Fake Believe: Conspiracy Theories in Aotearoa

By Dylan Reeve

Have you found yourself confronted by conspiracy theories? Are you increasingly debating points of reality with friends and family? Has the arrival of Covid-19 awakened a sleeping giant of conspiracy, extremism and alternative Truth? Drawing on nearly two decades of quiet observation, extensive research and wide-reaching interviews with believers, former believers, and sceptics, Dylan Reeve sheds light on the seemingly increasingly relevant world of conspiracy theories - where we are now, and where we might be heading. If you are curious, confused or concerned, Fake Believe will help you understand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Upstart Press
• Release date: Oct 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781990003929

Dylan Reeve

Dylan is a TV editor and contributing writer for The Spinoff. Since September 2001, he has been unable to look away from the online conspiracy rabbit hole. As well as watching strange online worlds as a hobby, Dylan has also written about them as a journalist. In 2014 he joined David Farrier in exploring an internet mystery that ultimately emerged into the documentary film Tickled.

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FakeBelieve_Cover.jpg

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

eISBN 978-1-990003-92-9

An Upstart Press Book

Published in 2022 by Upstart Press Ltd

26 Greenpark Road, Penrose, Auckland 1061, New Zealand

Text © Dylan Reeve 2022

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Design and format © Upstart Press Ltd 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Cover and text designed by Megan van Staden

Front cover photograph by Yash Mevawala

ebook: www.cvdgraphics.nz

Contents

Foreword

Preface

1. Where we are

2. Where we were

3. Why we are

4. Who we are

5. In our backyard

6. Clean, green

7. Worldwide conspiracy

8. Sovereignty

9. Health and well-being

10. Politics

11. Mainstream

12. Where to now?

Appendix: some conspiracy theory specifics

Acknowledgements

Foreword

A conspiracy was how Dylan Reeve was thrust into my life.

It was close to a decade ago. I was a journalist in a New Zealand newsroom who’d stumbled upon an obscure tickling competition being run in California. New Zealand men were being flown business-class from Auckland to Los Angeles, where they were paid thousands of dollars to don adidas sportswear, before tickling each other on camera.

As soon as I’d started blogging about the story, all hell broke loose: a series of lawyers and private investigators all started to close in — apparently at the behest of a very angry, high-powered New York attorney called Jane O’Brien.

I’d stumbled into an international tickling operation that stretched across the globe, funded by millions of dollars and a shadowy figure somewhere in Long Island. At one point the FBI was involved. It was a conspiracy of very disorientating proportions, and at my most confused Dylan reached out to me with a simple message: ‘I think I can help.’

I didn’t know Dylan particularly well back then; we’d met briefly at a very strange press event put on by the German hacker Kim Dotcom, who’d decided to stage a live re-creation of the police raid on his mansion in Coatesville. I think we might have swum in Dotcom’s pool.

All I knew about Dylan was that he was smart, and had a very good understanding of online culture and — perhaps most importantly — online sleuthing.

Over the next two years, we entered a world that we never imagined possible — a world full of grand schemes, unfettered delusion and plenty of paranoia. The final documentary we made — Tickled — premiered at Sundance in early 2016, and at one point, as snow drifted down and stuck to our faces, Dylan and I acknowledged that nothing quite this weird would ever happen to us again.

We were wrong. Plenty of weird stuff happened that very same year. The thing was, it didn’t just happen to us — it happened to all of us.

Donald Trump won the election. His landslide win caught many off guard, from both sides of the political spectrum. And with Trump came the cry of ‘fake news’, a transition into a new way of defining and understanding information. Trump taught us that reality no longer really mattered, and that we could make up our own version of the truth as we went along.

He was an aspirational character who didn’t act like a politi­cian, and people loved him for that. Before Trump came along, no president in their right mind would appear on conspiracy theorist Alex Jones’ InfoWars network. But Trump did, and Alex Jones led Trump down a path of agreeing that nefarious, world-bending players were indeed pulling the strings.

Jones legitimised Trump, and for many, Trump helped legiti­mise a conspiracy theorist with a penchant for pills and potions. Alex Jones would go on to claim that the Sandy Hook school shooting was a false flag operation; that victims were merely crisis actors involved in a government conspiracy to enact gun control on the masses.

While some experts tell us belief in conspiracy theories hasn’t particularly changed since JFK had his brains splattered across the back of a limo in Dealey Plaza, in my mind something definitely changed in the intensity of it all.

People were no longer content to keep their strange thoughts to themselves; they had to scream them to the heavens — at least on social media, where they found like-minded sleuths who shared their beliefs about a New World Order, and governments who harvested adrenochrome in dark, underground tunnels.

