Rachel Robertazzi-The Pandemic Behind the Pandemic

 

When the world essentially shut down in 2020, many of us instinctively flocked to social media, places like Facebook and YouTube, looking for answers, connection, and even a little distraction. Unfortunately, the same apps we used for comfort quickly turned into perfect breeding grounds for misinformation. A review by Ferreira Caceres et al. (2022) found that COVID-19 misinformation directly contributed to vaccine avoidance, mask refusal, and the use of unproven treatments, ultimately increasing illness and death worldwide. The researchers described this as an “infodemic", or an overabundance of false or misleading information that complicated public health efforts and deepened mistrust in science and government. When millions of people rely on social media as their primary source of information, this kind of distortion becomes not just a communications issue, but a public health crisis.

While my personal feed didn't showcase the worst of it, I definitely remember seeing countless comments under news articles pushing dangerous ideas like that the vaccine was a threat, how to detox from the vaccine if you are required to get it, home cures for COVID, etc. False content like that spreads like wildfire, often moving much faster than public health agencies can respond.

A large-scale Twitter study by Saha et al. (2023) found that people who shared COVID-19 misinformation experienced roughly twice the increase in anxiety as those who didn’t. The researchers describe a cycle where fear fuels the need for information—any information—and that urgency can make people more likely to believe or share false content. In moments of crisis, uncertainty feels unbearable, and misinformation can temporarily fill that void with the illusion of clarity. Much of this misinformation didn't come from bad actors; it came from ordinary people simply sharing what they believed would help. In that sense, the problem was as much social as it was technological. People often share falsehoods not because they want to deceive, but because they are trying to make sense of the world around them.

That raises an important question: what responsibility do platforms like Facebook and YouTube actually have for moderating dangerous misinformation? On one hand, these companies aren’t public institutions; they’re private businesses built on engagement, which means the more people react, comment, and share, the more profitable they become. Unfortunately, outrage and fear drive clicks far better than calm, factual updates. But when false information about vaccines, treatments, or public health spreads unchecked, it can cause real harm. At that point, it’s not just a matter of free speech—it’s a matter of public safety. I think these platforms do have a moral responsibility, if not a legal one, to step in when content has the potential to put lives at risk. Removing or labeling false claims isn’t censorship; it’s protecting people from misinformation that can literally be deadly.

For librarians and information professionals, this period was an actual turning point. Libraries became absolutely vital hubs for reliable health information, fighting the "infodemic" with curated online resources, virtual programs, and media-literacy workshops. The biggest lesson here isn't just about fact-checking; it's about empathy. Working at Sayville Library, I witnessed firsthand just how much our patrons relied on us for clarity and reassurance. When we first reopened in July 2020, the world was a changed place from when we left it in March 2020, and there was a lot of uncertainty and anxiety in the air. It felt like coming back to a post-apocalyptic world, honestly. The safety guidelines were constantly shifting, and our policies as to how long we quarantined returned items were continually changing based on new information. What I am trying to say here is that COVID made it clear that access to information isn't enough; people also need guidance and compassion when it comes to information.