Ready for the storm that never came
Days of darkness: How one woman escaped the conspiracy theory trap that has ensnared millions
At first his stories seemed harmless. Tales about secret organisations plotting to take over the world, about the good guys working to save it, and about the proof that, if you knew where to look, was hiding in plain sight.
To Ramona, her boyfriend Don’s tales of conspiracy theories sounded like a movie. A lot of it didn’t make much sense, but Ramona would nod along anyway. Don enjoyed telling his stories and showing off what he’d read online. He always knew the answer.
To Don, the Covid-19 pandemic and the global response to it were filled with clues pointing to some kind of conspiracy, orchestrated by America’s leaders and the media. Maybe the virus was accidentally leaked from a lab; maybe it was a bioweapon. Don also suspected the lockdowns had a nefarious purpose, and he believed the vaccines were unsafe, perhaps designed to kill.
Don’s wild stories had seemed innocent and even silly before, but in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic they suddenly seemed plausible. At a scary time, when questions about the virus outnumbered answers, the conspiracy theories filled in some of the blanks.
“I have a lot of fear about what I can’t control,” Ramona, now 23, said of her vulnerable mindset as Covid19 spread. Ramona agreed to tell her story to The Associated Press after she detailed her experiences on a forum for recovering conspiracy theorists. The AP is not fully identifying Ramona or her exboyfriend to protect her privacy and safety.
“The stuff he was telling me, it made me feel like at least we understood. He had an explanation for what was going on. I didn’t realise what I was getting into.”
This alternate reality nourished by these conspiracy theories would transform Ramona’s life, sending her down a dark path of paranoia and loneliness that upended her life and spun her dreams of the future into turmoil. Convinced that a “New World Order” was already under way, she fell into a trap that has ensnared millions of Americans and even, at times, hijacked the nation’s politics.
Isolated from friends and family, distrustful of the explanations offered by officials and the media, Ramona and Don began to prepare. The couple began stockpiling food and supplies. Don started a “go-bag” containing survival gear. He used their modest savings to buy a rifle, a handgun and ammunition.
One cold day in January 2021, Don read about a power outage in Vatican City on one of his conspiracy theory websites. The couple discussed what it might mean: Perhaps the Pope had been secretly arrested for his role in the conspiracy to control the world. Or maybe the bad guys had knocked out the power so they could smuggle child sex victims in or out of the Vatican.
Either way, the outage meant something big was happening.
A few hours later, Ramona was in the bedroom when the lights in their Tennessee home flickered and then went out. Don started yelling. Ramona says he sounded almost exhilarated.
“He comes running into the bedroom,” Ramona recalled. “He says, ‘Honey, we gotta go. This is it!’ ”
They loaded their guns and the dog into the truck and drove into the darkness.
Down the rabbit hole
The AP spoke with more than a dozen people whose lives were disrupted by conspiracy theories — either because they believed them or because a close loved one did.
Many spoke of the social isolation that comes from spending more and more time on conspiracy theory websites and message boards.
They talked about money lost to investment scams or products that claimed to reverse ageing or cure Covid-19. They talked about a mounting sense of paranoia and distrust as they began to lose faith in their community and their fellow Americans.
Former believers said conspiracy theories offered them meaning when they felt empty, even if those promises proved to be hollow themselves.
“I was suicidal before I got into conspiracy theories,” said Antonio Perez, 45, a Hawaii man who became obsessed with September 11 conspiracy theories and QAnon until he decided they were interfering with his life two years ago. Back then, when he first found other online conspiracy theorists, he was ecstatic. “It’s like: My God, I’ve finally found my people!”
Belief in conspiracy theories is a common, and usually harmless, part of people’s instinctive need to identify threats and explain the unknown. They can be an entertaining diversion for many, though for some, obsessive
interest in these claims can lead to social isolation, paranoia and distrust.
Such beliefs also create their own community.
Websites, streaming podcasts, online forums and Facebook groups have created virtual refuges for conspiracy theorists. Similar online communities have sprouted for the family members and loved ones left behind when someone is consumed by conspiracy theories such as QAnon.
“We are the stories we tell ourselves,” said John
Llewellyn, a professor at Wake Forest University who studies conspiracy theories and why people believe what they believe. “We’ve landed on the moon, and now we’ve got artificial intelligence — for better or worse — but no matter how advanced we get, we still have to deal with the human brain.”
Ramona’s story
On the night the power went off, Ramona helped load the dog, the gobag and the guns into the car. They planned to head to Ramona’s parents’ house, but when they got to the main road, they saw blue lights flashing up ahead. Two police cruisers were parked along the shoulder.
Don eased the truck close and put it in park. He told the others that he wanted to ask the police what was going on.
“Stay inside,” he told Ramona. “Don’t get out of the car. I’ll be right back.”
He walked to the squad car. A policeman rolled down his window. There was a quick exchange before Don turned around and walked back to the truck.
Don said the officers told him a semi-truck had hit a transformer. Power was out for a good chunk of town.
They drove on and, as they rounded a bend, they saw the neon glow of a strip mall up ahead. Cars were lined up at a fast-food drivethru. People were picking up a late dinner, while she and Don were driving off to confront the end of the world.
Don turned the car around the headed home. The next day, he dismissed the incident as just another drill and said he hadn’t actually been frightened.
Ramona had a harder time moving on from the episode. Her mind went over Don’s explanations. Why would police lie about a power outage? What would an outage in rural Tennessee have to do with Vatican City?
“I started to think: Maybe this is all a hoax,” she said. But when she confessed these creeping doubts to Don, he shook his head. Stay strong, he said. “Keep the faith,” he said. “The storm is coming.”
At first, conspiracy theories helped Ramona make sense of the world. But now her anxiety was increasing. The constant drills, the steady stream of content about child sex trafficking and satanic sacrifices were too much.
She also began to think more and more about how none of the predictions and prophecies laid out in QAnon lore had come true. Trump wasn’t re-elected in a landslide in 2020. Vaccinated people weren’t turning into zombies. There had been no public executions of “Cabal” members on the National Mall in Washington. The 10 days of darkness did not arrive. The storm hadn’t come.
About this time, one of Ramona’s friends told her she would be taking a break from social media to see if it helped her mental health. On a whim, she decided to join her friend. Ramona felt her mind unclench. Don wasn’t happy when Ramona told him she was done with conspiracy theories. One day the arguments turned violent, Ramona said. She moved out and stayed on friends’ couches for a while and a few months later re-enrolled in college. She reconnected with friends and made some new ones.
She graduated and got a job teaching fifth grade. Her thoughts are filled with lesson plans, not go-bags and storms that never came.