Abstract
It is generally assumed that there is a difference between real existing conspiracies like the one conjured up to kill Julius Caesar on 15 March 44 BC, and conspiracy theories which can be seen as fabricated crypto-explanations of events, while claiming there is an illusive conspiracy set up by powerful and sinister groups – often with political or ideological motivations. Beyond that, conspiracy theories are not theories in the scientific understanding of the word. They are not theories but figments of imaginations or fantasies. Hence, the term conspiracy fantasies might be more appropriate. In any case, a key characteristic of the COVID-19 pandemic period was the proliferation of conspiracy theories/fantasies and the spread of dis- and mis-information, which has gained new impetus since the start of the war in Ukraine.
Conspiracy theories and the COVID-19 pandemic
Between the authors’ introduction and conclusion, Clare Birchall and Peter Knight's comprehensive book on Conspiracy Theories in the Time of Covid-19 is divided into seven chapters starting with the historical context of conspiracy fantasies. Chapter 2 is about the Infodemic – a pandemic of misinformation – that came with the coronavirus pandemic. Chapters 3 and 4 focus on the Covid-19 pandemic, while the next chapter discusses specific features of the Covid-19 pandemic conspiracy fantasies. Chapter 6 is about entrepreneurs who make money out of conspiracy fantasies, while Chapter 7 debates what the authors call disinformation capitalism.
In the introduction, Birchall and Knight claim that conspiracy fantasies, when seen through letters sent to newspapers in the USA, have been ‘fairly constant’ (p. 5) with two spikes: the populist attack on corporations during the 1890s and during McCarthyism (1950s). In a similar vein, conspiracy fantasies on the Covid-19 pandemic tend to ‘reinterpret coincidences as evidence of deliberate planning’ (p. 10). Furthermore, conspiracy fantasies about the Covid-19 pandemic also created a ‘cult of the amateur’ culminating in the call ‘Do your own research!’ (p. 13). By this, conspiracy fabricators do not mean the conduct of scientific research (Chalmers, 2013) but simply read what one can find on the Internet, preferably Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube.
Virtually all conspiracy fantasies live by three fundamental assumptions: ‘nothing is as it seems; nothing happens by accident; and everything is connected’ (p. 15). In other words, conspiracy fantasies seek connections where none exist. Coincidences simply do not exist, and everything presented by official sources, science, and medicine is not really true. One of the keys to understanding the difference between scientific theories and conspiracy fantasies is that ‘unlike scientific theories, conspiracy theories are usually unfalsifiable’ (p. 17). Birchall and Knight argue that what truly assisted conspiracy fantasies about the Covid-19 pandemic was the fact that ‘trust in government’ has declined from 73% in 1958 to merely 17% in 2019 (p. 26). There are similar figures for trust in science and medicine. With the Covid-19 pandemic came a renewed prevalence of conspiracy fantasies. The authors argue correctly that there are clear ‘parallels between the way the virus spreads and the way mis- and disinformation about the virus spread’ (p. 45). It occurred almost simultaneously.
What also helped the spread of Covid-19 pandemic conspiracy fantasies was inexpensive mass access to the Internet. As a consequence of this, ‘Avazz in 2020 found that health-related misinformation attracted four times as much traffic as official health sources on social media’ (p. 55) and was assisted by the algorithms’ online platforms pushing of the most outrageous, if not obscene, ideas. This is based on a business model that pays advertising revenue per online click in which the Internet user becomes the product that is sold. While corporations that run online platforms make millions, the consequences of conspiracy fantasies are often simply externalised, that is, offloaded onto society. Not surprisingly, The Lancet wrote in 2020, ‘conspiracy theories do nothing but create fear, rumours, and prejudice that jeopardise our global collaboration in the fight against the virus’ (p. 74). True, no conspiracy fantasy has ever suggested a solution to any political or societal issue it pretends to address.
