In the early spring of 2020—right around the time the world was starting to understand the gravity of Covid-19—a different disease was spreading inside Anna*’s once tight-knit family.
One night, her mother Heike* sat at the computer in her southern Germany house, where Anna was staying because of the pandemic. From behind her, Anna could see the familiar blue frame of the Twitter homepage pulled up on the screen. “I want to show you something,” her mother said.
Anna walked up to the computer and was greeted by the iconic, zoomed-in smirk of Donald Trump. A light blue “verified” check mark sat neatly next to his name. It was the former American president’s (now defunct) Twitter page.
Anna could see her mother’s eyes were focused on the horizontal cover photo, which featured Trump in the background, with a secret service bodyguard standing closer to the camera. He appeared much larger than Trump. “Look how big he is. He’s an alien. I can see it. I read in certain channels that Nasa found aliens and now they work with Trump,” said Heike.
This was not the first time Heike had suggested something outlandish. She questioned whether Americans ever landed on the moon in 1969; believed dynamite might have been planted inside buildings on September 11, 2001; and feared the day the world’s kinetic poles would inevitably flip.
Over the last few years, Anna has battled to save her mother from the virtual toxin of conspiracy obsession.
“When Anna’s allergies acted up, Heike would blame herself: ‘I shouldn’t have made you get those vaccines.’”
Anna has watched as online groups and their far-right ideologies have gradually warped Heike’s perception of reality. This moment with her mother on Twitter was when Anna realised things had gone too far. And as an only child in a small family, she has found herself in a lonely but critical position: “I’m the only one who’s responsible for her.”
But Heike would probably argue the very opposite: that Anna is the one who needs saving. And that the “unfiltered news” she gets from these groups puts her in a better position to fight against the cabals she believes control the world.
It has left Anna asking herself: how do I save a person who thinks they have to save me?
In 2021, probably at least one person in your life believes in a conspiracy theory. In Germany, according to a 2020 poll in Deutsche Welle, one-third of citizens “believe that secret powers control the world.”
The Covid-19 pandemic and theories about its vaccines have provided fertile ground for internet conspiracies. In February, a study reported by the Guardiansaid that of its 8,000 respondents, “42 per cent in France, 41 per cent in the UK, 40 per cent in Italy and 39 per cent in Germany felt governments were exploiting the crisis to control and monitor citizens.”
Relationships like Anna and Heike’s are no longer rare. But their growing prevalence does not lessen the toll taken on the individuals involved—both the believers, and those fighting to keep them in touch with reality.
Over time, more people will find themselves in the same position as Anna. The European Commission has taken steps to combat this trend; its website has an entire section titled “How to talk to somebody who firmly believes in conspiracy theories.” Another section instructs how to spot signs of an early believer—signs that Anna now wishes she had recognised.
So how did Heike get taken in? Looking back, Anna says there are a few contributing factors that led her mother down the rabbit hole.
Like most mothers, Heike worries about her daughter: “When I was a child, she was concerned about raising me and making sure I had a good life.” When Anna’s allergies acted up, Heike would blame herself: “I shouldn’t have made you get those vaccines.” In those days, a statement like that might have been taken in jest. But in the current environment, Anna says, she might have seen the waving red flag.
Heike’s concern for others goes beyond her family. Today, she runs an outdoor organisation which guides groups of people on fasting retreats. When this business was featured in a local women’s magazine recently, Heike shared the news to their family’s message group with an accompanying caption: “Will this help me save the world?” Anna says, “Something [Heike] often tells me is that she wants to be needed and to give something back to others.”
In 2015, things really started to change. Anna moved to Berlin for university—a six-hour train ride from home. Around the same time, Heike and her partner’s relationship ended. Suddenly, there was a gaping hole in Heike’s life. “When I left for Berlin,” Anna says, “my mother told me that she felt like she couldn’t give anything to me anymore.”
“It has left Anna asking herself: how do I save a person who thinks they have to save me?”
