■ Few stories illustrate the complex psychological power of information in the digital age more vividly than the recent public spectacle surrounding the Royal Commission into Aotearoa New Zealand’s Covid-19 response, writes Dr Mawera Karetai

We were bombarded with mis-stated fact, as right-wing coalition parties and commentators launched a barrage of criticism at former Labour ministers, accusing them of dodging accountability by not attending a proposed public hearing.

The former ministers asserted that they had already provided extensive private evidence and that a public repeat would be “performative rather than informative”, a position that was supported by the Commission, itself.

Media cycles churned as condemnation and counterclaims erupted, leaving the public caught in a familiar, almost compulsive drama.

We watched accusations fly in real time, most of us knowing the facts were more nuanced, yet, feeling powerless to halt the spread of outrage and misinformation.

This unfolding controversy, and the persistent sense of helpless voyeurism it provokes, perfectly embodies the psychological tug-of-war inherent to our information-saturated era.

We have a problem.

In the digital age, information has become one of the most powerful tools shaping our collective and individual psychology.

The easy availability of new information means we are constantly submerged in an unending stream of updates, controversies, and breaking news.

Whether curated by algorithms or chosen by mass appeal, this information is rarely neutral; it is weaponised, contextualised, or amplified for political, social, or economic gain.

The effect is transformative and kind of terrifying.

Information no longer simply communicates facts or news; it drives narratives, shapes perceptions, and manipulates emotions.

The real-world impact of this information onslaught is profound.

Many of us find ourselves stuck in cycles of relentless information consumption, particularly when dramatic or controversial events unfold.

The sensation is often likened to watching a slow-motion train wreck: a drama that is simultaneously horrifying and captivating.

While we are aware that our time and emotional energy are being drained, we may not be aware that the spectacle is as likely to breed cynicism or despair as it does insight.

Turning away feels difficult. This cycle taps into deeply rooted psychological mechanisms.

Our brains are evolutionarily primed to attend to potential threats or high-stakes situations, making it almost impossible to disengage from the story, even as it causes discomfort or distress.

Psychologists describe this phenomenon in several ways: Information overload, a condition where cognitive capacity is overwhelmed by excessive input, leads to stress, impaired decision-making, and anxiety.

Doomscrolling, which is compulsive consumption of negative news, feeds a sense of helplessness and detachment, yet, it lures us back as we seek understanding or closure.

The “slow-motion” feeling is more than metaphor; facing overwhelming streams of traumatic or contentious information, the mind sometimes distorts the perception of time, forcing us to mentally relive and re-examine distressing scenes.

Over time, repeated exposure to emotionally charged information can result in vicarious trauma, desensitisation, or learned helplessness. It is especially concerning when we consider that it is the lived experience of our children, too.

This dynamic is particularly evident in contemporary political or societal controversies.

Consider recent instances where public figures or groups are subjected to rapid-fire cycles of condemnation and defence (as we have seen with the recent Covid Royal Commission), a “media storm” that accelerates with every new social post or breaking headline.

Viewers may be aware that facts are distorted, that narratives are tailored to specific agendas, and that ultimate resolutions are slow or illusory. Yet, the urge to keep watching, analysing, and reacting persists, fuelled by both anxiety and hope for clarity or justice.

Yet, we are not powerless in the face of information’s psychological effects.

Developing media literacy, being able to critically assess sources, understand underlying motivations, and managing our emotional responses, is increasingly vital.

Consciously choosing the information we consume, setting boundaries, and embracing deliberate periods of “digital detox” can safeguard mental health.

Ultimately, recognising the power of information and our psychological reactions to it gives us the agency to step back, reflect, and foster resilience even amidst inevitable digital information storms.

Information is not a passive reflection of reality. It is an active force that can nurture insight or breed anxiety, connect or divide, inform or manipulate.

The sense of watching a slow-motion train wreck, unable to look away, is a testament to both the allure and peril of our hyper-connected information landscape, and worryingly, the determination of unknown parties to draw us into their narrative, for their own gain.

Understanding this dynamic is the first step toward reclaiming a measure of control for ourselves and our communities, in an era defined by the power of information.

As we navigate these complex times, I regularly remind myself of this quote from Andrew Lewis (2010): “If you’re not paying for it, you’re not the customer; you’re the product being sold.”