I always find it fascinating when someone approaches a topic that I thought was a carcass stripped of every scrap of flesh, and yet from it manages to conjure up an entirely fresh-looking meat feast. Even though there is – of course – a danger that they simply dreamed it all up, there’s also the chance that they might have glimpsed (however imperfectly) something really big. So you always ask: is it smoke and mirrors, or behind the smoke is there some kind of fire?
In his (2005) “Body Snatchers in the Desert” and its (2017) sequel “The Roswell UFO Conspiracy: Exposing a Shocking and Sinister Secret”, long-time researcher/writer Nick Redfern took a hugely sideways look at the 1947 Roswell Incident (along with the often lurid crash site stories of oddly-deformed bodies) and found an entirely new story to tell.
Given that Redfern is an avowed Ufologist, what’s immediately unexpected about these two books is that they set out to tell a story about the 1947 Roswell Incident that was anything but extraterrestrial. Unsurprisingly, many (if not most) of his Ufological buddies and correspondents believe that he has drunk too deeply from the PsyOps poisoned well of UFO nonsense, and become befuddled by the many layers of cover stories laid down over the years.
All the same, the big question is: how on Earth (if you’ll excuse the phrase) did a Ufologist end up writing arguably the most anti-Ufological book ever? And might even a small bit of what he found hidden under that rock actually be true?
“Who Cares Where They Come Down?”
Historically, Redfern’s story pivots on the US Military’s actions in the years just after WWII, across a period bounded on the one hand by Operation Paperclip (and its Japanese analogue), and on the other hand by the Nuremberg Trials.
As is well-documented (even in Wikipedia), Operation Paperclip was a secret operation whereby “more than 1600 German scientists, engineers, and technicians” got spirited away from the bombed desolation of post-war Germany to start fresh new lives in the US. This programme was authorised by President Truman on 3rd September 1946, and led to an influx to the States of such famous rocketeers as Wernher von Braun. As Tom Lehrer memorably wrote (to a tune which I now inevitably can’t get out of my head):
Don’t say that he’s hypocritical,
Say rather that he’s apolitical.
“Once the rockets are up,
Who cares where they come down?
That’s not my department,”
Says Wernher von Braun.
Note that Redfern also stresses the other side of the political equation: that it was not just that the US was anxious to gain the services of these brilliant (if perhaps morally damaged) individuals, it was also that the US wanted to avoid the scenario where those same people were swooshed up by the Russians. (Did they ever have an Operation Paperclipski?)
So: the picture that Redfern paints is that from the start of 1946, technologists from the defeated Axis countries along with their technology (and documentation) resurfaced in America, influencing not only the type of science that was being done there, but also the way it was being done. They were, after all, domain experts, so why not bring ’em in?
The Nuremberg Trials
The reason that the Nuremberg Trials form a terminus ante quem for Redfern is – though I don’t think he says it explicitly – what happened in the IG Farben trial, which ran from 27th August 1947 through to 30th July 1948.
The directors of German chemical conglomerate IG Farben were in court not only because they had manufactured Zyklon B (the poison gas used in the Nazi extermination camps), but also because they had used slave labour. Though the single thing that seems to have tipped the balance for the judges was the fact that IG Farben had built a Zyklon B manufacturing plant right next door to Auschwitz, with the clear intention of using slave labour to manufacture the same poison that was then used to kill the same slaves.
(Personally, I find this extraordinary and awful, as though the only way someone could be convicted of murder is if they had shot someone with a gun they had previously forced the dead person to build for them.)
Five months later, one of the judges (Judge Hebert) filed a witheringly dissenting opinion, where he wrote (though possibly more for the benefit of his conscience than for its usefulness to later historians):
“Willing cooperation with the slave labor utilization of the Third Reich was a matter of corporate policy that permeated the whole Farben organization […] For this reason, criminal responsibility goes beyond the actual immediate participants at Auschwitz. It includes other Farben Vorstand plant-managers and embraces all who knowingly participated in the shaping of the corporate policy”
For Redfern’s narrative, this specific part of the Nuremberg trials is centrally important because the third group of crimes that the IG Farben directors were indicted was (again, as per Wikipedia):
“3. War crimes and crimes against humanity through participation in the enslavement and deportation to slave labor on a gigantic scale of concentration camp inmates and civilians in occupied countries, and of prisoners of war, and the mistreatment, terrorization, torture, and murder of enslaved persons.”
