In early October, Hurricane Helene became the deadliest Atlantic hurricane to strike the mainland U.S. since Katrina in 2005. Millions of people from Florida to Appalachia were profoundly affected by the storm, including people residing in the mountains of Western North Carolina (WNC), where I happened to be visiting my parents.
The storm knocked out all communications in WNC, leading to confusion where rumors spread like wildfire. In the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Helene, I saw firsthand the unique challenges of sharing and verifying information in a disaster.
Helene created a communications blackout across WNC. Cell towers were toppled, the Internet was down, and flooded mountain roads severed towns and even local neighborhoods from each other. This isolation, almost unimaginable in today’s seamlessly connected world, meant there was no way to verify what we were hearing about the broader damage. In our little corner of WNC, we had only word of mouth, and the little information we had only extended to where roads were blocked off by landslides and fallen trees, or cut off by washed-out bridges.
In our little corner of WNC, we had only word of mouth.
In our small rural community, we could barely connect with neighbors or family, let alone understand the bigger picture of how the storm had affected the rest of North Carolina or neighboring states like Tennessee.
For example, one of our neighbors had been injured during the storm, and his condition quickly became a flashpoint for an explosion of rumors. Over the course of a single day, I heard at least four different stories about his fate: that he was dead, recovering well, severely injured, or had been airlifted to safety. (For those wondering, I’m relieved to say he’s okay now.)
Within twenty-four hours of the storm, our community realized we needed a system to try to organize and rank the credibility of what word-of-mouth we were all hearing. In daily meetings, the one hundred or so residents of our “cove” or neighborhood, cut off by a washed-out bridge, created an impromptu “information board” on a whiteboard in a barn. A common place for everyone to share their intel and label its level of credibility, our information board wasn’t foolproof, but still was a good way to keep track of what we did and didn’t know.
We developed four levels of credibility:
Level 1 – “I saw it with my own eyes.” The highest level of credibility, based on firsthand knowledge and experience.
Level 2 – “I heard it from someone who saw it.” Reliable, but second hand.
Level 3 – “I heard it from someone who heard it.” The classic “telephone game,” third hand.
Level 3+ – Beyond thirdhand, where rumors really start to stretch thin.
When there was conflicting information, a Level 1 sighting would usually cancel out anything at Level 2 or lower. This community-driven verification system helped us piece together a more accurate understanding of what was happening.
By the end of October, with Internet and cell service starting to gradually return, determining information credibility about what’s happening in WNC has actually become a double-edged sword. We can finally connect with family more easily and get real-time updates, but the return of connectivity has also released a flood of new, often conflicting information.
Social media has also added more complexity to our community’s credibility ranking system — if someone reads a rumor on a reputable news site, is that a Level 2? If something has gone viral but lacks a solid source, does it fall to a 3+?
While essential for organizing community response efforts, like supply drops and rescue coordination, social media has also intensified the spread of unverified information. When things feel dire, we’re more likely to give in to a sense of impending doom and believe the worst of what we hear — and maybe even spread some unverified information ourselves. I found myself falling for several rumors in the immediate aftermath (although I was careful to only repeat things that I considered a level 2 or above).
As a result, I have no patience for political and media personalities amplifying or even generating rumors about WNC from afar. The situation on the ground is scary enough without pundits, commentators, or others wholly unfamiliar with local conditions adding fuel to the fire.
On the other hand, I do have a lot of empathy for folks who live in WNC spreading or repeating unverified information. Our reality in WNC had been flipped on its head, so it’s much more difficult to reality-check stories that we would have once found unrealistic.
For accurate news about the situation in WNC, I’ve found that local news sources are the most reliable and up to date. Blue Ridge Public Radio has been an especially good source for up-to-date information and rumor control.
