In the fall of 1800, a letter by Moses S. Solomons appeared in the Gazette of the United States criticizing Thomas Jefferson for his perceived lack of religious faith. The letter branded Jefferson an atheist and insisted that the Virginian posed an imminent threat to worshippers everywhere—a gross exaggeration, though perhaps some readers understood it as such.
What they would not have guessed, however, was that Moses Solomons didn’t actually exist. He was a phantom conjured by a Federalist writer trying to score political points. This example wasn’t unique. Fictional identities in the early republic animated a lot of political warfare. They were routine, and they clouded all discussions with talk of deception and conspiracy.
The eighteenth century was an age of forgery, but in many respects so too is the twenty-first. Between the deepfakes and the bot farms, it can sometimes feel as though we’re living in a carnival funhouse (minus the fun), where little is what it seems.
Of course, disinformation is baked into the media that human beings have created. That’s because there are always people willing to lie, deceive, exaggerate, mislead, fabricate, or prank. And as the example above illustrates, deception is a frequent part of political warfare, too. Partisan gladiators seize upon false examples or use phony arguments or even create non-existent combatants. When it comes to politics, spin is an inevitable part of democratic give and take, and it always has been.
What’s changed during the last 25 years has been a detonation of the old information landscape, with its small, orderly, top-down hierarchy and boys-on-the-bus homogeneity. It has been replaced by radically fragmented, dynamic and manipulable media that compete in the same arena with mainstream players following different rules. Much of the public does not distinguish between these outlets, except to categorize them as for or against what they believe. Social media, in particular, have undercut the old gatekeepers—and with them much of the checks and balances that could stamp out a hoax or conspiracy theory.
The internet has also allowed political tricksters to disguise themselves as neutral arbiters, or to hijack mainstream media outlets’ reputations via “typosquatting” (subtle URL alterations such as the addition of a .co or .com-[text]), or to wholly fabricate a legitimate-sounding local news brand—the infamous “pink slime” sites— such as the Boston Leader, Denver Guardian, or WTOE5, all of which spread lies and hoaxes under the assumption that like-minded people will share their posts without checking their claims.
Finally, some older media, such as certain talk radio stations and cable television programs, have emerged as one-sided partisan spokespersons. This became possible when the Federal Communications Commission eliminated the Fairness Doctrine in 1987. It had required broadcasters to devote time to public issues and to present contrasting viewpoints. Now one point of view—or none at all—was given the green light. The following year, the Rush Limbaugh Show was syndicated to hundreds of radio stations. In 1996, Fox News and MSNBC were born. And during the next two decades, hundreds of political-advocacy radio and TV programs popped up around the country. Almost none of these were ideological; most were just rankly partisan. And in the service of partisanship, many played loose with the facts.
Fox News is an old hand at this approach. Any perusal of its content will show a bizarre emphasis on topics unguided by normal journalistic considerations (impact, for example) and with almost no adherence to ethical standards (such as honesty or accountability). Researchers in 2011 found that not only were Fox viewers the least informed in America, but, worse, that the more people watched their programs, the less they knew.
The network is sometimes mislabeled “conservative.” It’s not. Fox News is an arm of the Republican Party, operating under the same moral compass. Last year, Dominion Voting Machines won a judgment against the network of nearly a billion dollars. In court filings, the private messages of hosts like Tucker Carlson, Laura Ingraham, and Sean Hannity showed them mocking Trump’s lie that the 2020 election was stolen. Yet they told their viewers the opposite—at least until Dominion forced them to pay up.
Here in Tennessee, political disinformation can be seen on regular display in the state legislature, which pretends to take action on things most people don’t care about while ignoring the things they do, and then shrugging off criticism and bottling up dissent. In the city of Memphis, a state representative is trying to remove the district attorney on grounds that seem specious and without merit. Local reporters can’t even find a coherent set of specifics in his accusations.
One of the recurring themes in disinformation throughout American history is the weaponization of bigotry. Hate and fear have proved to be powerful tools in deceiving and mobilizing audiences, and these emotional appeals often worm their way into partisan deceptions.
In the example of Moses Solomons, for instance, he was identified in the newspaper as a “follower of Moses,” no doubt to show to anti-Semitic Americans that even a marginalized group like Jews supposedly considered Jefferson an affront to people of faith.
Expect the same treatment in coverage of Vice President Kamala Harris this year. Critics calling her a “DEI” appointment are suggesting she’s not qualified because of her race—an obviously false smear. Not surprisingly, fake accounts on X or Instagram have already started popping up that purport to be from African Americans challenging her “Blackness.” It’s Moses Solomons all over again.
