bandar logs of the UFO universe
The Jean-Marc Roeder case
December 27, 2004
A reader sent me a recorded copy of the countless hours of interviews given by a certain Jean-Marc Roeder on the radio Ici et Maintenant.
Jean-Marc Roeder, pataphysicist
http://pagesperso-orange.fr/quanthommesuite/roederholodynamquant.htm
From emptiness to pure state
This interview is… exhausting. I thought of non-scientific listeners and realized I had to intervene—without delay. When he cites my work, it is evident he has not understood it, and is surely incapable of doing so. I must clarify that I have not “reinterpreted the other forces at work in the cosmos in terms of new curvatures.” That has nothing to do with it. Roeder remains deliberately vague about his sources. Moreover, he proves incapable of relying on his own work, as he has none… at all. I currently hear him say that antigravity is “less confusing than it seems.” He inundates listeners with a torrent of empty words, utterly devoid of substance. Here he is, quoting him:
— What is the hand that creates gravity? … There is no surprise: with current electromagnetic means, and the military already performs antigravity manipulations… antigravity engines have been built since 1920… we’re not in the realm of “maybe”—35-kilogram spheres fly… this is pure, hard science… all this has been published in extremely serious, peer-reviewed journals… with my narrow, simplistic rationalism, I assert that a triangular craft does indeed exist, using antigravity for lift and MHD for propulsion. It’s a hybrid system. Here, I am absolutely certain. We have proof… you have dozens of articles on the subject… some publish in relativistic journals, others in quantum journals… I’ve decided to make a 180-degree turn… in my next article in TOP SECRET… on the TR3B, I plan to cite numerous Nobel laureates, to make a strong impression… if tomorrow I publish an article—even with high-level mathematics… if I mention Sakharov and Jean-Pierre Petit, people will calm down a bit… we have hundreds of testimonies from people who worked in military-industrial contexts… the Philadelphia Experiment was intended to render a ship invisible… the ship was surrounded by Tesla coils… an initial setup was carried out as early as 1939… then the Rainbow Experiment was conducted in 1943… Tesla built a car powered by free energy… you see what I mean… Einstein was merely a consultant on the Rainbow Project, but only for one week… this can be proven… Einstein’s schedule is known down to the hour… Tesla’s machines aren’t so complicated… the internet provides countless plans with which one can build many simple, functional devices… regarding these disks, I am Buddhist—I can speak a bit about them; they’re no mere legend; they’re actually based on acoustic levitation… as for quantum mechanics, I’m closer to Schrödinger’s position… you know what I mean… what happens, very simply, if we cancel inertial mass… if we reach superluminal speed, everything changes…
This morning, December 31, I received a new recording. Prompted by his supporters’ questions, Roeder “lets himself go” more and more, and his discourse becomes utterly delusional, completely uncontrolled.
… Time is a trivector… space is the rotation of time… if we’re right… this is even more revolutionary than special relativity and quantum mechanics… these are the first precursors of holodynamics… uh… uh… you know what I mean… even if the electrical current’s speed is high… electron speed remains low… one can represent the electron as a spinning sphere, and it is precisely this rotation that gives it electric charge (!…). Antimatter is a sphere spinning in the opposite direction… you follow me… that’s why when an electron meets a positron, they annihilate—because we’re mixing two spheres spinning in opposite directions (!…)
Roeder never evades questions; he lavishes his interlocutor with flattery before “thanking him profusely.” How long will this circus continue? No one can say. Only de Plaige could put an end to it, but he is probably completely overwhelmed by the events. No scientist would waste time questioning Roeder about discourses that have now become completely uncontrollable delusions. He eagerly responds to laypeople and never says, “this is beyond my area of expertise.”
Where are Roeder’s works—rigorously constructed, published in genuine scientific journals? I know of none. There are only hollow words, a tiresome logorrhea. This man simply treats his listeners as fools, and it shocks me. Yet I admit to having no desire to correct the record yet again, for the nth time. Last time, I had sought to clarify readers’ confusion over the inconsistent “universons” theory.
These speeches don’t particularly stir me personally. What shocks me is that many honest, scientifically unqualified people get ensnared in these ramblings like in sticky traps. It is equally shocking to see de Plaige open wide the airwaves of his radio Ici et Maintenant to such baseless ravings, thereby discrediting his entire program—even though it has occasionally featured individuals with genuinely substantive insights. Yet aside from a few standout moments, what delirium! Moreover, it has already been over a year since I asked de Plaige to remove all traces of my appearances on Ici et Maintenant from its archives, refusing to have my interviews mixed with such incoherent discourse.
De Plaige has found in Roeder a man capable of supplying hours of pseudo-scientific monologues. Where did this man emerge from, claiming—among other things—to be Buddhist, to have collaborated on numerous military projects, and to hold a “Vulcan”-level defense security clearance? Mystery. He clings to the microphone, warmly thanking each interlocutor, declaring himself “infinitely grateful.”