Before that particular president, before social media, and before our new relationship with truth — the Capitol Riots would never have happened. And those toxic ideas wouldn’t have travelled down under, leading some New Zealanders to fester in brain worms and travel to Wellington to occupy Parliament in early 2022.

What happened to us? Why are we living in a world where plots that could have easily been lifted from The X-Files are now accepted by many as reality?

Dylan Reeve is the perfect person to dive into this wormhole — using exactly the same skills he used to break the world of Tickled wide open. Dylan was raised as an atheist and sceptic, and he brings that logic and methodology to the table as he leads us into the world of conspiracy theories — exploring the key players and big ideas that help explain this mess we find ourselves in.

He takes a giant, bird’s-eye approach before plunging down into the minutiae — looking at uniquely New Zealand conspiracy theory beliefs, and sitting down with true believers in an effort not just to understand, but to empathise. And at this point, empathy is so important. There’s no reversing the steps that led us to this point. We all have to live on this strange planet — no matter what our reality is — and so understanding the mindset of a conspiracy theorist is more important now than ever. They’re our friends, our parents, and in some cases, our partners.

There’s another reason we need to dive deep into this stuff: in all the complexity, we’ve learnt to boil things down almost too simplistically. A ‘conspiracy theory’ now seems to mean one blanket thing, to describe one certain type of thinking, by one certain type of person.

But conspiracy theory belief is a complex spectrum, as are conspiracy believers. How do we separate those who believe in proven conspiracy stories from those who believe in fake ones? What if the fake theories are harmless? But what if those fake theories lead to a more malignant theory, that sees someone spreading dangerous health misinformation throughout their community — or perhaps storming a Capitol building, or busting into a pizza parlour with an automatic weapon to rescue kids in the basement?

There is no archetype of a conspiracy theorist, which is why a book like this is so important. To have any hope of unwinding this mess, we need to not only know about the beliefs — but who believes them. And, thankfully, Dylan is here to help guide us.

Preface

First, a few notes on terminology, because this whole thing is a minefield!

If I could think of a way to write this book without using the term ‘conspiracy theory’, I absolutely would. That phrase — ‘conspiracy theory’ — is imprecise and loaded. It should probably be avoided. But I can’t.

Some people might argue that any speculation about the actions of two or more people working together is a ‘conspiracy theory’ — and they would be technically right.

Others would point out that many of the commonly accepted explanations for various world events are, technically, conspiracy theories. For example, the idea that 19 extremists were responsible for the hijacking of airliners in the United States on 11 September 2001, is a theory about a conspiracy. The 9/11 Commission Report is, in a purely technical sense, a conspiracy theory.

But that’s obviously not what most people are talking about when they use the term ‘conspiracy theory’ — instead, they are talking about, for example, the idea, popular with some, that the events of 11 September were orchestrated by forces within the US Government.

Ideas like this — that sinister and secretive forces are the true power behind various world events — are what we commonly mean when we talk about conspiracy theories. And the believers and promoters of those ideas are the people we call conspiracy theorists.

In talking to ‘conspiracy theorists’ for this book, this termi­nology was inevitably one of the first hurdles to overcome.

There is, ironically but entirely unsurprisingly, a conspiracy theory that claims the CIA were responsible for the adoption of the term ‘conspiracy theory’ in order to discredit those who were raising questions about the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

In practice, the term was in use well before the CIA was formed.

But, nonetheless, the term does often have the pejorative impact that, ahem, conspiracy theorists claim. To declare something a conspiracy theory is often a shorthand to dismiss the idea as invalid and not worthy of serious consideration. Similarly, calling someone a conspiracy theorist is often taken to suggest that their opinions have no validity and that they are, in some way, entirely disconnected from reality.

In many cases those assumptions may be valid, but certainly not always, and the dismissive power of the terminology can be a legitimate concern worthy of serious criticism and analysis.

But that’s not criticism and analysis in which I’m planning to engage in any real depth. Instead, I’m just charging ahead with the terminology and shorthand we all understand. In this book a ‘conspiracy theory’ is generally going to be an idea without much mainstream legitimacy or evidence that alleges some type of malicious and secretive group is to blame for events or actions. And the people who present and promote those ideas are, simply, ‘conspiracy theorists’.

Is it a little imprecise? Yes.

Is it sometimes dismissive? Definitely.

Would more nuance be valuable at times? Probably.

But is it simple and well understood? Yeah.

And is it easier than delving into complex issues of context and labels all the time? Very much so.

There is, however, some would argue, value to be had from creating space for another term, namely: conspiracism.

