The Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy: How JFK Assassination Conspiracy Theories Misuse Coincidence

The JFK assassination has spawned countless alternative narratives, from claims of a second gunman on the grassy knoll to allegations of CIA, Mafia, or Cuban involvement. The Warren Commission concluded that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, firing three shots from the Texas School Book Depository. Conspiracy theorists often reject this conclusion by pointing to a series of anomalies: the timing of the shots, the trajectory of the single bullet that struck both Kennedy and Governor John Connally, the mysterious deaths of witnesses, and the alleged alteration of photographic evidence. Yet each of these anomalies, when examined through the lens of the Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy, reveals a pattern of selective attention.

Consider the famous “magic bullet” theory—the single bullet that supposedly caused seven wounds in two men. Skeptics argue that the bullet’s path is physically impossible, citing photographs that show Kennedy and Connally seated at different heights. They focus on the bullet’s pristine condition, which seems contradictory given the damage it caused. But this reasoning commits the sharpshooter error by isolating the bullet’s appearance and trajectory as definitive proof of conspiracy, while ignoring the vast number of other bullets fired in similar historical events that have exhibited equally improbable behaviors. Researchers have recreated the shot under controlled conditions, demonstrating that the bullet’s path is plausible when accounting for Connally’s seated position and the angle of the vehicle. The conspiracy narrative, however, selects only the anomalous photographs and dismisses the reenactments as fabrications, effectively painting the target around the holes after the fact.

Another hallmark of the Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy in JFK theories is the fixation on coincidental connections. The “grassy knoll” theory, for instance, relies on a handful of eyewitnesses who reported hearing a shot from that direction. Yet dozens of other witnesses, including those on the knoll itself, heard only three shots from the book depository. The conspiracy advocate discards the majority testimony and builds an entire narrative around the minority, then claims that the majority must have been coerced or mistaken. Similarly, the mysterious deaths of witnesses—often cited as evidence of a cover-up—are a classic case of cherry-picking. Of the hundreds of people connected to the assassination, a few died under unusual circumstances over the subsequent decades. Statistically, such mortality rates are not extraordinary for any large group of individuals over a long period. But because the conspiracy theorist focuses only on those deaths that appear suspicious, the randomness of life is recast as an orchestrated elimination campaign.

The fallacy also manifests in the way alternative narratives handle the forensic evidence. Proponents of the “second gunman” theory point to the acoustics of the Dallas police dictabelt recording, which some analysts interpreted as containing four shots. They ignore that later, more rigorous analyses showed the purported fourth shot was likely static or a backfire, and that the same recording contains sounds inconsistent with a gunshot at that location. The broader context—the entire acoustic environment of Dealey Plaza—is set aside in favor of a single ambiguous blip that can be framed as proof. This is the sharpshooter in action: the conspiracy theorist fires a hail of speculative possibilities, then circles the one that seems to hit the bullseye of their preferred conclusion.

Why does the Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy persist so stubbornly in conspiracy thinking? Because it satisfies a deep psychological need for order and agency. Believing that a chaotic event like an assassination was the result of a vast, deliberate plot is, paradoxically, reassuring. It implies that the world is intelligible and that someone—good or evil—is in control. Randomness, by contrast, is terrifying. The fallacy provides a cognitive shortcut that converts meaningless coincidence into meaningful pattern. Once a person has adopted the conclusion that a conspiracy exists, their mind automatically seeks out and elevates confirming evidence while filtering out disconfirming data. The target is painted around the bullet holes of their own bias.

Recognizing this fallacy is a crucial skill for anyone navigating alternative narratives. When confronted with a conspiracy theory, ask: Are the believers selecting only the evidence that fits their story? Have they dismissed the vast majority of data because it contradicts their conclusion? Is the argument relying on a single anomalous observation while ignoring the broader pattern of randomness? These questions expose the Texas Sharpshooter at work.

In the end, the JFK assassination conspiracy theories endure not because they are supported by strong evidence, but because they exploit a fundamental flaw in human reasoning. The Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy teaches us that a neat cluster of bullet holes does not prove a marksman was aiming for that spot—it only proves that someone was determined to find a pattern, regardless of what the barn wall actually reveals. Understanding this fallacy empowers us to distinguish between genuine clues and manufactured narratives, strengthening our capacity for critical thought in a world awash with alternative explanations.