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By Andy Kessler
Dec. 15, 2024 12:17 pm ET
Robert F. Kennedy Jr. speaks in Glendale, Ariz., Dec. 9. Photo: patrick t. fallon/Agence France-Presse/Getty Images
Robert F. Kennedy Jr., nominated to run the Department of Health and Human Services, has brought conspiracy theories back into the mainstream. In the past, he has claimed vaccines cause autism (since debunked), that we should drink raw milk (last month it was found possibly to contain bird flu), and that 5G broadband is used to “control our behavior” (well, it does tell my Uber driver where to go).
Mr. Kennedy recently tweeted: “Seed oils are one of the most unhealthy ingredients that we have in foods.” He’ll even sell you a $35 “Make Frying Oil Tallow Again” hat. Ending corn and other farm subsidies would solve their overuse—but tallow? Cardiologists suggest that saturated fat in beef tallow increases heart disease. Can we agree that policy should never be based on lawyers’ theories?
Humans are gullible. We like to be told tall tales. We eat them up. The Central Intelligence Agency killed John F. Kennedy. It must be true, I saw it in an Oliver Stone movie! Go to the Texas School Book Depository in Dallas, and you’ll find a 1980 Texas Historic Landmark sign that reads: “When Lee Harvey Oswald allegedly shot and killed President John F. Kennedy.” Allegedly? Well, those dissecting frames 313 to 316 of the Zapruder film think so.
Who hasn’t fallen for at least one of these myths? Paul McCartney is dead. I am the walrus, goo-goo g’joob. UFOs at Roswell, N.M., and now in New Jersey. The moon landing was staged. Sept. 11 was orchestrated by government. Aliens crashed Malaysia Airlines Flight 370. Pizzagate. Meghan Markle is a robot. Dinosaurs built Stonehenge.
Fluoride in our water. Subliminal ads in movies. Stolen elections. The Elders of Zion, Illuminati or Freemasons running the world. Barack Obama’s birthplace. Russia collusion. “Deny. Defend. Depose.” The deep state carrying out Donald Trump’s assassination attempt in Butler, Pa. Great movie plot, but c’mon.
We fall for conspiracy theories because they either sound plausible or contain some small tinge of truth that the rest of the made-up stuff hangs on. G. Gordon Liddy—who I must admit as a Watergate mastermind wasn’t the greatest of sources—thought conspiracy theories eventually fail because of competency and leakage problems. First, most are too dumb to pull it off, and many conspiracy theories are surely fake because there is no way that many people could keep their mouths shut for that long.
But conspiracy theories can be lucrative. In 2022, RFK Jr. collected $510,000 from the antivaccine Children’s Health Defense, a nonprofit he founded. This was part of almost $8 million he made in the year before he ran for president, including from his environmental-law practice and fees from other litigation firms. Anthony Fauci was, for a time, the highest-paid federal employee. Al Gore founded the now $35 billion “sustainable investing” firm Generation Investment Management. And someone is cashing in by selling “Epstein didn’t kill himself” ugly Christmas sweaters for $41.99 on Amazon.
Conspiracy theories make for strange bedfellows. The stereotypical antivaxxer used to be a Prius-driving Whole Foods mom, especially when it came to measles. Marin County, north of San Francisco, had notoriously low child vaccination rates for MMR vaccines, until a measles outbreak in 2015.
The stereotype flipped to MAGA warriors in 2021, for those refusing to be guinea pigs for undertested Covid shots. Looking back, so-called Covid conspiracy theories—about the virus’s origin in a Wuhan lab, the efficacy of lockdowns, masks and natural immunity, vaccine testing and the negative effect of school closings on children—ended up more right than wrong.
Until recently, debunking conspiracy theories was the role of the mainstream press. Sadly, their reputation is in tatters after their Covid biases, their insistence that President Biden was sharp as a tack, and their cheerleading for wokeness. Millions of Americans now rely on podcasters, influencers and other crackpots instead. That isn’t good either.
We live in an age of loosey-goosey truth. The Twittersphere nicknamed former Washington Post reporter Taylor Lorenz “Miss Information.” “Fact checkers” are too busy analyzing every Trump utterance. Snopes can be a good conspiracy debunker, but still, people want to believe. Now more than ever, you need to make up your own mind.
So how do you debunk conspiracy theories? It’s hard. First, they must pass the smell test. Most don’t. Then ask if someone can hold a secret for that long. Don’t believe movies, podcasters or even politicians. Find some real science. Most important, figure out who benefits from spreading the story. The trick is not to let your emotions get the better of you. Question authority. But don’t believe your uncle Charley either. Remain skeptical. Then again, maybe start cooking with butter instead of canola oil—just in case.
