Introduction
The invitation to me promised Paris and prestige. I was invited to speak at a global conference on astrophysics and AI—a perfect fit. As someone who loves to share knowledge, I quickly accepted. But the flattering offer was a lure for a sophisticated trap, and something felt wrong from the start. The professional gloss soon began to fade, replaced by shifting promises and vague details. As a former Lesson Learned Investigator for NASA, I’m trained to spot anomalies. Something is off nominal.
Before I even knew the term 'predatory conference,' I knew I was caught in one. This is the story of my quiet exit, the red flags I discovered, and a warning to help you avoid the same trap.
1. The Invitation
I’d been invited to speak at a prestigious-sounding international conference on astrophysics and artificial intelligence. Perfect! The location? Paris, France.
To be honest, I was flattered. I love communicating. It’s something I’ve done my entire life—from mission briefings to classroom lectures to campfires beneath the desert sky. If I have a story or insight that can help even one person think differently, I’ll tell it.
So I said yes.
And for a while, it felt good. The fee didn’t worry me too much—some conferences do charge. I saw it as the cost of reaching people, sharing knowledge, being part of a bigger dialogue. That’s always been enough for me.
But then things started to feel… off.
Little things, at first. A change in tone. Vague logistics. Committee titles I hadn’t agreed to. And the more I looked, the more I realized something wasn’t right.
Before I even knew what a predatory conference was, I knew something was wrong.
"I wasn’t being invited because of the value of my talk. I was being used for my name, my photo, my credentials. I was one of the lures."
2. The Red Flags Start to Appear
The first red flag was subtle—but unmistakable.
They had added me as a speaker before they even asked what my talk was about. Not just a placeholder or an expression of interest—my name, listed publicly, as a confirmed presenter. That’s not how professional conferences work. In my experience, you submit a topic. You wait for a review. You earn your slot.
But I shrugged it off. Maybe they were streamlining the process. Maybe they had read my published work or seen one of my past talks. I gave them the benefit of the doubt.
Then, they promoted me to Plenary Speaker—again, without any discussion about what I’d be speaking on. Just a new title. No questions. No requirements. No expectations.
Still trying to see the best in the situation, I submitted my talk: "The AI Event Horizon: Accessing Black Holes in Knowledge with Artificial Intelligence." A subject I care deeply about, one that blends science and systems, AI and meaning. I thought, maybe now we’ll start a real conversation about the session.
Instead, they quietly added my name to something called The Scientific Committee on their website—without asking. I hadn’t volunteered for that. I hadn’t even seen the committee page. But there I was, listed with others whose names I didn’t recognize, many of whom might not have consented either.
I decided to ask about accommodations. After all, most conferences that invite speakers offer some form of travel support. They told me I’d receive two nights of complimentary hotel stay. That sounded promising. But when I followed up to confirm, the offer changed: actually, they said, you’ll get a 20% discount.
No explanation. No apology. Just a revision.
That’s when I asked if my wife, Susan, could attend my session—just to observe. She wasn’t asking to participate in the full conference. Just to sit quietly during my talk. They told me she’d need to pay the full $250 guest fee. No exceptions.
And that’s when the hair on the back of my neck really stood up.
All of it together—the shifting promises, the casual use of my name, the transactional tone behind every exchange—it started to take shape.
Even before I knew what a predatory conference was, I knew this wasn’t a conference in the traditional sense. Something was wrong behind the curtain.
3. The Investigation
At this point, I did what I’ve learned to do over decades in aerospace and emergency response: I stopped giving the benefit of the doubt and started a formal investigation. The number of inconsistencies had passed a critical threshold. It was no longer a matter of confusing logistics; it was a pattern of behavior that required analysis.
As an investigator, I look for data points—anomalies that, when viewed together, reveal the true nature of a system. Here are the findings from my case file on the conference.
Finding #1: Premature Confirmation and Unsolicited Promotion First, my name was published as a confirmed speaker before I had even submitted a topic for review. Shortly thereafter, I was elevated to "Plenary Speaker."
Investigator's Analysis: Legitimate conferences vet speakers and their content before promotion. This reversal of process indicated that my credentials, not my contribution, were the asset they sought. It was a clear sign that my role was for marketing, not scholarship.