Following reader reactions, I must clarify something. On the homepage of my website, a device of my invention rotates—a 1980s creation presented on the TV show Temps X: the Logotron. It is a word generator, producing neologisms. As I explained on the show at the time, I was inspired by a book published when computing was in its infancy—The Litteratron, by the late Robert Escarpit (1950s). This book, now out of print, is one I no longer possess. Its theme, described by its author as a “Picard novel,” was fiction based on “automatic language creation by computer.” In Escarpit’s time, the Litteratron did not exist; today, however, such a cybernetic-linguistic chimera is conceivable. Roeder is a Litteratron in human form—a true intellectual chameleon. He is capable… of adapting to any viewpoint. Though he insists on presenting himself as “very down-to-earth,” he showers all ufologists with flattery that seems boundless: to one he attributes “remarkable rigor,” to another “great human qualities.” This man has no enemies and believes “all speculations are equally valid.” His pseudo-scientific writings—of which I was provided a sample—are exemplary of epistemological litteratronic activity, made possible by today’s climate of general confusion. I recall that when I was a taupin in the 1950s, my friend Jean-Claude Mitteau—later admitted to École Polytechnique—and I devised the “Lijikov Transmutation Theory.” It resembled genuine mathematics so closely that it was indistinguishable, yet was ultimately nonsensical. Well, I think Roeder has a bright future ahead. The Ummo niche has been seized with military efficiency. “Hard ufology” is about to be coached by Roeder.
Good Lord, how right I was a few months ago to decisively sever ties with this ufological world!
Over the years, I have encountered many individuals capable of constructing incredibly sophisticated discourses, assembled from fragments of knowledge gathered during their encounters. They remind me of a certain crab that uses its mucus to attach various objects to its shell for camouflage—deceiving a fish, perhaps, but instantly identifiable by a marine biologist. Constructing such elaborate systems is practically a full-time occupation. I recall a man I met over twenty-five years ago, who claimed to be an American doctor, a Vietnam War deserter. Though I had no medical knowledge myself, I watched him bluff surgeons for days, citing precise technical details of battlefield operations. He quickly seduced a nurse at the hospital, borrowing all her savings, claiming he was “expecting a large sum of money.” With his own money, he treated her to expensive restaurants, and she believed she had found her Prince Charming. Within days, the deception collapsed over a single question: I asked how he had escaped Vietnam, and he replied he had “clung to the landing gear of a U.S. transport plane as it took off.” My opinion was instantly formed. I attended Supaéro (French aerospace school). Transport aircraft cruise at altitudes exceeding 10,000 meters, where pressure is low and temperatures are lethally cold. Moreover, many landing gear compartments are so cramped that even a rat would barely fit—let alone a human. The rare survivors of such conditions—under very specific circumstances—are Africans on short-haul flights, who emerge with severe hypothermia and frostbite.
Our man knew none of these details. I discreetly informed my physician friends, who then adopted a more inquisitive stance, and the fraud was quickly exposed. The man had merely worked as a nurse in a psychiatric hospital—and he was not American, but Swiss. The next day, he was on the road to Nice, hitchhiking, ready to revise his story, making the “Vietnam escape” sequence more plausible.
Such people share one trait: their discourse is in a state of perpetual enrichment. They exploit every book, every encounter, burning any available wood.
A true scientist leaves tangible traces of his or her work. Jean-Marc Roeder is extremely discreet about his own work. In any case, when a genuine scientist seeks to contact a colleague, the first thing he does is send his publications on the subject in question. Roeder was supposed to send me his own. I am still waiting.
I would lump Claude Poher into the same category—a man who has published nothing but “CNES Internal Notes.” I’m sorry, but our scientific community has its rules, its laws. They are harsh, often unjust, yet necessary. There are indeed ideas and works that are extremely difficult to publish—I admit that. But one cannot claim the status of “scientist” when one’s entire career consists of “CNES Internal Notes” and nothing else. The “universons” theory, which Roeder cites with relish, is built on strawberry runners. I’ll stop here, as for several months now I’ve deemed it wise to completely distance myself from this ufological milieu, which is nothing but an annoying desert. I have ceased appearing on the airwaves of Radio Ici et Maintenant or in journals such as Top Secret, as doing so implicitly lent scientific credibility to these media. The conflation worked both ways: it allowed illusionists invoking my name to peddle low-quality ideas. Conversely, it annoyed genuine scientists who might otherwise have considered my work. Thus, it became necessary to say “stop!” once and for all—and I did, in the autumn of 2004.
