Why do some people believe the Earth is flat or that the Moon landings were faked—but also reject vaccines and deny that climate change is real? These might seem like fringe views, but in the U.S., they’re increasingly tied to something much more mainstream: political identity.
According to a national survey, nearly one in ten Americans either believe or are unsure that the Earth is flat. Even more say they don’t believe in human-caused climate change. What connects these beliefs isn’t a lack of education or access to information—it’s support for Donald Trump.
Over the past decade, Trumpism has evolved into more than a political preference. It’s become a powerful social identity, shaping how millions of Americans see reality itself. And when it comes to science—particularly around climate change and COVID-19—this identity often drives outright rejection of established facts.
The divide isn’t just about misinformation. It’s about what happens when facts challenge political loyalty, and when leaders signal that experts can’t be trusted. The consequences go far beyond political debate—they affect public health, environmental action, and our collective ability to respond to real-world threats.
So how did we get here? And why is Trumpism such a strong predictor of science rejection?
How Political Identity Became a Predictor of Science Rejection
The politicization of science in the U.S. didn’t start with Trump, but his rise turned it into a defining feature of public opinion. For decades, conservative identity has been linked to skepticism about environmental issues, but what researchers now observe is deeper: support for Donald Trump functions as a standalone predictor of science rejection—separate from political party, ideology, or religion.
This finding comes from the POLES 2021 survey, which gathered responses from over 1,100 U.S. adults on topics including climate change, COVID-19 vaccination, and belief in various conspiracy theories. The strongest common thread across science-denying responses wasn’t income, gender, or education—it was how much someone approved of Trump.
In statistical models controlling for race, religion, income, and ideology, Trump support still independently increased the odds of rejecting climate science and refusing COVID-19 vaccines.
This pattern was so consistent that researchers described Trumpism as a “mediating force” that reshapes how other identity traits—like being white, evangelical, or conservative—translate into beliefs about science.
Support for Trump wasn’t just about agreeing with Republican policy positions. It included loyalty to his public messaging, his distrust of institutions, and his ability to cast experts as political enemies. That loyalty also helped fuel a broader climate of conspiracy thinking. People who believed the Moon landings were staged or the Earth is flat were significantly more likely to support Trump—and, in turn, more likely to reject mainstream science.
What makes Trumpism unique is how it channels political identity into a kind of anti-establishment worldview, where scientists are not seen as neutral experts, but as agents of control, elitism, or political opposition. This mindset doesn’t just question one issue—it creates a general distrust of scientific consensus wherever it appears.
Where Science and Trumpism Clash
During his time in office, Trump frequently downplayed the severity of the COVID-19 pandemic, cast doubt on public health measures, and contradicted his own administration’s scientists. At one point, he promoted COVID-19 vaccines through Operation Warp Speed. But once out of office, as the political calculus shifted, so did his tone—casting doubt on mandates and aligning with vaccine skeptics. His followers often adjusted their views accordingly.
A similar pattern played out with climate change. Trump withdrew the U.S. from the Paris Climate Agreement, weakened fuel economy standards, and rolled back dozens of environmental protections. Publicly, his statements ranged from calling climate change a “hoax” to vaguely acknowledging it as a problem—then back again. He repeatedly confused climate science with unrelated issues like clean air and water. These contradictions didn’t reduce skepticism; they amplified it by signaling that science was negotiable, even optional.
Surveys show that Trump supporters are significantly more likely to reject the idea that humans are driving climate change. They’re also more likely to say they won’t get vaccinated against COVID-19. But the overlap between these two groups isn’t total.
Only about 9% of Americans surveyed in 2021 rejected both climate science and COVID vaccines. That said, Trumpism increases the odds of either form of science denial, even after accounting for other factors like age, gender, education, or income.
There are demographic differences too. Older people are more likely to reject climate science, but less likely to refuse vaccines. Women were more likely than men to oppose COVID-19 vaccination, while climate denial was spread fairly evenly by gender. Vaccine hesitancy also skewed lower-income, while climate change skepticism was more evenly distributed across income brackets.
The common thread tying these patterns together isn’t the issues themselves—it’s identity. And when Trump becomes the reference point, scientific facts can become political flashpoints. What should be questions of evidence and risk instead become tests of loyalty.
The Role of Conspiracy Thinking and Social Echo Chambers
Science rejection linked to Trumpism doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s often bundled with a broader mindset shaped by conspiratorial thinking and reinforced by tightly knit social circles. This combination—belief in fringe ideas and social reinforcement from like-minded peers—helps explain why misinformation sticks, even when facts are readily available.
In the POLES 2021 survey, researchers included a set of seemingly unrelated conspiracy questions—whether respondents believed the Earth is flat or that NASA faked the Moon landings. These ideas aren’t part of mainstream political discourse, and Trump himself rarely, if ever, talks about them. Yet, belief in these conspiracies was strongly associated with Trump support—and, by extension, with rejection of both climate science and COVID-19 vaccines.
This isn’t about confusion. It’s about worldview. People who are open to one conspiracy are more likely to adopt others, especially when those conspiracies reinforce distrust in institutions. And Trump’s rhetoric consistently framed scientists, the media, and public officials as untrustworthy elites. That framing made it easier for supporters to lump legitimate science in with supposed hoaxes and plots.
