Post-Truth Social: Navigating a World of Lies

Why do intelligent people fall for blatant, politically motivated lies, forcing us all to become perpetual fact checkers?

A doctor I know recently posted that Anthony Fauci intentionally poisoned us through his advocacy of vaccines. A doctor—someone trained in science and medicine—lied out loud about another doctor whose positive and significant impact on global health is a matter of public record. Fortunately this post didn’t get many likes, but I’m sure plenty of people saw it and thought “yea, that’s probably right.”

This happened just as Meta announced its abrupt reversal of fact checking, imposing a difficult choice. Do I take a stand against the proliferation of lies and leave Facebook, Instagram, and Threads, or do I maintain my online connections with friends, family, and thought leaders I admire?

I’ve been struggling to understand the ready acceptance of the absurd for months now. The latest onslaught—from the Jan 6 insurrection being a “peaceful visit” to “murdering health care execs is justified”—has me reeling. Why in God’s name would intelligent people fall for blatant, politically motivated lies, forcing us all to become perpetual fact checkers?

Sadly, I know the answer and it’s not even that novel: We feel before we think.

Photo by Daria Nepriakhina 🇺🇦 on Unsplash

The Fast Blast of Emotion

Our brains process information through two distinct but interconnected systems—one ancient and lightning-fast, the other newer and more deliberative (for an in depth explanation of this, nothing beats Daniel Kahneman’s Thinking Fast and Slow). It’s like having a smoke alarm and a security camera in your house. The emotional smoke alarm reacts instantly to potential threats, while the rational security camera provides detailed information for careful analysis after the fact.

This dual-processing setup has served humans well for thousands of years, but it also leaves us vulnerable to three tactics that exploit its flaws, making us susceptible to lies we could easily disprove. These tactics—identity cues, tribal signaling, and fear amplification—are common branding and marketing ploys that have found a new home in political messaging.

Identity Cues When messaging targets our sense of identity, it bypasses rational thought with remarkable efficiency, aiming directly at our emotional receptors. We instantly recognize ourselves in these phrases, whether it’s Apple’s “Think Different,” L’Oréal’s “Because You’re Worth It,” or BMW’s “The Ultimate Driving Machine.” They enhance and reinforce our internal profile, making us more likely to embrace the product as an extension of who we are.

In politics, these identity triggers work in much the same way, but with far greater consequences. Descriptors like “real Americans” or “coastal elites” aren’t just labels—they’re carefully crafted triggers designed to spark defensive pride or anger, depending on your self-perception. Like marketing phrases, they bypass rational thought to elicit an emotional response. In this heightened state, we are more likely to embrace messages that bolster our pre-conceived identity or that marginalize those we don’t understand.

Tribal Signaling Messaging that helps us connect with others who think and react like us—our “tribe”—bypasses thoughtful deliberation in favor of quick affiliation. Amazon’s suggestion, “We think you might like this,” or Facebook’s prompt, “People you may know,” steers us toward products, programs, or connections we are predisposed to trust. In these contexts, the impact on our values is minimal.

In politics, however, especially on social media, the stakes are far higher. Each like, share, or angry reaction to an algorithmically-driven post strengthens our tribal affiliations without reflection or debate. When emotional content continually reinforces group identity, it becomes increasingly difficult to view those outside our tribe as anything but adversaries.

Fear amplification Fear might be the most potent trigger of all. When messaging highlights threats—whether to safety, values, or way of life—it activates our ancient survival circuitry. The feeling part of our brain floods our system with stress responses before the thinking part can engage in risk assessment.

When used to promote movies or video games, this technique is entertaining. But when used in politics—for example messaging about crime, immigration, or cultural change—it can override reality.

The immigration debate is a perfect example. Statistics clearly show that crime rates among immigrants are lower than among native-born citizens. But messages about “invasions” and “open borders” trigger such powerful fear responses that these facts barely register. Similarly, while statistics confirm that immigration surged after Covid, emotionally charged messages about children separated from parents and humans kept in cages often overshadowed the broader context.

