In 1692, in a small Puritan settlement in Massachusetts, whispers of witchcraft erupted into chaos. It started with a few young girls in Salem Village– most famously Betty Parris, age nine, and her cousin Abigail Williams, age eleven – who began having violent fits. They screamed, contorted their bodies, threw things, and claimed to feel pinches and pricks from unseen forces. Local doctors, unable to find a medical explanation, declared the cause to be witchcraft.

Fear and suspicion spread rapidly and what started as a minor scare snowballed into a full-blown moral panic. Over 200 people were accused of witchcraft, and 20 were executed by hanging. Because witchcraft itself wasn’t real, these were not punishments for crimes, they were murders carried out by a community convinced of falsehood. Ordinary women and men lost their lives to hysteria, rumor, and baseless fear. Families were torn apart, livelihoods destroyed, and the town was left in a state of perpetual fear. The Salem witch trials are often remembered as a dark stain on American history, but they’re also an early case study on how fast information - or misinformation - can spread, and the devastating consequences it can have when left unchecked. 

Salem’s panic was fueled by a society structured to amplify rumor. Information spread through church sermons, gossip in homes and marketplaces, and the courts themselves, which accepted spectral evidence, or testimony that the spirit of a person had appeared in a dream or vision. If someone said they felt “bewitched,” that claim was often sufficient to accuse, try, and convict. Fear fueled belief and belief hardened into action. Without a system to fact check or challenge accusations, rumors became the truth. Lives were destroyed not by evidence, but by words that had no basis in reality. 

The mechanics of fearmongering, whether in Salem or online today, follow a hauntingly similar script. In 1692, a few dramatic claims spiraled into communal panic, fanned by ministers and courts that lent authority to rumor.

Today, influencers, politicians, and algorithms do the same: validating unverified claims, amplifying fear, and rewarding outrage with clicks and shares. Instead of 500 townspeople hearing whispers, millions of people can see a rumor in minutes. Fear spreads faster than fact, and institutions that should slow the panic often end up legitimizing it instead. The platforms may have changed, but the pattern is the same: fear magnified, reason silenced.

The human cost is what links Salem to now. For Salem, the accused were often women, the poor, or the socially isolated - people least able to defend themselves. Bridget Bishop was a tavern owner who defied social norms; Sarah Good was unhoused; Tituba, an enslaved woman of Caribbean and Native descent, had little power to defend herself.

Today, misinformation disproportionately harms communities of color, immigrants, queer people, and those without the resources to push back. Conspiracy theories about immigrants “stealing jobs” fuel anti-immigration laws and violence. Lies about LGBTQ+ people “grooming children” have led to book bans and physical attacks on queer communities. COVID-19 disinformation cost lives, with Black and Brown communities hit hardest. The throughline is chilling: misinformation doesn’t just mislead. It destroys.

There’s a lesson here that we keep refusing to learn. Humans crave simple answers to complex fears, whether it’s witches in 1692 or conspiracy theories in 2025. Without critical thinking, rumors mutate into “fact,” and fear becomes policy. Media literacy, skepticism, and slowing down to rush our judgement aren’t just nice ideas, they are survival tools. 

Critical thinking doesn’t mean doubting everything or sinking into cynicism. It means asking: Where is this information coming from? Who benefits if I believe it? Is there credible evidence? Media literacy isn’t about distrusting all media, either. It’s about recognizing the difference between a peer-reviewed study and a meme, between a journalist with accountability and a conspiracy influencer with none. Just as importantly, it’s not cherry-picking sources that only confirm what we already believe. It’s the disciple of slowing down, checking, and being willing to change our minds when the facts demand it. 

The Salem witch trials remind us that unchecked words can kill. If rumors in a town of 500 led to 20 executions, what could a viral post to 5 million do? History is not just behind us, it’s repeating in new forms every day. Salem shows us the danger of listening without questioning, of spreading without confirming, and of letting fear dictate the truth. We can’t afford to ignore that lesson.