It was during Donald Trump’s first presidential race and subsequent presidency that the post-truth era became clearly defined, with terms like “fake news” and “alternative facts” imprinting themselves on our collective western cultural mindset.
Here in the UK, the past few days have shown us that, regardless of how phoney the news is, the action it inspires can be painfully real.
When the false rumours about the identity and origin of the Southport stabbing suspect first emerged, journalists and others worked at pace to investigate, map and counter the misinformation, but none of this could slow the wildfire of erroneous news that took advantage of reporting restrictions pertaining to under 18s involved in criminal proceedings.
The ensuing riots – across Southport, London, Hartlepool and more – will have cost an exorbitant amount of public capital, including burned out vehicles, police requiring medical treatment and time off work, subsequent investigations and legal costs, not to mention the focus of our first responders and policy makers that has been drawn away from other critical needs.
The term “misinformation” hardly seems to convey appropriately the negative impact and danger it can create. Culturally, we seem much more attuned to the risks of financial scammers than we do to the threat posed by propagandists and information fraudsters.
We understand there are nefarious people out there trying to cheat us out of our hard-earned cash. We are wary of phishing emails, sham text messages and spurious HRMC calls.
This level of public savvy didn’t develop in a vacuum or by accident. It is the result of sustained, coordinated efforts from governments and the financial services industry to educate the public about risk and to teach us how to identify and interrogate the communications we receive about our finances.
We have nowhere near the same level of cultural will or aptitude for identifying unverified news, particularly when it aims to exploit our politics or our prejudices. While the risks and costs of these kinds of false reports may not initially feel as acute as financial fraud, this week shows us they can be much worse.
If you’ve seen a medical practitioner recently, you may have received a text message to remind you of your appointment and to inform you that, if you don’t show up, it will cost the NHS £ [insert a sum that is likely to be more than you would expect].
This is behaviour change policy and communications at work, likely based on research, a pilot project, or both. If people know what their careless diary management costs the public purse, they will likely be more attentive in future. The same should, in theory, be true if we could better articulate the cost of believing and acting on dubious claims and fictitious narratives masquerading as fact.
Social media channels are an incredibly efficient vehicle for the spreading of fake news. Taking aim at the people responsible for those outlets yesterday, Sir Keir Starmer said the “violent disorder clearly whipped up online is also a crime and it is happening on your premises”.
In contrast to the cooperation between the government and industry on financially related fake news, social media companies don’t have the same incentives and punishments that encourage banks to help combat fraud.
Starmer went on to say, “we will take all necessary action to keep our streets safe”. It will be interesting to see if this action could be of the same ilk as the EU’s Digital Services Act, which has been used to bring charges against X, formerly Twitter, for its approach to paid-for verification, which does nothing to verify accounts or sources of information.
But the issue is bigger than verification alone and the rumours this week spread across a multitude of platforms. More needs to be done to educate the public, but – taking note of how the financial services industry has operated – perhaps we should be passing on some of the cost of these riots to the individuals and platforms that spread the fire.