Beyond the imprecise ‘conspiracy theory’, the idea of conspira­cism speaks to a larger concept. One of belief and worldview, an ‘ism’ like so many others that addresses aspects of how people process and filter the world around them. In this we talk about conspiracists who use their conspiracism to make sense of everything that takes place.

Ultimately I’m going to end up using all these terms. I’m not taking instruction from the CIA on the matter and I’m not explicitly seeking to discredit anyone by association with any of these words.

Also, while we’re at it, what are we? If I am to assume that you, as the reader, are not, as previously defined, a conspiracy theorist, then what are you? What am I? Some might answer ‘normal people’, but that’s not a helpful description, and we likely hold a variety of personal views that other people would contend are not ‘normal’.

So for the purposes of this book, we will mostly be ‘sceptics’ in the sense that we are sceptical of conspiracy theories. Although it’s worth mentioning that many conspiracy theorists consider themselves to be sceptics — as in, they are sceptical of the ‘official story’.

But, of course, it can’t be that simple. The fact that I’m writing this book in 2022, a year in which our global perspective on conspiracy theories has been changed by the past two years of a global coronavirus pandemic, means that I will have to talk about people who have chosen to adopt conspiratorial positions on Covid.

They, variously, buy into conspiracy theories about the origins of Covid-19, its impact, the national and international measures to combat the virus, and the vaccines and treatments associated with it. And, unfortunately, there simply isn’t a clear and commonly accepted term for these people. I’ll adopt a few in different places — they will at times be Covid-oppositionists (when I’m talking about issues of opposition to actions taken to combat the pandemic), sometimes they may be Covid-denialists (those who deny aspects of the science of the virus such as its origin, nature or even existence) and, confusingly, they might be Covid-sceptics at times (when the issue is general doubt about broad aspects of Covid sciences such as the efficacy of various public health measures).

These are all just examples of the never-ending complexity and ambiguity of language, and its frequent unsuitability when tackling these matters.

Additionally, if you’re reading this book and have the inclina­tion to delve into the world of online conspiracy theories yourself, just to see what it’s all about, I’d like to offer a warning:

Don’t.

In many cases the rhetorical techniques used are designed to ‘red pill’ the ‘normies’ into belief in various conspiratorial ideas. (‘Red pill’ is a reference to the scene in The Matrix where Neo is presented with the option of seeing the world the way it really is.)

People who casually visit these communities can sometimes find themselves being drawn in. Within the groups it’s common to see members claiming they became believers after initially visiting in an attempt to debunk various conspiracy claims. How honest these people are being is questionable, but the persuasive design of a lot of content is undeniable.

Even if you’re sure that you won’t succumb to the beliefs you’re seeking to investigate, the experience can be overwhelming, disheartening and depressing. As I’ve been working on this book I’ve started to spend less and less time in the spaces where these beliefs thrive — spending so much time thinking about these ideas, and watching them develop and spread in real time, is ultimately some weird combination of upsetting and frustrating.

But, with that in mind, I should acknowledge that, in the chapters that follow, I will at times quote in detail from online conspiracy content. In some cases, they are the types of excerpts I would not be willing to use in shorter-form writing, or on social media. I trust that, in the broader context of this book, these quotations can be understood in the illustrative way they are intended.

I hope that helps.

Chapter One

Where we are

Introduction

‘Conspiracy theories used to be fun’ — this is something I’ve said to friends and family, online and in person, since sometime around 2015. That was when, to my mind, the nature and content of a lot of online conspiracy content seemed to shift.

While there have always been deeply problematic and troub­ling conspiracy claims and underlying themes, the everyday conspiracism online was often largely harmless, or at least abstract enough to not be immediately offensive. Endless discussion of exactly what happened on 9/11; of what was the real purpose of a train photographed moving tanks across the US; of whether this celebrity photograph was evidence that they’d been replaced by a clone; of what shape the earth really was.

Most of it even seemed devoid of clear political associations. In the mostly US-centric conspiracy communities online there were Democrats, Republicans and Independents, all of whom were espousing the same ideas. It usually seemed impossible to infer political ideology from a given conspiracy belief.

None of it felt like it really mattered. It was arguing about the decorations in the room.

But all of it seemed to shift in the run-up to the 2016 US presidential election. Discussion on almost all online conspiracy communities seemed to make a hard turn, from paranoid but largely politically agnostic debate, to aggressively partisan shilling.

In the US, this was almost certainly due in part to Hillary Clinton’s involvement in the election. The Clinton family, and Hillary especially, have long been a key focal point for political conspiracies. With both right-wing Trump supporters and left-wing Bernie Sanders supporters obsessed by everything Hillary, it became almost sure that any claims about the former First Lady would be boosted to prominence.