Social environment makes this effect even stronger. The study found that Republicans who mostly surrounded themselves with friends from the same political party were significantly more likely to approve of Trump—and more likely to reject climate change and vaccines. This kind of echo chamber deepens confirmation bias: people hear the same beliefs repeated, rarely encounter dissenting views, and become more resistant to outside information.
These dynamics are amplified by partisan media. Outlets that align with Trump often echo and legitimize science denial and conspiracy theories. Once beliefs are reinforced across social and media channels, they become part of a person’s identity. At that point, changing someone’s mind isn’t just about facts—it’s about challenging their group loyalty, which often backfires.
Why Education Doesn’t Always Help—and Sometimes Hurts
It’s easy to assume that more education leads to better understanding—and more acceptance—of science. That’s true for many people, but not across the board. In fact, when it comes to topics like climate change and COVID-19, education sometimes reinforces science rejection, especially among the most ideologically conservative Americans.
This counterintuitive pattern is known as the education × ideology effect, and it’s been documented repeatedly in public opinion research. In the 2021 POLES survey, the trend was clear: among liberals and moderates, higher education correlated with greater acceptance of climate science and vaccine uptake. But among strong conservatives—particularly those who supported Trump—higher education had little effect or even slightly increased science skepticism.
This happens not because educated conservatives are uninformed, but because they’re often better at defending what they already believe. With more education comes more confidence, more selective exposure to information, and more skill in justifying preexisting views. This is sometimes called motivated reasoning—the tendency to process information in a way that supports your identity or ideology, rather than challenges it.
In other words, education doesn’t eliminate bias. It can sharpen it.
The same pattern appears when people get their cues from partisan media or political leaders. In polarized environments, better-educated individuals may become more sensitive to those cues—filtering scientific information through political loyalty rather than critical thinking. As a result, the gap between liberals and conservatives widens as education increases, especially on high-profile issues like climate and COVID.
This is one reason why fact-based public messaging often falls flat. When scientific evidence clashes with a person’s social identity, no amount of data will shift their views. If anything, presenting more information can make them dig in deeper.
Navigating Conversations in a Polarized Science Environment
If you’ve ever tried to talk with someone who denies climate change or dismisses COVID-19 vaccines, you know facts alone rarely change minds. In a landscape where political identity often outweighs evidence, effective communication has less to do with being right—and more to do with building trust.
Here are some grounded strategies for navigating these conversations:
1. Avoid the “info dump”: Piling on studies or statistics can backfire. When people feel cornered, they’re more likely to resist—even if the data is solid. Instead, ask questions. “What concerns you most about the vaccine?” or “What do you think is causing the changes in weather patterns?” This opens space for dialogue, not debate.
2. Focus on shared values, not opposing facts: Common ground matters. If someone values freedom, frame public health or environmental action in terms of protecting communities and future generations. If they care about their kids’ safety or local weather changes they’ve noticed, start there. Connect science to everyday experiences, not abstract concepts.
3. Don’t mock or shame: Ridicule only deepens resistance and confirms the sense that experts or outsiders are “looking down” on them. Many science-skeptical views are rooted in distrust, not ignorance. Approaching the conversation with curiosity—not condescension—makes it more likely you’ll be heard.
4. Understand the power of identity: Rejecting science often isn’t about logic—it’s about loyalty. Changing someone’s mind on a science issue may feel like betraying their political tribe. Keep that in mind before assuming the conversation is just about evidence.
5. Choose your moments: You don’t need to counter every false claim. Focus on people who are unsure, not dug in. Sometimes, planting a seed is more effective than pushing for a full change in one conversation.
6. Share reliable, nonpartisan sources: When you do point to information, avoid overtly political outlets. Stick with reputable institutions like the CDC, NASA, or National Academies of Science. Even then, explain why that source is credible—don’t assume it’s obvious.
Science Rejection Is Political—But It Doesn’t Have to Be
Science isn’t partisan—but the way people respond to it often is. What the research shows, overwhelmingly, is that Trumpism doesn’t just correlate with science rejection—it helps drive it. From climate change to COVID-19, support for Trump has become one of the strongest predictors of whether someone will reject well-established facts. And that trend isn’t limited to science itself. It extends into conspiracies, distrust of experts, and resistance to any message that challenges political loyalty.
But this doesn’t have to be permanent. Political identities can shift. Trust can be rebuilt. The same data showing deep divides also points to leverage points—education that works for moderates, younger conservatives who are more open to climate action, and Republicans who don’t align with conspiratorial thinking. These are the people who can help shift the conversation.
The path forward doesn’t lie in yelling louder or “owning” the other side. It lies in decoupling science from political identity. That means resisting the urge to frame every issue as a zero-sum battle, and instead grounding conversations in shared concerns: public health, economic stability, safe communities, and a livable planet. Science rejection isn’t just frustrating—it’s dangerous. But it’s not inevitable. The more we understand what drives it, the better we can counter it—not with more noise, but with patience, clarity, and an unshakable commitment to reality. If that seems like a tall order, it is. But it’s also necessary.
Source:
- Hamilton, L. C. (2024). Trumpism, climate and COVID: Social bases of the new science rejection. PLoS ONE, 19(1), e0293059. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0293059