Instead, conspiracy fantasies suggest such things as ‘Miracle Mineral Solutions’ (p. 93) and Ivermectin (p. 94) as cures. While conspiracy fantasies on the Covid-19 pandemic often express ‘resentment, frustration, disgust, fear, anxiety or partisan belonging’ (p. 124), an even more interesting phenomenon that Birchall and Knight highlight is that of the ‘conspiracy entrepreneurs’ (p. 148). These are people who ‘have long made a profit from’ (p. 148) conspiracy fantasies. In other words, this is the trend of ‘monetisation of conspiracy theories’ (p. 148). This sort of money-making occurs in two ways. First, conspiracy entrepreneurs ‘sell books, merchandise, and services’ (p. 152) – Alex Jones, for example, made a $5 million profit per year (p. 153). Second, conspiracy entrepreneurs also ‘offer membership and subscriptions’ (p. 153). Of course, this is not far off from what Birchall and Knight call ‘disinfo capitalism’ (p. 162) operating with ‘algorithmic amplification’ (p. 168).
Finally, the authors conclude with the claim that ‘not all conspiracy theories pose a risk’ (p. 177). Sure. But many do, as one of the worst cases in human history as far as conspiracy theories goes, namely the conspiracy theory about a never existent World Jewish Plot – die jüdische Weltverschwörung – that assisted the Nazis in making the Holocaust possible (Klikauer, 2020a).
Set against conspiracy fantasies are two strategies. Firstly, there is the idea of ‘debunking -to correct or warn about [dis-] information that has entered the online ecosystem [and secondly,] deplatforming [which] seeks to prevent [dis-] information from being posted in the first place’ (p. 180). It is imperative to remember that, as Birchall and Knight correctly outline, ‘conspiracy theories … work less by the power of the argument than the intensity of … emotions’ (p. 186). Simultaneously, one should also guard against the assumption of ‘technological fixes’ (p. 187) as conspiracy fantasies are not technical but social, political, and all too often ideological products.
All in all, Birchall and Knight's Conspiracy Theories in the Time of Covid-19 is a well written and comprehensively argued book that outlines the key themes of conspiracy fantasies in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic. On the downside are perhaps two issues: one is ideological and the other is personal greed fostered by capitalism. Firstly, the book lacks a clear and far-reaching discussion on the link between the Covid-19 conspiracy fantasies and right-wing ideologies as well as right-wing populism. Secondly, the book also undervalues the role of capitalism that often drives some conspiracy fantasies as fabricated by those who Birchall and Knight call conspiracy entrepreneurs. Their book could have linked the Covid-19 conspiracy fantasies to the much-trumpeted theme of entrepreneurship – taught day in and day out in virtually all of the 15,000 business schools that exist worldwide (Klikauer, 2020b). Beyond those two shortcomings, Birchall and Knight have delivered an informative and highly readable book on conspiracy theories and the Covid-19 pandemic.
A global guide on misinformation and disinformation?
Karen Fowler-Watt and Julian McDougall's Handbook of Media Misinformation is written by no less than 35 authors. It has 25 chapters but no conclusion that could answer the key question of any conclusion: what can we learn from all this? Yet, the book – or better the ‘collection’ – adopts a truly global approach to media misinformation and covers a vast (*perhaps too vast) array of different subjects. The collection's 25 chapters are on trust, networks, freedom of expression, teens, Colombia, archaeology, conspiracy, fake news, Hong Kong, propaganda, gaslighting, China, data literacy and media literacy, South Africa, tribal truth, what happened next?, agenda-setting, journalism, fakery, Tunisia, South Island Schools, participatory workshops, Thailand, and Infodemic.
From the outset, one might notice the book's title – Handbook of Media Misinformation. A handbook is commonly understood to be a type of reference work – a collection of instructions that is intended to provide a handy reference. None of this applies to this handbook. It is not a reference book, and it is not a collection of instructions either. Finally, the book does not provide a handy reference on misinformation.
The title mentions that this is a handbook on media misinformation. Standard communication theory distinguishes between ‘misinformation’ and ‘disinformation’ (Søe, 2021). In short, misinformation is accidental and non-intentional. By contrast, ‘disinformation’ is deliberate and intentional (Brown, 2018; Klikauer and Campbell, 2021; Stahl, 2006). Given this, Karen Fowler-Watt and Julian McDougall's book should be about the former: accidental misinformation. Yet, the vast number of chapters are on the latter: deliberate disinformation.
On the upswing, the editors are correct to start their introduction with the words ‘a challenging context’. Thirty-five authors and 25 chapters, often only vaguely related to one another, provide a truly challenging context. Yet, the editors are also correct in saying, ‘the writings brought together in this handbook are global, with case studies from or about Colombia, Mexico, Thailand, Hong Kong, China, Nepal, Tunisia, sub-Saharan Africa, the US, Europe and the UK’ (pp. xxxv). On the downside, the introduction does not provide an overall framework on misinformation – or better – disinformation that could help the reader to position the content of the book in an overall framework on disinformation.
