The site of a destroyed bridge in the aftermath of catastrophic flooding caused by Hurricane Helene in Carter County, Tennessee on October 4. Photo / Loren Elliott / The New York Times
tIn the aftermath of Hurricane Helene’s devastation in western North Carolina, the public meeting in Rutherford County last Wednesday was essential business. Officials from several shellshocked communities convened to talk about the extensive damage and ongoing search-and-rescue efforts.
But within hours, a conspiracy theory took hold. The meeting, social media posts claimed, was a secret discussion about bulldozing, confiscating or even selling land for profit or to mine lithium.
“The only lithium for sale in Rutherford County is at the local Lowes stores in a 9-volt battery,” said Bryan King, chair of the county commission, who was at the meeting. The power of the conspiracy theory, he added, “is just disheartening.”
As thousands across the Southeast grieve the deaths and damage left by the Category 4 hurricane that made landfall on September 26, a torrent of conspiracy theories, rumours and lies threatens to undermine efforts to provide accurate information and crucial resources. Disinformation has been particularly rampant in Georgia and North Carolina, and the sheer number of falsehoods has alarmed officials and experts.
“I have been doing disaster work for nearly 20 years, and I cannot think of another acute disaster where there has been this much misinformation,” said Samantha Montano, an assistant professor of emergency management at the Massachusetts Maritime Academy.
While the hurricane plundered communities and killed more than 230 people across the Southeast, the epicentre of the damage runs through western North Carolina and eastern Tennessee. Over a week after Helene passed through, small mountain communities like Chimney Rock and Lake Lure in Rutherford County remain isolated in some way: left without water, electricity or reliable cell service, or stranded among collapsed roads.
Aaron Ellenburg, Rutherford County’s sheriff, has spent days refuting baseless claims about lithium sales or communities being bulldozed to cover up bodies left behind by the storm. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. “I’m sick and tired of this crap.”
Climate-related disinformation tends to surge after natural disasters, as it did last year after a string of heat waves, flooding and wildfires. False claims attribute such events to globalist hoaxes, arson and so-called energy weapons. They are often fuelled by AI-generated or outdated footage, or distorted reasoning from the oil-and-gas lobby, politicians and even foreign influence operatives.
The conspiracy theories and rumours on the social platform X after Helene tore through the Southeast have also been circulated and elevated by high-profile figures, including Elon Musk, who has pulled back on content moderation and repeatedly amplified disinformation to his millions of followers since he bought the social media platform. Representatives for X were not immediately available to comment.
Former President Donald Trump has also falsely claimed that disaster-relief funds were being diverted to house immigrants in the country without legal permission and suggested without evidence that Democrats were not eager to help conservative residents. (Some Republican governors have actually praised the Biden administration for its response.)
When asked about Trump’s role in spreading false claims, Karoline Leavitt, a spokesperson for Trump, reiterated the falsehood.
“Misinformation is a grave threat in the aftermath of a storm like Helene,” Governor Roy Cooper of North Carolina said in a statement, warning that it could be “deadly.”
The falsehoods have prompted pushback from lawmakers and officials from across the country. Mayor Glenn Jacobs of Knox County, Tennessee, said to his followers, “if everyone could maybe please put aside the hate for a bit and pitch in to help, that would be great.” And Kevin Corbin, a Republican state representative in North Carolina, pleaded on Facebook, “PLEASE help stop this junk.”
Much of the misinformation has been aimed at the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which was heavily criticized during Hurricane Katrina in 2005 for its leaders’ failures in emergency response.
Since then, the agency has brought on more experienced emergency managers, including its current administrator, Deanne Criswell, who used to lead New York City’s emergency management department. But its efforts to address racial disparities in aid programs and overhaul its disaster assistance programs have made FEMA a larger target for disinformation.
In recent days, FEMA has been forced to contend with claims that it is stealing donations, diverting disaster aid to Ukraine or refusing help from others, a falsehood Musk has spread.
But by Sunday, in North Carolina alone, there were more than 700 FEMA employees and over 1000 National Guard personnel, FEMA had approved $30 million in housing and other assistance, and nearly 1,400 people were housed in hotels through a FEMA program, according to officials.
In an interview with ABC on Sunday, Criswell called the disinformation “just plain false” and “truly dangerous.” She said it was “a shame that people are sitting home on their comfortable couches while we have thousands of people here on the ground that have left their own families to be able to help those in need.”
Criswell added that such rhetoric has created “fear in our own employees.” There have been calls for residents to form militias to defend against FEMA staff members, as well as antisemitic and misogynistic threats against them.
“Folks who just are begging for attention on their own or who want to sow seeds of chaos are, I don’t know how else to say it – they are the worst of us right now,” said Mayor Tim Futrelle of Boone, North Carolina.
The scope of misinformation has filtered down to local governments, a worrying trend that appeared during the height of the coronavirus pandemic. Local officials said it was dismaying not only to see resources diverted away from the emergency response to combat the falsehoods, but also to face contempt and mistrust in such small communities.
Many officials and volunteers say it has been painful to see their efforts discredited or questioned, often by people who may not have a direct connection to the area.
“It’s a challenging thing to read and see those social media posts,” said Aaron Aguirre, a Blackhawk pilot in the Tennessee National Guard. On Friday alone, he helped distribute about 4,500 pounds (2,041kg) of supplies over eastern Tennessee.
“Everyone’s here because they want to be, not because they have to be,” he added. “We are fully in this. We really want to be here.”
Some noted that the communications blackout from the storm, where residents went days without connecting to family, friends or the news, helped widen the void of information early in the recovery process. With many officials still managing rescue efforts, information can also quickly become outdated.
“The collective grief and disorientation of the aftermath is very real for everyone,” said Hannah Minick, 36, a therapist who on Saturday sat under an embroidered tent with a hand-drawn “here to listen” sign in Swannanoa, North Carolina.
All of these mobile homes were carried away by the Swannanoa River... I drove by after the floodwaters receded, and it broke me.
— Evan Fisher (@EFisherWX) October 6, 2024
📍 35.6024°N, 82.4074°W pic.twitter.com/BfSovY5liO
On the streets of Swannanoa, dozens of dusty and mud-covered vehicles carted cases of supplies. Helicopters were landing in the field next to a Harley-Davidson store. And multiple people said they knew help was coming from not only their neighbours and church groups, but also from agencies and people across the country.
“It feels good to know that people across the country are connected to us and are getting news about us,” said Nancy Benedict, 77, holding a giant baked pretzel steps from a line of food tents.
But, she and other residents said, the misinformation was a frustrating undercurrent to the stream of important information.
“It makes you really angry,” said Sherry Griffith, 71, a retired special education teacher. When she and her husband went to visit a friend who was isolated by the floods, she quickly shut down the friend’s worries that there was little aid trickling in, saying there was an abundance of support.
“I mean, look at this,” Griffith added, gesturing to the nearby workers setting up hoses to deliver fresh water to people. “Constantly.”
This article originally appeared in The New York Times
Written by: Emily Cochrane, Christopher Flavelle, Michael D. Shear and Tiffany Hsu
Photographs by: Loren Elliott, Haiyun Jiang
©2024 THE NEW YORK TIMES
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