That is to say, the world now had the concept of war crimes, for which culpable individuals could be held accountable.
A Narrow Ethical Window
From this, you could say that Nick Redfern’s narrative (reconstructed from different witness accounts) falls within a narrow ‘ethical window’. This time period commenced with Operation Paperclip’s influx of scientists who brought with them a radically different experimental ethics – what we would now disparagingly call “Nazi science” – but then finished with the Nuremberg Trial judges’ clear signal to the world that the cruelty, terror and indeed murder carried out in the name of that so-called “science” was a war crime – what we would now call “crimes against humanity”.
For Redfern, key American military scientists seem to have been utterly seduced by the whole idea of carrying out inhumane experiments against “volunteer” (but utterly misinformed) prisoners, the mentally or physically handicapped, or even infant corpses in the pursuit of ‘scientific knowledge’. By way of support, he offers a large number of grotesquely shameful instances in post-war America (and indeed Britain) where exactly this kind of thing happened.
Even today, Josef Mengele’s chillingly inhumane experiments at Auschwitz (where he performed grotesque ‘operations’ on inmates, while also cheerfully selecting those to die of Zyklon B) remain utterly shocking. But the atrocities carried out during WWII by Unit 731 of the Imperial Japanese Army in their development of bacteriological warfare seem every bit as morally repugnant. As Wikipedia notes:
The Americans did not try the researchers so that the information and experience gained in bio-weapons could be co-opted into their biological warfare program, much as they had done with German researchers in Operation Paperclip. Victim accounts were then largely ignored or dismissed in the west as communist propaganda.
It should be noted that Unit 731 was located on mainland China (where Japan had occupied a sizeable region before WWII), and so the majority of its ‘test subjects” were Chinese. These “included common criminals, captured bandits, anti-Japanese partisans, political prisoners, the homeless and mentally handicapped, and also people rounded up by the Kempeitai military police for alleged ‘suspicious activities’.“
So when thousands of these morally-compromised Axis scientists (as Tom Lehrer jeered, were they “apolitical” or just plain “hypocritical”?) were absorbed into the post-WWII American military R&D complex, what was the cultural effect? Did everything run the same as before, or did their horribly dehumanised attitudes towards test subjects – people in Unit 731 referred to them as “logs”, or “long-tailed Manchurian monkeys” – also get integrated along with their science?
Fu-Go Balloon Bombs
Nick Redfern’s story hinges on a relatively little-known side of WWII: Japanese Fu-Go balloon bombs. Over 9,000 of these mulberry-paper balloon bombs were launched from Japan, flying at a relatively constant altitude (thanks to an ingenious bit of engineering trickery) all the way to America’s West Coast. These were launched from late 1944 until April 1945, because they were carried by a seasonal higher altitude wind that consistently blows across the Pacific during those months (though less than 10% of them actually reached their destination).
Though these balloon bombs caused hardly any casualties (a single family was blown up when they went to investigate a downed balloon up close), this wasn’t the whole story. According to Redfern, the Japanese actually had a much bigger Fu-Go attack planned for 22nd September 1945, with the intention of dropping toxins on San Diego. However, that particular attack never happened, thanks to Japan’s surrender a month earlier, following the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Redfern also has a story about a manned Japanese balloon attack on California, observed late in the war by three witnesses. He also talks about further plans for a larger balloon being sent across from Japan carrying a bomb-filled glider beneath it, for a Kamikaze pilot to steer to its final (high-value) target.
A quick Wikipedia search reveals that these balloons were designed and built by the Imperial Japanese Army’s Number Nine Research Laboratory (Noborito Laboratory) under Major General Kusaba. According to a 2007 review of a 2001 posthumous memoir by former insider Ban Shigeo (“Rikugun Noborito Kenkyujo no shinjitsu [The Truth About the Army Noborito Research Institute]“): “the US Army” – to nobody’s great surprise – “quietly enlisted certain members of Noborito in its efforts against the communist camp in the early years of the Cold War.” I for one would gladly pay to read an English translation of Ban Shigeo’s book, wouldn’t you?
Actually, it should be noted that there’s also a long discussion of this in Amanda Kay McVety’s (2018) “The Rinderpest Campaigns: A Virus, Its Vaccines, and Global Development in the Twentieth Century”. McVety notes that the rinderpest toxin was developed not by Unit 731, but by the Noborito Lab itself: and that their big plan was to use a wave of balloon bombs to drop 20 tons of the stuff over the US to kill American cattle en masse. According to McVety, the plan was nixed not by the end of the war, but by a senior General fearing American reprisals against Japan’s rice harvest.
