Don Morrison: My strange long-ago encounter with conspiracy theorist RFK Jr.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr. earlier this year.

Back in 1982, I got invited to a reception at Hickory Hill, the Kennedy family spread in Virginia just outside Washington, D.C. The event had something to do with the opening of the Vietnam War Memorial, and I was there as a journalist.

I was thrilled at the opportunity to meet the grande dame of the estate, Robert F. Kennedy’s indomitable widow, Ethel (clever and charming), as well as a passel of current and future public officials (many of them Kennedys).

My most vivid memory of the event is getting cornered by Robert Kennedy Jr., who was fresh out of law school and eager to save the world — in particular, through legalizing psychedelic drugs for treating mental illness, a far-fetched idea in those war-on-drugs days.

I didn’t know about his own substance abuse back then {he was a long-time heroin addict}, or else I might have suspected an underlying influence. In any case, he hinted darkly that big drug companies were undermining his crusade. The more that he talked — and, boy, did he talk — the less sense he made.

I think of that conversation whenever I read about RFK Jr.’s rocky tenure as our 26th secretary of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Why Donald Trump chose a longtime crusader against vaccines and other proven tools of public health, we’ll never know — though there is a strong anti-science strain among the MAGA crowd.

Kennedy has wasted little time dismantling the nation’s public-health system. He has cut medical-research budgets, fired qualified administrators and scientists; replaced them with inexperienced amateurs and fellow anti-vaccine activists; and made it harder to get the shots that protect children from such lethal threats as measles and polio — and all of us from COVID. Why, I wonder, is he trying to kill us?

I have a theory, based largely on RFK Jr.’s history and slightly on my encounter with him: He exhibits all the symptoms of a chronic conspiracy theorist.

For decades, Kennedy has been pushing far-fetched notions about election interference, unproven links between wireless technology and cancer, as well as between childhood vaccines and autism. He has touted the alleged benefits of raw (i.e., unpasteurized and thus highly risky) milk and the COVID-fighting properties of the horse deworming drug Ivermectin. He has warned darkly about the power of big pharmaceutical firms to block low-cost cures for illness.

The best conspiracy theories contain just enough truth to be intriguing. (RFK Jr.’s suspicions about “Big Pharma” seem at least modestly plausible).

But even the worst ones are emotionally satisfying, especially to people who are insecure, hungry for meaning in a confusing world or recovering from some unexplainable trauma.

RFK Jr.’s trauma was losing his father at 14 to an assassin’s bullet, five years after losing his uncle John the same way. Even for people who merely read about such puzzling tragedies, alternative theories are compelling. Indeed, RFK Jr. subscribes to the unproven notion that two gunmen, not one, took part in his father’s killing, which would suggest a larger conspiracy.

Moreover, some people get an ego boost by thinking that they possess inside knowledge others don’t. Finding fellow believers is especially pleasing, a phenomenon that explains the popularity of online conspiracy echo-chambers.

Psychologists say that humans are hard-wired for conspiracy thinking. We’re subject to what is known as confirmation bias: overvaluing facts that confirm our prior suspicions. Then there is “intentionality bias,” believing that things happen on purpose rather than by chance; and “proportionality bias,” the notion that big events must have big causes.

Besides, conspiracy theories are often more interesting than mundane reality. They have stronger storylines, more coherent plots and compelling villains. “The moon landing was faked” makes for a better movie than “the moon landing went fine.” And if your life, like mine, happens to be on the quiet side, it’s hard to resist a good story.

Hmmm. I’m beginning to wonder whether my attempt to paint RFK Jr. as a conspiracy nutcase doesn’t itself exhibit some of the above-mentioned symptoms. Maybe I’m a closet conspiracy theorist. After all, my narrative does make for a better story than “RFK is a just a normal, boring bureaucrat.”

Interestingly, his crusade to legalize psychedelic drugs for treatment of mental illness has been bolstered lately by some positive research results. Medical experts are starting to take the idea seriously.

Indeed, what if we mainstream critics have got it all wrong? What if RFK Jr. is not just correct in his beliefs but also the mastermind of a secret Trump-backed operation to discredit the naysayers by luring us into ludicrous excesses of denial — a plot the current HHS secretary might have hatched back at Hickory Hill decades ago after a chat with some obnoxious journalist?

And what if, any day now, he and his boss in the White House pull the rug out from under us doubters with some documented, irrefutable, headline-grabbing disclosures: “Big Pharma caught suppressing cheap drugs!” “Horse dewormer really does prevent COVID!” “Raw milk cures cancer!”

This movie would no doubt end with me bound and gagged in a dank basement room at Hickory Hill. RFK Jr. approaches with a gleam in his eye and, in his hand, a large syringe full of Ivermectin. Now there’s a plot for you. Call my agent!

Don Morrison, partly based in western Massachusetts’s Berkshire Hills, is an author, editor and university lecturer. A longtime former editor at Time Magazine in New York, London and Hong Kong, he has written for such publications as The New York Times, the Financial Times, Smithsonian, Le Monde, Le Point and Caixin. He is currently a columnist and advisory board co-chair at The Berkshire Eagle, a podcast commentator for NPR’s Robin Hood Radio and Europe editor for Port Magazine.