Spoiler alert! Misinformation, true conspiracies, and the fine line between

Let’s talk about parapolitics

I really dislike the term “conspiracy theory.” It functions as a convenient way to dismiss and discredit anyone with unpopular or challenging ideas. Nevertheless, I use the term on my podcast because 1) it’s the easiest way to convey what I’m trying to say, and 2) I’m too lazy to come up with anything new. “Parapolitics” is probably the best alternative, but it’s not something most people have heard before. Perhaps this essay will help make the concept a little more accessible.

By the way, all of the following examples are taken from the next several episodes of my new podcast. Stay tuned.

Behind the scenes at Paranoid History newsletter

“Perhaps in an age when deception has evolved into a high art form, endless uncertainty will be the fate of all our political controversies.”
—Robert Parry, Trick or Treason

The term parapolitics describes hidden political actions outside formal institutions, like collusion between politicians and paramilitaries (see Colombia’s parapolitica scandal), clandestine state security operations (ie; the CIA's influence on the media), and the shadowy influence of “deep state” networks through disinformation and backroom deals. These actions operate with unacknowledged agendas, undermining transparency and democratic processes.

What distinguishes parapolitics from conventional political analysis is its recognition that illegal and clandestine acts are a fundamental part of governance. This perspective challenges traditional understandings of political legitimacy and authority, and as such are rarely discussed on the six o’clock news.

When the government is the conspiracy theorist

Take the example of Paul Bennewitz, a businessman living near Kirtland Air Force Base in New Mexico. In 1979, Bennewitz began observing strange lights in the sky and reporting them to authorities. Rather than simply telling him to mind his own business, the Air Force Office of Special Investigations (AFOSI) saw an opportunity.

AFOSI agent Richard Doty was assigned to Bennewitz, but instead of shutting down his investigation, Doty began feeding him disinformation. He cultivated a relationship with Bennewitz, encouraged his theories, and even allegedly provided him with a computer pre-installed with software that could decode “alien” messages.

This deliberate deception led Bennewitz down a rabbit hole of increasingly elaborate conspiracy theories about underground alien bases and government collaborations with extraterrestrials. By 1988, he suffered a complete mental breakdown and was hospitalized.

What makes the Bennewitz case so revealing is that it contains elements of both genuine conspiracy and baseless theory. There was, in fact, a real conspiracy — just not the one Bennewitz thought. The actual conspiracy was the government’s deliberate manipulation of a civilian to protect classified military operations, likely related to stealth aircraft testing rather than aliens.

The Bennewitz case exemplifies parapolitics in action: government agencies deliberately spreading misinformation to protect classified operations. This was an active campaign that ultimately destroyed a man’s life while creating a UFO mythology that persists decades later.

Real corruption meets deliberate obfuscation

Danny Casolaro was a journalist who died under mysterious circumstances in 1991. He was investigating what he called The Octopus — a sprawling conspiracy involving intelligence agencies, organized crime, and international arms dealers; the very definition of parapolitics.

Casolaro’s investigation began with something concrete: a contract dispute between a software company called Inslaw and the Department of Justice over a program called PROMIS. This was a legitimate case of government wrongdoing, with a bankruptcy judge ruling that the DOJ had used “trickery, fraud, and deceit” to steal the software.

What makes the Casolaro case particularly fascinating is that some claims initially dismissed as paranoid speculation have, over time, gained credibility. For instance, allegations that PROMIS was modified with a “backdoor” allowing intelligence agencies to spy on its users and then sold to foreign governments — claims that seemed outlandish to some in the early 1990s — now appear more plausible in light of what we know about modern surveillance capabilities. However, determining the truth is nearly impossible because groups like the Lyndon LaRouche organization and its publication Executive Intelligence Review so thoroughly obscured the truth with misinformation.

Martin Kilian, a German journalist who covered Iran/Contra and the October Surprise for Der Spiegel, explained the challenge for journalists in this space: “I’m convinced that some of these characters were sent our way to totally muddy the waters. Not all, probably, you know, just one or two. The rest are some psychopath people, who wanted to cash in on a certain notoriety. I think Casolaro’s tragedy was that he fell for some of these people in a big way.”

What the Casolaro case illustrates most powerfully is how parapolitical actors can use misinformation strategically — not just to conceal truth, but to discredit it by association with more outlandish claims. By embedding potentially genuine revelations about intelligence operations within a web of increasingly bizarre conspiracy theories, organizations like the LaRouche network make it virtually impossible to separate fact from fiction. This serves the interests of those with something to hide, as legitimate questions about things like the PROMIS case can be dismissed as mere conspiracy theories.

