The Cargo Cult
The war had ended, and silence returned to the islands. The roar of engines was gone, the soldiers were gone, and with them the endless stream of food, clothes, and tools that had once rained down from the skies.
The islanders remembered it well: giant birds of metal landing on long clear runways, men in uniforms unloading boxes filled with treasures. They had seen soldiers talking into strange black boxes, waving sticks with flags, lighting fires along the path of the planes. And each time, more cargo had come.
So, the islanders decided to bring it back.
They cleared the jungle and cut straight paths in the soil, just like the runways. They built towers from bamboo, standing tall like the control towers of the soldiers. They carved wooden rifles and marched in lines, copying the exact steps they had seen. They took coconuts, tied them with string, and held them to their ears as if they were radios, whispering into them, waiting for the voices of the sky to answer.
Night after night they lit fires along the runways. Day after day they marched, saluted, and waved, calling out to the empty horizon. But no plane ever came.
It was a theater of hope and despair. They copied every gesture perfectly, but they did not know the secret behind it. They thought the soldiers’ movements had summoned the cargo, when in truth the cargo came from distant lands, from factories and ships and an invisible web of trade.
And so, the islanders stood under the blazing sun, performing rituals they did not understand. They looked to the sky with expectant eyes, waiting for the gift that never arrived.
There is something deeply tragic in their story: the way they imitated without knowing, the way they reached for a miracle by repeating shadows of actions. To them, it was faith. To us, it looks like desperation...
...And that's exactly how i see technical analysis and day trading in crypto :)
