The Spreading of Lies: How Wildfire Disinformation Endangers Lives

When wildfires tear across landscapes and smoke fills the skies of entire continents, people naturally seek answers. They want to know what’s happening, whether they’re safe, and what they should do next. But in the chaos of these moments, a parallel crisis unfolds in the digital realm—one that threatens to overshadow the vital information people desperately need. Social media platforms, despite repeated warnings, have become breeding grounds for dangerous falsehoods about the causes of these disasters and the reality of climate change itself. The Climate Action Against Disinformation coalition has documented how predictable narratives of deception continue to surface with each new crisis, creating what experts describe as a lethal mixture of confusion and misinformation during times when clarity matters most.

The patterns of deception are remarkably consistent across continents and languages. In North America, smoke drifting from Canadian wildfires sparked claims that blame lay with poor forest management or misguided leadership rather than the climate conditions that create unprecedented fire risk. Some of these accusations escalated into violent rhetoric, with extreme comments suggesting retaliation against Canada for its supposed failures. Across the Atlantic, British discussions of wildfires repeatedly centered on arson, net zero policies, and accusations that media outlets were exaggerating threats to push political agendas. In Spain and Portugal, heatwave coverage became ammunition for those seeking to challenge climate science, attack renewable energy initiatives, and frame extreme temperatures as either harmless or deliberately inflated by alarmists. One Portuguese-language campaign denying climate links to heatwaves achieved an estimated reach exceeding 4.7 million views, demonstrating how effectively these falsehoods travel across borders and linguistic barriers.

The machinery behind this disinformation is far more sophisticated than simple ignorance or genuine disagreement about policy approaches. Experts point to a coordinated ecosystem where talking points originate from fossil fuel interests and partisan media figures, then spread outward through a network of influencers and ordinary users who may not even realize they’re participating in a coordinated messaging campaign. Genevieve Guenther, an expert on disinformation and author of “The Language of Climate Politics,” explains that the striking similarity of narratives across different platforms and regions reveals a deliberate distribution system at work. The goal, she notes, serves dual purposes: deflecting attention away from climate change toward unrelated issues like arson, and suggesting that wildfires could be contained or prevented through measures that have nothing to do with addressing the root causes of our warming planet. This framing conveniently ignores the reality that climate-driven heat and drought have created conditions that overwhelm even the most robust firefighting capabilities.

The role of social media platforms themselves cannot be overstated in this equation. Philip Newell, communications co-chair of CAAD, argues that climate disinformation shouldn’t be viewed merely as a problem of false beliefs, but rather as a direct product of platform incentives. Social media algorithms reward engagement, and engagement often comes from content that provokes strong emotional responses—fear, anger, outrage. This creates what Newell describes as “a secondary market for climate lies,” where viral posts generate advertising revenue regardless of their truthfulness. The report highlights a particularly troubling phenomenon called “participatory disinformation,” where fossil-fuel-aligned voices set the initial frame, and ordinary users fill it in with screenshots, memes, jokes, and purported evidence. The result feels organic and authentic, but it systematically pushes conversations away from fossil fuel pollution and toward confusion about arson, forest management, or alleged media exaggeration. This approach makes the disinformation harder to counter because it doesn’t appear to come from a single coordinated source, but rather emerges from what looks like genuine grassroots sentiment.

What makes this situation particularly damning is its predictability. Civil society groups had issued explicit warnings before the summer of 2026 that extreme weather events would likely trigger these exact narratives. The European Digital Media Observatory and CAAD had identified the patterns in advance, yet platforms allowed the same falsehoods to spread unchecked. This recurrence weakens the argument that social media companies are merely reacting to unpredictable outbreaks of misinformation. If watchdog organizations can anticipate these narratives with limited resources, then companies with vastly greater data access and enforcement capabilities should certainly be able to do the same. The accountability question becomes not whether every post can be stopped, but why known patterns of climate disinformation continue to be amplified during emergencies where confusion carries real public-health consequences. The tragic irony is that these falsehoods don’t just distort public understanding—they actively endanger lives by drowning out crucial safety information.

The human cost of this disinformation extends far beyond confused debates in comment sections. During the catastrophic Los Angeles wildfires of 2025, posts from conspiracy theorist Alex Jones received dramatically more views than official emergency response guidance, meaning people seeking information were more likely to encounter dangerous falsehoods than life-saving instructions. This pattern repeats across crises, hampering emergency services’ efforts and leaving vulnerable populations unable to find reliable information about smoke hazards, extreme heat, and evacuation routes. Disinformation also redirects public anger away from the actual causes of emergencies and toward those attempting to help. In extreme cases, falsehoods have contributed to threats against emergency responders, creating additional dangers for people already risking their lives in hazardous conditions. Newell emphasizes that climate mis- and disinformation should now be considered an obstacle for every disaster response, a systematic barrier that must be addressed alongside physical preparedness and emergency planning. The problem is no longer whether disinformation will appear during extreme weather events—it certainly will—but whether our institutions will finally treat it as an integral part of the risk environment that requires proactive solutions.

Addressing this crisis requires preparation before disasters dominate the news cycle. Guenther advocates for “inoculating” the public against viral falsehoods by having trusted messengers—climate scientists, forest agencies, environmental groups, and elected officials—explain common claims and the links between climate change and wildfire risk in advance. Educational campaigns teaching “prebunking” techniques have shown promise, with programs targeting young voters during the 2024 U.K. general election demonstrably improving media literacy skills that persisted over time. However, Newell argues that social media can no longer be considered an effective or reliable channel for reaching the general public, as feeds have been thoroughly poisoned by those spreading disinformation. He believes emergency response officials must build direct communication tools that connect with impacted communities without relying on third-party companies whose primary goal is profit rather than public safety. As heatwaves, wildfires, and smoke events become more frequent and severe, reliable information is becoming as essential as water and shelter. Disinformation, spreading unchecked through the very channels people turn to in moments of crisis, is making that essential information increasingly difficult to deliver—and the consequences of that failure will only grow more devastating with each passing season.