Write to kessler@wsj.com.
It’s All a Conspiracy, Right?
Don’t believe every tale you hear. Remain skeptical and look for real science.
By Andy Kessler
Dec. 15, 2024 12:17 pm ET
Robert F. Kennedy Jr., nominated to run the Department of Health and Human Services, has brought conspiracy theories back into the mainstream. In the past, he has claimed vaccines cause autism (since debunked), that we should drink raw milk (last month it was found possibly to contain bird flu), and that 5G broadband is used to “control our behavior” (well, it does tell my Uber driver where to go).
Mr. Kennedy recently tweeted: “Seed oils are one of the most unhealthy ingredients that we have in foods.” He’ll even sell you a $35 “Make Frying Oil Tallow Again” hat. Ending corn and other farm subsidies would solve their overuse—but tallow? Cardiologists suggest that saturated fat in beef tallow increases heart disease. Can we agree that policy should never be based on lawyers’ theories?
Humans are gullible. We like to be told tall tales. We eat them up. The Central Intelligence Agency killed John F. Kennedy. It must be true, I saw it in an Oliver Stone movie! Go to the Texas School Book Depository in Dallas, and you’ll find a 1980 Texas Historic Landmark sign that reads: “When Lee Harvey Oswald allegedly shot and killed President John F. Kennedy.” Allegedly? Well, those dissecting frames 313 to 316 of the Zapruder film think so.
Who hasn’t fallen for at least one of these myths? Paul McCartney is dead. I am the walrus, goo-goo g’joob. UFOs at Roswell, N.M., and now in New Jersey. The moon landing was staged. Sept. 11 was orchestrated by government. Aliens crashed Malaysia Airlines Flight 370. Pizzagate. Meghan Markle is a robot. Dinosaurs built Stonehenge.
Fluoride in our water. Subliminal ads in movies. Stolen elections. The Elders of Zion, Illuminati or Freemasons running the world. Barack Obama’s birthplace. Russia collusion. “Deny. Defend. Depose.” The deep state carrying out Donald Trump’s assassination attempt in Butler, Pa. Great movie plot, but c’mon.
We fall for conspiracy theories because they either sound plausible or contain some small tinge of truth that the rest of the made-up stuff hangs on. G. Gordon Liddy—who I must admit as a Watergate mastermind wasn’t the greatest of sources—thought conspiracy theories eventually fail because of competency and leakage problems. First, most are too dumb to pull it off, and many conspiracy theories are surely fake because there is no way that many people could keep their mouths shut for that long.
But conspiracy theories can be lucrative. In 2022, RFK Jr. collected $510,000 from the antivaccine Children’s Health Defense, a nonprofit he founded. This was part of almost $8 million he made in the year before he ran for president, including from his environmental-law practice and fees from other litigation firms. Anthony Fauci was, for a time, the highest-paid federal employee. Al Gore founded the now $35 billion “sustainable investing” firm Generation Investment Management. And someone is cashing in by selling “Epstein didn’t kill himself” ugly Christmas sweaters for $41.99 on Amazon.
Conspiracy theories make for strange bedfellows. The stereotypical antivaxxer used to be a Prius-driving Whole Foods mom, especially when it came to measles. Marin County, north of San Francisco, had notoriously low child vaccination rates for MMR vaccines, until a measles outbreak in 2015.
The stereotype flipped to MAGA warriors in 2021, for those refusing to be guinea pigs for undertested Covid shots. Looking back, so-called Covid conspiracy theories—about the virus’s origin in a Wuhan lab, the efficacy of lockdowns, masks and natural immunity, vaccine testing and the negative effect of school closings on children—ended up more right than wrong.
Until recently, debunking conspiracy theories was the role of the mainstream press. Sadly, their reputation is in tatters after their Covid biases, their insistence that President Biden was sharp as a tack, and their cheerleading for wokeness. Millions of Americans now rely on podcasters, influencers and other crackpots instead. That isn’t good either.
We live in an age of loosey-goosey truth. The Twittersphere nicknamed former Washington Post reporter Taylor Lorenz “Miss Information.” “Fact checkers” are too busy analyzing every Trump utterance. Snopes can be a good conspiracy debunker, but still, people want to believe. Now more than ever, you need to make up your own mind.
So how do you debunk conspiracy theories? It’s hard. First, they must pass the smell test. Most don’t. Then ask if someone can hold a secret for that long. Don’t believe movies, podcasters or even politicians. Find some real science. Most important, figure out who benefits from spreading the story. The trick is not to let your emotions get the better of you. Question authority. But don’t believe your uncle Charley either. Remain skeptical. Then again, maybe start cooking with butter instead of canola oil—just in case.
Write to kessler@wsj.com.
