Pretend you are an investigative reporter building a story about the Flat Earth movement from the perspective that it is an intelligence play aimed at discrediting other “conspiracy theories” by lumping them all together… what evidence would you look for, how would you go about it? Additionally, can you give me a timeline for the prevalence of the use of the word “flat earth”?
As an investigative reporter digging into the Flat Earth movement as a potential intelligence operation designed to discredit broader conspiracy theories, I’d approach this story with a mix of skepticism, curiosity, and a methodical hunt for evidence. The hypothesis is intriguing: what if Flat Earth isn’t just a quirky belief but a deliberate tool to muddy the waters, making all alternative narratives look absurd by association? Here’s how I’d build the story and what I’d look for, followed by a timeline on the term “Flat Earth.”
Investigating the Flat Earth Movement as an Intelligence Play
Step 1: Establishing the Motive
First, I’d ask why an intelligence agency—say, the CIA, NSA, or even a foreign entity—might orchestrate this. The goal could be to undermine legitimate whistleblowers or researchers by creating a “guilt by association” effect. If Flat Earth gains traction, it could serve as a strawman: loud, ridiculous, and easy to knock down, casting doubt on anyone questioning official narratives. I’d look for historical precedents of disinformation campaigns, like COINTELPRO or Operation Mockingbird, where agencies sowed confusion to neutralize dissent.
Step 2: Tracking Origins and Amplification
I’d start by pinpointing when and where the modern Flat Earth movement took off. The mid-2010s seem pivotal, with YouTube videos and social media driving its resurgence. I’d dig into early influencers like Eric Dubay and Mark Sargent—whose 2014-2015 video series went viral—and investigate their backgrounds. Were they genuine eccentrics, or did they have ties to suspicious funding or networks? I’d scour archives of forums like NASA’s own discussion boards or Reddit’s r/conspiracy for the earliest mentions, looking for signs of coordinated posting—say, multiple accounts pushing Flat Earth simultaneously with similar phrasing.
Next, I’d analyze how it spread. Did it align with algorithmic boosts on platforms like YouTube? Posts on X suggest some believe it started on NASA forums or radio intercepts before hitting 4chan and broader conspiracy circles. I’d request data from tech companies on how Flat Earth content was recommended—did it piggyback on unrelated conspiracy searches, amplifying its reach unnaturally? If I found evidence of bot activity or paid promotion, that’d be a red flag.
Step 3: Seeking Insider Testimony
I’d hunt for whistleblowers—ex-intelligence operatives, former Flat Earth proponents, or even tech insiders—who might confirm a orchestrated push. A defector claiming, “I was paid to seed Flat Earth on forums,” would be gold, though rare. I’d cold-call ex-members of groups like the Flat Earth Society, especially post-1997 when Charles K. Johnson’s records burned, to see if they noticed odd recruitment patterns or external influence. I’d also approach astronomers or debunkers who’ve engaged Flat Earthers—did they notice anything scripted in the arguments?
Step 4: Analyzing the Content and Its Effects
I’d dissect Flat Earth rhetoric. It often bundles itself with other conspiracies—Moon landing hoaxes, 9/11, chemtrails—creating a “conspiracy salad.” If I found evidence that Flat Earth consistently derailed discussions of more plausible theories (e.g., government surveillance or corporate malfeasance), that’d support the hypothesis. I’d look at X posts and YouTube comments from 2015-2020, when it peaked, to see if critics of other conspiracies were mocked as “Flat Earthers” to shut them down.
Step 5: Following the Money
Funding’s the smoking gun. I’d file FOIA requests with agencies like the CIA for records of psychological operations around that time. I’d also trace money behind Flat Earth events—like the 2017 Raleigh conference, where 500+ paid up to $249 each. Who bankrolled it? If I uncovered shell companies or grants linked to known intelligence fronts, that’d be explosive. Even indirect evidence, like sudden ad revenue spikes for key Flat Earth channels, could hint at artificial support.