Locally, despite these issues being far from New Zealand’s shores, the influence was being felt. With no large-scale online communities devoted to Aotearoa’s conspiracy theorists, or even those of the combined Australasian region, the influence of American conspiracies and, by extension, American politics was inescapable.

What matters to American conspiracy theorists, therefore, matters to like-minded people worldwide.

And now, as I write this book, in the middle (or beginning, or maybe the end) of a global pandemic, it seems that conspiracy theories have never been more prominent in our culture.

They are prominent in the media, but they are also prominent in our real lives. Many people have found themselves thrust into awkward conversations on social media, on the street, in their workplaces, or even at family gatherings. Conversations about, at times, very basic facts and reality.

It seems now as if almost everyone has, in the past couple of years, had occasion to distance themselves from a friend, co-worker or relative over conspiratorial ideas, or perhaps their behaviour, as a result of those ideas.

Just a few years ago it was easy for most people to read stories online about conspiracy theories and simply laugh at how silly some random people in the world were. Maybe there were a few that resonated personally — like, who did kill JFK, anyway? — but those things didn’t matter. They weren’t real.

Now, however, it has become seemingly impossible to avoid it. Even if we stay off the internet, there are physical pamphlets being dropped in mailboxes around Aotearoa that make dramatic claims about vaccinations, government restrictions, and the very reality of a global pandemic that’s dominated our lives for, literally, years.

We saw the grounds of Parliament become the home of an unprecedented occupation — and eventually a riot — with protesters demanding the removal of mandates and Covid response measures. The protests were due, in large part, to their belief in incredibly varied and widely spread conspiracy theories and disinformation about vaccines, and the virus they were created to combat.

It’s easy to wonder: was it inevitable?

Was the reaction to Covid just the unavoidable consequence of the stress and fear that the world suddenly felt? The conspiracy theories that sprang up around the virus, and the response, and the leaders and experts, and the vaccine — were those things all just manifestations of human nature, or were they the result of some weird way we’d messed up our society?

In trying to write about the subject I’ve really been confronted by a fact I knew but hadn’t fully considered: there are no neat edges around conspiracy theory culture.

When exploring any aspect of this subject, I find myself being pulled into politics, culture, economics, racism, xenophobia, religion, pseudoscience and any number of other popular points of societal contention.

I had intended to try to keep closely to what could be strictly considered ‘conspiracy theory’, but it’s just not possible. The theories themselves touch on every part of our society. The believers and promoters leverage conspiracy theories to promote their politics or other pet causes, or they use existing political and cultural hot-button issues to recruit people into conspiracy.

There are no borders. The tendrils of conspiratorial ideas reach into everything. Sometimes the conspiracy influence is clear, but at other times it’s just one of a number of subtle background forces.

Background

The conspiracy theories that loom large in our collective consciousness now are the culmination of a history of conspiracy culture that stretches back decades, but which has been turbo­charged in recent decades by the internet generally, and social media specifically.

And, even more so, by the ways in which social media gamifies engagement, and the ways in which the companies behind those social media platforms seek to keep our attention on their sites and applications longer and longer.

While American conspiracy theories, and those who promote them, have no obvious relevance for New Zealanders, they still form a solid part of the local conspiracy narrative, and are the driving force behind a lot of what takes place locally.

The content that is consumed by believers in Aotearoa (and everywhere else) is usually derived from American websites and influencers. Local promoters rely on the narratives generated in the US to form the foundation on which they build their localised ideas and claims.

As is the case with so much popular culture — what happens in America influences the world.

Today, it’s hard to see beyond the elephant in the room: Covid-19 conspiracy theories. But, in reality, there are no clear defined lines between one conspiracy belief and another. Instead, it’s all just one big messy grey area. While most people who we might identify as conspiracy theorists (or who might even identify themselves that way) will have a specific interest in one theory or area, almost all will soon find themselves drawn towards other narratives as they do more ‘research’. (Words are complicated in talking about these issues. While we share a common vocabulary, the meaning of some words is very different for sceptics and believers. I will tend to use the words that make the most sense, but sometimes indicate this difference of interpretation with single quotation marks.)

Disinformation

Zooming out a little from a narrower focus on conspiracy theory, we find ourselves looking at a broader subject area best described as disinformation — or more colloquially: fake news.

And,

Reviews for Fake Believe

[adzebill · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A good one-over-lightly of the different strains of conspriracy theory bubbling up in NZ at the moment. Not as much as I'd like on the details of how these movements grow and fail, how people resist facts, and what's been successful at mending breaches in families—which I think many readers need to hear. But a good retrospective on the Wellington occupation and how badly it was handled.