In January 2025, President Donald Trump launched a $500 billion Artificial Intelligence (AI) initiative called, wait for it, Stargate.
Yes. Stargate. Not Eagle Shield, not Cyber Titan, not even Operation Data Freedom. And yes, this isn’t even the first Stargate.
No, no. Buckle up, because the original Stargate was something far more bonkers than any AI hallucination. It involved a spoon-bender, a map, and a man who claimed he saw Mars in the year one million B.C.
And now? It’s the title of a joint mega-venture between OpenAI, SoftBank, Oracle, and MGX, whose plan is to build vast AI infrastructure across the U.S., data centres, supercomputers, and presumably a small shrine to Elon Musk carved out of server racks.
It’s all very sleek, very high-tech, and extremely serious. The aim? Nothing less than establishing American dominance in AI.
And yet, they’ve branded it with the same name as the CIA’s most well known psychic experiment.
I mean, the vibes are immaculate.
But here we are. Welcome to 2025, where the future looks suspiciously like a badly reviewed episode of The X-Files but with less Mulder, more Microsoft.
Meanwhile, in a CIA Basement …
Let’s rewind to the 1970s when polyester was in, logic was out, and government agencies were suffering from a kind of collective metaphysical concern.
The CIA got wind of a rumour that the Soviets were dabbling in psychic espionage. Naturally, instead of ignoring it, they thought, “Quick! To the Ouija board!”
Thus was born Project Stargate, a covert operation to weaponise vibes.
The logic? If the Reds are using telepaths, we’d better hire some of our own before they start reading our launch codes via mood rings.
Uri Geller: Man, Myth, Cutlery Hazard
The CIA’s first major recruit? Uri Geller, celebrity psychic, professional spoon-bender, and owner of the most suspicious eyebrows on 1970s television.
Famously known for bending spoons live on air using just the power of his mind and also, it turns out, a generous dose of sleight of hand, sweaty palms, and pre-weakened cutlery, Uri was flown into Stanford and locked in a lab for eight days.
Scientists slid envelopes at him and whispered, “What’s inside?” while he furrowed his brow like someone trying to order in French without checking the menu.
He guessed correctly just often enough to send several men in beige cardigans into caffeinated euphoria.
But here’s the twist: he was a fraud.
Magicians and investigators, most notably the wonderfully unimpressed James Randi, later debunked Geller’s tricks entirely.
Spoon bending? Done with physical manipulation and distraction. The “mind powers”? About as supernatural as a magic show at a primary school fête.
Randi even demonstrated the same illusions using basic sleight of hand and spoons from his own kitchen drawer.
So yes, the CIA essentially bet part of its Cold War budget on a man whose “psychic powers” could be undone by someone shouting, “What’s that behind you?!”
Not to be a buzzkill, but if the fate of Western civilisation hinges on someone who can sabotage your cutlery drawer with finger pressure and charisma, it might be time to rethink your espionage strategy.
Operation Grill Flame, Not a BBQ Unfortunately.
Meanwhile, as the project ballooned, it acquired increasingly ludicrous names, Operation Grill Flame, Sun Streak, and Centre Lane, all of which sound more like discontinued Lynx body sprays than Cold War initiatives.
The idea was this: gather civilians and ex-military types, give them some training, hand them maps, and ask them to “see” things far away. It was essentially neighbourhood snooping, but remote and state-sponsored.
And here’s the thing, it sometimes worked.
Take Rosemary Smith, a psychic who successfully pinpointed the wreckage of a downed Soviet aircraft in the Congo using only a map and her inner knowing (and presumably a pen).
The CIA had to take her vibe markings and convert them into GPS coordinates using “faith-based trigonometry.”
And lo! The plane was exactly where she said it would be. Somewhere deep in the bowels of Langley, an HR officer quietly wept into a policy folder, whispering, “We don’t have a psychic pay grade.”
Meanwhile, the mission lead tried to work out if “clairvoyant” counted as a diversity hire.
Remote Viewer No. 1 and Certified Martian Correspondent
Then there was Joseph McMoneagle, Army veteran, remote viewer, and owner of the most spy-thriller name imaginable.
McMoneagle completed over 450 psychic missions. His job was delightfully strange. CIA officers would hand him sealed envelopes, each containing a location, a person, or an event, and, without opening them, Joseph was expected to “receive visions” and describe whatever he psychically saw.
Sometimes it was enemy bases. Sometimes it was missing hostages. And then one day, the envelope in question contained just two words: Mars. One million B.C.
Joseph, who apparently never met an astral challenge he didn’t like, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and declared that he could see pyramids, obelisks, and tall beings in flowing robes, essentially giving the CIA a detailed account of a prehistoric Martian civilisation.
But the Woo Never Dies, It Just Gets Rebranded
After being shut down in 1995, the CIA, in 2017 declassified 12 million pages of Project Stargate documents.
Yes, 12 million pages.
And today, woo is still booming. Six in 10 Americans believe in at least one mystical practice, be it astrology, energy healing, or screaming at the moon during Mercury retrograde.
So, back to 2025 and this new AI Stargate.
Will it scan spreadsheets or summon spirits?
Will it optimise traffic lights or finally manifest Atlantis?
No one knows. But frankly, if the choice is between a slightly creepy algorithm or a man who psychically befriended Martians, I’ll take the algorithm.
Would I trust a psychic to find my missing luggage? No.
Would I trust the CIA not to do something completely bananas again? Absolutely not.
Do I want to believe in Martian monks with excellent drapery and a gift for interior stonework? You bet I do.
Because if we’ve learned anything from Project Stargate, it’s that sometimes the most expensive plan isn’t the one that works but it’s always the one with the best stories.
So go on. Light a candle. Open your third eye. Stroke a spoon lovingly. And whisper, “Take me to your vibe leader and while you’re at it, maybe fix my Wi-Fi.”
