A Lot of People Are Saying: The New Conspiracism and the Assault on Democracy by Russell Muirhead & Nancy L. Rosenblum

"A lot of people are saying..."

"I’m not saying it’s true, but it’s plausible..."

"Do your own research..."

These are the mantras of the new conspiracism—a toxic political strain that’s less about explaining the world than blowing it up. In A Lot of People Are Saying, political theorists Russell Muirhead and Nancy Rosenblum crack open this phenomenon, revealing how it’s not just distorting politics but eroding the foundations of democratic life itself.

Unlike old-school conspiracy theories (think 9/11 was an inside job or UFO cover-ups), which at least tried to connect dots with evidence (however flimsy), the new conspiracism doesn’t bother with explanations. It’s all accusation, no theory. No "how," no "why"—just innuendo, repetition, and tribal loyalty as substitutes for truth.

Classic conspiracism operated like a detective story. It was built on a fundamental human impulse: the need to make sense of chaos. When world-changing events occurred—the Kennedy assassination, 9/11, even the American Revolution—people instinctively rejected the idea that something so monumental could be random or driven by a lone actor. There had to be a hidden plot, a shadowy group pulling strings.

What made classic conspiracism unique was its internal logic. It presented:

• A coherent narrative (even if factually wrong)

• Supposed "evidence" (grainy photos, "errant data," suspicious coincidences)

• A clear villain (the Illuminati, the CIA, the British Crown)

• A call to action (expose the truth, overthrow the oppressors)

The American Revolution itself was fueled by a conspiracy theory—the colonists believed King George III was orchestrating their oppression through a web of corrupt ministers. But crucially, this theory was tied to a positive vision: liberty, self-governance, Enlightenment ideals.

This shift reflects a deeper transformation in our epistemic environment. In an age of information overload, attention has become the scarcest resource. The new conspiracism adapts perfectly to this landscape, prioritizing viral potential over veracity. Consider how Trump's "stolen election" narrative evolved: rather than presenting a consistent theory of fraud, it offered a rotating cast of villains (dead voters, rigged machines, corrupt officials) that changed daily. The incoherence wasn't a bug—it was a feature. By keeping the accusations vague and ever-shifting, the narrative became impossible to fully refute while remaining endlessly adaptable.

The new conspiracism operates on radically different principles than its predecessors, defined by four corrosive traits:

1. Strategic vagueness replaces evidence. Where classic theories meticulously connected dots (like the JFK assassination's "magic bullet" thesis), today's versions thrive on phrases like "many people are saying" - a rhetorical shell game that spreads claims while dodging accountability.

2. Rejects explanation entirely. Consider the dissonance between pizzagate's random furniture "clues" and the Warren Commission's 888-page JFK report. The new strain doesn't pretend to explain how conspiracies would function; it simply asserts they exist.

3. Tribal signaling over persuasion. When Trump supporters chanted "stop the steal," the goal wasn't to convince skeptics but to perform allegiance. Like QAnon's shifting prophecies, these claims function as loyalty tests, not truth claims.

4. Delegitimation without alternatives. While 18th century revolutionaries decried British tyranny to advocate for democracy, modern conspiracists like Alex Jones attack institutions (elections, media, science) without proposing replacements - leaving only broken trust and epistemological voids in their wake.

This four-part framework doesn't just spread falsehoods - it dismantles the very infrastructure of shared reality that democracy requires to function. Where classic conspiracism at least pretended to value truth, this new variant weaponizes the absence of truth as an end in itself.

What makes this particularly dangerous is its self-reinforcing nature. Unlike classic conspiracy theories that positioned their believers as truth-seekers standing against power, the new conspiracism inverts this dynamic. Its adherents are encouraged to view any contradictory evidence—fact-checks, official reports, expert analysis—as further proof of the conspiracy's reach. This creates a closed epistemic loop where disbelief becomes the ultimate confirmation. When a Georgia election official painstakingly debunked fraud claims by recounting ballots three separate ways, Trump supporters simply concluded the official must be in on the plot.

The emotional payoff matters more than factual accuracy. Sharing these claims functions as a tribal signal, a way to perform group loyalty. This explains why figures like Alex Jones or QAnon influencers can casually admit they "don't try to be 100% accurate" without losing followers. The content isn't valued for its truth value but for its utility as a cultural weapon—a way to antagonize perceived enemies and strengthen in-group bonds. This is why the most viral conspiracy claims today tend to be those that most effectively humiliate or provoke the "other side," whether it's mocking COVID precautions or spreading birtherism about political opponents.

