Election season is a strange time to tell the truth. The air fills with confident accusations, breakneck headlines, and carefully edited video clips that seem designed to make voters angry before they have a chance to think. In the months leading up to Election Day, the Snopes newsroom did what it has always done: we followed the facts, even when they were inconvenient, even when they moved slowly, and even when the trail led to uncomfortable places. We fact-checked claims made by and about candidates in some of the most competitive races in the country, knowing that the difference between a true rumor and a false one can change the outcome of an election. Campaigns, after all, are not in the business of neutrality. They exaggerate, simplify, and omit important context to grab attention and frame the narrative around their opponents. Our role is not to take sides but to hold every claim to the same standard. We investigate every rumor with the same level of scrutiny, whether it damages a Republican or a Democrat. This work has required confronting candidates about their lies, sifting through dense campaign finance records, and measuring the credibility of media reports that often seem more interested in clicks than clarity. It is not glamorous. There are no victory laps in a fact-check. But there is something deeply human about asking a simple question: Is this actually true? That question is the beating heart of democracy, and it guided our work through every twist of the campaign trail.
In the weeks before voters headed to the polls, one of the most tangled cases came out of Michigan’s competitive Senate race. A rumor began to circle, at once specific and vague, that Mike Rogers, the Republican candidate, had received millions of dollars from donors who appear in the so-called Epstein files. The name alone was enough to trigger alarm; in modern politics, few things carry more sinister weight than being associated with that scandal. As we dug deeper, we found that there was a kernel of truth. Yes, some donors connected to those files had given money that ultimately supported Rogers. But many of the reports that spread the accusation left out crucial context. The donations were made during Rogers’ Senate campaign, not during some earlier, more damning period. And the money was not given directly to his campaign account. It was routed through political action committees that were working to support him, which is a different thing entirely in the eyes of campaign finance law and public perception. These distinctions matter, even when they are hard to explain in a headline. A voter scrolling through their phone late at night sees a dark implication; they do not see the footnotes. But the footnotes are where the truth lives. That is why we keep reading them. We are not trying to protect any candidate from the consequences of their choices. We are trying to make sure that the consequences are based on facts, not on decontextualized shadows. The Epstein files are a serious matter, and any legitimate connection deserves scrutiny. But a list of names is not a list of crimes, and a campaign donation through a supportive PAC is not the same as a personal endorsement of evil. In a world of angry soundbites, we try to be the voice that says: wait, let’s look a little closer.
Another Michigan rumor was even darker, and it showed how easily a lie can be engineered to look like an expose. A story began circulating that Abdul El-Sayed, the Democratic opponent in the race, had allegedly said that America deserved the September 11 attacks. Think about what that accusation does. It does not just attack a politician’s record or policy positions. It attacks their basic decency, their love of country, their ability to share in a national grief. It is the kind of claim that can end a career overnight, especially if it is repeated enough times before anyone checks the source. We checked. We searched for recordings, transcripts, interviews, and credible news reports. We found nothing. There was no evidence that El-Sayed had ever said anything remotely like that. The claim was a fabrication, a textbook smear dressed up in the language of truth-telling. It was designed to make people angry, to short-circuit their critical thinking, and to force the candidate into a defensive crouch where he would have to spend days denying something he never said. This is one of the cruelest tricks in modern politics, and it is remarkably common. Campaigns sometimes find it easier to invent a quote than to defeat an argument. They bet on the chance that the lie will travel halfway around the world before the truth has time to tie its shoes. Our job is to slow that process down, to verify what was actually said, and to give voters the information they need before they decide to carry a rumor into the voting booth. We do it not because we are partisan, but because we believe that false accusations poison the entire democratic process. When lies become the currency of politics, everyone loses a little faith.
