Diagnosing and resisting drip-feed conspiracy parajournalism

The growing confusion in conservative public discourse warrants careful thought and analysis. As prominent commentators such as Candace Owens and Tucker Carlson, among others, influence civic life, many Christians try to avoid this content because engagement tends to expand the reach of forces that thrive on attention and manipulate emotion as a strategy of influence.

Avoidance, however, often becomes difficult, as the effects seep into parish conversations, prayer groups, and online communities where believers repeat phrases and suspicions absorbed through a stream of confident voices. Christians can enter these labyrinths of speculation and emerge unsettled, agitated, and occasionally persuaded that only a small circle of influencers possesses privileged insight into the unseen mechanisms of global power.

The methodology and appeal

I call it drip-feed conspiracy parajournalism, a name that reflects its operational method. The phrase draws from journalism, psychology, and media studies and describes a technique in which commentators reveal claims in fragments, using suspense as a mechanism of credibility. They hold out the promise that the next episode will unveil the critical revelation that will expose everything. Through this structure, they fashion an aura of investigative heroism. They cultivate an audience that feels discerning rather than naïve. They verify trivial details with theatrical vigor, and the audience interprets this as evidence of serious inquiry. Consequently, the performance gives the illusion of rigor even when genuine investigation rarely, if ever, occurs. The method prevails because it offers the thrill of discovery without the labor of disciplined thinking.

The analytical framework offered by Michael Barkun in A Culture of Conspiracy helps explain why such rhetoric resonates. Barkun identifies an intellectual ecosystem he calls “stigmatized knowledge,” meaning claims that live outside accepted scholarship yet attract devotion precisely because they exist beyond institutional boundaries.

He outlines five forms of stigmatized knowledge, although the most potent is suppressed knowledge. Barkun writes that “the suppressed knowledge category tends to absorb the others, because believers assume that when their own ideas about knowledge conflict with some orthodoxy, the forces of orthodoxy will necessarily try to perpetuate error out of self-interest or some other evil motive.” Once people accept this premise, they interpret every objection as confirmation. In this way, counterarguments become evidence of persecution, and institutional silence becomes evidence of secrecy. The entire structure becomes self-reinforcing.

This interpretive framework becomes the natural habitat of drip-feed parajournalism. The commentator who delays disclosure signals an obstructing force. The audience interprets the delay as evidence that the commentator stands against powerful interests. The sense of danger heightens the impression of significance. Suspense becomes currency, and the audience becomes dependent on the next reveal. The entire experience resembles serialized fiction, although intensified by the claim that real events hang in the balance.

Barkun’s observations clarify why this dynamic appears persuasive even when the material lacks substance. He notes that conspiracy theories function “both as a part of suppressed knowledge and as a basis for stigmatization,” since believers become “convinced that only they know the true manner in which power is held and decisions made.” The psychological reward is immediate. Ordinary individuals become guardians of forbidden truth. They acquire a sense of moral superiority, since the uninitiated appear gullible, while insiders appear enlightened. This shift in self-perception forms a barrier against reasoned correction, since any attempt at correction appears as further evidence of suppression.

The alleged empiricism within these narratives strengthens the appeal. Barkun writes that “stigmatized knowledge appears compelling to believers because of its allegedly empirical basis.” Commentators use documents, screenshots, unnamed sources, and fragments of testimony without providing relevant context or verification. Yet the posture of evidence signals seriousness. The parajournalist thus imitates the gestures of scholarship while avoiding its responsibilities. The audience, accustomed to displays of confidence rather than slow evaluation, assumes that careful research has taken place simply because the commentator behaved like someone who conducts research.

Stigmatization becomes validation 

Barkun further notes that stigmatization itself becomes validation. He writes, “Stigmatization is taken to be evidence of truth—for why else would a belief be stigmatized if to suppress the truth?” Therefore, when institutions challenge a claim, the challenge becomes a sign that the claim deserves trust. Drip-feed parajournalists rely on this reflex. Every rebuttal is framed as evidence of a coordinated effort to conceal reality. Consequently, genuine critique cannot puncture the narrative, since the narrative absorbs critique as further proof.

Moreover, Barkun highlights the scholarly mimicry that characterizes conspiracy discourse. He describes how advocates “enthusiastically mimic mainstream scholarship” through footnotes, bibliographies, cross-references, and jargon, which together create “pseudoconfirmation.” Drip-feed parajournalists use the same strategy. Their productions bear the aesthetic of research while offering little of its discipline. Audiences encounter an atmosphere of intellectual seriousness even when the content lacks genuine analytical integrity.

Although the contemporary form appears shaped by digital technology, its ancestry can be found throughout American media history. The sensationalism of yellow journalism illustrates the pattern. Much of the reporting on the sinking of the USS Maine in the Havana Harbor in 1898 manipulated emotion through insinuation and selective detail, accelerating a march toward the Spanish-American War. Historians later uncovered the fragility of the allegations, although the cultural damage had already hardened into momentum. A society eager for certainty in a moment of tension favored a narrative of villainy over the ambiguities of investigation.

The McCarthy era (1947-1957) extends the parallel. Senator Joseph McCarthy released allegations in sequence, cultivating suspense while claiming access to classified information. The slow drip of partial accusations created a national mood of dread. Careers collapsed, and public trust eroded. Historians eventually revealed the weakness of McCarthy’s assertions, yet the long-term harm remained woven into the national memory.