Finding #2: Unauthorized Addition to an Organizing Committee Without my knowledge or consent, my name was added to the "Scientific Committee" on their website.
Investigator's Analysis: This is a classic tactic used to borrow credibility. By listing unassociated professionals, often without their permission, an organization inflates its perceived legitimacy. This anomaly pointed directly to a deceptive operational model.
Finding #3: The Bait-and-Switch on Accommodations An initial offer of two complimentary hotel nights was later rescinded and replaced with a 20% discount.
Investigator's Analysis: A simple bait-and-switch. The more generous offer acted as the hook to secure my commitment. The subsequent revision tested that commitment while shifting costs back to me. It was a purely transactional indicator, devoid of the collaborative spirit of a genuine academic event.
Finding #4: Inflexible and Transactional Guest Policy When I asked if my wife, Pinky, could simply sit in for my one-hour talk, I was told she would have to pay the full $250 guest fee.
Investigator's Analysis: While guest fees exist, this level of rigidity for a speaker's spouse is a significant anomaly. It confirmed that every individual was viewed exclusively as a revenue source, not as a participant in a community of scholars.
These data points painted a damning picture. But a good investigator verifies. I turned to my own area of expertise—Artificial Intelligence—not just for research, but for pattern recognition. My AI-powered analysis was definitive: it uncovered a legitimate, respected conference with a nearly identical name, and this commercial imitator that was trading on its reputation.
My gut feeling was now a confirmed conclusion. I wasn't being invited as a speaker.
I was being used as bait.
Corrective Action
Once the investigation confirmed the nature of the event, the course of action was clear. I sent a formal withdrawal notice, citing international uncertainties to avoid an unproductive debate. My primary objective was not to argue, but to disassociate. I issued a specific and polite request for the immediate removal of my name, photo, biography, and all associated titles from their website and marketing materials.
They responded—slowly.
They removed my name from the speaker schedule. That part, they handled. But they left me on the so-called “committee” page. As if I’d quietly agree to be listed as an organizer for an event I no longer supported. I followed up again, more directly this time, and eventually they took that down too.
They weren’t happy.
I could tell in the tone of their replies—tight, brief, no acknowledgment of the concern, just action under pressure. It wasn’t professionalism. It was damage control.
I wasn’t angry. I was calm and still am. Because I knew the truth: if they hadn’t taken my name down, I had options. I had no desire to cause a storm. I simply wanted out. Quietly. Cleanly. And completely.
They saw that. And they backed off. All my information was removed.
And, I, walked away.
4. Why This Happens — And What to Watch For
The Ambiguously Ethical Model
It is crucial to recognize that not all deceptive practices stem from outright malice or criminal intent. I don’t want to label this a full on ‘scam’, though that can happen. In this case some of these conferences fall within what might be termed an "ambiguously ethical" zone.
This particular conference wasn’t operated by shadowy figures plotting to drain my bank account or engage in overt fraud. They weren't offering completely fictitious services or products. Instead, they were genuinely providing certain basic amenities: a physical venue, networking opportunities, and perhaps even complimentary refreshments during breaks.
In essence, there was a tangible service being delivered. Participants could indeed present their ideas, network with peers, and even walk away with promotional photos or printed abstracts.
However, beneath the surface, the value was minimal and superficial. The ethical integrity of genuine scholarship was absent. Their business model thrives on inflating attendee and speaker lists, leveraging superficially impressive names and titles to attract paying participants. Their primary motivation is financial gain through sheer numbers rather than genuine intellectual curation or rigorous evaluation.
This model succeeds only because it mimics legitimate academic frameworks closely enough to avoid immediate suspicion. It offers just enough apparent value and legitimacy to remain credible until subjected to scrutiny. Once examined carefully, however, the facade quickly unravels, exposing the emptiness at its core.
Ultimately, what makes this approach problematic—and indeed dangerous—is not blatant deception or cruelty, but rather its subtlety. It is precisely this subtlety that allows it to persist unnoticed, preying upon the well-intentioned ambitions and trust of sincere researchers and professionals.
