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Chris Bennett’s Panic Mode: A Forensic Rebuttal and Psychological Analysis of His Latest Substack Piece

 

 


 

Chris Bennett’s newest Substack article—grandly titled Answering Wahid Azal’s More of the Same Bullshit Defence of Ayatollah Rūḥānī’s 2014 ‘Psychedelic Fatwā’[1]—is not a rebuttal to my setting him straight on Rūḥānī’s 2014 fatwā.[2] It is an unintended confession. It reveals far more about his own motivations, anxieties, and methodological collapse than anything about the fatwā, about Shiʿi jurisprudence, or about me. What Bennett presents as “analysis” is, in fact, a reactive, contradictory, and increasingly panicked narrative written by a man who senses the floor caving in beneath him. This essay delivers two things simultaneously: (1) a formal but brief, line-by-line forensic rebuttal of Bennett’s claims; and (2) a psychological and methodological profile that exposes why his behaviour has followed the pattern it has. Both are necessary, and both are now part of the evidentiary record.

 

I. A Formal Rebuttal: Where Bennett’s Article Implodes Under Its Own Weight

1. His fabricated narrative of “Wahid going ballistic” is an orientalist frame, not a fact

Bennett invents an emotional outburst and attributes imaginary quotes and deleted comments to me. This is a textbook rhetorical tactic in sectarian polemic and orientalist discourse: pathologize the Middle Eastern subject first, create the image of instability, and then perform the role of calm, rational arbiter. It is a theatrical device, not evidence. It signals a writer who needs to establish my irrationality because he cannot establish his own credibility.

 

2. He destroys his own argument by conceding the fatwā is real

Perhaps the most astonishing moment in his entire piece is this single sentence:

“Rohani’s statement is authentic.”

This alone torpedoes every insinuation he has made in the initial piece be authored for Cannabis Culture:

  • that the fatwā was forged,
  • that it never existed,
  • that I invented it,
  • that it was “shady,”
  • that it was “Wahid’s hype.”

If the fatwā is authentic—and he now admits it is—then the entire CESNUR-adjacent, Bahá’í-adjacent campaign to paint it as a deception collapses. His fallback position, that it is “low impact,” is irrelevant jurisprudentially and reveals his total unfamiliarity with how istiftāʾāt function in Shiʿi legal culture.

 

3. His attack on the translation exposes his own ignorance of Islamic jurisprudence, never mind Arabic

He complains that my translation used the English word “reports” and that this caused confusion. The problem is not the translation. The problem is Bennett’s ignorance of Arabic and absolute unfamiliarity with the genre of:

  • fatwā literature,
  • isnād-based ḥadīth evaluation,
  • usūl al-fiqh terminology,
  • and the hermeneutical structure of Shiʿi jurisprudence.

A non-specialist may misread the text. That is understandable. But Bennett does not stop there. He blames the translator for his own ignorance and tries to turn that into a methodological critique. This reveals, to any serious investigator or scholar, that Bennett is operating outside his competence and then projecting his gaps onto the text.

 

4. His “I could find nothing about Nabīl Hamed” admission is a racialised epistemic failure

He proudly announces that: “Using Google… I could find nothing about this individual.” This is a confession, not a discovery. As showed in the last piece, the assumption that:

  • if a Middle Eastern academic is not easily Googleable,
  • if an Anglophone psychedelic writer cannot locate them online,
  • then they must not exist,

is the very definition of digital orientalism and epistemic racialisation. He is essentially saying: “Real scholars exist in my databases. If they are not indexed in my world, they are suspicious.” This paragraph alone is enough for any serious analyst to categorise Bennett’s methodology as structurally biased. But I already gave him an address as to where he can verify Nabīl Ḥāmid’s existence, so I will not repeat myself here.[3]

 

5. His insinuation that “anyone could fake the document” is defamatory—and he immediately contradicts it

He writes: “Such a document could be easily prepared by anyone.” Then, two sentences later: “I don’t think that is the case though…” The first line is a smear. The second line is an attempt to avoid liability. This is a classic technique of bad-faith actors: launch the insinuation, then duck behind plausible deniability. Any credible investigator will see this as:

  • malicious intent,
  • reckless publication,
  • defamatory innuendo,
  • and evidence of a writer trying to have it both ways.

