Month: September 2026

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From Backpacks to Orbit: New Disclosures Put Directed-Energy Claims in a Different Light

For years, people who identify as “targeted individuals” have alleged that sophisticated directed-energy or electromagnetic weapons are being used covertly against people. Their accounts vary dramatically: some describe attacks originating from nearby vehicles or portable devices, while others believe energy is being directed from aircraft, satellites or other space-based platforms, with some specifically pointing to the U.S. Space Force. Those individual allegations remain unproven. But roundly dismissing targeted individuals as “crazy conspiracy theorists” merely because the technologies they describe sound impossible is increasingly difficult to justify. Two developments are particularly noteworthy: neuroscientist Dr. James Giordano has publicly discussed directed-energy systems small enough to be carried in backpacks or mounted in vehicles, while the Pentagon has now acknowledged for the first time that the United States has operational weapons in orbit.

Giordano’s comments during a July appearance on NewsNation’s Katie Pavlich Tonight are especially relevant. Giordano, who has been involved in examining cases associated with the so-called Havana Syndrome, told Pavlich that directed-energy technology is not science-fiction “ray gun” material: the technology exists and can be weaponized. More strikingly, he discussed the increasing scalability and portability of these systems. NewsNation’s reporting said directed-energy weapons can be mounted in backpacks or vehicles and that Giordano said there was evidence of domestic use. He also discussed countermeasures capable of detecting, blocking or deflecting directed energy and stressed the importance of identifying exposures quickly enough to treat affected individuals. That doesn’t establish who was responsible for any particular incident, much less validate every targeted-individual account. But it significantly changes the technological part of the conversation.

Now add what happened in September. Air Force Secretary Troy Meink announced that the Space Force has “on-orbit space control weapons” capable of defending U.S. forces against hostile adversary action. Meink deliberately declined to say whether those systems are kinetic or non-kinetic, how they operate, whether they have been tested, or precisely what they can target. The following day, Space Force Chief of Space Operations Gen. Douglas Schiess confirmed that Guardians currently operate weapons in orbit. The disclosure is extraordinary, but it is important not to connect dots that the available evidence doesn’t connect. There is currently no public evidence demonstrating that the portable systems Giordano discussed and the newly acknowledged orbital weapons are components of the same system, work together, or are being used against civilians. Indeed, “space control” could mean weapons intended primarily to interfere with or destroy adversaries’ satellites.

Still, viewed together, the disclosures illustrate how broad the directed-energy and advanced-weapons landscape has become—from potentially concealable systems operating at relatively short range to highly classified military capabilities operating hundreds of miles above Earth. That makes an important distinction unavoidable: the existence and weaponization of these technologies is one question; whether a particular person has been attacked with one is another. Targeted individuals cannot use the Pentagon’s orbital announcement or Giordano’s remarks as proof that their particular symptoms, injuries or alleged fatalities were caused by government weapons. Establishing that would require independently verifiable evidence connecting an actual device, operator and exposure to an individual case. But critics likewise should no longer treat concepts such as portable directed-energy weapons or weapons operating in space as inherently fantastical when experts and the government are openly discussing precisely those broad categories of technology.

That brings us to the transparency problem. National-security agencies necessarily keep genuine military capabilities secret, but that secrecy can also create profound distrust when technologies become publicly acknowledged only years after their development. In this instance, Meink even said the wording of the orbital-weapons announcement was “very well thought out,” while declining to reveal the systems’ specifics. Given the much more serious allegations raised by targeted individuals—including alleged directed-energy injuries, deaths and nonconsensual experimentation—the Pentagon should address the civilian question explicitly. Have U.S.-controlled directed-energy weapons ever been tested or deployed against civilians inside the United States? Have unwitting civilians ever been subjects in experiments involving them? Could portable systems and space-based military capabilities ever operate as parts of a larger architecture, and if so, what safeguards prevent their misuse? If civilians were subjected to such experimentation, what legal authority permitted it, who provided oversight, and would victims be entitled to compensation? None of those questions presupposes that targeted individuals’ allegations are true. But between Giordano publicly discussing concealable, weaponized directed-energy technology and the Pentagon acknowledging weapons operating in orbit, demanding clear answers about the boundaries, oversight and history of these technologies is no longer a conversation that can reasonably be dismissed with ridicule.

