From Dissent to Denial: How Alternative Narratives Become ”Negationism”

Where is the line between skepticism and denialism? Rational critique and irrational denial don’t exist on two separate ends of a spectrum—in reality, the transition from one to the other is much more fluid, and labeling all dissent as denialism can be dangerous.

The first time I heard someone use the word negacionista (denialist) in a conversation, it was spoken with frustration, almost as an insult.

It was during an interview with Pablo, a public health worker in Spain who had spent months trying to combat vaccine hesitancy in his community. He was exhausted.

”There’s no reasoning with them anymore,” he told me, shaking his head. ”At first, they were just skeptical. Now, they reject everything. It’s not debate—it’s pure denial.”

He was talking about people like Antonio and Lucía, individuals I had spent months interviewing in pandemic-skeptic circles. But when I mentioned their names, his expression changed.

”Wait,” he said. ”Are they actually ‘negacionistas’? Or just critical?”

That question—where does skepticism end and denialism begin?—became central to my research. And the more I spoke to people, the more I realized that the answer was not as simple as it seemed.

When Dissent Becomes Denial

It’s easy to imagine that rational critique and irrational denial exist on two separate ends of a spectrum. In reality, the transition from one to the other is much more fluid.

Many of the people I met in my research didn’t start as denialists. They started as dissidents—people who had legitimate concerns about the handling of the pandemic.

Some, like Carlos, a lawyer in Madrid, had legal concerns about the rapid expansion of emergency powers. Others, like Marina, a university professor, worried about the long-term impact of lockdowns on education and social development.

They asked difficult but valid questions:

• Why did the government change its messaging so often?
• Why were some voices in the scientific community silenced?
• Why were corporate interests so closely tied to public health policy?

At first, their criticisms were specific, targeted. But as they voiced their concerns publicly, they began to encounter resistance. They were dismissed, ridiculed, and in some cases, even de-platformed.

The more they were shut out of mainstream discourse, the more they turned to alternative spaces. And in those spaces, they encountered radical narratives that went far beyond their initial concerns.

Some resisted.

Others absorbed these narratives and, in doing so, crossed the line from dissent to denial.

The Slippery Slope: How Skeptics Become ”Negacionistas”

Take Raúl, a man in his late 50s whom I met at a pandemic-skeptic gathering in Madrid.

When the first lockdowns began, he had serious concerns about their economic and psychological impact.

”It wasn’t normal, locking people up like that,” he told me. ”People lost businesses, lost their minds. But if you said anything, they called you irresponsible.”

At first, his critique was about government overreach.

Then, he started questioning the data—whether COVID-19 deaths were exaggerated, whether hospitals were misreporting cases. He found Telegram channels where people posted ”evidence” that the numbers were fake.

By the time I met him, Raúl wasn’t just skeptical of pandemic policies. He believed the entire pandemic was a fabrication—that no one had actually died of COVID, that the ICU footage was staged, that the virus was just an excuse for totalitarian control.

His journey—from critical dissenter to full-blown negacionista—was not unique.

I saw this pattern repeat itself again and again:

1. It starts with questioning specific policies. (Why did governments impose such extreme measures?)
2. Then, it moves to questioning the official data. (Can we even trust these numbers?)
3. Finally, it ends with rejecting the entire event. (What if the pandemic never happened at all?)

At a certain point, debate becomes impossible. Facts no longer matter—only the narrative does.

The Problem With the ”Negacionista” Label

But here’s where things get even more complicated.

While some people genuinely reject reality, others get labeled as negacionistas for simply raising inconvenient questions.

During my research, I met journalists, scientists, and activists who were accused of being conspiracy theorists simply because they challenged dominant narratives.

Take Isabel, a researcher who had concerns about how big pharmaceutical companies influenced vaccine policies.

She wasn’t anti-vaccine. She wasn’t spreading misinformation. She was simply pointing out that public health decisions were not made in a political vacuum—that they were shaped by corporate interests, economic factors, and lobbying.

But as soon as she spoke publicly about these concerns, she was dismissed as a negacionista.

”They lumped me in with people saying the virus wasn’t real,” she told me, frustrated. ”That’s not what I was saying at all.”

This is the core danger of the negacionista label:

When used too broadly, it becomes a tool to silence dissent.

By grouping all critical voices together—rational critics and conspiracy theorists alike—the result is a polarized landscape where:

• Legitimate concerns get ignored.
• Actual denialists get stronger.
• The space for productive debate disappears.

This is exactly what has happened in Spain, where alternative narratives have thrived precisely because mainstream institutions have been so quick to dismiss them.

The more people feel unheard, the more they turn to alternative spaces where their questions—valid or not—are taken seriously.

And that’s where conspiracy theories thrive.

Final Thoughts: Who Gets to Define Reality?

By the end of my research, I realized that negacionismo is not just about misinformation—it’s about trust, authority, and power.

The real question isn’t just: Why do people believe in conspiracy theories?

It’s also: Who gets to decide what counts as “truth” in the first place?

There’s no doubt that some narratives are dangerous and false—denying COVID’s existence, rejecting vaccines, or believing that lockdowns were part of a mass enslavement project.

But labeling all dissent as denialism is just as dangerous.

If we want to prevent conspiracy theories from spreading, we need to be willing to have difficult conversations.

Instead of dismissing people like Antonio, Lucía, or Raúl, we need to ask:

• Where do their doubts come from?
• Why don’t they trust institutions?
• What kind of answers are they looking for?

Because if we don’t engage with these questions, someone else will.

And in those spaces—on Telegram, in private WhatsApp groups, on alternative media channels—the answers they find might take them not toward truth, but toward complete rejection of reality.