In 2007, Can Güney Kuseyri posted a short piece of satire about a fake element on Ekşisözlük, Turkey’s popular social media platform once described by Zeynep Tüfekçi as “Wikipedia, a social network, and Reddit rolled into one.” His inspiration came from another joke, the “feomidium” element, which had been “invented” by a journalist a year before and later adopted into the Islamist Saadet Party’s election chatter.

These priceless, game-changing materials – or, as one Ekşisözlük user dubbed them, “SPAM Metals” – were frequently mentioned in email forwards and the early days of social media. Most claims were about miraculous features, from energy to military applications, often in a preposterous tone – harder than diamond, lighter than air. But there is always a catch; they were preventing us from using them, as part of a shadowy conspiracy.

Thorium and the birth of Contorium

Thorium was one of the materials capturing attention at the time. There had been serious discussions about the advantages of thorium reactors, and Turkey is known for having sizable reserves of the element. However, the conversation took a wild turn in 2007 when a prominent Turkish physicist, Engin Arik, died in a plane crash along with her students and colleagues. Arik, an advocate for thorium investments in Turkey, had been on her way to a workshop focused on designing a potential Turkish particle accelerator.

To the general audience, the angle was clear: “Thorium expert dies on her way to a thorium-related conference.” This narrative stoked a wave of conspiracy theories on social media – a wave that later inspired Kuseyri to write his satirical piece about Contorium. The “Con” prefix in the made-up name had an intentionally silly twist; Kuseyri had noticed that, at least in older versions of Windows, you couldn’t create a file or folder named “CON” due to a system naming restriction. This quirk became a playful “try it yourself” cue in the story.

(…) There are explanations, allegedly backed by Mossad and the CIA, claiming that the reason why a file named ‘contorium’ could not be opened was because it was an abbreviation of ‘console.’ (…) You can’t open a folder called ‘con,’ and the so-called isotopes of contorium—‘com1’ and ‘com2’—couldn’t be used as file names either. Do you think it’s merely a coincidence that these abbreviations, supposedly related to the operating system, weren’t even allowed as file or folder names? Of course not. (…)

Initially, Contorium didn’t take off. Perhaps it was too close to the Feomidium incident and the general ridicule surrounding “SPAM metals.” Or maybe it was because of its storyline, deliberately crafted as absurd satire. The initial text featured secret codes hidden in the periodic table designed by Dmitri Mendeleyev himself, plus Contorium had supposed anti-radioactivity properties that could neutralise radiation and a reserve value of $23 trillion for Turkey.

After a few weeks of mockery, Contorium faded into the dusty corners of the internet, seemingly forgotten. But in 2011, it resurfaced in an unexpected way.

The Revival of the Parody

In 2011, a few Facebook posts brought Contorium back into conversation, eventually catching the attention of a national newspaper. In response, Kuseyri created a homemade video using Windows Movie Maker, basic video editing software. He copied scenes from popular dramatic documentaries of the time, such as Zeitgeist and Earthlings, and narrated them using a low-quality microphone. This time, the parody went viral.

The video was an extended version of the initial satire. First, the sciencey jargon was improved with more ridiculous claims, such as providing infinite battery life because of its ‘cracked nuclei’. It also had a more conspiratorial tone; to parody the Gish galloping of conspiratorial narrative, numerous assertions were added, such as the claim that Big Science taught us there could never be two elements with the same atomic number just to hide Contorium, or that the international phone code of Turkey matched Contorium’s supposed atomic number.

First discovered by Dmitri Mendeleyev, Contorium forms the basis of Russia’s policy to reach warm seas. Mendeleyev, whose father was from the Siberian Turks, was pressured to leave the 90th spot on the periodic table blank. However, with a clever move that we can understand today, he put thorium there —which also has atomic number 90— so he could point the way to future research on that element.

(…) Thorium is a radioactive element with an atomic number of 90 and an atomic mass of 232. It is extracted in Gördes, Manisa, Turkey. Now, imagine the map of Turkey as if it were a periodic table. If you travel 367 km north from Gördes —which matches Contorium’s mass number— where do you end up? The answer is obvious: the Bosphorus in Istanbul! (…) After all these events, Turkey was “labelled” by assigning it the international phone code 90 (…)

The parody suggested that Contorium was found only beneath the Bosphorus and was distinctly purple, with Judas trees growing above its richest deposits. This distinctive color supposedly made it easy for outsiders – particularly the stereotypical trope of “rich Arab royals,” often used in secular-nationalist narratives – to identify and exploit these deposits. It was said that they were buying up seaside properties in Istanbul to control the Contorium supply. Mendeleyev was mentioned again, this time as a secret benefactor of Turkey, having left clues in the periodic table about Contorium’s true significance. Even Bill Gates made an appearance in the narrative, tied to Windows’ ‘CON’ file restriction.