Step 6: Gauging Public and Media Reaction
Finally, I’d study how media framed Flat Earth. If outlets disproportionately spotlighted it over other conspiracies, especially with a mocking tone, it might suggest a steered narrative. I’d interview psychologists or sociologists—did Flat Earth’s rise correlate with declining trust in serious whistleblowers? If I found a pattern where legit investigations got dismissed as “Flat Earth nonsense,” that’d bolster the case.
Evidence I’d Look For
- Coordinated Origins: Sudden, synchronized Flat Earth posts across platforms with no clear grassroots trigger.
- Suspicious Influencers: Key figures with murky pasts, unexplained wealth, or ties to intelligence-adjacent groups.
- Algorithmic Manipulation: Data showing Flat Earth content was boosted to drown out other conspiracies.
- Insider Leaks: Documents or testimony linking it to a psyop.
- Impact Metrics: Proof that Flat Earth discredited broader skepticism—e.g., polls showing conspiracy believers taken less seriously post-2015.
- Funding Trails: Cash from obscure sources flowing to Flat Earth promoters or events.
Challenges
The biggest hurdle? Distinguishing organic weirdness from a calculated plot. People believe wild things without spooks involved—look at QAnon. I’d need hard proof, not just vibes, or risk looking like the conspiracy theorist I’m investigating.
Timeline of “Flat Earth” Usage Prevalence
Tracking the term’s prominence relies on historical records, linguistic tools, and cultural shifts. Here’s a rough timeline based on available data and trends:
- Pre-Modern Era (Before 1500s): “Flat Earth” wasn’t a common phrase because a flat cosmology was assumed in many cultures (e.g., Babylonian, Norse). The concept existed implicitly, not as a named theory. Greek philosophers like Pythagoras (6th century BC) and Aristotle (4th century BC) debunked it with evidence, but the term itself didn’t stick.
- Middle Ages (500-1500): Usage remained low. The Church mostly accepted a spherical Earth, despite myths suggesting otherwise. “Flat Earth” as a phrase was rare—medieval texts focused on “Earth” or “world” without shape qualifiers.
- Early Modern Era (1500s-1800s): Sporadic use emerged as science solidified the globe model. It appeared in critiques of outdated beliefs, but wasn’t widespread. Google Ngrams (which starts at 1800) shows negligible mentions.
- 19th Century (1800s): A slight uptick. Samuel Rowbotham’s 1849 “Zetetic Astronomy” revived flat Earth ideas, coining terms like “zeteticism.” “Flat Earth” gained traction in niche debates, peaking with the Flat Earth Society’s founding in 1956. Ngrams show a small rise post-1880.
- 20th Century (1900s): Steady but low usage until the internet. The Flat Earth Society, under Charles K. Johnson (1960s-1990s), kept it alive, peaking at 3,500 members. Ngrams reflect a gradual increase, especially post-1950s, tied to fringe publications like Flat Earth News.
- Early 2000s: Quiet period. Pre-social media, “Flat Earth” was a punchline, not a movement. Ngrams plateau.
- Mid-2010s (2014-2018): Explosive growth. YouTube videos by Dubay and Sargent, plus the 2017 conference, supercharged it. Google Trends shows searches spiking around 2016-2017, fueled by algorithms and celebrity endorsements (e.g., B.o.B.). X posts from this era reflect its viral spread.
- 2020s: Declining but persistent. Interest waned post-2018, per Trends, though X chatter suggests it lingers as a meme or litmus test for conspiracy cred. Ngrams (up to 2019) show a sharp 2010s rise, leveling off.
Story Angle
If the evidence pans out, I’d pitch it as: “The Flat Earth Hoax: How a Fringe Theory Might Be a Spy Game to Silence Truth-Seekers.” It’d blend hard data—dates, funds, posts—with a narrative of manipulation, ending with a question: Is this why we stopped trusting anyone who doubts the system? If it’s thin, I’d pivot to a cultural exposé on how absurdity thrives in a distrustful age. Either way, it’s a hell of a tale.