Congress also has an important—and necessarily bipartisan—role to play. Questions involving directed-energy technology, national security and possible harm to Americans should not become another partisan football. Congress has already demonstrated that Democrats and Republicans can act together on anomalous health incidents: the HAVANA Act passed unanimously and established a mechanism to compensate qualifying U.S. government personnel suffering certain brain injuries, while congressional committees have previously called for continued investigation of unexplained cases and possible external stimuli. Lawmakers should bring that same bipartisan scrutiny to the broader questions raised here, using their oversight powers to demand classified and unclassified briefings from the Pentagon, intelligence agencies and Space Force; determine what directed-energy capabilities exist and what rules govern them; and establish whether any such technology has ever been tested on or used against unwitting civilians. If evidence ultimately substantiates civilian victims, Congress should also examine accountability and an appropriate compensation mechanism. If investigations find no evidence supporting those allegations, that conclusion should likewise be made public to the greatest extent national security permits. Either way, these are questions that deserve investigation and evidence—not partisan assumptions or ridicule.

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From Political Poison to Political Permission: The GOP’s 9/11 “Truther” Transformation

As America approaches the 25th anniversary of the September 11 attacks, one of the more striking changes in our politics is not what happened on that terrible morning, but what has happened to the politics surrounding it. On the September 9, 2026 edition of MSNOW’s All In with Chris Hayes, Hayes examined what he portrayed as a remarkable Republican metamorphosis: ideas once treated on the right as career-ending “9/11 truther” conspiracies are now being entertained publicly by prominent Republicans. The episode itself advertised a report on “the 9/11 truther sitting in the United States Senate,” making the contrast between then and now the centerpiece of the segment.

The most illuminating historical example is Van Jones. In 2009, Jones was serving in the Obama administration as a special adviser on green jobs when conservative media—most prominently Glenn Beck—hammered him over his name appearing on a 2004 petition associated with the 9/11 Truth movement. Beck went considerably further, claiming Jones believed the Bush administration had “blew up the World Trade Center and covered it up.” PolitiFact later rated that characterization only Half True: Jones’s name did appear on the petition, but the document called for further investigation and raised questions about whether officials might have allowed the attacks to happen; it did not say Bush officials blew up the towers. Jones repudiated the petition’s implications, saying they did not represent his views, and his name was subsequently removed. The controversy was not the only issue dogging Jones—his past political activism and other inflammatory remarks were also under fire—but amid that broader conservative campaign, he resigned from the White House.

That history makes Sen. Ron Johnson’s more recent rhetoric remarkable. In April 2025, the Wisconsin Republican discussed 9/11 on a podcast, questioned the accepted explanation for the collapse of World Trade Center Building 7, suggested it may have been a “controlled demolition,” and spoke of pursuing Senate hearings. Johnson, who chaired the Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations, also suggested that the government knew more about 9/11 than it had disclosed. These are not fringe comments from an anonymous internet poster; they came from a sitting United States senator with investigative authority. Yet Johnson did not experience anything resembling the immediate political exile that association with the “truther” movement could produce in the post-9/11 political era.

There is an important qualification to Hayes’s comparison. The Van Jones controversy cannot fairly be reduced to only 9/11: conservatives were simultaneously attacking his previous radical politics and controversial remarks, and Jones’s precise connection to the petition was disputed. Likewise, Johnson says he is asking questions and seeking evidence, rather than simply adopting every claim associated with the sprawling 9/11 Truth movement. And questioning government findings is not inherently illegitimate. But the political contrast remains difficult to miss. In 2009, merely being linked to a petition that raised conspiratorial questions about 9/11 helped make a White House official politically radioactive. Sixteen years later, a Republican senator could himself publicly raise one of the movement’s signature theories—controlled demolition of Building 7—and contemplate congressional investigation.

That may be the most fascinating takeaway from Hayes’s segment as September 11, 2026 approaches. The underlying evidence about the attacks has not undergone some comparable revolution; the National Institute of Standards and Technology’s investigation concluded that uncontrolled fires caused the progressive collapse of Building 7, not explosives. What has unmistakably changed is the political ecosystem in which conspiratorial claims circulate. Glenn Beck once wielded the “truther” label as a devastating indictment against Van Jones. Today, Ron Johnson can venture into territory once considered politically toxic and remain a powerful senator. Twenty-five years after 9/11, perhaps the story is not simply that conspiracy theories survived. It is that the political price for entertaining them has changed dramatically—and, depending on who is doing the entertaining, may barely exist at all.

