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Rumour-peddling is one of the easiest things to condemn in a society—and for good reasons, too. It destroys reputations, spreads panic, deepens distrust, and sometimes leaves permanent damage long after the “truth” finally appears. I used to work in an environment that thrived on rumours, and I can tell how itchy people's ears are about matters or information, if you like, just for the sake of being in the know. That is a microcosm of our dear Nigeria, where rumours move with frightening speed. One WhatsApp broadcast, one tweet, one voice note from “a reliable source,” and suddenly, entire communities are reacting emotionally to information nobody has verified.
Yet, for all its dangers, there is one uncomfortable truth many people avoid discussing: rumours survive because they often emerge from environments where uncertainty, distrust, and social anxiety already exist. In other words, rumours are not always random fabrications floating in empty space. Sometimes, they become society’s unofficial response to informational gaps. Nevertheless, this does not make rumours morally right. But it does make them socially revealing. Psychologists Gordon Allport and Leo Postman, in their foundational work "The Psychology of Rumor", argued that rumours thrive under two major conditions: importance and ambiguity. Their famous formulation: Rumour = Importance × Ambiguity, remains one of the clearest explanations of why societies become vulnerable to speculation. When an issue matters deeply to people and reliable information is absent or unclear, rumours naturally flourish.
That formula explains our situation here (why rumours spread in Nigeria) almost perfectly. Fuel scarcity rumours spread because people have experienced scarcity before. Economic panic spreads because instability is already familiar. Political rumours gain traction because public trust in institutions is fragile. Even celebrity rumours spread rapidly because Nigerians have repeatedly witnessed situations where “unconfirmed reports” eventually became true. And that is where the conversation becomes intellectually uncomfortable. In many of our contexts, rumours are not treated merely as gossip; they are treated as possible early signals. Experience has conditioned people to think, “There may be something behind this'', "There may be an element of truth in this”. Hence, the phrase “there is no smoke without fire” did not emerge accidentally. It must have come from someone who lived in a society shaped by psychology through repeated exposure to delayed truths, half-truths, and institutional opacity like ours.
The recent conversations surrounding Alexx Ekubo illustrate this complexity. Before reports of his death emerged publicly, there had already been widespread speculation surrounding his prolonged disappearance from social media, his reduced public visibility, and concerns about his health. Several reports initially dismissed these conversations as false rumours and online exaggerations. But when reports later surfaced claiming the actor had died after battling illness, many Nigerians responded not with shock at the rumour itself. Still, with resignation: the-we-knew-it-type, suggesting a familiar sense with the usual ... that unofficial whispers sometimes arrive before official confirmation.
For clarity's sake, the point here is not whether every detail circulating online is accurate. Far from it. The deeper point is that repeated societal experiences condition people to treat rumours as parallel information systems. In societies where transparency is weak or delayed, rumours begin to function as informal intelligence networks that are deeply flawed, emotionally charged, sometimes reckless, but occasionally revealing. This explains why rumours are difficult to eradicate entirely. They do not merely feed on ignorance; they feed on uncertainty. Philosopher Hannah Arendt argued in "Truth and Politics" that once public trust weakens, the line between truth and falsehood becomes increasingly unstable. That observation feels especially relevant in the digital age, where institutional credibility is constantly contested. When official narratives are distrusted, people naturally seek alternative channels of meaning, sometimes through communities, sometimes through social media speculation, and sometimes through rumours.
And sometimes, rumours are not accidental at all. Throughout history, governments and military institutions have deliberately used rumours as strategic tools. Psychological warfare has always depended heavily on uncertainty, misinformation, and controlled perception. Sun Tzu famously wrote in "The Art of War" that “all warfare is based on deception.” Militaries understand that confusion itself can be weaponised. False troop movements, exaggerated military strength, leaked “inside information,” and carefully planted narratives have all been used historically to destabilise enemies or manipulate public morale. Modern governments still engage in forms of strategic ambiguity, media management, and information control during conflicts and political crises. In that sense, rumours sometimes function not as social accidents, but as deliberate instruments of power. This makes the subject far more complicated than the moral simplicity often attached to “rumour peddling.” Still, none of this erases the dangers.
Rumours can destroy lives before facts emerge. They can inflame ethnic tensions, trigger panic buying, damage businesses, manipulate elections, and psychologically devastate innocent people. Social media has intensified this danger dramatically because emotional content now spreads faster than verified information. Studies on digital rumour propagation show that users often support and circulate unverified claims long before their accuracy is established. We have witnessed this repeatedly here, from celebrity death hoaxes or misdemeanours or marital crises to political misinformation and communal tensions amplified online to influence real behaviour.
Yet despite all this, the one overlooked benefit (of rumour in society) remains valid: rumours often reveal underlying social truths even when they fail factual tests. A rumour may be false literally, but socially revealing. If rumours about fuel scarcity spread rapidly, they reveal public insecurity about the economy. If political rumours spread easily, they reveal distrust in governance. If health rumours about public figures gain traction, they reveal anxieties surrounding secrecy, transparency, and institutional communication. In that sense, rumours function almost like societal pressure gauges. They expose fears, suspicions, frustrations, and emotional realities that official narratives often fail to address. And we are like this because we still rely heavily on communal communication systems: markets, churches, barber shops, campuses, group chats, family networks, and online communities where reality is emotionally, collectively interpreted.
So, ultimately, the real conversation is not whether rumours are good or bad. That question is too simplistic. The more important question now is: What conditions make rumours believable in the first place? And perhaps that is the one benefit often overlooked: rumours, despite their dangers, can expose the emotional and social realities a society is unwilling or unable to confront openly. Period!