 

6. His invocation of the “Islam and Cannabis” paper shows profound category errors

Bennett tries to present a social-science policy paper—based on surveys, interviews, and sociological data—as equivalent to a fatwā. This reveals:

  • a misunderstanding of what constitutes jurisprudential authority,
  • confusion between policy analysis and fiqh,
  • and an inability to distinguish academic anthropology from legal pronouncements.

He equates: a research paper collected through surveys with a marjaʿ’s binding ruling. This is akin to mistaking a Pew Research Centre report for a Supreme Court judgment. It is an embarrassing error—and a categorical self-exposure.

 

7. His attempt to weaponise a 2014 conference clip misfires completely

He conflates:

  • my contextual explanation of the implications of the fatwā
    with
  • the fatwā text itself.
  • And an 18-month correspondence.

This is a rookie-level category mistake. Every legal scholar knows that:

  • text,
  • commentary,
  • context,
  • communication(s)
  • and implications

are not synonymous. He collapses them into one unit to create the illusion of inconsistency. This is not rebuttal. It is sleight of hand.

 

8. His final claim that he “would welcome official confirmation” is a self-own of monumental proportions

If he truly welcomed it, he would have:

  • contacted the office himself,
  • sought verification through proper channels,
  • or retracted his earlier insinuations.

Instead, he lobs this line only after admitting the fatwā is authentic, and only after investigators have begun paying attention. This is not sincerity. It is damage control.

 

II. Psychological and Behavioural Analysis: What Bennett’s Article Reveals About His State of Mind

Now we turn to the deeper layer: Bennett’s psychology. His latest piece is not the writing of a stable researcher. It displays a series of behavioural patterns that, taken together, are highly revealing:

 

1. Projection as Defence Mechanism

He repeatedly accuses me of:

  • manic behaviour,
  • instability,
  • volatility,
  • emotionalism.

Yet his article is:

  • unstructured,
  • defensive,
  • contradictory,
  • saturated with personal grievances,
  • and emotionally overheated.

This is classic projection: accuse the other of what you fear is true about yourself.

 

2. Escalating Narrative Incoherence

Bennett shifts positions in rapid succession:

1.     “There is no fatwā.”

2.     “It might be fabricated.”

3.     “It’s real but unofficial.”

4.     “It’s real but low-impact.”

5.     “I would welcome confirmation.”

This is what psychologists call cognitive dissonance-compensation cycling—where a person changes the narrative every time new facts invalidate the previous one. Investigators see this in criminal interviews regularly.

 

3. Identity Crisis Triggered by Being Challenged by a Middle Eastern Scholar

His article shows:

  • an unusual amount of emotional investment in his identity,
  • insecurity about accusations of racism,
  • obsessive insistence on his anti-Zionist credentials,
  • and a frantic need to present himself as morally correct.

This suggests that my original critique struck an identity nerve. His need to proclaim himself:

  • anti-Zionist,
  • long-time activist,
  • multicultural,

is compensatory behaviour.

 

4. A Pattern of Fixation

Seven articles in response from me in one week triggered:

  • fixation,
  • saturation posting,
  • impulsive writing,
  • compulsive need to answer.

This resembles what legal psychologists call narcissistic injury response:
when a person whose self-image hinges on being “the expert” is suddenly confronted with a superior knowledge structure and reacts by spiralling into overproduction.

 

5. Attempted Reputation Salvage Under Stress

The erratic shifts in tone—from bravado, to mockery, to legalistic pleading, to moral signalling—indicate someone in rapid defensive collapse. His writing reveals:

  • fear of reputational fallout,
  • panic over legal consequences,
  • anxiety about being exposed as non-expert,
  • and an urgent need to reassert control over the narrative.

This is not the behaviour of someone confident in his argument. It is the behaviour of someone who senses he is losing control.

 

What This Means

Bennett’s latest article is not a rebuttal. It is a document of personal unraveling and methodological bankruptcy. For investigators, journalists, and scholars, it shows:

  • motive: sectarian, CESNUR-adjacent animus
  • modus operandi: defamation via hostile sources, AI hallucinations, and narrative laundering
  • state of mind: reactive, defensive, panicked
  • intent: reputational harm
  • pattern: escalating harassment disguised as “history”
  • credibility: fundamentally compromised

His article has now become an evidentiary asset—an archive of contradictions, biases, and incriminating admissions that he cannot retract. And because he published it publicly, it is now part of a chain of evidence. This chapter is still unfolding, but one thing is increasingly clear: Bennett’s unraveling is not incidental—it is inevitable. And it will only accelerate from this point forward.