The same dynamic played out in Texas, where a Senate race produced one of the most disturbing stories we encountered. A pair of conservative influencers claimed that James Talarico, the Democratic candidate, had allegedly sought treatment at a mental health facility in Ohio while he was supposed to be campaigning. It was a strange claim, and it was loaded with stigma. The implication was not just that Talarico had a health problem, but that he was somehow unfit, unstable, or hiding something from voters. We looked at visual evidence from the time period in question, including photographs and videos that showed Talarico at his home. The evidence contradicted the accusation. He was not in Ohio. He was not in a treatment facility. The story collapsed under the weight of basic documentation. This kind of rumor is especially harmful because it uses mental health as a weapon, turning a deeply personal and often difficult part of human experience into a political attack. It also says something uncomfortable about our culture: that seeking help is seen as a scandal rather than a sign of strength. As fact-checkers, we do not get to decide what voters should care about, but we do get to point out when a story is false. We also watched as Talarico’s vote against a bill to prevent foreign entities from buying land in Texas became a talking point in the campaign. That is a legitimate policy issue, one that voters may reasonably disagree about. But there is a difference between a policy difference and a scandal. A vote is not a symptom of mental illness; it is a decision, often complicated, made by a person with limited options and competing pressures. Meanwhile, his opponent, Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, was facing criticism for his role in brokering a plea deal for a man accused of child sex abuse. Many people argued that a thirty-day jail sentence was far too lenient for such a serious crime. That outrage deserves investigation, and it tested our ability to separate moral anger from factual reality. The sentence was real. The frustration was justified. But our responsibility was to document what happened carefully, not to amplify rumors or reduce a complex case to a political football.
Beyond the high-profile campaigns in Michigan and Texas, we also investigated a strange and alarming controversy that emerged in the Alaska Senate race, an alleged ballot-stacking ordeal that seemed to confirm voters’ worst fears about election integrity. The story spread quickly through social media, and it was picked up by outlets that seemed trustworthy enough to repeat. But trust is not a substitute for evidence. We spent hours sifting through campaign finance records, examining photographs, and comparing the claims against official election procedures. We asked the kinds of questions that are not glamorous but necessary: Who saw the alleged stacking? Was there video? Were there filed complaints? What did the local election officials say? In some cases, we found that the media reports were incomplete or misleading, and that the reality was far less dramatic than the initial headlines suggested. This is a familiar pattern. A rumor can be laundered through a legitimate-looking news story, and once it appears in print, people assume it must be true. But sources can be wrong. Reporters can be rushed. Political operatives can feed false information to sympathetic journalists. Our job is to measure the credibility of every source, including those that claim to be official. We confront candidates directly when necessary, and we are not afraid to ask uncomfortable questions. But we also know that honesty cuts both ways. If we are willing to debunk false attacks against one candidate, we must be equally willing to investigate credible allegations against another. That is what makes fact-checking a form of public service rather than a partisan weapon. The Alaska case taught us once again that the truth is often buried in footnotes and fine print, and that the most important thing we can do for voters is to slow down and read the whole document, not just the highlighted sentence.
As Election Day arrives and the polls begin to close, our work does not stop. Campaign commercials will stop airing, campaign staff will start packing up their offices, and the candidates themselves will deliver their final speeches. But misinformation does not clock out. It does not respect election deadlines, and it does not disappear when the last ballot is counted. The Snopes newsroom will continue monitoring the web, listening to the whispers, and testing the viral claims that will inevitably spread in the hours and days after the results are announced. We know that in a democracy, truth-telling is not a one-day task. It is a commitment, a practice, and sometimes a burden. We do not tell people how to vote, and we never will. But we do believe that voters deserve to make their choices with clear eyes, with accurate information, and without the weight of lies pressing down on them. Behind every candidate is a person with a history, a family, and a reputation. Behind every rumor is a human choice to spread it, to believe it, or to dismiss it. And behind every election is a community of people who are trying to build a future together. That is why we keep asking the same question over and over again, even when the answers are messy, even when the truth makes everyone a little uncomfortable. It is a simple question, but it is not easy: Is it true? As long as the answer matters, we will be here to find it.