Anti-vaccination ideology and COVID misinformation in chiropractic continuing education courses: “Plandemic” edition

Continuing education is supposed to be the professional equivalent of changing your car’s oil: routine, preventative, and meant to keep things running smoothly. But during COVID, some corners of chiropractic continuing education (CE) acted more like a roadside stand selling “premium engine fluid” in unmarked jugscomplete with conspiracy slogans and a free sticker that says “DO YOUR OWN RESEARCH.”

This article looks at how anti-vaccination ideology and COVID misinformation found its way into certain chiropractic CE offerings, why it matters, how oversight works (and sometimes doesn’t), and what patients and clinicians can do to spot the difference between evidence-based learning and conspiracy-themed “education.” We’ll also talk about the “Plandemic” ecosystemhow it spread, why it stuck, and how it became a guest speaker at events that looked suspiciously like professional training.

What chiropractic CE is supposed to do (and how it’s usually regulated)

In the U.S., chiropractors typically must complete a set number of continuing education hours to renew their licenses. The goal is straightforward: maintain competency, keep up with current standards, and reduce harm. But the details vary by statewhat counts, who approves courses, and how rigorously content is reviewed can differ a lot.

How approval often works: the “gatekeeping” is real… and sometimes thin

Many state boards approve CE providers (organizations or individuals) and/or approve specific courses. Some states accept “board-approved” courses, others accept courses approved by third-party clearinghouses, and some rely heavily on provider attestation (the professional version of “trust me, bro, this is educational”). Research on chiropractic CE describes a patchwork system in which requirements and acceptance policies vary, and where quality can be uneven depending on the provider and state rules.

To get a sense of how formal (and administrative) the process can be, look at a typical state board CE provider application: it focuses on documentation, fees, instructor info, and complianceoften more than it probes the scientific integrity of every claim that might appear on a slide deck.

How “Plandemic”-style misinformation shows up in CE

Let’s define the core problem: misinformation is false or misleading information shared without necessarily intending harm; disinformation is false information shared deliberately to deceive. In a CE setting, both can look the same on a projector screenconfident tone, selective citations, and lots of “they don’t want you to know this.”

During the pandemic, misinformation in chiropractic-related spaces often clustered around a few repeating themes:

• Anti-vaccine framing: vaccines portrayed as inherently dangerous, unnecessary, or part of a coordinated scheme.
• “Natural immunity” marketing: the idea that lifestyle supplements, detox protocols, or spinal manipulation can replace vaccination or public health measures.
• Conspiracy narratives: COVID as “planned,” data as fabricated, or public health leaders as malicious actors.
• Misuse of safety systems: databases like VAERS presented as proof of causation rather than as signal-detection tools that require careful analysis.

The “Plandemic” brand: why it was so sticky

“Plandemic” wasn’t just a viral videoit was a storyline. It bundled suspicion of institutions, a heroic whistleblower vibe, and a fast-moving plot full of villains. Fact-checkers and science journalists documented numerous false claims in the video (and its sequels), but the narrative format was powerful: it made viewers feel like they were uncovering hidden truths rather than consuming a one-sided production.

What made “Plandemic” especially relevant to CE is that it didn’t stay confined to social media feeds. It became a cultural reference point in certain anti-vaccine networkssomething people cited, sold, screened, and, in some cases, platformed at professional gatherings.

Why chiropractic CE became a vulnerable “entry point”

If you want to understand how questionable content gets into CE, you don’t need a grand conspiracy. You need three ingredients: high demand (people need credits), variable oversight (approval rules differ), and market incentives (sensational content sells tickets).

1) A patchwork system creates “approval shopping”

When states vary on what they accept, providers can market their course as “approved” somewhere and imply broader legitimacy everywhere. Even when an approval statement is technically accurate (e.g., “approved for X hours in Y state”), the marketing can be interpreted as “professionally endorsed.”

2) CE can reward performance over accuracy

Some courses are designed to teach hands-on skills (low back pain management, documentation, ethics). Others are lecture-based and can drift into ideology. A charismatic speaker can sound credible while presenting cherry-picked studies, misrepresenting uncertainty, or turning “questions worth studying” into “answers the establishment is hiding.”

3) COVID created an information vacuumand a business opportunity

Early in the pandemic, evidence evolved rapidly. That uncertainty created room for bad actors to sell certainty. The more anxious the audience, the more tempting it is to offer simple explanations and easy villains.

