It feels like we’re caught in a repeating nightmare, doesn’t it? Just like the pain and division that followed George Floyd’s death in Minneapolis a few years ago, we’re seeing our country grapple with a fresh wave of political heartache. This time, it’s the tragic deaths of two more protesters, Renee Good and Alex Pretti, at the hands of law enforcement in the same city. But here’s the kicker: the world has changed so much since 2020. It’s like we’ve entered a hall of mirrors, where what’s real and what’s fake are getting harder and harder to tell apart, both online and in our daily lives.
Imagine the internet from just six years ago. It feels almost quaint now. Artificial intelligence wasn’t something everyone had access to; now it’s woven into everything we do. Social media, which was already a bit of a Wild West, has become even more volatile and, frankly, toxic. The efforts to keep it civil have dwindled, leaving us feeling exposed to an onslaught of misinformation. And the folks who used to whisper their lies in the dark corners of the internet? They’re now strutting around, amplified by major platforms, and heartbreakingly, even some of the most powerful people in our country are echoing their divisive rhetoric. It all came to a head in the early weeks of this year, a perfect storm of technology, cynicism, and apathy. When federal agents killed Renee and Alex, it wasn’t just a local tragedy. It became a national spectacle of distorted reality. AI-generated fakes of the victims swirled online, genuine videos were met with suspicion, and a Democratic lawmaker even displayed an altered image on the Senate floor. Then there were the online sleuths, wrongly accusing innocent people of being the agents involved. Even our own government got in on the act, sharing an altered image and narratives that were demonstrably untrue. It’s enough to make you wonder if we’re all losing our grip on what’s real.
This isn’t just about a few bad actors anymore; it’s a systemic problem. It’s like we’re in a collective haze, struggling to find common ground because the very concept of shared facts is eroding before our eyes. Graham Brookie, an expert on online communities, perfectly summed it up: “In moments past, we thought that this online fever would break, and now it is a systemic feature rather than a bug.” He’s saying this isn’t a temporary glitch; it’s the new normal. And it’s disheartening. For years, these volatile forces were simmering, and while we knew they were dangerous, the full impact felt theoretical. Even compared to the chaos of 2020 – remember the COVID-19 conspiracy theories and baseless election fraud claims? – the environment for truth now is far more hostile. The people who dedicate their lives to combating disinformation are under immense pressure, facing political attacks and funding cuts. And here’s the cruel irony: far more people are interested in juicy, false posts than in accurate fact-checks. Social media platforms, which once made efforts to curb the spread of misinformation, have slashed or abandoned these initiatives. So, it’s like a floodgate has opened, and all the “digital sewage,” as they call it, is flowing directly into our feeds.
The sheer volume of dubious content is overwhelming. It’s not just big, obvious lies; it’s everything from realistic fakes of celebrity events to subtly altered images. People are getting tired, and who can blame them? It takes so much effort to figure out what’s real anymore. Alon Yamin, who works on tools to detect AI content, calls this an “authenticity collapse.” He puts it starkly: “The internet is lying by default.” It’s a terrifying thought, isn’t it? He believes we’re on the verge of “almost losing touch with reality.” Think back to George Floyd’s murder in 2020. While there were certainly falsehoods circulating then, they were mostly confined to social media conspiracy theories, reaching a relatively smaller audience. And crucially, there were no widespread AI tools available to create hyper-realistic fakes. Social media companies also had dedicated teams working to actively combat those falsehoods, which helped to contain their spread. A video claiming Floyd’s death was faked, for instance, only got about 100 shares on Facebook.
Fast forward to today, and the scale is mind-boggling. Falsehoods now routinely reach millions. There was an image, viewed 1.4 million times, falsely claiming to show Alex Pretti in a pink ruffled dress and tiara. Another, with a million views, depicted him as a nurse helping veterans – almost certainly an AI-generated fake. In Minneapolis this year, despite clear, verified video evidence of the clashes between protesters and federal agents – evidence that in years past would have settled any debate – political influencers with millions of followers on platforms like X and Facebook actively tried to portray Renee Good and Alex Pretti as the aggressors. They deliberately cast doubt on what people could see with their own eyes. The biggest game-changer since 2020 is undoubtedly the explosion of accessible AI technology. After the Minneapolis shootings, and other actions by federal agents, a torrent of fake videos and images depicting events that never happened circulated widely. What’s almost more disturbing, experts say, is that even genuinely real content was dismissed as AI fakery. For example, videos and photos clearly showed Alex Pretti with a cellphone, yet some people insisted they saw a handgun. These faulty interpretations often stemmed from images “enhanced” with AI, ostensibly to improve resolution, but which ended up introducing errors and distortions.
Keeping up with this “incredible” scale of content – both real and AI-generated – from everyday users and even the government, is a monumental challenge. Sandra Ristovska, a media studies professor, highlights that while manipulating images isn’t new, the combination of social media and generative AI has pushed this problem to an “unprecedented level.” The turmoil in Minnesota, and the ensuing online chaos, is just one jarring example of this reality distortion. Last month alone, we saw a relentless stream of it. There were AI-generated fakes of Nicolás Maduro being arrested by US forces – images that many people saw as real news. Then, when President Trump shared an actual photo of Maduro in cuffs and a blindfold, social media users and journalists found themselves in the absurd position of debating whether that was real. We also saw an attack on Congresswoman Ilhan Omar instantly followed by AI fakes and viral falsehoods, including incredibly lifelike images of her smiling with her attacker. These fakes fueled a baseless narrative that she had staged the attack, a narrative Mr. Trump himself later echoed.
It’s disheartening to see how deeply ingrained this has become, particularly within powerful political circles. While former President Trump and his allies have always dabbled in disinformation, his second administration has embraced false narratives, altered images, and even shared jokey memes with a far greater intensity than before. We’re seeing federal officials at the highest levels vigorously promote falsehoods. After Alex Pretti’s death, several administration officials baselessly claimed he was a terrorist aiming to massacre law enforcement. Many right-wing social media users then amplified this, effectively blaming Pretti for his own death. Just last week, Mr. Trump used his Truth Social platform to attack California Governor Gavin Newsom, falsely claiming Walmart was closing hundreds of stores in the state. He even shared a TikTok video featuring an AI-generated female avatar who, without a shred of evidence, accused Newsom of laundering drug money for Mexican cartels. Newsom’s office, in a moment of pure exasperation, debunked these claims on X, adding, “We cannot believe we have to say any of this out loud. We cannot believe this is real life.” Their words perfectly capture the exhaustion and bewilderment many of us feel. It’s like we’re constantly battling a phantom menace, and the very foundation of our shared reality is shaking. The question isn’t just if we can distinguish fact from fiction anymore, but do we even care? And if we lose that, what happens to our ability to navigate the world together, as a society?