The Subtle Exploitation of Predatory Conferences
Predatory conferences occupy a subtle and troubling gray area between legitimate scholarly ambition and calculated exploitation. At first glance, they seem credible and authentic. They carefully mimic the features of genuine scientific gatherings, appropriating respected names, adopting the formal language of academia, and strategically leveraging the prestige of prominent researchers—sometimes entirely without their consent—as bait.
However, their fundamental goal is not to advance science or foster genuine dialogue but rather to market the illusion of scientific legitimacy.
These gatherings are typically orchestrated by profit-driven entities rather than reputable academic institutions or professional societies. Their business model is straightforward yet problematic: maximize the volume of paying attendees and speakers by offering guaranteed presentation opportunities without rigorous peer review or quality assurance. They collect fees by trading on the allure of prestigious, global-sounding events often staged in appealing locations.
In my own experience, the organizers showed no genuine interest in the quality or validity of my contributions. They never requested a paper, never conducted even a cursory review of my proposed topic, and yet swiftly promoted me to a prominent speaking role. When I attempted to withdraw, their response was evasive and resistant.
And, unfortunately, my experience is far from unique.
Predatory conferences primarily target:
Early-career academics eager to enhance their resumes and professional standing.
International researchers seeking greater visibility and recognition.
Dedicated professionals genuinely committed to contributing to global scholarly conversations.
Falling into this trap does not reflect poorly on one's intelligence or intentions. These events are deliberately designed to appear reputable and trustworthy.
A Practical Checklist
If you receive an unsolicited invitation to speak at an international event, take a moment to evaluate it carefully by considering the following:
Did the invitation precede submission of a topic or abstract?
Legitimate conferences initiate a formal call for papers or abstracts followed by a structured review process.
Is the conference title overly broad, vague, or suspiciously similar to an established event?
Predatory events often mimic well-known conference names (e.g., "Global Summit on AI and Science") to imply credibility.
Did your status or role escalate unusually quickly without review?
Rapid advancement from speaker to plenary speaker or committee member without vetting is highly suspect.
Were fees introduced early and are they unusually high?
Reputable academic conferences typically charge modest registration fees or waive fees for invited speakers. Excessively high upfront fees are a red flag.
Are logistical details vague, incomplete, or frequently shifting?
Sudden changes or ambiguity regarding accommodations, schedules, or access are warning signs.
Does the event lack clear affiliation with established academic institutions or organizations?
Check for partnerships or endorsements by recognized universities, professional societies, or research institutions. Events organized solely by for-profit companies with no academic backing warrant scrutiny.
Are past event photos and attendee lists authentic and verifiable?
Stock images, sparse attendance, or generic testimonials may indicate deception or exaggeration.
Have researchers or speakers been listed without their explicit knowledge or consent?
This practice is alarmingly common. If you recognize names, discreetly confirm their involvement directly with the individuals.
5. How I Leveraged My AI Partners for Clarity
A gut feeling is an investigator's starting point, but it's never the conclusion. To act, I needed incontrovertible evidence. I needed the smoking gun. It was time to go from human intuition to digital forensics.
I turned to the two most powerful investigative partners I work with: Google Gemini and my own specialized instance of ChatGPT, which I call Gloria. This wasn't a job for a simple web search; that would only show me the carefully curated facade the organizers wanted me to see. This required a mission for the new, powerful 'deep search' capabilities of these LLM platforms—an ability to dive past the surface and connect disparate, hidden data points across the web's entire history.
I tasked them with a digital teardown. "Don't just read their website," I prompted. "Find its history. Find the corporate registrations, the directors, and every other conference they've ever run. Cross-reference every name on the 'Scientific Committee.' Most importantly, find the original conference you think they are mimicking." I had unleashed two tireless, AI-powered investigators into the web's deepest archives.
The results came back with startling speed, and the drama unfolded on my screen.
First, Gemini surfaced the legitimate entity: a respected, long-running academic conference series based in Asia. It had everything the other one lacked: real university affiliations, a deep archive of peer-reviewed papers, and photos of well-attended past events. It was the real deal.
