As the country I thought I inhabited continues to disintegrate, I’ve become more and more convinced that what I’ve called our “information landscape” is a major contributor to our civic woes.
We have created a world that allows us to “curate” our realities, to engage in what we used to call “cherry picking.” Want to believe that science is a scam and vaccines are mechanisms for inserting Microsoft chips in our bodies? A bit of Internet “research” will locate “news” sites that confirm your suspicions. Want to believe that the deranged ignoramus in the Oval Office actually knows what he’s doing? Ditto.
The media we now refer to as legacy outlets were far from perfect. “If it bleeds, it leads” dominated decisions about what was front-page news, and even outlets with a professional devotion to the obligations of gatekeeping overlooked important events and misread others. But at their best, they acted as lie detectors–and public figures who feared that function were careful to moderate their misinformation, or at least cloak efforts at misdirection in ambiguities.
The Internet’s Wild West, where social media echoes and promotes the proliferation of Rightwing propaganda sites, is liar’s heaven. A buffoon as ridiculous as Trump, with his constant crazed, childish and misspelled posts, would never have ascended to the Presidency when actual journalists were the primary gatekeepers.
Cult leaders (Trump is the Jim Jones of MAGA) have always been able to bamboozle a slice of the population; a portion of humanity is demonstrably impervious to fact and logic. A healthier information environment would not diabuse the True Believers, who see Trump as the champion who will kill “woke-ism” and return straight White (Pseudo)Christian men to dominance. But the current fire hose of competing versions of reality is having the effect desired by autocrats everywhere–it paralyzes much larger segments of the population, who gradually despair of determining what is true, and simply check out.
Megan Garber addressed the issue in a recent essay in the Altlantic.
She noted that Trump had been reelected despite–or perhaps because of– the Big Lie, and she mused that, these days, false assertions evidently aren’t liabilities but selling points, “weapons of partisan warfare, disorienting perceived enemies (Democrats, members of the media) even as they foment broader forms of cynicism and mistrust.”
For decades, American politics have relied on the same logic that polygraph machines do: that liars will feel some level of shame when they tell their lies, and that the shame will manifest—the quickened heartbeat, the pang of guilt—in the body. But the body politic is cheating the test with alarming ease. Some Americans believe the lies. Others refuse to. Some Americans recognize the lies’ falsity but have decided that some things—their own tribe, their vision for the country—are simply more important than truth. Regardless, the lies remain, unchecked by the old machinery. The polygraph is a measure of conscience. So, in its way, is democracy.
Garber quoted Walter Lippman’s classic book, Public Opinion, in which he argued that democracy is a task of data management. American democracy “is premised on the idea that voters’ political decisions will be based on reliable information.”
The information people rely on to do the work of citizenship—voting, arguing, shaping a shared future—is data. But those data are processed by notoriously fickle hardware. The data inform our brains’ impressions of the world: the images that Lippmann called “the pictures in our heads.” The pictures are subjective. They are malleable. And, perhaps most of all, they make little distinction between things that are true and things that are merely believed to be….
In Public Opinion, Lippmann diagnosed how readily propaganda could make its way into a nation that was officially at peace. He outlined how seamlessly the false messages could mingle with, and override, true ones. He argued that Americans’ unsteady relationship with information made our democracy inherently fragile.
As Garber quite accurately notes, every lie Trump tells, no matter how consequential or petty (and Trump is nothing if not petty), erodes people’s ability to trust any and all information.
Falsehoods, issued repeatedly from the bully pulpit, threaten to become conventional wisdom, then clichés, then foregone conclusions. Attempts to challenge them, as crucial as those efforts are as matters of historical recordkeeping, take on a certain listlessness. For others to point out the truth is to do the right thing. It is also to bring paper straws to a gunfight.
As the zone is flooded with bullshit (in Steve Bannon’s memorable phrase), citizens check out. And the liars cement their power.
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