The profession’s internal debate: chiropractic care vs. “chiropractic ideology”

It’s important to say this plainly: chiropractic care is not synonymous with anti-vaccine beliefs. Many chiropractors emphasize evidence-based musculoskeletal care and refer appropriately for medical issues. National and academic discussions within chiropractic have also criticized immunity-boosting claims and other pandemic-era misinformation, emphasizing that unfounded claims damage public trust and patient safety.

At the same time, a historically persistent “health freedom” wing exists in parts of the profession. That wing is more likely to treat vaccination and public health measures as political identity markers rather than clinical tools. In CE settings, this can turn training into something closer to a rally: less “here’s what the evidence shows” and more “here’s why you shouldn’t trust the evidence.”

Specific real-world examples of the “Plandemic edition” dynamic

Public reporting during the pandemic documented chiropractic-linked events where COVID skepticism and anti-vaccination messaging were featured prominently, sometimes with celebrity figures from the misinformation ecosystem. These gatherings were often framed as “uncensored” or “truth” eventslanguage that signals a familiar pattern: the audience is primed to distrust mainstream sources before the first slide appears.

Meanwhile, critics documented CE courses and seminars that were promoted to chiropractors while featuring speakers associated with “Plandemic” narratives. The controversy wasn’t simply “this speaker has unpopular opinions.” It was that demonstrably false claims were being packaged as professional educationsometimes with the implication of state approval.

Why this matters: patients don’t experience misinformation as “just opinions”

When misinformation shows up in a CE environment, it doesn’t stay there. It moves into clinics through counseling, pamphlets, supplement recommendations, and the authority that comes with a license. For patients, the harms are practical:

• Delayed vaccination or refusal of recommended vaccines, increasing risk of severe illness.
• False reassurance that “natural” alternatives can replace immunization.
• Erosion of trust in public health and medical guidanceeven when it’s lifesaving.
• Financial harm from paying for unproven “immune protocols.”

Health misinformation also spreads faster than corrections, especially online. The U.S. Surgeon General explicitly warned that misinformation is an urgent threat to public health because it can confuse people, undermine trust, and reduce adherence to evidence-based guidance.

What good CE looks like (so you can spot the difference)

Not all CE is created equal. Here’s what tends to separate evidence-based CE from misinformation-friendly programming.

Evidence-based CE usually includes:

• Clear scope boundaries: musculoskeletal care discussed in musculoskeletal terms, not as a substitute for vaccines or infectious disease management.
• Accurate use of evidence: systematic reviews, consensus guidelines, and transparent uncertainty.
• Appropriate risk framing: acknowledging rare adverse events without implying a hidden catastrophe.
• Actionable clinical skills: red flags, referral criteria, documentation, patient communication.

Red flags in misinformation-heavy CE:

• Conspiracy scaffolding: “They’re hiding this,” “the data is fabricated,” “only insiders know.”
• Selective citations: obscure studies presented as definitive while larger bodies of evidence are ignored.
• Inflated certainty: sweeping claims delivered with zero humility.
• Identity marketing: “health freedom” as a replacement for clinical reasoning.
• Product-driven conclusions: the course ends where the supplement sales begin.

Regulatory reality: discipline exists, but it’s not common

Health regulators and professional boards have struggled with misinformation across multiple professions. Medical boards and certifying boards have issued warnings that spreading COVID vaccine misinformation can put licensure or certification at risk, but research suggests formal discipline for misinformation is relatively rare compared with other violations. That mismatchbig harm, limited enforcementcreates a vacuum where misinformation can thrive.

For chiropractic boards, the same general challenge applies: states can warn against misleading advertising, but systematically reviewing every CE claim across thousands of courses is resource-intensive. And once misinformation is framed as “educational debate,” it can be harder to regulateeven when the content is demonstrably false.

How chiropractors (and patients) can respond without turning everything into a shouting match

Most people don’t change their minds because they got dunked on in a comment thread. They change their minds when they feel respected, and when the evidence is presented clearly enough that they can see the difference between real uncertainty and manufactured doubt.

For chiropractors choosing CE

• Check the faculty: Are instructors credentialed in relevant fields? Do they publish in reputable venues?
• Scan the learning objectives: Are they clinical and measurable, or ideological and vague?
• Ask “what would change my mind?” Good educators can answer that. Conspiracy content can’t.
• Prefer interprofessional sources: Public health, epidemiology, and infectious disease expertise matters.

For patients hearing vaccine skepticism in a clinic

• Ask for specifics: “What evidence would you cite?” “Is this consistent with CDC/FDA guidance?”
• Separate topics: “I’m here for back pain. For vaccine questions, I’m also talking with my primary care clinician.”
• Watch for sales pressure: If the “medical advice” ends in a shopping cart, pause.