Hidden government influence in plain sight

As Frances Stonor Saunders revealed in her book The Cultural Cold War, the CIA operated as a “hidden Ministry of Culture” throughout much of the Cold War era. The agency influenced over twenty prestigious literary magazines across multiple continents, played a role in publishing more than a thousand books, and organized high-profile intellectual conferences.

Perhaps most fascinating, abstract expressionism — a movement often derided by American politicians and public figures — was secretly promoted abroad by the CIA as a symbol of American creative freedom, deliberately contrasting with Soviet socialist realism. The Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF), established in Berlin in 1950, appeared to be an independent alliance of intellectuals defending culture against totalitarianism. In reality, it was conceived, established, and largely directed by the CIA. Money flowed through philanthropic organizations that operated as fronts for the agency.

When this covert funding was eventually exposed by Ramparts magazine in 1966, it damaged the credibility of the CIA-backed cultural movements. Learning that abstract expressionism was secretly promoted as a Cold War tool raised legitimate questions about artistic merit and authenticity.

This case perfectly illustrates the concept of parapolitics—unacknowledged political practices operating alongside official channels. The CIA wasn’t just collecting intelligence; it was actively shaping cultural narratives and perceptions, all while maintaining plausible deniability about its involvement.

When credibility enables misinformation

After 27 years of distinguished service with the FBI, including serving as head of the Los Angeles office, Ted Gunderson retired in 1979 and became a private investigator. Ted’s first gig as a PI was for the defense team of Jeffrey MacDonald, a Green Beret doctor convicted of murdering his family. Despite overwhelming evidence against MacDonald, Gunderson concluded after just one day that MacDonald had been “railroaded.” He would eventually flesh out the conspiracy, charging that Satanists in the CIA were somehow involved in the murders.

What makes Gunderson’s story particularly relevant is how his FBI credentials gave weight to increasingly outlandish urban myths. He used his former position to lend credibility to theories about satanic cults, government mind control, and the New World Order. His involvement in the McMartin Preschool case exemplifies his methods: he pressured an archaeologist to sign off on a report claiming there were secret tunnels under the school — tunnels that never existed.

Oliver “Buck” Revell, a former colleague of Gunderson’s at the FBI, offered insight into how Gunderson changed upon retirement: “I think his behavior became much more aggravated after he retired. Obviously, he had been held in check by the Bureau. Some of his [later] conduct would not have been tolerated if it had occurred when he was on active duty.”

Gunderson’s case demonstrates how individuals with legitimate credentials can exploit them to promote unfounded theories. His FBI background created a veneer of credibility that made it difficult for the public to distinguish between evidence-based investigations and paranoid speculations. This intersection between official authority and conspiracy theories represents another facet of parapolitics — how those with insider knowledge can manipulate public perception.

I (don’t) want to believe

Distinguishing between real conspiracies and bullshit theories is not easy, despite the legions of YouTubers and TikTok influencers who think they have it all figured out. Most enduring conspiracy theories contain kernels of truth, whether it's the actual theft of PROMIS software or the CIA's covert funding of cultural organizations during the Cold War. The inherently secretive nature of intelligence operations creates fertile ground for mis- and disinformation.

In today’s world, the single most vital skill is the ability to embrace uncertainty. This isn't a mere intellectual position — it's a psychological survival strategy. Those who demand absolute certainty in an inherently ambiguous world are setting themselves up for paranoia, anxiety, and manipulation. Discomfort with not knowing drives many toward false certainty, either uncritically accepting official narratives or embracing elaborate alternative explanations that provide illusory comfort through their completeness. The parapolitical framework offers a more sophisticated approach. It acknowledges that power frequently operates through unofficial, opaque channels; not as aberrations, but as fundamental features of our political reality.

The label “conspiracy theorist” has evolved into a convenient dismissal mechanism, a way to marginalize those questioning power structures without engaging with evidence. Yet equally problematic is the uncritical embrace of every counter-narrative. Both blind acceptance and blind rejection stem from the same psychological inability to tolerate ambiguity.

The intellectually honest position requires something more demanding: evaluating each claim on its evidence while accepting that the whole truth may remain permanently beyond reach. The most sophisticated understanding often involves precisely mapping the boundaries between what we know, what we reasonably suspect, and what remains unknown (or unknowable). Those who cannot tolerate ambiguity become vulnerable to propaganda and manipulation. They seek refuge in oversimplified narratives (whether fringe or mainstream) that offer false certainty at the expense of accuracy.

Understanding these hidden dimensions of power isn't just about uncovering secrets; it's about developing the tools to navigate an inherently complex world. The ability to hold multiple possibilities in mind, to resist premature closure, and to function effectively without absolute certainty isn't just intellectually rigorous. It's the fundamental psychological skill required for maintaining autonomy in an age of information warfare.