Even the tabloid world of the late twentieth century reveals the pattern. Stories involving satanic cults, extraterrestrial agents, and secret government experiments circulated widely because they blended fragments of truth with sweeping imaginative arcs. Readers experienced the pleasure of forbidden insight while absorbing a worldview shaped more by performance than evidence.

Consequently, the digital landscape intensifies an old human vulnerability. Social media algorithms elevate emotional intensity, conflict, and novelty, therefore giving drip-feed parajournalism fertile ground. The speed of dissemination grants an advantage to speculation at the expense of time-consuming verification. The volume of information overwhelms attention spans, and the absence of interpretive anchors allows sensationalism to function as a substitute for understanding.

Echoes of ancient gnostic tendencies

This cultural environment can present profound spiritual challenges. Christians who take natural law seriously must cultivate disciplined reasoning, since natural law presupposes the mind’s participation in divine rationality. Clarity and proportion do matter. Drip-feed parajournalism weakens these habits by training the mind to treat suspicion as a virtue and hesitation as a sign of naïveté. Consequently, the Christian imagination risks becoming shaped by imagined dangers rather than by the sovereignty of Christ.

Thomas Aquinas teaches that “for the knowledge of any truth whatsoever man needs Divine help, that the intellect may be moved by God to its act.” Thus, a mind saturated with frenetic speculation becomes less receptive to divine illumination. Anxiety replaces contemplation. Fear replaces discernment. The believer grows attuned to alleged global plots rather than to the calm governance of Providence. The peace Christ intends to give becomes obscured by a restless vigilance that exhausts the soul.

The spiritual danger of drip-feed parajournalism echoes ancient gnostic tendencies. The parajournalist presents himself as one who unveils mysteries. He interprets events with an authority that rivals Scripture, Tradition, and the teaching office of the Church. Barkun’s insight that conspiracy adherents believe “only they know the true manner in which power is held and decisions made” reveals how easily the parajournalist becomes a substitute magisterium. The Christian who follows such voices with unexamined trust risks exchanging the Gospel’s openness for an esoteric worldview centered on hidden knowledge and elite insight.

Serious ethical concerns follow. Some commentators hint at possessing evidence of wrongdoing yet refuse to present it to the proper authorities. This reveals a preference for suspense over justice. Authentic journalism serves the common good. Parajournalism serves engagement metrics. Christians committed to moral truth should recognize such withholding as a failure in civic responsibility.

The legal system absorbs further damage. Real investigations require the slow accumulation of facts, evaluation of testimony, cross-examination, and careful argumentation within courts that follow established rules of evidence. Drip-feed parajournalism replaces these processes with insinuation. Barkun observes that conspiracy discourse “appropriates the apparatus of scholarship in the form of elaborate citations” while producing only “pseudoconfirmation.” This dynamic resembles legal reasoning without the accountability of legal procedure.

Once such narratives gain cultural traction, jury pools can be influenced by imaginative speculation rather than forensic analysis. Barkun’s reminder that individuals become “predisposed to accept” unfamiliar claims once exposed to them helps explain how courtroom impartiality weakens. Genuine justice then becomes more difficult to achieve, since jurors may distrust legitimate evidence while displaying confidence in the interpretive authority of parajournalists. The parajournalist, meanwhile, remains insulated from the social consequences he helps create.

These problems arise because drip-feed parajournalism thrives on logical shortcuts. Its arguments often depend on ambiguous causal connections and selective framing. Intellectual resistance requires patience, restraint, and clarity. Christians who cultivate these virtues regain control over their interpretive habits. They learn to evaluate claims by asking whether the evidence truly supports a conclusion. They consider whether institutions declined to act for reasons grounded in law rather than malice. And they reflect on whether a commentator has supplied material that could withstand scrutiny rather than speculation.

Choosing the Kingdom over the algorithm

Barkun warns that conspiracy systems evolve into totalizing worldviews. They expand to absorb contradictions. They reinterpret all events through a single narrative. Therefore, conspiracism competes with Christianity at the level of imagination. Christians see the world governed by Christ, whereas conspiracists see it governed by clandestine elites. Only one of these visions can anchor the heart.

Evangelization demands an interior world shaped by peace. Anxiety seldom draws others toward the Gospel. Clarity, calm, and trust in divine providence form the foundation of Christian witness. Believers must develop a disciplined indifference toward sensational content. When they remember that Christ reigns with authority that transcends the schemes of men, they become resilient against manipulative rhetoric.

The baptismal call urges every Christian to serve as an agent of renewal. Renewal requires intellectual honesty, courage, and charity. It requires resistance to narratives designed to erode trust. When Christians anchor themselves in Christ, they acquire the equilibrium necessary to navigate a culture dominated by noise. Their presence introduces clarity where confusion prevails. Their confidence steadies others. Their discernment exposes the emptiness of performers who trade in fear.

Drip-feed conspiracy parajournalism will continue to evolve, since the digital ecosystem rewards emotional stimulation. However, Christians can navigate this environment without surrendering their judgment. They can choose a posture shaped by the Kingdom rather than the algorithm. When they do, the illusion of conspiracism loses its force. The Christian mind becomes clear. The Christian heart becomes steady, and the Christian witness becomes credible. The peace of Christ reveals the smallness of para-journalistic performance and the enduring strength of truth.