As the first Covid-19 vaccines prepared to reach the public in late 2020, researchers in Dublin surfaced a quiet irony: the very success of modern medicine had left younger generations without the lived memory of the diseases it once conquered, making them more susceptible to doubt. At a Health Research Board conference, scholars warned that young people's lower perceived risk and lighter engagement with pandemic news left them poorly equipped to distinguish false claims from true ones. The challenge ahead was not merely logistical — it was a matter of rebuilding, from scratch, a sense of coll
Young people more susceptible to Covid disinformation, vaccine hesitancy
Vaccines are a victim of their own success
Why would young people be less equipped to spot false claims about Covid if they're digital natives, more online than anyone?
Because being online doesn't mean you're paying attention to the right things. If you think you're not at risk, you're not following the news closely. You see a false claim and you have no context to reject it—no accumulated knowledge of what's actually true.
So it's not that they're gullible. It's that they're not invested.
Exactly. And that's almost harder to fix. You can correct a false claim. But how do you make someone care about a threat they've never experienced?
That's where the vaccine hesitancy comes in. They've never seen measles or polio.
Right. Their grandparents remember children in iron lungs. Young people remember nothing. Vaccines worked so well that the diseases disappeared—and now the vaccine itself seems unnecessary.
So success becomes a liability.
Completely. The vaccine prevented the very fear that would motivate people to take it.
And then you add organized disinformation campaigns on top of that.
That's the real danger. It's not just noise. It's coordinated. People designing messages specifically to make people doubt vaccines or resist lockdowns. That requires a different kind of response than just fact-checking.
What does that response look like?
Speed, repetition, and explanation. You have to correct the false claim fast, keep correcting it, and help people understand why it's wrong—not just that it is.
O Pulso
- Young people are absorbing Covid misinformation at higher rates than older generations, not out of ideology, but because they feel less personally at risk and are paying less attention to pandemic news.
- Vaccines face a paradox of their own making — having eliminated polio, measles, and diphtheria from everyday life, they have also erased the fear that once made their necessity self-evident to younger generations.
- The digital information cycle is accelerating the crisis: unvetted studies rush to publication, news outlets amplify them before peer review, and false claims spread faster than the corrections that follow.
- Researchers draw a critical line between misinformation — falsehoods spread casually — and disinformation, which involves coordinated campaigns engineered to produce real-world disruption, demanding a sharper and more vigilant response.
- Evidence offers a narrow path forward: corrections work best when they are swift, repeated, and explain not just that a claim is wrong, but why — giving people the tools to recognize the error themselves.
As the first Covid-19 vaccines prepared to reach the public in late 2020, researchers in Dublin surfaced a quiet irony: the very success of modern medicine had left younger generations without the lived memory of the diseases it once conquered, making them more susceptible to doubt. At a Health Research Board conference, scholars warned that young people's lower perceived risk and lighter engagement with pandemic news left them poorly equipped to distinguish false claims from true ones. The challenge ahead was not merely logistical — it was a matter of rebuilding, from scratch, a sense of collective memory around threats that had been largely erased from living experience.
In late 2020, as Covid-19 vaccines prepared to roll out globally, a Health Research Board conference in Dublin surfaced a troubling pattern. Dr. Eileen Culloty of Dublin City University presented findings from American research showing that younger people were consuming false narratives about the virus at higher rates than their elders — not because of ideology, but because they perceived themselves as less vulnerable and were following pandemic news less closely. Without that context, misinformation reached them unopposed.
The hesitancy ran deeper than current events. Culloty identified what she called the paradox of vaccine success: younger generations had grown up in a world where polio, measles, and diphtheria had largely disappeared. Their parents and grandparents carried the memory of those diseases and the fear they inspired. Young people did not. Without that lived or cultural memory, vaccines felt less urgent — a solution to a problem they had never witnessed.