The authors’ Chapter 3, for example, asks a valid question, ‘does the regulation of online services amount to a breach of freedom of expression?’ (p. 41) which is answered with, ‘the best deal the IT firms can strike with governments is to have clear and verifiable rules on how they publish and moderate content, helping users own, control and profit from their own data’ (p. 41). Meanwhile, the next chapter argues that ‘professional journalism … can contribute to educating younger ages in how to discern accurate information inside or outside the classroom’ (p. 58). Hardly a breathtaking idea. Similarly, Chapter 5 says, that ‘old forms of propaganda and manipulation of information that prevailed in the print and electronic media era have taken new forms in the digital era’ (p. 75). Who would have thought? In other words, what is presented, is mostly known (Klikauer, 2022). Such platitudes continue with, for example, in chapter 6 when noting, ‘dismounting misinformation seems to be a never-ending process that morphs along as we travel between sites of imagination and enunciation, resonating with the historical complicities we’re performing at the time of our research’ (p. 96).
The collection continues with often rather easy to almost habitually issued sweeping statements like ‘educators have, by and large, failed to explore this “fake” discourse’ (p. 117; cf. Giroux 2017). Who inside media studies would not agree to, ‘the politicisation and possible misappropriation of “fact-checking” could undermine the credibility of this emerging form of journalism’ (p. 132). And of course, ‘media literacy educators should help learners of all ages recognize forms of propaganda and invite them to reflect on their potential impact on audiences’ (p. 153). It does not get any better with, ‘the social, cultural, political, and psychological intricacies of different types of misinformation in different contexts require customised investigation to excavate indigenous uniqueness’ (p. 186). Unsurprisingly, the authors of Chapter 13 argue, ‘to address the social and political challenges created by dis-/mis-/mal-information requires a much deeper understanding of the networks upon which many citizens’ data and digital literacies depend’ (p. 203). Best of all, the chapter on ‘what happened next’ finishes with ‘Donald Trump is casting a long shadow and will continue to do so for a long time to come’ (p. 264). Would anyone disagree with that? What an amazing insight! Of course, to an overwhelming extent, the ‘journalists’ (sic!) of Fox News have made sure that Trump remains a lasting figure. Predictably, the authors of Chapter 19 argue, ‘journalists, in a sense, are modelling behaviour and engaging in dialogue in meaningful ways’ (p. 290). That Trump, Fox, and ‘misinformation, disinformation, deepfakes and their like have destabilised democracies’ (p. 309), as the authors of chapter 20 argue, had been known, at least since the appearance of Cambridge Analytica (Klikauer 2020c). Finally, we learn that ‘the fact that the workshops involved the participation of the research team members, students, and end-users … ensures lively discussions as well as more vivid and participative moments’ (p. 354).
In conclusion, one might say the following. While the ‘handbook’ suffers from shortcomings such as missing an overall framework and a conclusion that could bring the large volume of divergent chapters together, the volume still presents a collage of ideas vaguely associated with ‘media misinformation’/disinformation. Still, a term like a ‘handbook’ should have been avoided. What is produced here is not a handbook. Instead, the book is resembling more of what is commonly associated with an ‘anthology’ – a collection of writings chosen by a compiler or an editor and created by different authors that focus on an unifying theme. Despite all this, to get 35 authors to write 25 chapters on media disinformation is a challenging task. With a somewhat stricter framework at the beginning and an overall conclusion at the end, this book's overall potentials would have been utilised more successfully.
All in all, both books are very different in their conception and task and, therefore, hard to compare. The first book is a proper book. It is written by two authors with a clear idea on what the book is supposed to achieve. The second book is not a book but a collection, or better an assemblage, of many – perhaps too many – authors from all over the world. Unlike the first book, the second book lacks a clear framework. It is about the rather vague subject of ‘misinformation’ for which the collection neither develops a discussion, nor a definition, nor a theoretical framework. Interestingly, the book is actually more about ‘deliberate disinformation’ rather than ‘accidental misinformation’. In short, the first book is successful while the second book has very serious problems.