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Hope Florida Isn’t Over: A New Prosecutor, a Possible Grand Jury and More Questions for DeSantis

The Hope Florida scandal has taken another unexpected turn. According to CBS Miami investigative reporter Jim DeFede, Orange-Osceola State Attorney Monique Worrell is now beginning her own review of the controversy and is considering whether a new grand jury may be necessary. Worrell says her office has received information suggesting that some of the money at the center of the scandal may have been spent in the Central Florida media market, which falls within her jurisdiction. At the same time, Worrell has publicly claimed that she was warned her removal from office could be imminent and suggested that her interest in the Hope Florida matter may be connected. There has been no public confirmation from Gov. Ron DeSantis that he intends to remove her, and Attorney General James Uthmeier has said he was unaware of any such plan. 

This is significant because it goes directly to the argument I made in my previous article, “Hope Florida: Why No Indictments Is No Vindication.” Read my previous Hope Florida analysis here⁠ The first grand jury did not conclude that nothing improper happened. It concluded that the DeSantis administration had misappropriated $10 million in taxpayer money and described the movement of those funds as part of a “sophisticated scheme to fund political activities.” The money originated from a $67 million Medicaid settlement with Centene and was ultimately routed through the Hope Florida Foundation and other organizations before substantial amounts reached political committees. The grand jury simply concluded that it did not have sufficient evidence to criminally charge anyone because no witness would take responsibility for the crucial decision to send the $10 million to Hope Florida.  That is an accountability problem—not a declaration of innocence.

And this is where the possibility of another investigation becomes particularly important. The unanswered question has always been who made the decision? The grand jury’s report identified James Uthmeier, who was DeSantis’ chief of staff at the time, as someone who was in a position of authority over those involved in the Centene settlement. His political committee, Keep Florida Clean, ultimately received the majority of the money that moved out of the two nonprofits that received Hope Florida funds. The grand jury also noted that witnesses claimed they could not remember who made the decision to transfer the money in the first place.  That is precisely why the argument that “there were no indictments” settles the matter is so misleading. A prosecutor’s inability to establish criminal responsibility beyond the required standard is not the same thing as proving that the underlying conduct was legitimate.

The political implications of Worrell’s review also cannot simply be ignored. DeSantis suspended Worrell in 2023, but she subsequently won her office back from voters in 2024 with nearly 60% of the vote. Now, as her office begins examining information connected to the Hope Florida money, Worrell says she has been warned that she could once again be removed. She has explicitly connected the timing to the investigation, saying that if she is removed, it would not be because her office isn’t doing its job, but because of concerns about what that work might uncover.  To be clear, Worrell’s allegation is not proof that DeSantis is attempting to stop the investigation, and there is currently no public confirmation that he plans to suspend her. But given the extraordinary circumstances surrounding Hope Florida, the public has every reason to pay close attention. If a prosecutor is investigating whether taxpayer money was diverted into political activity, the investigation should be allowed to proceed without political interference.

Ultimately, the latest development reinforces the central point: Hope Florida is not a closed case simply because the first grand jury did not return indictments. In fact, the grand jury’s own findings left behind a remarkable contradiction: it found that $10 million in taxpayer money had been misappropriated and used for political purposes, yet nobody could—or would—take responsibility for the decision that set the money on that path. Even former prosecutors interviewed by CBS Miami have questioned whether the investigation went far enough, with some arguing that prosecutors should have continued investigating rather than simply accepting that witnesses could not establish responsibility.  Now another state attorney is asking whether there is more to uncover. That doesn’t mean Ron DeSantis, James Uthmeier, Casey DeSantis or anyone else is guilty of a crime. It means the public deserves to know exactly what happened to its money, who authorized it, who knew where it was going, and why millions of dollars connected to a Medicaid settlement ultimately found their way into political operations. Until those questions are answered, Hope Florida deserves investigation—not dismissal.