The aftermath of the Contorium parody

The video went viral, but it wasn’t satirical this time. The initial reactions to Kuseyri were surreal. Some people offered support for what they saw as activism, others sent partnership quotes about mining Contorium, and some even accused the author of undermining a serious national issue.

It was clear that Contorium struck a chord with an existing narrative. People might have remembered it from the initial wave, or perhaps they were familiar with other “SPAM metals,” seeing Contorium as yet another miraculous material purposefully kept out of reach. These initial reactions also surprised Kuseyri:

…while I was expecting appreciation for my satire, I felt alarmed when I began receiving more sensational or threatening messages instead. I thought that if I confessed right away, the matter would be resolved. I deleted the video. But it didn’t end…

The video was deleted, and a lengthy debunking text replaced the original Ekşisözlük entry, meticulously explaining each joke and fabrication. But, by then, it was far beyond control and had transformed into an urban legend. As Can Güney Kuseyri notes;

After 2011, the situation evolved into something else. Apparently, there’s something called ‘Contorium’, and they’re covering it up by using humour. Otherwise, it couldn’t have spread this widely or been talked about so often by mere coincidence.

Following this, occasionally a politician would reference Contorium in a speech, a columnist would cite it in an argument, or it would resurface in a casual street interview. Meanwhile, Contorium’s name was given to a winning racehorse and a shopping mall.

In a 2018 survey on conspiracy theories, 34% of respondents somewhat agreed with the notion that Contorium was concealed beneath the Bosphorus. While such polls don’t precisely measure the depth of belief, they do highlight Contorium’s lasting impact on collective memory.

From joke to belief: why did it catch on?

Contorium is not a unique case. There have been other similar instances, both before and after, where fabricated stories became embedded in society’s collective memory – sometimes as accepted facts, long-lasting urban legends, or occasionally as notorious conspiracy theories. From a skeptical perspective, these cases offer valuable lessons about the roots of society’s susceptibility to such narratives.

Under the hood, fake news and made-up stories share common traits: they appeal to people’s motivational reasoning and confirmation biases. Often, people are quick to accept such narratives. For supporters of the ruling party, it becomes a convenient excuse for not making a step forward; “They are holding us back!” For underdogs, Contorium serves as proof that the other side is either part of a conspiracy or they are simply incompetent.

This also aligns with belief bias, where individuals are ready to believe their great country is being held back by nefarious conspiracy actors in a secret and mythical struggle between good and evil. Any story that resonates with this belief is readily accepted. As the classic half-believer saying goes, “There’s no smoke without fire.”

It also ties into earlier conspiracy theories, such as those surrounding boron. Turkey does indeed have substantial boron reserves, and a common conspiracy theory claims that Turkey is restricted from extracting or processing these resources. This theory, of course, is easily debunked with a quick internet search. Yet, this familiar narrative served both as inspiration for the satire and as a reason why so many people found it believable.

Finally, social media breaks the connection between a story and its original context, making made-up narratives more believable. In a TV parody, there is an unspoken agreement between the audience and the creators that the content is comedic. However, when this context is removed – for example, when a satirical story from The Onion is shared on social media without context – it might be consumed and interpreted differently.

Similarly, most people encountered Contorium framed as part of a serious political issue on social media. They saw it shared on their friends’ timelines, not as casual trolling, but stamped with the “believable fact” approval of likes and retweets.

In the end, Contorium stands as an interesting example of the power of conspiratorial narratives. It might be tempting to dismiss this case as just a humorous tale about gullible people falling for an absurd parody. However, it also highlights how conspiratorial thinking can provide a veneer of plausibility over even the most nonsensical stories, blurring the line between satire and belief.

Further reading

• ‪Contorium Documentary: Olmayan element Komplo Teorileri – Teyit.org, Teyit.org documentary about Contorium, featuring Can Güney Kuseyri
• Contorium‬ – Ekşisözlük, The original entry on Ekşi Sözlük. Original satire was later replaced by Can Güney Kuseyri with a debunking post.
• Contorium Elementini Gerçek Sananlar – Malumatfuruş, Fact-Checking Analysis by Malumatfuruş, including a Turkish transcription of the viral video.
• From Antifa to UFOs, One Joke Can Spawn a Thousand Conspiracies,
  Jesse Walker, Reason, 2020
• In Turkey, conspiracy theories about the Peace Treaty of Lausanne run riot, Serdar Basegmez, The Skeptic, 2023