Author: Zach S.

There’s no denying the influence of media in politics. But it can be easy to forget how dramatically its role has shifted in the past few decades.

In the election of 2000, the media was complicit in the chaos that grew out of the uncertain, and subsequently contested, vote count. Ultimately, mistakes by the media contributed to a large swath of the electorate perceiving the outcome to be illegitimate.

The scope of media has grown exponentially since 2000, and the landscape is far more fractured, which raises concerns about what influence it will have on the likely contestation of the 2024 election outcome. The 2020 election offered a glimpse of what’s at stake, revealing the pace at which misinformation spreads and undermines trust. It’s likely 2024 will only be worse.

2000: Media missteps bring electoral chaos

With the 2000 election coming down to a mere few hundred votes in Florida, the role of the media was central in how the nation understood — and misunderstood — the election results. On Election Night, major news networks called Florida for Al Gore early in the evening, only to retract their projections hours later. Then, some networks declared George W. Bush the winner, another premature call that led to confusion that persisted for weeks. 

The media was a mess. The back-and-forth in reporting fueled the sense of chaos. As the nation watched, the contested results became the focal point of a legal battle that ended with the Supreme Court’s decision in Bush v. Gore. By making early calls that turned out to be incorrect, outlets inadvertently gave each side a justifiable claim that the election had been decided — first in favor of Gore, then Bush.

News organizations, all with a certain degree of bias and slant, were not merely passive observers and reporters of the facts of the unfolding recount. Rather, they had to make consequential decisions about which narratives, theories, and legal arguments to platform. These decisions about what to report and what to leave out were formative in shaping the public’s perception of whether Bush or Gore were more deserving of having their argument win out in the judicial sphere.

2024: A fractured, distrusted media landscape

Things look different in 2024. The traditional gatekeepers of news that were integral in 2000 — the CNNs of the world — are still major players, but they now compete for attention with social media, alternative news sites, podcasts, and political influencers. If 2020 taught us anything, it is that this fragmentation of media makes it far harder to establish a consensus on election results. And harder yet to contain narratives that seek to undermine them.

If the 2000 election was contested because of confusion sown by misreporting, the potential for the 2024 election to be contested lies in something more dangerous: the intentional misrepresentation of facts. 

In 2020, we witnessed how quickly false claims of election fraud spread online, particularly via social media. And it wasn’t just fringe websites and influencers — it was mainstream conservative outlets. Fox News ended up being on the hook for more than $750 million in damages as a result of its knowing lies about the integrity of voting machines. By the time the dust settled, millions of Americans doubted the legitimacy of the election. In fact, in many ways, the dust has yet to settle, as JD Vance was asked just this week in the vice-presidential debate about whether he believes President Biden won the 2020 election. The continued belief in claims that originated on social media reveal that online rhetoric is not only pervasive but also convincing.

Amplifying discontent, disinformation

What’s particularly concerning is that in 2024, the media isn’t just reporting on election controversies. It’s amplifying them. In 2000, major news outlets were intent on getting it right, correcting themselves when they made mistakes and attempting to refocus the public narrative when misinformation flared up. But today’s fractured media environment allows competing stories to go largely unchecked. If one side contests the results of the 2024 election, there will be an endless supply of platforms willing to amplify that message, regardless of its factual accuracy.

I think it’s a worthy thought experiment to imagine if the 2000 election happened today. It wouldn’t just be a few miscalls by networks. It would be a deluge of misinformation. Conspiracy theories about the recount. Claims of a “rigged” election or voter fraud. Potential corruption and violence as the recounts took place. “Stop the Steal” part two would be initiated. It would spread like wildfire on social media, and there would be little hope of combatting the lies. 

I have a difficult time believing that anyone would have trust in the election system if the 2000 election occurred in our current media landscape. Ultimately, I don’t think it is a stretch to say that as soon as trust in the electoral system is lost, the perceived legitimacy of the president is not far behind. 

Looking at election day just a month away, the question is not just whether the results will be contested, but how the media will shape that contestation. If the election is close, or perhaps even if it’s not, we will see competing narratives from the start. Even though mainstream outlets will likely focus on facts and legal proceedings, they will simultaneously be battling alternative media pushing more sensational narratives.

