumbo to you then consider my kitten, Zuni. Each morning (barring an egregious lapse by her faithful guardian), Zuni's food bowl is refilled with just enough cat food to keep her from becoming a fat little indoor cat. Who knows why it happens from Zuni's perspective, this reappearance of food, but it does happen with great regularity. On the rare morning when the bowl remains empty longer than expected, Zuni searches the house for one of her toy mice, carries it to the food bowl and sets it down. If there is no result soon, she searches the house again for a second toy mouse, sometimes placing this one inside the bowl for added emphasis. The weird thing is that this ritual does work from her perspective--eventually food appears in the bowl, and Zuni's cargo cult continues. Of course, this is my own less than scientific theory about Zuni's behavior and I have to admit therefore that the cargo cult in question may be my own.

I propose that a good number of religious activities in certain contexts are also examples of cargo cults. What cargo cults have you seen in your journeys?

Inverness at South Padre Island

“If there is anything you need and don’t see, please let us know…and we will show you how to do without it.” - Sign on the bathroom wall in the Inverness condo at South Padre Island

And after a few days at Inverness I see that I have everything I need. Maybe it was the constant sound of the surf, or the sleepy heat of the beach between wind bursts, or the 11th floor balcony looking out toward the infinite ocean horizon, or the large sign under the big-screen TV that said “RELAX.” In any event I feel like I can smile easily again and have had a good rest.

I found time to do things like bend myself backward in repeated attempts to capture pictures of seagulls and pelicans in flight from my bird’s eye perch on the 11th floor. And to just sit by the ocean and listen to the waves and read and read and read and read for hours on end. And to let the heat reflected off the sand soak into me and then to finally swim in the salty cool waters, dodging the clumps of seaweed. And repeat. And also to be rested enough to be willing to get up in the middle of the night to observe the thunderstorm and light show out at sea. And again in the morning to arise and gaze down the shimmering path of light leading to the sunrise over the water.

We call it a “vacation” in the U.S. which sounds so empty and clinical. I prefer the European word for it. Believe me, they know how to take time off, and they call it “going on holiday.”

Boulder has a special relationship with prairie dogs. One has only to peruse headlines from the Boulder Camera in recent months or do a search on prairie dogs at its website to get a clear sense of the place they hold in the hearts of the citizenry. Headlines like: “Prairie Dogs Tapping Toxins,” “Tests Show No Sign of Plague in Valmont Butte Prairie Dogs” and “Public Input on Prairie Dog Endangered Status Commenced,” not to mention “Activists Alarmed by Bulldozing of Prairie Dog Burrows.”

The Camera seems to be quite open to first-page placement for prairie dog stories and I have even seen two stories at once on the front page during particularly dire times. Even Boulder’s close neighbor Louisville gets into the act with a letter to the editor: "Louisville Should Act to Protect Prairie Dogs."

I have nothing against prairie dogs. I have walked on paths by their burrows, listening to their alert warning calls to each other. The sound has been likened to barking, which is why an animal that is clearly a rodent has the word “dog” in its name. I think it sounds more like a whiny little squeak.

When a field has become their habitat, it is riddled with these burrows, which alas make the field unusable by any other species and can produce a mean sprained ankle if one is not careful. Debates have been had on whether the prairie dog is really endangered in Colorado (conclusions varying depending on facts like whether the tail is black or white), and the place that the prairie dog should hold, relatively speaking, in the ecosystem. He’s a dear little creature as you can see here, and tasty for the raptors. We have many brilliant scientists in Boulder who surely can find ways for city parks and prairie dogs to coexist without cramping each other’s style.

In any case, I captured this picture of a prairie dog today on a walk in Valmont City Park, location of Colony #9. Against his better judgment, he let me come pretty close before ducking into his burrow, but sounded his alarm a couple of times to his compatriots nonetheless. I don’t blame him since at one point the city was thinking about killing him and his friends –clearly this plan was revisited.