Zooming out: this isn’t only a chiropractic problem

COVID misinformation wasn’t confined to any single profession. Licensed clinicians of many kinds have spread false claims, and regulators across healthcare have been forced to confront a new reality: misinformation can be delivered with a license, a microphone, and a confident smile.

But chiropractic CE is an especially important case study because CE is where professional norms get refreshed. If CE normalizes anti-vaccine ideology, it doesn’t just misinform individualsit reshapes what parts of the profession consider “acceptable.”

Conclusion: CE should be continuing education, not continuing indoctrination

The “Plandemic edition” of chiropractic CE illustrates a broader lesson: when professional education systems are fragmented, market-driven, and lightly audited for scientific integrity, misinformation can slip in wearing a name tag that says “Hello, I’m Approved.”

Good continuing education makes clinicians safer, sharper, and better communicators. Bad continuing education turns a license into a megaphone for myths. The fix isn’t to treat every chiropractor as a villain or every skeptic as a heroit’s to insist that education claims the same thing healthcare claims: evidence.

Experiences and field notes : what the “Plandemic edition” can feel like up close

Note: The experiences below are composite “field notes” drawn from patterns described in public reporting, regulatory discussions, and common dynamics reported by clinicians and educatorsnot personal anecdotes, and not a claim that every course or chiropractor behaves this way.

1) The attendee who came for credits and got a conspiracy buffet

Imagine a chiropractor signing up for CE late in the renewal cycle. They need hours, they’re busy, and the course description promises “updates on COVID science” with a confident tone and a very large exclamation point count. The opening minutes feel like a pep talk: “You won’t hear this anywhere else.” The crowd laughs at jokes about “mainstream media,” and the speaker frames skepticism as bravery. The attendee looks around and realizes something subtle: disagreement isn’t just allowedit’s socially discouraged. The room rewards applause, not questions.

Then comes the slide that looks scientific: graphs, citations, and a sprinkling of medical jargon. But the story is always the same: vaccines are framed as uniquely dangerous, institutions as uniquely corrupt, and “natural” alternatives as uniquely trustworthy. The attendee feels the tug of narrative simplicityespecially if they’ve seen patients frustrated by changing guidance over the pandemic. By the break, vendors are selling supplements with labels that sound like superhero powers. The attendee doesn’t have to “believe it all” for the experience to work; the course is designed to plant doubt like a seed and water it with confidence.

2) The patient who hears vaccine guidance wrapped in musculoskeletal authority

Now picture a patient who trusts their chiropractor for back pain. The adjustment helps, and the relationship feels personal. During small talk, the chiropractor mentions COVID and says something like, “I’ve taken advanced training on what’s really going on.” The patient hears that as expertise. They may not know the difference between training based on rigorous evidence and training based on ideologybut they do know this clinician is licensed and has helped them before.

The chiropractor doesn’t have to say “never vaccinate.” Sometimes it’s softer: “I’m just asking questions,” “I’m concerned about what they aren’t telling you,” or “Have you looked into natural immunity?” The patient leaves with uncertainty, not clarity. If they’re already anxious, uncertainty can be enough to delay vaccination “until I learn more.” That delay is where risk livesbecause viruses don’t wait for someone to finish a podcast series.

3) The educator trying to teach evidence-based care in a loud marketplace

On the other side, imagine an evidence-based CE instructor. Their content is less thrilling: red flags, referral criteria, and how to counsel patients without overstepping scope. They show real data, including rare risks, and explain how to interpret safety monitoring systems correctly. Some attendees appreciate the clarity. Others complain it’s “too mainstream” or “biased,” as if evidence itself is a political party.

The educator faces a frustrating paradox: responsible teaching includes nuance, and nuance can feel unsatisfying in a marketplace that sells certainty. Meanwhile, sensational courses can promise attendees a heroic identity“truth teller,” “health freedom defender”and that identity can feel more rewarding than learning how to document a lumbar exam properly. The educator might leave the event thinking, “The problem isn’t that people can’t learn. It’s that the incentive structure rewards the wrong lessons.”

4) The regulator with limited bandwidth and unlimited content

Finally, consider a regulator or board staff member. They see complaints: misleading advertising, questionable claims, maybe a CE course that seems to blur into propaganda. But the board may be understaffed, the rules may not clearly define “misinformation,” and enforcement often requires due process. Meanwhile, the content machine never stops: more webinars, more conventions, more ads, more social clips. The regulator is playing whack-a-mole with a thousand moles and a rubber mallet.

In that environment, a course can survive not because it’s good, but because it’s hard to police. And that’s the key “experience” takeaway: misinformation doesn’t need to win arguments; it just needs to outpace oversight.

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