In 2000, it was misreporting by trusted sources that led to confusion. In 2024, the problem may be far worse — not the result of a mistake, but because the media landscape is designed to amplify contestation. When every news site, influencer, and social media user can present their version of events, the ability to establish a shared reality erodes. The more it erodes, the more real democracy’s collapse becomes.

We all know how the old fable goes. The shepherd boy cries for the villagers, claiming his flock of sheep is under attack by a wolf. Each time, the villagers rush to defend his flock. And each time, it turns out the boy is lying about the wolf. When a wolf finally attacks the boy’s herd and he cries for help, the villagers assume he is lying. The sheep die a merciless death.

Now, this fable may not map plainly onto claims of election fraud, but the moral may help us understand the threat they pose.

The elections of 1876 and 2020 are frequently compared in discussions of contested election results. But comparing the two paints a misleading picture. In 1876, the election was undeniably rigged, as Shiela Blackford explains, in the form of stuffed ballot boxes, tricking voters, and blatant intimidation tactics. The use of these tactics led to a justified challenge of the results.

In 2020, no comparable corruption was found. Yet Donald Trump challenged the results anyways.

By most accounts, the 1876 election between Rutherford B. Hayes and Samuel J. Tilden was a chaotic mess of genuine electoral fraud. Tilden won the popular vote, but only because of rampant voter manipulation in key Southern states, as Michael Fitzgerald and Mark Bohnhorst detail. Ballots were stuffed. Illiterate voters were deceived. Violence was used to keep Black voters away from the polls. The contested results in Florida, South Carolina, and Louisiana were far from hearsay — they were based on documented fraud. 

Hayes cried fraud, and as it turns out, he was telling the truth. The villagers, in the form of the Election Commission, stepped in to defend the country from the voter fraud, delivering Hayes his rightful victory.

Fast forward to 2020. Despite a pile of allegations, there was no credible evidence of widespread voter fraud. Every lawsuit alleging rigged voting machines or fake ballots was thrown out, often with judges — including Trump appointees — pointing to a clear lack of proof behind any of Trump’s claims. But the myth persists, and Trump and his supporters only double down on the claim.

This is where the real danger lies. In 1876, challenging the results was a legitimate response to a rigged election. In 2020, it was a reaction to unfounded conspiracy theories. 

Because the claims of voter fraud were real in 1876, it made Trump’s claims seem — at least to some — like they could have legitimacy. After all, we are told that history is bound to repeat itself. Why not in the form of another fraudulent election?

As it turns out, though, Trump was just a boy to cry wolf, alleging voter fraud and riling up voters against a contrived threat. But while Trump cried wolf and “villagers” swarmed to verify or disprove his claims, the real issue of voter suppression continues to be ignored. Voter suppression tactics continue to quietly disenfranchise voters across the country. Laws are restricting access to the polls for millions of Americans, disproportionately harming marginalized groups, yet the national conversation remains fixated on debunked fraud theories.

False claims of voter fraud aren’t just distractions — they’re dangerous. They erode the foundation of democratic participation, making it harder to address the real problems. If we want to strengthen our elections, we need to strengthen voting access. That’s the lesson we should take away from 2020, not that it was anything like 1876.

A woman receives a sticker from an election worker after submitting her ballot. (Photo by Zach S.)

America currently faces an existential question about race that is eerily similar to the question that drove it to civil war: Will race — and with it, racism — define our politics? The answer, in the form of which candidate prevails in November, will likely determine the trajectory of race in politics. But the foreboding lesson of 1860 is that even when the more unifying candidate wins, the country can fracture.

There are meaningful parallels to draw between the upcoming election and the election of 1860, many of which offer bleak warnings about the harms of political division. The election of 1860 was one of the most formative in American history, a flashpoint in the nation’s struggle with slavery, state sovereignty, and national identity. It was also the election that catalyzed secession and civil war. While the fundamental issues of today have shifted in tone, the underlying dynamics of fear-mongering, racial resentment, and existential questions about national identity are still driving the upcoming election, much like they did in 1860.