Mark Little, founder of the online verification company Storyful, offered a distinction that sharpened the stakes. Misinformation — false claims spread without deliberate intent — was one problem. Disinformation — organized campaigns engineered to produce specific outcomes, like protests against lockdowns — was another, requiring vigilance of a different order entirely. Meanwhile, the rush to publish Covid research before peer review was complete had widened the gap between what was scientifically established and what was being publicly claimed.
Yet researchers pointed to a workable path. Corrections could succeed when they were fast, repeated, and explanatory — not merely labelling a claim as false, but helping people understand the mechanism of the error. As the conference closed, the scale of the task was plain: a generation without memory of vaccine-preventable disease, navigating a digital landscape where falsehoods outpace corrections, would need to be persuaded of something their own experience had never taught them to fear. The vaccines were arriving. The harder work of building trust was only beginning.
In late 2020, as the first Covid-19 vaccines were preparing to roll out across the world, researchers gathered to discuss a troubling pattern: young people were more likely to believe false claims about the virus and more skeptical about vaccines themselves. The finding emerged at a Health Research Board conference in Dublin focused on trust in medical research, where Dr. Eileen Culloty of Dublin City University's Institute for Future Media and Journalism laid out what recent American studies had shown. Younger people, she explained, were consuming the false narratives at higher rates than their elders.
The reason, Culloty suggested, had less to do with ideology and more to do with perception of risk. Young people, believing themselves less vulnerable to severe Covid illness, were paying less attention to news coverage of the pandemic. When misinformation reached them, they lacked the context to recognize it as false. They had not been following the story closely enough to develop a sense of what was true. It was a problem of inattention as much as credulity.
But the vaccine hesitancy ran deeper still. Culloty identified what she called the paradox of vaccine success: younger generations had grown up in a world where the diseases vaccines prevented had largely vanished. Polio, measles, diphtheria—these were not threats they had witnessed or feared. Their parents and grandparents remembered these illnesses, remembered the fear. Young people did not. Without that lived memory or even cultural memory of what these diseases could do, vaccines seemed less urgent, less necessary. Why take something for a threat you had never seen?
The stakes were high. As 2021 approached, governments would need to vaccinate large portions of their populations to control the pandemic. If young people remained hesitant or skeptical, that goal would become harder to reach. The problem was not merely academic.
Mark Little, a former RTÉ journalist who had founded Storyful, a company dedicated to verifying online content, offered a distinction that mattered. There was misinformation—simply false things circulating on the internet, often spread without malicious intent. And then there was disinformation: organized campaigns designed to achieve specific real-world outcomes, like stoking protests against lockdowns. The latter required vigilance of a different order. It was not just about correcting facts; it was about recognizing coordinated manipulation.
Culloty noted that the digital age had created a particular vulnerability. Every new study now moved through a cycle: publication, distortion (often to serve some agenda), and correction. Covid-19 had accelerated this cycle dramatically. Research was being rushed to publication before peer review was complete. News outlets, eager for the latest findings, were amplifying studies that had not yet been vetted by the scientific community. The gap between what was known and what was being claimed had widened.
Yet there was a path forward. Research showed that corrections could work, especially if they were fast, repeated, and offered some explanation for why the false claim was wrong. The key was not just saying "that's false" but helping people understand the mechanism of the error. Speed mattered too. The longer a false claim circulated, the harder it became to dislodge.
As the conference concluded, the challenge was clear: a generation that had never known the diseases vaccines prevented, consuming information in a digital landscape where false claims spread faster than corrections, would need to be convinced of something their lived experience had not taught them to fear. The vaccines themselves were coming. The harder work—building trust—was just beginning.
Citações Notáveis
Younger people are far more likely to believe false claims than older people, partly because they perceive lower risk and haven't paid as much attention to news coverage— Dr. Eileen Culloty, Dublin City University
Disinformation—organized campaigns trying to promote real-world outcomes like protests against lockdown—requires heightened vigilance— Mark Little, founder of Storyful