Column: Behind the Bison – Social media and false information

If you have ever wondered what it is like to serve in the RCMP in a close-knit community, Staff Sgt. Jerry Nutbrown’s “Behind the Bison” column is exactly the kind of honest, behind-the-scenes look that most people never get. Like many veterans of law enforcement, he knows that the job is not just about chasing criminals or writing reports; it is about building trust, explaining how decisions are made, and helping people understand why officers do what they do. But in recent years, that work has become much harder because of a force that police cannot control: the internet. More specifically, social media has transformed the way information spreads, the way rumors are born, and the way entire communities react before anyone has the facts. The same tools that let friends share birth announcements and local news also let strangers spread dangerous falsehoods in a matter of minutes. For police, this has created an entirely new kind of stress—not just from the need to solve crimes, but from the need to combat misinformation that swirls around almost every incident. Nutbrown has written before about how dramatically the internet has changed modern policing, but his latest message is even more personal: false posts and unfounded allegations can ruin lives, poison communities, and make the work of keeping people safe far more difficult than it already is. What he wants the public to understand is not complicated, but it is vital—because in an age where everyone has a platform, truth has become the rarest and most valuable currency.

The problem, as Nutbrown describes it, is not social media itself—it is what we do with it. Platforms like Facebook, X, Instagram, and countless others are wonderful tools for sharing information, staying in touch with family, promoting businesses, and even alerting neighbors to safety concerns. But every day, those same platforms are used to spread lies presented as facts, assumptions dressed up as evidence, and gossip that grows wilder with every share. Not long ago, he recount, allegations were made about a person in the community—allegations serious enough to draw the attention of both traditional media and the endless churn of social media chatter. The story took on a life of its own. Neighbors talked. Strangers commented. People took sides based on nothing but snap judgments and incomplete screenshots. And yet, when police had finally looked into every angle, gathered every statement, and examined every piece of evidence, there was absolutely nothing to support the claim that any crime had ever occurred. No charges. No proof. No wrongdoing. But the damage had already been done. The person at the center of the false story had to live through the agony of public suspicion. Their family, their coworkers, their friends—all of them were dragged into a nightmare of whispers and judgment. For the innocent people involved, the experience was devastating, and no online correction could ever fully undo what had been done. Nutbrown’s point is not that all social media is bad; it is that unverified social media can be devastating. A single careless post, shared by enough people, can destroy a reputation in a way that the truth often cannot repair.

This is especially troubling when it comes to who people trust and how they judge the police. Nutbrown sees countless online comments about law enforcement actions, and he admits that most of them are inaccurate. Some are simply misinformed; others are filled with opinions that are stated as though they were proven facts. There are even those who deliberately twist what happened, either because they have a personal grudge or because they want to stir up anger. Nutbrown makes it clear that officers do not have thin skins. They understand that criticism is part of public service. If someone says officers made a mistake, and the facts support that, then police should hear it and learn from it. But too much of what he sees is not fair criticism—it is rumor, exaggeration, and outright falsehood. He also points out that many people making these claims do not have access to the full picture. They do not see the earlier calls, the report from the dispatcher, the witness statements, the legal limitations, or the operational concerns that guided an officer’s decision. They just see a thirty-second clip or a secondhand story and conclude that they know everything. And because the public has never been fully told why police cannot comment on every detail of an ongoing investigation, people assume that silence means guilt. Nutbrown has written before about the reasons why officers cannot publicly explain every action, but the frustration remains: the absence of information is often mistaken for evidence of wrongdoing.

The most important part of Nutbrown’s message is a direct challenge to anyone who claims to know something factual about a police matter. If you have actual proof, he says, do not hide behind a keyboard and post a vague accusation. Come down to the detachment, make a formal statement, and be prepared to stand in court and repeat what you have said under oath. That is what accountability looks like. It is easy to type a comment; it is much harder to look a police officer in the eye and back up your words with facts. He is not asking for people to stop speaking or to avoid criticizing the police—far from it. He is asking for truth and accountability. And he freely admits that police officers are not perfect. They make mistakes, like every human being. But false claims and wild guesses are not acceptable substitutes for evidence. They do not help the community, and they do not help the people who genuinely need help from the police. What they do instead is demand time, attention, and resources that should be spent on real investigations. Every false allegation that must be investigated is time not spent on a genuine victim. Every online smear that goes viral is energy that is taken away from the real mission of law enforcement: protecting the public, preventing crime, and bringing real wrongdoers to justice.

Nutbrown’s frustration is understandable, but it should not be mistaken for despair. He still believes that people are basically good and that communities want to be safe. The problem is that we now live in a world where disinformation has become common, where it is easier to share a rumor than to verify a fact, and where an anonymous poster can have more influence on public opinion than a trained police officer who has spent years working to protect the same neighborhoods. That should worry everyone, not just police officers. Think about the last time you saw a dramatic story about police or about a crime on social media. Did you stop to ask whether the source was reliable? Did you check the comments to see if anyone had actually provided evidence? Or did you share it because it made you angry? Nutbrown’s column is really a plea for each of us to be more careful—to think before we talk, to ask before we judge, and to remember that real people are on the receiving side of every viral story. The internet moves fast, but justice should not be a mob. We need to rely on facts, not fear. And if those facts point to something that police have done wrong, there are proper channels for that—channels that do not involve shouting into a digital void and hoping that someone gets hurt.

In the end, what Staff Sgt. Nutbrown wants is simple: a community where people still talk to each other, where the truth matters more than clicks, and where citizens and police work hand-in-hand rather than shouting past one another. He knows that officers cannot fix the internet, and they cannot stop every false rumor from spreading. What they can do is invite people to bring their information to the front counter, to ask legitimate questions, and to understand that police work is never as simple as it looks from the outside. And for the public, the message is just as clear: be responsible. Support those who have been unfairly targeted by false claims. Hold your own friends and family accountable when they share something they have not checked. And if you have a question about police work, ask directly—the “Behind the Bison” column exists for exactly that reason, and Nutbrown is willing to answer questions that help the community understand what happens on the other side of the cruiser door. He is not asking for blind trust or unconditional support. He is asking for something harder and more valuable: a shared commitment to truth, even when it is inconvenient. Because at the end of the day, a community that insists on facts instead of rumors is a community where everyone—police and civilians alike—can live with a little more confidence, a little more safety, and a little more peace.