To fill the hole, Heike got involved in politics, championing a cause she cared about: the environment. When the local government planned to build wind turbines in her region—which meant tearing down much of her beloved forest—Heike tried hard to stop them. That meant getting online, joining Facebook groups, and spreading the word. It was a civic effort—exactly what we want from members of society.
A few years later, when the pandemic put her business on hold, Heike dived deeper into these online groups. Quickly, her concern for others found a new purpose: promoting conspiracy theories.
Since that day at home on Twitter, Heike and Anna’s relationship has had to adapt to fit inside the two distinct realities they inhabit.
For Anna, that means limiting the amount of time she spends with her mother. Living far away in Berlin has become a blessing.
Earlier this summer, Heike cried on the phone when Anna told her she planned to get the Covid-19 vaccine. “She was genuinely worried about what might happen to me,” Anna says. She knows that Heike is not trying to cause problems. But at the same time, it is frustrating having to worry about someone who is always worrying about you—especially if these worries are rooted in theories that have almost no basis in fact.
Recently, Anna made the trip to visit her mother again in southern Germany.
While there, Heike gave her a book titled Covid-19: The Great Reset and asked Anna to read it and explain to her what “they” were planning. Anna was sceptical at first. But then she noticed its author: Klaus Schwab, the World Economic Forum’s chief executive and respected economist.
So, Anna read it, and it seemed reasonable. It was not a conspiracy, but an educated analysis of what the post-Covid world might look like. Not until later, when Anna went online to research it more, did she understand what her mother had meant.
After the book’s publication in July 2020, the far-right online community had transformed The Great Reset into a baseless conspiracy that spread across forums online. Its premise: world elites had planned the pandemic in order to direct the future of the global economy.
Anna’s heart sank. Before seeing this, she had thought her mother might be moving in the right direction. Still, Anna chose to see the interaction as a sign that Heike was “still trying to make a connection.” “She still wanted me to explain my view to her,” says Anna.
While Anna has not given up on her mother, many of Heike’s childhood friends have severed ties with her—or Heike with them. If Heike were not close family, Anna admits, their relationship might be over by now. “But that’s just not an option,” she says.
Anna’s handling of the situation has evolved over the years. “At the beginning I was way too confrontational. I didn’t understand enough about it back then,” Anna says. She has learned how to pick the right battles—to be hopeful, but not naive.
But after so many attempts to bring her mother back to reality with no success, she is realising there is no simple cure. Although it is frustrating, she has chosen instead to try and accept Heike how she is now. It’s her only hope for holding on to what still exists between them.
It is still hard, Anna says, especially within their small family. This tension manifests most inside their WhatsApp group chat. Heike often sends messages pleading with the family to watch what she perceives to be an eye-opening video. Anna’s younger cousin is combative—like Anna used to be—and often responds with angry replies. She has talked to her aunt—Heike’s sister—about it. Although they live in neighboring towns, these days the two see much less of each other. “There’s nothing left to win anymore,” she once told Anna.
Heike’s parents—Anna’s grandparents—prefer not to argue with their daughter, “so they just let her talk.” “That makes me afraid,” says Anna, “because they look for some reason in [Heike]’s ideas.” And sometimes, unfortunately, they find it: based on Heike’s advice, they initially did not sign up to receive the Covid vaccine for several months after it was available to them in Germany.
Anna says it reminds her of the familiar trope of the crazy uncle at the holiday dinner. As more people come to believe in conspiracy theories, the more crazy uncles we will find at our tables.
Their views can be dangerous. But at the same time, many conspiracy theorists are like Heike: people who genuinely believe they need to spread the word in order to help others.
The key to keeping these people in our lives and relationships might be to follow Anna’s lead—to accept, rather than to combat. Anna says that it is important for people in her position, even though it is an uncomfortable topic, “to make this issue part of public discourse.”
When asked what her mother would likely say if she knew that Anna had talked to a journalist, she says, “She would hate it. But at the same time, I think about how I would feel if it was the other way around and my mum talked to some outlet about her bad daughter.”
Anna is able to put herself in her mother’s shoes. To try and understand what seems incomprehensible. The question is, will her mother ever again be able to return the favour?
*Anna and Heike’s names have been changed