Yet even though the US Military developed its own range of – it has to be said extremely similar – balloon bombs (e.g. its E77 was developed in 1950) not that long after, I was unable to find any official military history charting how these Noborito balloon bomb researchers affected American thinking and balloon development. This sounds like a fascinating slice of secret history that military historians seem to have largely overlooked to date. Let’s hope that particular lacuna gets filled before very long.
Two Steps Forward, One Step Back
And so, from the normal historical fog, we can start to see the broad shape of Redfern’s account of the 1947 Roswell Incident starting to emerge. He presents the Roswell Incident as the crash not of an extraterrestrial spaceship, but instead of an unfamiliar balloon technology brought in via the Japanese equivalent of Operation Paperclip. And the oddly deformed bodies? For him, these were not X-Files “grays”, but instead handicapped Japanese test subjects, similar to the ones upon whom Unit 731 performed ghastly experiments. And the whole UFO story? According to Redfern, this was to cover up the “Nazi science”-style atrocities being carried out to gain high-altitude physiological (or possibly radioactive) scientific knowledge.
Admittedly, Redfern’s conspiratorial excitement then somewhat gets the better of him, to the point that he confuses Unit 731 with Noborito Laboratory, and then somewhat oddly throws a whole load of Nazi flying machine tech into the mix. I’m also far from convinced by his attempts to stitch the glider-beneath-the-balloon account into his own narrative. Even so, I thought he was doing perfectly well with just the actual history, so it’s not all bad, not at all. :-/
Finally, the “Bamboo” Bit Teased in the Title…
All in all, does Nick Redfern’s account really explain everything about the Roswell Incident? I think it’s fair to say that in its current form, probably not quite. But all the same, the idea that the incident revolved around a balloon built according to unfamiliar principles ‘acquired’ (Operation Paperclip-style) by the US Military from Japanese balloon bomb builders does strike me as entirely plausible (in a good way).
And moreover, his suggestion that the people involved were actually ‘involuntary volunteer’ test subjects whose deaths in that balloon crash subsequently got hushed up is also far from unreasonable. There was definitely an experimental moral laxity in that period, though the notion that the victims’ various deformities were due to specific genetically-linked conditions may well be a bit too… intense for some. Still, full marks for trying to cover all the bases, regardless.
For me, though, I can’t help but wonder whether the whole Roswell Incident was nothing more complex than a crashed balloon that used unfamiliar techniques and materials brought to America by the Noborito ‘acquirees’. Even though the US Military knew a fair bit about balloons, it may well not have developed suitable gondolas: so might the gondola in the Roswell crash (for if there were people on the balloon, it surely had a gondola, right?) have actually been a Noborito Lab-developed gondola quietly swooshed out of post-war Japan’s backdoor by the Americans?
As an aside: one of the unexplained things about the initial Roswell Incident crash site was the inwardly curved I-beams that so bemused Jesse Marcel, and which had some kind of strange writing imprinted on them (the ones that various witnesses remarked upon). This is, after all, why I’ve been treating the Roswell Incident as primarily a cipher mystery.
So here’s Nick’s thought for the day: might these inwardly-curved “I-beams” have actually been bamboo from the crashed gondola frame? And might the writing on those “I-beams” actually have been Japanese (e.g. assembly instructions)? In which case, might the real reason that no images of this writing have ever been made public is that it would be obviously Japanese, thereby opening up a whole world of awkward (and clearly non-extraterrestrial) questions about the roles Noborito Lab researchers were playing in post-war US Military R&D?
Jesse Marcel was certain that what he was looking at wasn’t any kind of American balloon he’d seen before: and, not knowing America’s (presumably still highly Top Secret) connection to Japanese bomb-balloon-makers, he (wrongly, I think) concluded that he could only be looking at debris from a crashed flying saucer. And so it could well be that Marcel’s quick rationalisation was inadvertently the well-spring from which all modern UFOlogy eventually flowed.
Regardless, if your job was to cover up a Top Secret US Military collaboration with Japanese balloon-bomb builders in 1947, how would you try to explain it away? It would be a bit of a tricky challenge, that’s for sure. Hmmm…
Anyway, paraphrasing Tom Lehrer slightly:
“Once the balloons are up,
Who cares where they come down?
That’s not my department”