The Return of Existential Questions on Race

In 1860, the question of slavery — both its expansion and its moral status — dominated national discourse. The South’s economic system was deeply tied to slavery, and as historian Michael Burlingame details, many white Southerners believed their livelihoods were under threat from Northern abolitionist forces. In turn, Abraham Lincoln, who opposed the expansion of slavery, was considered an existential threat to the South, and his election contributed to the secessionist movement that sparked the Civil War.

In 2024, America is again caught up in existential questions about race, though the focus has shifted. Racial resentment has returned to the forefront of political discourse, fueled by debates over immigration, diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) programs, and the legacy of systemic racism. Modern Republicans, in a manner that mirrors pro-slavery forces of the 1860s, are increasingly framing these issues as threats to the nation’s identity.

Just as the South believed the abolition of slavery would destroy their way of life, many modern conservatives fear increasing racial diversity will upend the fabric of America. In this way, both elections involved exaggerated fears about race that reveal deeper anxieties about societal transformation.

Divisive Rhetoric and Fear-Mongering

According to most accounts, the campaign cycle leading up to the 2024 election has been particularly ugly. Candidates are name-calling. Lying. Belittling. You name it. Donald Trump proved in 2016 that the costs of negative campaigning may not be as steep as previously thought, and both candidates seem to be taking that finding to heart in their recent campaign approaches. Similar to 1860, fear-mongering by candidates has dramatically shaped the political landscape. In 1860, pro-slavery politicians in the South argued that the election of Lincoln would lead to the abolition of slavery and economic collapse. This fear-mongering — backed more by rhetoric than evidence — created a mentality among many white Southerners that their survival depended on breaking from the Union. As historian Adam Smith argues, it didn’t matter that Lincoln had only promised to halt the spread of slavery, not abolish it outright; the perception of threat was enough to fracture the country.

Similar patterns are emerging in 2024. Republican politicians frequently invoke the dangers of immigration and DEI as existential threats to the American way of life. We’re made to believe our country is being flooded by dangerous immigrants who are taking jobs, committing crimes, and threatening national security. All the while, DEI initiatives are portrayed as radical policies that undermine American values by enforcing “woke” ideologies that divide the nation. If you believe in diversity, you may be labeled as unpatriotic. When anti-immigration candidates win, the election may be deemed rigged.

Yet the evidence simply isn’t there. These modern concerns about race are built on exaggerated claims rather than genuine evidence, just as was the case in 1860. In fact, the evidence says the opposite. Immigration is beneficial to the economy and cultural awareness. DEI does reduce racial inequalities. Despite this, it’s the rhetoric that matters — the rhetoric continues to fan the flames of fear, widening the polarization crack that seems closer to becoming a chasm every day.

Ballot officials open mail-in ballots. (Photo by Zach S.)

Where do we go from here?

The election of 1860 ultimately led to the Civil War — the bloodiest conflict in American history. Deep divisions over slavery proved too great to be settled through political means, and violence grew out of this division. There has been no clearer example of the danger of fear and resentment.

So what makes 2024 any different? You would be hard pressed to find a historian who thinks a comparable civil war is on the horizon, but the potential for societal fracture is real. Political violence is not a thing of the past, as the recent assassination attempts on Trump and attack on Paul Pelosi reveal. The January 6th insurrection at the Capitol is another reminder that the effects of increasing polarization can cause bloodshed. As in 1860, fear-based narratives around race and identity — if left unchecked — could lead to a crisis point where political solutions are no longer viable.

The onus for change likely falls on a number of entities. For one, it is the candidates themselves. They have the attention and therefore set the talking points. But it is also the political parties that prop up the candidates and determine who is given a platform. It’s also the media, and the platform they choose to provide or take away based on the veracity of claims. Ultimately, though, in our enduring democratic country, the power resides in voters. Until a true unity candidate climbs the ranks, it seems likely the country will continue to teeter on the brink of fracture. And if history tells us anything, the hard part is not the fracture. It is the recovery.

If you have felt like the 2024 election has been light on policy, you are not alone in your thinking. 