Marketers learned a century ago to put emotion in charge whenever possible. Charles Revson, founder of Revlon cosmetics, captured this perfectly when he explained: “We don’t sell lipstick. We sell dreams.” Countless companies have followed his lead, pitching everything from perfume to pizza by emphasizing aspirational qualities that are rarely true. The government largely avoids intervening, stepping in only when false claims pose a significant risk of harm.

But in politics, defining what constitutes a serious risk of harm is problematic. If I believe the posted lie that Dr. Fauci poisoned me, will I stop getting vaccinated? Disregard future pandemic warnings? Become a super spreader of infection? Will enough people do the same to present a clear danger?

That type of risk is too speculative to justify heavy-handed government intervention, but relying on social media users to fact-check isn’t a solution either. By the time a lie is flagged in a Community Notes forum, it has already shaped the perceptions of everyone who read it. If that lie aligns with a reader’s self-identity, reinforces their tribal connections, and triggers fear, they will accept it as truth regardless of later corrections. Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk either missed this basic lesson from their college social science classes—or they’re willfully ignoring it.

A Slower, More Thoughtful Connection

I haven’t yet decided if I’m leaving the Meta platforms (I left X months ago). I don’t use them often, but they keep me connected to friends and family in a way that is difficult to replace. I’m leaning toward at least a pause because I think it’s unhealthy for the emotional side of my brain to be regularly provoked by comments I can’t effectively block or counter. I also feel complicit if I continue to participate in a system I believe is dangerously flawed.

My individual action will have a meaningless impact on Meta’s bottom line, but I suspect there are millions like me currently debating this choice. What we decide in concert could have impact—either confirming that fact checking is not important on social media or proving users have the power to fight back against changes they don’t support.

With or without social media, I remain hopeful that thoughtful political dialogue is still possible—and that it can serve as an effective defense against lies. Toward the end of a recent party, my friends and I tentatively started a conversation about politics. Aware that our group included liberals and conservatives, we spoke carefully and from personal experience. We listened to each other and asked questions before voicing any disagreements. I noted who stayed quiet and reached out to them specifically, inviting their participation.

I expressed anger that despite decades of exceptional performance, two highly qualified women were not trusted to lead as president. Another friend expressed anxiety for those in need who will likely have less resources in the new administration. A more conservative friend explained his belief in creating an equal playing field for everyone, but also shared his fear that subsidies are dangerous. Regardless of the topic or our point of view, each of us spoke honestly of our concerns about the coming change in national leadership.

Dry January is popular around here, and our relative sobriety helped us all remain calm and collected. But so did our friendships and our respect for each other. We were not anonymous posters on X vomiting bile without consequences, nor were we angry loners posting shlock on Facebook. We were neighbors trying to find consensus and a more positive outlook for all of us.

I think anyone can have this type of dialogue and I hope more will try. At scale, it might help us find a way forward that doesn’t include invading Panama or ignoring parental concerns over their children’s exposure to drag queens. Our home grown experience suggests a few guidelines that might help keep tempers in check (appropriately abbreviated to PSA):

• Pause – If a comment triggers an emotional response, take a deliberate breath. This small delay can help activate your prefrontal cortex where more rational thought happens.

• Share stories, not statistics – Personal narratives engage both emotional and rational systems in a way that raw data cannot.

• Ask – Instead of immediately challenging someone’s position, ask what experiences led them there.

Believe me, every cell in my body wanted to lash out at that Facebook post accusing Dr. Fauci of intentional poisoning. Thankfully, I took a breath and channeled that energy into writing this piece. Starting a Substack publication may not be for everyone, but our voices carry more weight when we invite our analytical mind to join the conversation. When emotions take hold, facts lose their power, and our view becomes clouded. Thoughtful engagement—rather than a reactive response—can help clear the air.

Your Turn

Are you thinking about leaving or pausing any of your social media accounts? I’d love to learn your reasons, regardless of the answer.

If you’ve already made the break, have you found other means to stay connected with distant friends and family?

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If you’re new here, an algorithm probably guided you. In that case, I recommend you confirm who I am, where my expertise lies, and what biases I may bring to my posts. If you want to read more, I’d suggest you start with my foundational post, The Hidden Influence of Branding in American Politics.