Media and Society

How Did We Get Here?

Mahdi

15 May 2025 • 9 min read

Whilst disinformation and malinformation have always been with us—arguably since the creation of language itself—misinterpretations in social discourse, or in modern terms misinformation, historically had a much smaller impact on societies, as it travelled slowly by word of mouth and was rarely a decisive factor—especially in times when common people had little to no influence over how kingdoms and empires were governed.

Today, however, social discourse feels like a constant stream of half-truths, selective framing, and deliberate distortion—everywhere and all the time. Some of it is unintentional, a product of speed and noise. But much of it is not.

In a previous article titled Behind the Fog Machines, I outlined how, arguably since the early twentieth century, technological systems have played a significant role in shaping the ideas of the masses—faster and more effectively than ever before.

Today, entire ecosystems are built around shaping perception rather than reflecting reality—which, again, is not new in itself, but rarely at such scale or with such coordination. The outcome is a gradual erosion of trust—not just in media or institutions, but in our own ability to make sense of events. This is not a new problem, but the scale and velocity have changed. And somehow, we have normalised it.

My question is: How did we get here?

What is the Difference?

Before diving too deep into this article, it may help to distinguish the terms more clearly: misinformation often refers to inaccurate or misleading content spread without intent to deceive—typically to promote a certain idea or worldview, but without enough scrutiny and fact-checking. Disinformation, often confused with misinformation, involves the deliberate dissemination of falsehoods, often with the aim of clouding the information environment and making truth harder to discern. Then there is malinformation, where genuine information is taken out of context or selectively presented to drive misleading conclusions.

For the sake of clarity and brevity, I will use the term Malicious Content throughout the rest of this article as a general reference to mis-, dis-, and malinformation—unless a specific category needs to be addressed directly.

The main culprit for the state of disarray in social discourse is often considered to be the giant companies behind various social media platforms. This is the narrative that mainstream media has pushed repeatedly. And to be fair, those ruthless, giant money-printing machines and their warlords are far from innocent. Social media is inherently vulnerable to misuse, and these companies have shown little to no interest in limiting the harm their platforms may cause to society.

But is that really the whole story? If so, then unplugging the servers of all those social media websites and apps should, in theory, solve our problems, right?

Although I agree that shutting down social media at this point might be more beneficial than keeping it running, I would argue that the root causes of our problems run much deeper. Whilst removing social media might slow down the spread of the ignorance pandemic we are currently witnessing, it would not fundamentally address the underlying issues we need to confront.

Most social media platforms were originally designed to help people stay connected—a virtual space where friends, family members, or individuals with shared interests could keep in touch and stay up to date. From this, it might seem logical to argue: because people form political affiliations online, and because word-of-mouth in a social media environment travels at extraordinary speed, and because algorithms foster echo chambers, then naturally, this leads to the situation we are facing now.

Plausible, and not entirely incorrect—but not quite right either. The question we should ask is: why would anyone go online, listen to a random stranger, and take that as truth? Some might cite identity politics. Others may point to inherent flaws in the human psyche, such as the many cognitive biases we all carry. But surely, no one adopts a belief solely because of those reasons and from complete strangers.

So what else could be at play here?

Political Short-termism

Short-termism in politics is nothing new. Politicians have long sought quick wins to maximise their chances of re-election. What is arguably new, however, is the speed and visibility of such behaviour—amplified by social media, round-the-clock news coverage, and the dynamics of attention economics.

But that alone is not enough to get us here. It may account for part of the picture, but certainly not the full landscape. So, what else—beyond social media and political opportunism—might be contributing to the situation we are witnessing today? Put differently, if political short-termism is not a recent invention, what has shifted in the broader ecosystem to make its effects more corrosive now than in the past?

Enter Mainstream Media

Mainstream media historically acted—at least in principle—as a check on power. But with declining ad revenue and increased competition, many outlets shifted towards sensationalism, opinion-driven content and personality politics. In effect, they followed political short-termism rather than resisting it.

Now, is this complicity intentional or structural? Probably more structural—driven by economic pressure. Media outlets have always carried biases, and intentional narrative framing has likely been part of journalistic tradecraft from the very beginning. Journalistic short-termism is not new either; it has long been employed across the globe in pursuit of profit. But that financial gain often comes at the cost of credibility and long-term reputation.

The structural change that, in my view, pushed mainstream media to fully embrace short-termism was the rise of the attention economy. Social media and other online platforms became remarkably effective at capturing attention—altering our attention spans and increasing our craving for dopamine-releasing content. As a result, within a relatively short period, mainstream media became significantly less appealing to a large segment of society.

Faced with an existential threat, and questioning whether to remain credible and adhere to the principles of journalism, many outlets concluded that it would be of little use if they were to go bankrupt within a few months. As a result, professional media found themselves in direct competition with individuals creating content from their bedrooms.

Media as a Political Player

As mentioned earlier, the media has always carried biases, particularly in political matters. However, in an attempt to win back some of the audience drawn to politicians and social media personalities, many outlets began mimicking them too closely. They became so entangled in politicians’ short-term, sensational performances that the media itself turned into a political actor. In other words, it became a player dressed as the referee.

This shift came with two major downsides. First, it led to a loss of trust among a segment of the public—those switched-on enough to recognise that the media had become even less reliable. Second, when politicians blundered and risked losing popularity, media outlets often went to great lengths to shield them, having become so deeply entangled with their narratives. This entanglement led to more bias, greater dishonesty, and, at times, outright falsehoods—further damaging the media’s credibility. They often painted themselves into a corner and lacked the willingness to acknowledge their previous deceptive or misleading reporting.