Perhaps most disturbingly, this new conspiracism has no endgame beyond perpetual conflict. Where classic conspiracy theories at least pretended to offer solutions (expose the conspirators, restore the rightful order), their modern counterparts thrive on endless outrage. There's no positive vision, no proposed alternative to the systems they attack—just a cynical feedback loop of delegitimation. Institutions aren't criticized to be reformed but to be destroyed. Experts aren't challenged to improve knowledge but to render all knowledge suspect.

This represents a profound threat to democratic functioning. By severing the connection between claims and evidence, between words and shared reality, the new conspiracism doesn't just spread falsehoods—it dismantles the very tools we use to distinguish truth from fiction.

This manifests in three devastating ways:

1. Institutional Erosion:

   When experts, journalists, and scientists are reflexively dismissed as part of some "deep state" cabal, the consequences are concrete and catastrophic. Regulatory agencies become paralyzed by political interference. Journalists face coordinated harassment campaigns. Scientific research gets defunded or distorted to fit ideological narratives. The result is what Muirhead and Rosenblum call "malignant normality"—a world where institutions still technically exist, but have been hollowed out of their essential functions.

2. The Collapse of Common Ground: Democracy requires a shared epistemic foundation—basic agreement about what constitutes evidence, facts, and legitimate authority. The new conspiracism systematically destroys this foundation. When 30% of Americans believe elections are routinely stolen, when climate science becomes "just another opinion," when public health measures are rejected as "government overreach," we lose the ability to collectively solve problems. Disagreements about policy become fundamental clashes over reality itself.

3. The Grievance Feedback Loop: Perhaps most insidiously, this conspiracism thrives on—and exacerbates—social humiliation and status anxiety. Its adherents aren't simply misinformed; they're often individuals who feel culturally dispossessed, economically marginalized, or personally slighted. The conspiracy narrative offers both explanation ("your struggles are caused by malicious elites") and catharsis ("your anger is justified"). This creates a self-perpetuating cycle where the more facts contradict the conspiracy, the more validating the conspiracy feels—because the "establishment's" denial simply proves its guilt.

The path forward requires more than just debunking false claims - it demands rebuilding our very systems for establishing truth. Muirhead and Rosenblum offer a framework that recognizes conspiracism isn't just about facts, but about identity and epistemology.

At the heart of their solution is what they call "speaking truth to conspiracy" through partisan channels. When Liz Cheney, a lifelong conservative, stood firm on the 2020 election results, her message carried weight precisely because it came from within the Republican ecosystem. This highlights a crucial insight: truth travels most effectively through trusted tribal networks. The scientists and journalists most often dismissed as "elites" might present flawless data, but their words bounce off the armor of group identity. Real impact comes when truth-tellers emerge from within communities themselves, demonstrating that factual integrity and tribal loyalty need not be at odds.

Equally vital is the concept of "enacting democracy" - making governance processes so transparent they become self-evident. Consider how Georgia's Republican officials responded to election fraud claims not just with statements, but by live-streaming their ballot recounts. This transformed an abstract conspiracy into something voters could witness firsthand. Such transparency serves as psychological inoculation against conspirial thinking. When citizens can see exactly how laws are made, how data is collected, or how votes are counted, the shadows where paranoia grows begin to disappear.

Perhaps most innovatively, the authors reimagine gatekeeping for our fractured age. Rather than retreating to elitism or surrendering to chaos, they propose structures like Zeynep Pamuk's "science courts" - public forums where experts must defend their knowledge before skeptical citizens. This isn't about debating settled facts, but about demystifying how knowledge is produced. Combined with algorithmic reforms that elevate content verified by independent fact-checkers, such approaches could create new pathways for truth to be heard above the noise.

The battle isn't merely against particular falsehoods, but for the very idea that truth exists and matters. By combining insider truth-telling, radical transparency, and reinvented epistemic institutions, we might yet reassemble the shattered foundations of shared reality that democracy requires to function. The alternative - a world where truth is merely what your tribe says it is - promises only deepening chaos and the eventual collapse of collective decision-making altogether.