Roeder’s discourse reveals what remains of ufology—especially French-speaking ufology—once genuine scientists abandon newspaper columns, radio airwaves, and ufological forums or websites. It is truly:
I had to force myself to listen to his broadcasts until the end. It is utter nonsense. If you have access to these recordings, pay attention:
… I’ll clarify… let’s be clear… I’m in Schrödinger’s camp… to be precise… let’s play the quantum physicists… I was fortunate to have direct exchanges with Jean-Pierre Petit… whenever he can, whenever he has time, we’ll meet… yes, Nicolas Tesla drove a vehicle powered by free energy… these works are cited in journals like Top Secret and Nexus… it’s very complicated to explain… the rotation of time creates space… I posed questions to people like Patrick Barrieu and Jean-Pierre Petit and await their answers… I’m the one asking questions…
etc., etc. It’s the Marx Brothers’ “duck soup,” and it’s utterly exhausting. Roeder piles absurdity upon absurdity in ionized gas physics and MHD, yet can talk for an hour about Ohm’s Law. Listening to these tapes (as is reading Claude Poher’s work) is taxing for a scientist like me. I occasionally speak with Patrick Barrieu by phone—Roeder cites him in interviews. Barrieu, a young computer scientist, speaks Hebrew fluently. For a time, a few months ago, Roeder had impressed him. Their relationship soured the day Roeder, the true chameleon, finally told Barrieu he was reading the Torah in its original language. Barrieu immediately began speaking Hebrew to him, to which Roeder replied:
— But… what are you saying?!?!?…
Barrieu, who makes no scientific pretensions, then withdrew. Personally, before engaging in dialogue with someone claiming to be a scientist, I prefer they first demonstrate at least a minimum level of competence. This was not the case with Roeder, and so I did not pursue it. This is not always how things go—I’ve worked closely for five to ten years with highly specialized individuals, often starting with a simple letter or phone call. In those cases, one quickly realizes who one is dealing with—four sentences suffice.
I don’t know how long Roeder will remain on Ici et Maintenant’s airwaves, nor how many articles he’ll write for Top Secret. These media must fill their airtime and columns at all costs. Since we withdrew from this game, the quality of programming has become problematic.
Roeder cites the case of “a prominent Swiss quantum physicist named Koupoupolos.” I asked him—after he criticized my MHD work on his website—to send me his publications. No reply. Eventually, I managed to contact him. He lives in Geneva. That’s not his real name. He has never published a single scientific work, yet acts as spokesperson for neighbors at CERN—too timid to speak under their own names. All of this is incredibly tedious.
I regret that someone like de Plaige joined the Holbecq-Pollion group to apply an “ADUMMO” copyright to Ummo texts. But you’ve seen what this vast enterprise has now produced—and how mountains give birth to mice. The few scientists or science students who had frequented the ummo.sciences forum eventually grew discouraged, and I fear nothing will ever emerge from it. This page is an exception to the conduct I’ve now adopted: to focus on work and refrain from commenting on pseudo-scientific gestures, utterly devoid of interest. I won’t keep it online for long. I’m responding simply to requests from Top Secret readers and Ici et Maintenant listeners.
Much more could be said. I wrote on my site: “Learn to think for yourself, otherwise others will think for you.” I would add here: “Don’t automatically accept as fact the expertise or credentials people claim. Maintain your critical thinking. Investigate, research, cross-check facts, ask direct questions, demand proof.” The ufological world teems with liars, charlatans, mythomaniacs, illusionists—and even honorable correspondents in close contact with intelligence services (these attributes, by the way, are not mutually exclusive). There are even people who… speak under false names, outright. But it is not my role to expose and clean out this trash heap. If you seek, you will find—nothing more.
Once cleaned, there remains, alas, little of ufology—this Indian city, dead and abandoned, inhabited only by Bandar-Logs, the monkeys Kipling describes in The Jungle Book. Among Top Secret readers or Ici et Maintenant listeners, among UFO forum participants or Ummo Science website visitors, there are many decent, intellectually honest, open-minded people who become disillusioned by this pervasive emptiness. Genuine scientists (there are some) don’t stay long, or else seek more substantial contacts elsewhere.
To conclude, I’ll retell a story. It is so vast it deserves a book someday. Seven or eight years ago, a man living near Agen contacted me—though actually through my then-partner, who was more naive than I. He claimed to have achieved transmutations, including manufacturing artificial diamonds. I thought: “Well, we don’t know what to do with our vacation. Why not a little trip to the southwest?” When we arrived, he insisted we meet his mother, terminally ill with cancer. Indeed, the first day was devoted to visiting her in a clinic, where we sadly found her already in a coma. We took a hotel room. The man immediately began spinning his tales. Perhaps destabilized by what we had just witnessed, my discernment was momentarily dulled.