Seeking Trust

With ever-growing income and economic inequality, public distrust in governments and large organisations became more pronounced. This shift acted as a catalyst for those already inclined to move away from mainstream media—driving them to seek trust elsewhere. And who seemed more trustworthy than someone producing independent content from a bedroom or the basement of a modest home? Individuals who, at least in appearance, had no agenda or institutional ties. Many of them shared the same scepticism towards established powers.

This shift created a sense of empowerment among those who had long felt isolated and voiceless in the face of vast propaganda machines indifferent to the concerns of ordinary people. New figures began to emerge from within the masses—young, unknown, often without formal credentials. But none of that was a barrier. Anyone could find an audience.

And with that, more people became increasingly active in searching for alternative narratives. This often led them to independent bloggers or influencers, unvetted news aggregators, and ideologically skewed platforms such as Facebook, TikTok, or Telegram. In other words, growing distrust of mainstream media contributed to the rise of parallel information economies.

So, How Did We Get Here?

There is no short or simple answer to this question. But to arrive at a useful and reasonably accurate one, we must begin by asking smaller, more manageable questions. Is the problem simply about where people go to find trustworthy information—social media versus traditional media—or is it something deeper? Have people developed a new epistemology, one in which they no longer trust the system as a whole, rather than just specific actors within it? That broader loss of trust has, in many cases, fuelled conspiratorial thinking and related patterns of belief.

And what about other factors? Whilst the media-politics symbiosis plays a role, other forces driving malicious content are equally significant. Algorithmic incentives that reward engagement over accuracy. Geopolitical strategies in which state actors deliberately inject polarising narratives. And identity crises, particularly in post-industrial societies, where individuals increasingly seek belonging through ideas—however extreme they may be.

So, is social media inherently fertile soil for spreading malicious content then? Yes—structurally, not morally. Fertility here refers to a system designed to reward emotionally charged, rapidly shared content with minimal barriers to verification. Social media platforms:

Promote virality over credibility,
Encourage echo chambers through algorithmic curation,
Collapse traditional gatekeeping, allowing anyone to publish anything instantly.

Combine these features with human cognitive biases—confirmation bias, novelty bias, tribal signalling—and the result is an environment highly conducive to the spread of malicious content.

But would this “fertile soil” have remained relatively barren without widespread public distrust in mainstream media? Had trust held steady—even with social media’s structural affordances—most people might have cross-checked viral claims with trusted outlets, treated influencer commentary as supplementary rather than definitive, and preserved a shared foundation for truth. In such a world, disinformation could still circulate—but it would likely struggle to take deeper root.

But with trust broken, people approach traditional media with cynicism—or avoid it altogether. Conspiracy becomes a default lens rather than a fringe exception. Emotional narratives begin to override factual inquiry, and expert debunking is often dismissed as elitist self-preservation. In this context, distrust functions not merely as the sowing of seeds, but as the nutrient-rich irrigation that accelerates their spread.

So what caused the distrust in the first place? Or what eroded it over time? Some starting points could include media polarisation, where networks catered exclusively to specific ideological camps; historical failures, such as misreporting during financial crises and the covering up of elite scandals; and tech-fuelled relativism—the idea that everyone is entitled to “their own truth.” In other words, it is not simply that people stopped trusting; it is that trust was gradually eroded, often for reasons that were not entirely irrational.

It is here that we begin to see more clearly how social media is structurally vulnerable to manipulation, and how distrust in traditional media undermines society’s capacity to resist falsehoods. This combination forms an ideal environment for the spread of malicious content. It is a synergistic relationship, not a linear chain: social media’s structural fertility without widespread distrust merely generates noise, whilst distrust without distribution platforms results in apathy. But together, they cultivate ecosystems that are highly conducive to malicious content.

Final Words

In liberal-democratic theory, the media is often described as the Fourth Estate—a check on institutional power, a source of context, and a space for public reasoning. That is, the media is meant to hold power to account, not to protect it or co-govern alongside it. When this role deteriorates, so does the media’s distinctiveness from political institutions. It becomes a participant rather than a witness. And participants cannot credibly act as referees.

Furthermore, if a media outlet spends years building up a particular figure or movement, it becomes institutionally entangled—unable to acknowledge misjudgements without jeopardising its own credibility. Simply put, exclusive alignment breeds dependence, and dependence corrodes trustworthiness. When media and politics become indistinguishable in tone, language, and defensive posture, citizens begin to stop seeing media as a space for fair adjudication. They start categorising outlets as mere extensions of political factions, developing what might be called horizontal distrust: “If X supports this, then Y must be lying.” This accelerates the fragmentation of the public sphere. And ironically, the more a media outlet tries to defend 'its side' during crises, the more it becomes part of the crisis itself.

At the point where media becomes emotionally and reputationally tied to a political actor, it becomes functionally indistinguishable from that actor—unable to either defend them credibly or distance itself without damaging its own position. This dynamic resembles what is commonly known as the sunk cost fallacy. As a result, media outlets often double down, entrenching themselves further with each passing misjudgement.

But are there any winners here, or is this a lose-lose game? That largely depends on how one defines winning. Financially speaking, nearly everyone involved appears to benefit: politicians, mainstream media, social media platforms, and influencers. They all profit—rapidly and consistently. The only real exception is the general public. This is hardly surprising, but it serves as yet another reminder that even the most impressive technological advances offer little in a society where moral considerations and public interest are continually overshadowed by the pursuit of financial gain—a pursuit that, arguably, is ultimately at the core of every politician's desire for getting elected.

If you whisper the truth into the ears of a sleeping misled person, they will wake up still misled—not because the truth was wrong, but because they could not hear it to begin with. We now live in a world where large portions of society have deliberately closed their eyes, blocked their ears, and shout as loudly as possible the version of truth they prefer to believe. In such a world, remembering our moral values may be the only solution. At least, it is the only one that comes to my mind.