As election day creeps closer, news articles are emphasizing the lack of clear policy positions as voters try to nail down where candidates stand. Nowhere has the lack of clear policy been more apparent than at the presidential debate on Tuesday, Sept. 10. Kamala Harris and Donald Trump traded pointed remarks and personal attacks, but little time was spent articulating the details of their agendas. When asked about his plan to replace the Affordable Care Act, Trump simply stated that he has “the concepts of a plan,” but he could not name the specific elements he will include. When Harris was asked to explain her vision for improving the economy, she struggled to point to specific policy changes she would implement to reduce the effects of inflation. 

For policy nerds — and frankly, anyone who pays attention to politics — the general devaluing of policy debates, replaced instead by personality politics, is alarming. After all, what is the role of the president if not to enact policy? 

Jimmy Kimmel summed it up nicely during his post-debate monologue on Sept. 10: “Who are we kidding, this election isn’t about the issues.” He’s not wrong. A 2023 study by Filipe Falcão et al. found political outcomes are most influenced by voters’ personality traits and the way they perceive the personality traits of the candidates. Policy often takes a backseat. But why is that? Why has it seemed policy plays an insubstantial role in presidential campaign strategy and election outcomes? 

Part of the answer may come from elections 200 years ago. The presidential elections of 1824 and 1828 mark pivotal moments that deeply influenced modern electoral dynamics. These elections, and the “Corrupt Bargain” claim that led to Andrew Jackson’s rise, paved the way for a style of campaigning that is reflected in modern politics. 

As William Nester reveals in his book on Jackson, the personality-driven politics, populism, and politics of grievance that we see overshadowing substantive policy discussions today grew out of this early 19th-century period. In many ways, these elections set the stage for modern presidential campaigns, characterized by emotional appeals and personal grievances drowning out detailed policy platforms.

After the election of 1824 was decided by the House of Representatives, where Speaker of the House Henry Clay played a consequential role in rallying support for John Quincy Adams, the nature of presidential elections shifted. Although historian Donald Ratcliffe has called into question whether Jackson truly won the popular vote in 1824, the frequent reality in politics, as this case reflects, is that constructed narratives matter more than objective truth. Jackson crafted a rhetoric around the perceived unfairness of the election result; he attacked the elitist, career politician mindset officials in Washington often hold and played up his toughness, military experience, and anti-establishment attitude. Regardless of whether Jackson actually won the popular vote in 1824, his ability to campaign on this narrative heading into the 1828 election, a tactic that had not previously been attempted to this degree, proved majorly effective. 

The 1828 election between Jackson and Adams was, by many accounts, an “ugly” election, with personal attacks becoming standard. Supporters of Adams threw accusations of adultery at Jackson, while Jackson supporters claimed Adams was only a successful diplomat because he procured women for officials of other countries. But while Jackson kept up the flamethrowing, Adams backed down. His refusal to play the dirty game likely contributed to his landslide loss to Jackson in 1828. This victory, in turn, only gave subsequent candidates more reason to attempt the objectionable strategy centered on personal grievances.

Supporters watch as former President Donald J. Trump walks onto the stage at a rally in Indianola, Iowa on Jan. 14, 2024. (Photo by Zach S.)

The parallels between Andrew Jackson’s rise to power in 1828 and Donald Trump’s campaign in 2016 are striking. Both men capitalized on a wave of populist sentiment that viewed the political establishment as corrupt and out of touch with the concerns of average citizens. Similar to Jackson, Trump ran on a platform that emphasized his outsider status as he railed against “the elites,” offering a brand of politics based on grievance rather than nuanced policy proposals. All the while, truth was secondary. What mattered was not the accuracy of the narrative but simply whether it landed with voters.

Ultimately, a well-crafted personal narrative that resonates with voters, making them feel seen and represented by someone who claims to understand them, often seems to be a more effective electoral approach than appealing directly to voters’ stances on substantive issues. As Americans become increasingly disillusioned with the political system, it seems likely that campaigns will remain intentionally light on policy, instead opting to appeal to the personality traits voters find most desirable in a candidate — traits that take priority over policy.