 

Conclusion: From Failed Rebuttal to Evidentiary Exhibit

Taken in its entirety, Bennett’s “Answering Wahid Azal’s More of the Same Bullshit Defence…” does not function as a rebuttal in any meaningful scholarly sense. It operates, rather, as a layered self-exposure. On the surface level, it collapses under the weight of its own internal contradictions: he concedes the authenticity of the very fatwā he previously cast doubt upon publicly on the pages of Cannabis Culture in his first smear of me; he attacks a translation because he does not understand its jurisprudential context nor does he have any comptenecy in Arabic; he cannot locate an academic in the Anglophone digital sphere and presents this failure as substantive doubt; he gestures at the possibility that “anyone could fake the document” and then hurriedly disavows that implication; he mistakes a social-scientific policy paper for jurisprudential authority; and he conflates an 18-month correspondence and conference commentary with the bare text of a fatwā. Each of these moves would, by itself, be a serious methodological flaw. Taken together, they demonstrate a complete breakdown in any standard of basic research competence.

At a deeper level, however, the article is revealing not for what it says about me or about Ayatollah Rūḥānī’s 2014 fatwā, but for what it inadvertently discloses about Bennett’s own state of mind and underlying motives. The pattern of projection (accusing me of volatility while writing in a plainly agitated register), the rapid narrative shifts (from “no fatwā” to “authentic but low-impact”), the compulsive need to reassert moral credentials (as anti-Zionist, long-time activist, multicultural), and the fixation triggered by a series of detailed critiques—all of this points to a writer whose self-concept as “expert” has been profoundly destabilised. The article reads less like calm scholarship and more like an extended nervous reaction to having been caught out: in sectarian partiality, in orientalist epistemic habits, and in the reckless use of AI hallucinations and discredited polemical sources to support a pre-decided narrative.

For investigators, journalists, and scholars, this document therefore has a double value. First, it concretely demonstrates motive (sectarian hostility and CESNUR/Bahá’í-adjacent animus), modus operandi (defamation dressed up as “history,” heavily reliant on hostile missionary/Qājār material, AI output, and rhetorical innuendo), and intent (to damage reputation and delegitimise an identified critic and his tradition). Second, it provides a contemporaneous snapshot of state of mind: reactive, defensive, and increasingly panicked in the face of sustained, documented rebuttal. In legal and evidentiary terms, this is precisely the kind of material that helps map a pattern of conduct over time—not an isolated misstep, but an ongoing course of behaviour rooted in prejudice, irresponsibility and rhetorical bad faith.

Crucially, Bennett’s latest piece must also be read in continuity with his broader output: the Cannabis Culture hit pieces, the CESNUR/Bitter Winter alignment he now openly admits, and his recent Bahá’í-adjacent attempts to reframe Bābī history using a hybrid of missionary propaganda, official institutional mythology, and AI laundering. Across all of these texts, the same structure repeats itself: erase or delegitimise Azalī/Bayānī continuity; treat Western, Bahá’í, or CESNUR-linked sources as intrinsically authoritative; frame heterodox Middle Eastern figures as unstable, deceptive, or “drug-infused”; and only then personalise the attack on the living representative of that lineage—namely, myself. The fatwā dispute is not an isolated quarrel about a single document. It is one node in a larger pattern of sectarian, racialised narrative warfare.

Seen in this light, Bennett’s article has now crossed a threshold. It no longer merely “fails” as scholarship; it has become an evidentiary exhibit in its own right—a written record of how a self-styled “psychedelic historian” responds when his methods, his sources, and his racialized framings are subjected to forensic scrutiny. His concessions, contradictions and insinuations cannot be walked back; they are now publicly archived. They will sit alongside his previous publications, his CESNUR correspondence, and his social-media threads as part of a growing dossier that reveals a consistent trajectory: from sloppy citation and orientalist epistemics through to outright defamation and psychological projection.

For these reasons, Bennett’s latest text cannot be safely dismissed as mere online bluster or “bullshit” rhetoric. It crystallises the very problems it tries to deny, and in doing so, it reinforces the central claim I have made from the outset: that we are dealing not with a disinterested researcher making honest mistakes, but with a partisan actor whose work is entangled with sectarian agendas, racialized framings, cultic networks, and a willingness to weaponize misinformation. In that sense, the article is indeed an unintended confession—one that will weigh far more heavily on Bennett’s credibility than on mine, and which will, in time, help clarify for others exactly who has been acting in good faith and who has not.

 

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