Moments later, Gloria delivered the ghost. My conference, the one in Paris, was run by a commercial event-planning company. The deep search connected its directors to a string of other pop-up "Global Summits" and "World Congresses," all held in desirable tourist locations, all with high fees and a near-zero academic footprint.
Then came the final, jaw-dropping connection that snapped everything into place. The two conferences weren't just coincidentally similar. One was the original. The other was a parasite. My hosts had deliberately cloned the name and subject matter of the respected Asian conference to siphon off its credibility, preying on people who wouldn't look closely enough.
It was a breathtaking moment of clarity. This wasn't just a poorly organized event; it was a calculated deception. The AI hadn't just given me information; it had exposed the entire business model. This is the new power we hold in our hands, the very essence of my "AI Confirmation Engineer" concept—using these incredible tools not for blind trust, but for radical verification.
The confidence I needed to withdraw wasn't just a hunch anymore; it was backed by a mountain of evidence unearthed by my AI partners. So yes, remain vigilant. Ask critical questions. But now, you can do more than trust your intuition. You have the power to pull back the curtain yourself and see exactly what’s hiding in the shadows.
6. A Lesson Learned
In many ways, this was just another investigation. I won’t speak in Paris, that failed, but as I often say, “Failure is acceptable, as long as you document it.” So here it is.
I spent a large part of my career in aerospace as a problem-solver, a knowledge investigator, and a lessons-learned analyst. I was trained to detect subtle inconsistencies, uncover root causes, and find the moment where things started to go wrong—before anyone else noticed. I didn’t learn those skills in a classroom. I earned them, one mission and one failure at a time.
That background is what armed me for this.
While others might have accepted the flattery or brushed off the shifting details, I recognized the pattern. The rapid promotion. The vague language. The transactional tone beneath the professional surface. The bait-and-switch on accommodations. The rigid guest policy. It all added up.
Still, I was lucky. I had the experience, and I had the tools.
Many people don’t.
For early-career researchers, independent thinkers, or generous communicators like me who simply want to share and connect, these events can feel like opportunity. And when you're working in isolation—especially across time zones and borders—it’s hard to verify what’s real. That’s what makes these traps effective.
But this time, the trap didn’t hold.
Once I confirmed what I was dealing with, I pulled out. I stayed polite. I stayed focused. And I made sure every trace of my name was removed—because I knew exactly what the stakes were.
I have friends everywhere.
This is not only true of the professionals and academics I’ve come to know across the world, but now also in the digital realms—within large language models and AI. I was naïve about these kinds of conferences, but once I understood what I was dealing with, I knew I would be a formidable opponent if they didn’t disengage. My ability to openly and ethically discredit them is significant. If needed, I could have reached out to every name they had listed—because I’ve walked halls like these before, and I know how to shine a light into dark corners.
But I got away.
A Note to the Organizers
There is a small—but nonzero—chance that the organizers of that conference may eventually find and read this article. If so, let this be understood: I have no interest in naming your company or outing your practices directly. You are but one of many fish in this sea. However, if pushed, I have the means, the network, and the credibility to share everything. Remember, I have friends everywhere.
I walked away.
Let’s keep it clean.
7. A Community of Watchers and Teachers
We’re all navigating this new world of digital outreach, remote collaboration, and AI-accelerated knowledge. Most of us are doing it in good faith—with curiosity, humility, and a desire to contribute.
That’s why we have to look out for each other.
If you’ve ever been uncertain about an invitation, if something didn’t feel right but you went anyway, or if you saw your name listed somewhere you never agreed to be—you're not alone. These traps are subtle by design. They don’t target the unqualified. They target the trusting.
But we can share what we’ve learned. We can shine light for others.
That’s what this story is. Not revenge. Not outrage. Just another lesson added to the pile. Quietly offered, freely given, in the hope that someone else sees the signs sooner. Or walks away faster. Or asks better questions.
Because in the end, that’s what knowledge management is.
Not just storing what we know.
But passing it on.
-Charles White, Space Explorer and forever questioning everything
Whilst shady at best. Sort of flattering in a strange way. They know you attract folks Charlie and used you as bait to bring in a better crowd.
wow - thanks for sharing a great lesson learned!