Prairie Radical

How conspiracy theorists splintered a small town

- RACHEL BROWNE

FEW PEOPLE DRIVE INTO Richmound, Saskatchewan, without purpose. The town, with a population of just over 100, lies around seventy-five kilometres from the Trans-Canada Highway, near the Alberta border. So when a caravan of RVs and motorhomes drove into town one day last September, it caused quite a stir.

The vehicles were adorned with purple and white flags featuring a white maple leaf and golden sword, portraits of a woman's face, and signs referring to her as the "Queen of Canada." Residents watched as the convoy turned off the main road, past the sole church and community centre, and into the driveway of the former school building. The group wasn't just passing through.

The woman pictured on the side of the vehicles was Romana Didulo, believed to be one of the most active conspiracy figures in North America. She and her followers had been wreaking havoc across Canada and online for years-propagating fictions about COVID-19 vaccines, sparking sometimes violent protests, and spreading conspiracies popular with QAnon, an umbrella term for the pro-Donald Trump theory that the world is run by a cabal of pedophiles who worship Satan. Didulo saw herself as Canada's true leader, issuing bizarre "royal decrees" for her subjects, whom she refers to, cribbing from the United States Constitution, as "We the People." Her tens of thousands of followers believe she holds authority over everything from law enforcement to income taxes. But to extremism experts and former followers, Didulo is a dangerous cult leader and a con artist.

Local residents were wary. "I was fearful," says Shauna Sehn, who lives on a farm just outside of Richmound, recalling the arrival of Didulo and a couple dozen of her close followers.