Ne devenez pas le relais involontaire d’une intox

A visually arresting image, coupled with furious politicians and the word ‘faking’ are often enough to trigger sharing. On social networks, a publication can appear credible simply because it confirms a personal conviction. An anxiety-inducing image, aggressive colors, and an accusatory title quickly create an impression of evidence. A recent example circulating among my contacts involves a purported article alleging ‘election rigging,’ a US report, the ‘fall of Europe,’ and a supposed significant investigation. However, closer examination reveals a very different story.

Instead of a specialized election reporting publication, the linked site is a blog entirely powered by artificial intelligence. The pseudo-articles, illustrations, and topics published primarily revolve around video games, AI, and various geekery. Nothing, at first glance, suggests a publication specializing in elections, European institutions, or political intelligence. The site claims to be based in Vietnam.

This simple verification doesn’t yet demonstrate a disinformation operation. However, it provides a crucial first signal: the spectacular publication shared on social networks doesn’t appear to originate naturally from the editorial universe visible on the main domain.

Following this, I examine the complete address used in the social media publication. Logically, I would expect to find a section of the same blog dedicated to technology. This is not what appears.

The subdomain redirects to another blog, hosted on the same infrastructure and named ‘Blog Bio.’ Its content is primarily written in Slovak, clearly not related to biological products. Other publications from this blog within the blog appear in this language. An exception immediately catches the eye: the French article concerning the alleged electoral scandal.

The graphic setting remains faithful to the previous logic. Among the illustrations, an official displays a worried expression. Another appears particularly enraged, extremely enraged even. Dominating, seemingly dominating ‘the adversary.’ The images are expressive enough to tell a story before any careful reading of the text.

This is precisely where the problem begins. Disliking Emmanuel Macron, Ursula von der Leyen, or any political figure is a perfectly legitimate choice. Criticizing their decisions is equally valid. However, this doesn’t obligate anyone to abandon basic verification reflexes before spreading a serious accusation. Content that corresponds to what we think is not automatically true. An impressive photograph is not proof. A large title is not an investigation. A vague reference to a ‘US report’ doesn’t replace the identification of the document, its author, its date and its actual content.

A few seconds of attention can also prevent more unpleasant consequences. Platforms monitor misleading content and can sanction certain behaviors of dissemination. Your contacts may also eventually consider your publications with growing distrust.

More importantly, every share contributes to the circulation of the message. In the logic of digital influence, this mechanism constitutes a valuable resource. An operation doesn’t always need to convince everyone. It may be enough to push enough ordinary users to relay a narrative, an image or an accusation freely.

Essentially, your political opinion belongs to you. Your click, however, can become a tool in a dissemination chain that you have never consciously chosen.

Keep your anger, your humor and your convictions. Keep your curiosity. Before becoming, at the cost of clicks, a ‘propaganda alien’ transformed into a clicking agent for an actor who may not appreciate your country, simply look at who publishes, where the link leads and what is hidden behind the setting.

In cyber intelligence, the first barrier against an influence operation is often a very simple gesture: check before sharing.

And then comes the final act.

The same disseminator suddenly changes register. After the alarming images, the accusations and the charge narrative, he now invites his readers to ‘vote.’

The proposal seems almost playful.

To say no, click the blue thumb.

To say yes, send a heart.

Simple. Fast. Almost innocent.

Except that, in both cases, you are doing exactly what the publication expects: you are interacting with it.

Regardless of your response. Just like the xenomorph from Alien, it waits before laying eggs in you, the fatal click. Blue thumb or heart, refusal or approval, anger or adhesion, your click becomes a signal sent to the platform. The publication gains activity, its author visibility, and the blog it redirects can benefit from this mechanism.

That’s where the scene completely changes.

You thought you were taking a survey.

You thought you were expressing an opinion.

You might even have been thinking of contradicting the author.

In reality, your disagreement as your support produce the same technical effect: they nourish engagement around the post.

The device is clever, because it transforms every reaction into fuel.

The reader believes they are choosing between ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ The platform, on the other hand, sees only an interaction.

And as more interactions accumulate, the publication can hope to circulate, appear in other threads, attract new curious and generate new clicks.

At that moment, the image almost takes on the appearance of a final scene.

Somewhere, no one needs to convince you.

No one needs to agree with you.

It’s enough to click.

Once.

Then another.

And again another.

The mechanism doesn’t ask for your loyalty. It only demands your attention.

Perhaps that’s what’s most interesting in the logic of digital influence: sometimes, the best relay is not the one who believes in the message.

It’s the one who reacts.

The curtain falls on the final irony.

You thought you were going to vote against.

You might just have been helping the publication gain.