When Oxford Dictionaries declared “post-truth” its word of the year in 2016, it crystallized something many people had been feeling: that we’d entered a strange new era where objective facts seemed less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief. The term exploded in usage that year, becoming shorthand for a troubling shift in how we process information. But have we really entered uncharted territory, or is this just the latest chapter in a very old story?
The short answer is: it’s complicated. The phenomenon itself isn’t new, but the scale and speed at which misinformation spreads certainly is. We are in a new world where the boundary between truth and untruth is blurred, institutions that once arbitrated facts are losing authority, and politics are running on “truthiness” and spectacle more than evidence.
The Psychology of Believing What We Want to Believe
To understand why people increasingly seem to choose sources over facts, we need to dive into how our minds actually work. People now seem to routinely sort themselves into information camps, each with its own “truth,” trusted voices, and shared worldview. But why is this and why does it seem to be getting worse?
Psychologists have spent decades studying something called confirmation bias—essentially, the tendency to seek out information that supports our existing beliefs while avoiding or dismissing information that contradicts them. This isn’t just about being stubborn. Research shows we actively sample more information from sources that align with what we already believe, and the higher our confidence in our initial beliefs, the more biased our information gathering becomes.
But there’s something even more powerful at play called motivated reasoning. While confirmation bias is about seeking information that confirms our beliefs, motivated reasoning is about protecting ideological beliefs by selectively crediting or discrediting facts to fit our identity-defining group’s position. In other words, we don’t just want to be right—we want to belong.
This matters because humans are fundamentally tribal creatures. When we form attachments to groups like political parties or ideological movements, we develop strong motivations to advance the group’s relative status and experience emotions like pride, shame, and anger on behalf of the group. Information processing becomes less about truth-seeking and more about identity protection.
Why Source Trumps Fact
So why do people trust a source they identify with over objective facts that contradict their worldview? Research points to several interconnected reasons.
First, there’s the practical matter of cognitive shortcuts. We’re bombarded with information daily, and people judge the reliability of evidence by using mental shortcuts called heuristics, such as how readily a particular idea comes to mind. If someone we trust says something, that’s an easier mental pathway than laboriously fact-checking every claim. This reliance becomes problematic when “trusted” means ideologically comfortable rather than factually reliable.
Analysts of the post‑truth phenomenon also highlight declining trust in traditional “truth tellers” such as mainstream media, scientific institutions, and government agencies. As these institutions lose authority, counter‑elites or influencers can present alternative narratives that followers treat as at least as plausible as established facts
Second, and more importantly, is the issue of identity. When individuals engage in identity-protective thinking, their processing of information more likely guides them to positions that are congruent with their membership in ideologically or culturally defined groups than to ones that reflect the best available scientific evidence. Being wrong about a fact might sting for a moment, but being cast out of your social group could have real consequences for your emotional support, social standing, and sense of self.
Third, there’s a feedback loop at work. In social media, confirmation bias is amplified by filter bubbles and algorithmic editing, which display to individuals only information they’re likely to agree with while excluding opposing views. The more we’re exposed only to sources that confirm our beliefs, the more alien and untrustworthy contradictory information appears.
Interestingly, being smarter doesn’t necessarily protect you from these biases. Some research suggests that people who are adept at using effortful, analytical modes of information processing may actually be even better at fitting their beliefs to their group identities, using their intelligence to construct more sophisticated justifications for what they already want to believe.
The Historical Echo Chamber
Despite the way it feels, this isn’t the first time truth has had competition. History is full of eras when myth, rumor, propaganda, and identity overshadowed facts.
During The Reformation of the1500s, misinformation was spread on both sides of the catholic-protestant divide. Pamphlets—many of them highly distorted or outright fabricated—spread rapidly thanks to the printing press. Propaganda became a political weapon. Ordinary people suddenly had access to arguments they weren’t equipped to verify. People were ostracized and some even executed based on little more than rumors or lies. We might have hoped for better from religious leaders.
The French Revolution (1780s–1790s) was awash in claims and counterclaims, many of them—if not most—had little basis in fact.Competing newspapers told wildly different stories about the same events. Rumors fueled paranoia, purges, and violence. Truth became secondary to whichever faction controlled the narrative.
Following the Civil War and Reconstruction, the “Lost Cause” narrative became a powerful example of source-driven myth making. Despite historical evidence, generations accepted a version of events shaped by postwar Southern elites, not by facts. Echoes of it still reverberate today, driving much of the opposition to the civil rights movement.
Fast forward to the 1890s, and we see something remarkably familiar. Yellow journalism, characterized by sensationalism and manipulated facts, emerged from the circulation war between Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World and William Randolph Hearst’s New York Journal. These papers used exaggerated headlines, unverified claims, faked interviews, misleading headlines, and pseudoscience to boost sales.
As early as 1898, a publication for the newspaper industry wrote that “the public is becoming heartily sick of fake news and fake extras”—sound familiar?
During the 20th-century propaganda states, typified by both fascist and communist regimes perfected source-based truth. The leader or the party defined reality, and disagreement was literally dangerous. In these systems, truth wasn’t debated—it was assigned.
What Makes Now Different?
While the psychological mechanisms and even the tactics aren’t new, several factors make our current moment distinct. The speed and scale of information spread is unprecedented. A false claim can circle the globe in hours. Studies show that people are bombarded by fake information online, leading the distinction between facts and fiction to become increasingly blurred as blogs, social media, and citizen journalism are awarded similar or greater credibility than other information sources.
We’re also experiencing a fragmentation of trusted authorities. Where once a handful of major newspapers and broadcast networks served as gatekeepers, now the fragmentation of centralized mass media gatekeepers has fundamentally altered information seeking, including ways of knowing, shared authorities, and trust in institutions.