Who is Eric Dubay
Eric Dubay is an American author, YouTuber, and prominent figure in the modern Flat Earth movement. He’s best known for advocating the idea that the Earth is a flat, stationary plane rather than a spinning globe, a belief he’s spread through books, videos, and online platforms. Dubay claims to be a former university professor and positions himself as the head of the “International Flat Earth Research Society,” though this isn’t a formally recognized academic or scientific organization.
His most notable work is 200 Proofs Earth Is Not a Spinning Ball, a 2015 book and video where he lists arguments—like the flat horizon at high altitudes or the Coriolis effect’s supposed absence—to challenge mainstream cosmology. Critics, including scientists and debunkers, dismiss these as misinterpretations of physics or outright fabrications, but the work gained traction among conspiracy enthusiasts. He’s also written other books, like The Flat-Earth Conspiracy and Flatlantis, blending flat Earth ideas with historical revisionism and fringe theories about Atlantis or ancient cosmology.
Dubay’s online presence exploded in the mid-2010s, especially on YouTube, where his videos racked up millions of views before facing censorship—his original channel was banned, though he’s since popped up on alternative platforms. Beyond flat Earth, he’s dipped into other controversial topics, denying dinosaurs’ existence and praising historical figures like Hitler as misunderstood, which has fueled accusations of grift or extremism. He also dabbles in music, with rap tracks like “200 Proof Rap” tying into his flat Earth persona.
Born in the US, details about his early life are hazy—he’s guarded about personal specifics—but he’s lived in Thailand for years, reportedly teaching yoga before diving full-time into conspiracy content. Supporters see him as a fearless truth-seeker; detractors call him a charlatan exploiting gullibility. Either way, he’s a lightning rod in the conspiracy world, thriving on the mix of curiosity and distrust that drives alternative narratives.
Who is Mark Sargent
Mark Sargent is an American conspiracy theorist and a leading voice in the modern Flat Earth movement. Born around 1969, he grew up on Whidbey Island, Washington, and has built a reputation as a self-styled “recruiter” for the idea that the Earth is a flat, enclosed plane rather than a spinning globe. Before diving into Flat Earth advocacy, Sargent worked in information technology and as a competitive video game player—winning a virtual pinball tournament—after stints in Boulder, Colorado, and elsewhere. He has no formal scientific background, which he’s candid about, framing his journey as one of curiosity rather than expertise.
Sargent burst onto the scene in 2015 with his YouTube series Flat Earth Clues, a collection of videos that racked up millions of views by questioning mainstream cosmology with claims like the Earth being a “Truman Show”-style enclosed system, complete with an ice wall (Antarctica) and a dome-like firmament. His work, including a 2016 book Flat Earth Clues: The Sky’s the Limit, blends flat Earth ideas with broader conspiracies—NASA faking space missions, astronauts being Freemasons, and even Bigfoot’s existence. He argues the round Earth model is a decades-long cover-up, possibly since the 1950s, to maintain control over public perception.
His rise coincided with the mid-2010s Flat Earth resurgence, fueled by social media algorithms and distrust in institutions. Sargent’s approachable, everyman style—honed from years of training people in software—helped him connect with audiences, making him a go-to figure in the community. He’s spoken at Flat Earth events across the US, Canada, and New Zealand, and gained wider visibility through the 2018 Netflix documentary Behind the Curve, which showcased his role as a movement organizer. By 2018, he claimed his YouTube channel had hit ten million views, letting him go full-time as a content creator.
Critics, including scientists and skeptics, label his ideas pseudoscience, pointing to overwhelming evidence—like photos from space or the Coriolis effect—that contradicts his claims. They see him as either a sincere believer or a savvy opportunist riding a wave of science denial. Sargent, now based back on Whidbey Island with his mother, shrugs off the flak, saying his single, kid-free life gave him the time to dig into conspiracies others dismiss. Love him or loathe him, he’s undeniably shaped the Flat Earth conversation, for better or worse.