He showed us many things. He had crystals he claimed formed around initial seed crystals, under pressure, in his deceased father’s “secret underground laboratory.” A gemologist friend of mine, a Spaniard, confirmed his claims (about the crystals, not the laboratory—which no one, of course, could visit). Spectrographic analysis confirmed they were genuine diamonds. For now, he says, we only know how to reconstruct a crystal by bringing carbon atoms together around a gemstone placed in a press. We know this has so far proven impossible in the lab, though artificial diamonds do have properties very close to natural ones. But we cannot, in the lab, replicate the metamorphism that requires immense pressure—and above all, time, much time. Otherwise, the diamond’s value would collapse instantly.
Our host also had astonishing objects, especially a lily-of-the-valley branch made of pure gold. It was indeed gold. When examined under a microscope, one could see… plant cells. The Spaniard, with utter sincerity (he would become the first victim of this trickster), added that there is no known method to create such precise molds, and that if one assumes molds were used, the result must be the product of a true transmutation of a delicate plant into fine gold. He also produced letters (in fact, forgeries) exchanged with the Beers company, supposedly ready to negotiate the purchase of his various processes (recall the “American doctor” above, awaiting “substantial income”). Meanwhile, he had no money—particularly to pay for his mother’s cremation, which occurred the day after our arrival. But “he was expecting imminent payouts.”
The situation was simultaneously surreal and tragic. We had just witnessed a dying woman, and now the funeral home arrived with their quote. The son wrung his hands.
— And I don’t have the money to pay for my poor mother’s funeral.
I eventually handed him 7,000 francs to cover transport and cremation costs. It was my vacation money, but the situation was unbearable. He assured me, “as soon as he received payouts, etc…”
Everyone was ultimately destabilized by this sudden, recent death—rightfully so. How could one possibly continue spinning an elaborate scam while his mother—whom he lived with—had just died, without so much as a pause? It was simply… astonishing.
It took me 24 hours and a few discreet phone calls to untangle the whole affair, like Hercule Poirot. I recall a lunch the day after the woman’s death, where I finally blurted out:
— Well, the question now is whether Mr. Philippe Lembrouille is or is not a very skilled con artist.
I won’t use his real name, as know that great mythomaniacs are often skilled lawyers, quick to sue for defamation! But I’m convinced he never stopped his activities. If a journalist ever launched an investigation, I’d be happy to provide leads.
Everyone remained stunned. My partner gave me a look meaning, “How can you so brutally attack a man who just lost his mother?”
The Spaniard reacted:
— But you saw the X-ray analysis reports! It’s authentic diamond, formed around an initial crystal!
—I don’t dispute that. We learned these days that Philippe Lembrouille’s father operated a mine in Madagascar. Now, that region is exceptionally rich in unique crystals, which locals trade. Indeed, diamonds are sometimes brought to the surface and reburied due to new tectonic movements. A second diamond then forms around the first, which acts as a seed crystal—and these two gems can differ in color, as was the case with the sample Lembrouille showed us. But this is a naturally formed object, shaped over billions of years—not a lab creation. I believe this “secret underground laboratory” exists only in his imagination. Astrophysicists know this phenomenon also occurs in composite meteorites, where crystal structures can form twice, around debris scattered after a collision. With this Barcelona university colleague, whose name you mentioned—and into whose pockets you invested large sums—you enabled Mr. Lembrouille, among other things, to buy himself a beautiful car at your expense. But you’ll never see your money again, and all that will remain is a box of gems of little value.
The atmosphere grew heavy. The Spaniard was shaken. This time, Lembrouille tried to counterattack:
— You saw the lily-of-the-valley branch, transmuted into gold. It’s not gold-plated—it’s pure gold…
—Exactly, but you obtained this through casting.
The Spaniard’s eyes widened.
— But… it’s impossible! Did you see the details under the microscope? You can see the plant cells! You can’t cast such an object with micron-level precision!
—You’re mistaken. It took me a few phone calls to see things clearly. My friend Jacques’s retired father taught casting techniques at the École des Arts et Métiers in Aix-en-Provence. He explained everything to me. The process is as follows: First, the plant is dipped in a mixture of water and ceramic, resembling very runny plaster. When removed, the branch is coated with a layer about one micron thick. This is repeated n times—requiring patience. Eventually, the branch is covered with a tight ceramic shell, precise to the micron. Then, the entire mold is immersed in a denser mixture. After drying, the branch is tightly encased in this solid material.
— And how do you extract it, breaking the mold without leaving a trace?
—Actually, you don’t break it. You eliminate all traces of the plant by carbonization. You place the whole thing in a furnace, vaporizing all organic material.
— Okay, suppose. Then you have a negative mold. But how do you get molten gold to perfectly conform to the mold’s inner surface?
—Yesterday, when Philippe Lembrouille showed us his late father’s “l