So Are We in a Post-Truth Era?
Yes and no. The term “post-truth” captures something real about our current moment—the scale, speed, and sophistication of misinformation is unprecedented. But calling it “post-truth” suggests we’ve crossed some bright line into entirely new territory. I’d argue we’re not quite there—but we are navigating a world where truth is sometimes lost in the collision of ancient human tendencies and modern technology
The data clearly show that confirmation bias, motivated reasoning, and identity-protective cognition are real and powerful forces. Historical evidence demonstrates that propaganda, misinformation, and the choice of tribal loyalty over objective fact have been with us for millennia. What’s changed is our information ecosystem driven by the technology that allows false information to spread faster than ever, and the by the fragmentation of shared sources of authority that once helped create common ground.
Perhaps a better framing would be that we’re in an era of “turbo-charged tribal epistemology”—where our very human tendency to trust our tribe’s narrative over contradicting evidence has been supercharged by algorithms that feed us what we want to hear and isolate us from alternative perspectives. (I wish I could take credit for the term turbo-charged tribal epistemology. I really like it, but I read it somewhere, I just can’t remember where.)
The question isn’t really whether we’re in a post-truth society. The question is whether we can develop the individual and collective skills to navigate an information environment that exploits every cognitive bias we have. The environment has changed, but the task remains the same: finding ways to establish shared facts despite our deep-seated tendency to believe what we want to believe.
Sources:
- Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2016: https://languages.oup.com/word-of-the-year/2016/
- Wikipedia article on confirmation bias: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confirmation_bias
- Political Studies Association on post-truth: https://www.psa.ac.uk/psa/news/post-truth-its-meaning-and-implications-democracy
- History Guild on propaganda throughout history: https://historyguild.org/fake-news-misinformation-and-propaganda-throughout-history/
- Digital Public Library of America on yellow journalism: https://dp.la/primary-source-sets/fake-news-in-the-1890s-yellow-journalism
“86” — A Little Number With a Big History
By John Turley
On May 2, 2026
In Commentary
Fifty some years ago when I was in the Marines, we used the term “86” to refer to something that should be ignored or discarded—in the colorful vernacular of the Corps, “shit canned”. That’s trashed to you civilians. The Marines have never been known as a peaceable lot and we had many colorful euphemisms for doing grievous bodily harm, but “86” was never among them.
So why is “86” suddenly everywhere in the news? Blame James Comey. The former FBI Director posted a beach photo on Instagram showing seashells arranged to spell out “86 47” — and the internet promptly exploded. Republicans argued it was a death threat against the 47th president. Comey said it simply meant he wanted Trump removed from office. That dispute has brought a piece of century-old American slang back into the spotlight, so it’s worth taking a look at what the term means and where it came from.
The Short Answer
Eighty-six is slang meaning “to throw out,” “to get rid of,” or “to refuse service to.” It most likely comes from 1930s soda-counter slang meaning that an item was sold out. This was part of a broader diner code that included: 13 “the boss is around,” 81 “glass of water,” and 95 “customer left without paying”. Over the decades it evolved from a kitchen noun into a verb with broader reach, and today it shows up everywhere from restaurant kitchens to Twitter and now worldwide headlines.
The Longer Answer
Here’s the honest answer: nobody knows for certain. Its etymology is unknown, but it seems to have been coined in the 1920s or 1930s. There are many theories about its origin — one article enumerates 18 possibilities, and another suggests there are “about 86 theories about 86.”
While the leading contender is the mundane diner option, there are several other more or less plausible and frequently more colorful options.
The most linguistically grounded explanation is that “86” is simply rhyming slang. The most common theory is that it is rhyming slang for “nix.” That’s the same “nix” meaning to reject or say no.
One of the more colorful stories involves a Prohibition-era speakeasy. Chumley’s, a bar with multiple entrances including one at 86 Bedford Street in New York. The story goes that the bar was supposedly warned by police before raids. Customers were told to “86 it” — meaning leave through the Bedford Street exit while cops came through the other door. It’s a great story, and if it’s not true it should be.
How It Evolved
First appearing in the early 1930s as a noun, it did not take long for the word to broaden its use beyond the realm of the soda counter. In the 1950s the word underwent some functional shift and began to be used as a verb — initially meaning “to refuse to serve a customer,” and later taking on the slightly extended meaning of “to get rid of; to throw out.”
It was quickly adopted and members of the military services who love slang, shortcuts, and inside terminology. It may just be a coincidence that Article 86 of the U.S. Uniform Code of Military Justice concerns Absence Without Leave, or AWOL.
By the 1970s it had moved well beyond the restaurant world. In the 1972 film The Candidate, a media adviser says to Robert Redford’s character, “OK, now, for starters, we got to cut your hair and eighty-six the sideburns.”
Where It Stands Today
These days, people use “86” when they cancel plans, dump something, or boot someone from a chat. Social media picked it up — Twitter and TikTok users will “86 a trend” or “86 a person” in a heartbeat.
In professional kitchens and bars, it remains “everyday lingo” — one hospitality industry veteran called it “probably the most overused word in hospitality.”
The Comey controversy also resurrected an older, arcane, and darker shade of the term. According to Cassell’s Dictionary of Slang, “to 86” can alternatively mean “to kill, to murder; to execute judicially.” That said, Merriam-Webster notes this use is infrequent, and they do not include this sense due to its relative recency and sparseness of use.
The bottom line is that “86” is one of those wonderfully slippery pieces of American slang that started in a noisy kitchen, picked up mythology along the way, and is now flexible enough to mean anything from “we’re out of the salmon” to a loaded political statement — depending entirely on who’s using it and who’s listening.
Or, perhaps this entire tempest is just the response of one thin skinned man to his pathologic fear of seashells.