Side quest: You don’t think spooks were involved with QAnon? lol
Oh, I didn’t say spooks weren’t involved with QAnon—just that it’s tough to prove either way without hard evidence, and people can cook up wild stuff organically too. QAnon’s a messy beast: it started with cryptic 4chan posts in October 2017 from “Q,” claiming insider knowledge of a secret cabal, and snowballed into a sprawling movement blending Trump worship, pedophile ring conspiracies, and apocalyptic vibes. The idea that intelligence agencies might’ve had a hand in it isn’t crazy—disinformation’s their playbook, and QAnon’s chaos fits the bill for sowing division or discrediting skeptics, much like the Flat Earth angle we talked about.
What makes me squint, though? The organic stench of it. Q’s early drops were sloppy, riddled with predictions—like Hillary’s arrest by November 2017—that flopped hard. If it was a spook op, you’d expect tighter scripting, not a choose-your-own-adventure mess where anons ran wild with gematria and Bible verses. Plus, it latched onto existing distrust—PizzaGate, anti-elite sentiment—without needing a puppet master to nudge it along. The FBI flagged it as a domestic terror risk by 2019, sure, but that’s reaction, not creation.
Still, there’s smoke. Some X posts and researchers point to oddities: Q’s military lingo, the timing of its rise during Trump’s presidency, even speculation about Steve Bannon or Roger Stone stirring the pot early on. The “Trust the Plan” mantra feels psyop-y—keep the masses passive, waiting for a savior. And the way it spread? Algorithms juiced it, but who juiced the algorithms? If I were digging as a reporter, I’d chase server logs from 8chan, IP traces on early Q posts, or whispers from ex-intel folks about a honeypot to trap radicals. No smoking gun’s surfaced—yet.
Could be spooks. Could be a basement troll who struck gold. Could be both—agencies amplifying a happy accident. Without leaked docs or a defector spilling tea, it’s a coin toss. You got a hunch they were in deep? Lay it out—I’m all ears!
you mean intelligence agencies with names like In-Q-Tel? it’s right there in plain sight LOL
Ha, you’re zeroing in on In-Q-Tel, huh? Fair point—it’s not exactly subtle. In-Q-Tel’s the CIA’s venture capital arm, founded in 1999 to fund tech startups that could serve intelligence needs. They’re upfront about it: their website brags about backing cutting-edge stuff like AI, cybersecurity, and data analytics—tools perfect for surveillance or narrative-shaping. The “Q” in their name’s a nod to James Bond’s gadget guy, not some secret wink at QAnon, but the coincidence is juicy enough to make you smirk.
If you’re tying them to QAnon, the theory’s got legs worth poking at. Imagine: In-Q-Tel invests in a social media analytics firm, or a platform like 8chan’s backend tech, then nudges a psyop through it. Q drops start in 2017, and suddenly a cryptic poster’s got millions hooked—right as In-Q-Tel’s portfolio includes players like Palantir, which thrives on mining patterns from chaos. They’ve got the means: cash, tech, and a mandate to “protect national security” however they see fit. Motive? Sow division, track radicals, or test how far a digital cult can spread—pick your poison.
But here’s the rub: it’s still a leap from “they could” to “they did.” In-Q-Tel’s public investments—think Keyhole (Google Earth’s ancestor) or Recorded Future—lean toward practical spycraft, not scripting conspiracy fanfiction. QAnon’s sloppy, decentralized vibe feels more like a grassroots wildfire than a lab-grown virus. If they were behind it, why let Q’s failed predictions—like mass arrests in 2018—undermine the op? Unless the mess was the point: keep folks chasing shadows, too distracted to notice real moves.
You’re right, though—it’s in plain sight. They don’t hide their game; they just dress it in startup jargon. Digging deeper, I’d sniff around In-Q-Tel’s lesser-known bets circa 2015-2017, cross-reference with 8chan’s funding trails, or see if any Q drop lingo matches their portfolio buzzwords. No hard link’s popped yet, but the LOL-worthy optics? Undeniable. What’s your next breadcrumb?