Why Do We Think Elections Are Rigged?

The Science of Why We Don’t Trust Elections

If elections were only about facts, then transparent vote-counting processes and official audits would be enough to reassure people. But trust isn’t just about facts, it’s also about feelings.

Losing Hurts More Than Winning Feels Good

Imagine you’re playing a game of Monopoly with friends. At the start, you’re convinced you’ll win—you’ve got the best properties, and you’re making smart moves. Then, out of nowhere, the tables turn. Someone else starts collecting more money, you keep getting sent to “jail,” and before you know it, it’s game over. You’ve lost.

Stings right? You’d likely be feeling the effects of loss aversion—the psychological tendency to experience losses more intensely than equivalent gains. Foundational studies in behavioral science have shown that the pain of losing something is about twice as intense as the pleasure of gaining something of equal value.

Now, what if your opponent was acting just a little too confident? Would you start suspecting they cheated? Maybe they miscounted their cash? Perhaps they took an extra turn when you weren’t paying attention?

Now, apply that thought process to elections.

When a candidate loses (especially in a tight race), supporters feel a deep psychological discomfort. If I “know” my candidate was the best choice, how could they have lost? The answer our brain may offer: What if the whole system is rigged?

This is why fraud claims happen on both sides of the political spectrum in Ecuador and many other countries—before the election even finishes. And it’s not just for the actual losing party, it’s whoever feels like they might lose.

Confirmation Bias: We See What We Want to See

A few elections ago, I was following the real-time vote tallying platform that the election authorities use to update results as they come in. Like many people, I constantly refreshed the page, watching the numbers shift.

Then, suddenly, the website crashed.

For hours, nothing. No updates, no explanations, just a blank page where the results should be. When the site finally came back online, the numbers had shifted dramatically.

I remember staring at the screen, thinking, Wait, what just happened?

Immediately, social media exploded with accusations: “They manipulated the numbers while the system was down!” “This was planned all along!” “They turned off the platform to rig the results!”

And honestly? I understood why people felt that way. It looked incredibly suspicious. I found myself wondering, Could they really have changed the results while the system was offline?

This is confirmation bias at work. When something already feels suspicious, we don’t always look for a logical explanation—we gear our attention towards evidence that confirms what we already believe.

This tendency is even more apparent when set against a backdrop of pervasive corruption. In Ecuador, corruption is part of daily conversation—it’s in the news, government scandals, and even casual jokes. If a politician isn’t involved in a corruption case, people assume it’s only because they haven’t been caught yet. So when something unexpected happens (like a system crash during vote counting), it doesn’t seem odd; it instantly feels like proof of corruption. 

The reality? The system likely crashed because of a technical issue, and the numbers looked different because certain regions finished counting while others were still lagging. But that didn’t matter; people who already believed the election was rigged saw this as evidence that fraud had occurred. And in a country where voting is mandatory, that news travels fast.

The Social Media Outrage Machine

It started with a WhatsApp forward.

“URGENT! Don’t use the pens they give you at the voting station! The ink disappears after a few hours, so that they can erase your vote! Bring your pen and tell everyone you know before it’s too late!”

By Election Day, everyone was talking about it. Group chats, social media posts, even conversations at polling stations—people warned each other like they had uncovered a secret government plot. While I wasn’t entirely convinced the pens were rigged, so many people talked about it that it was hard to ignore completely.

Looking back, I can’t help but laugh. I mean, let’s really think this through:

• Why would election officials go through the effort of swapping out thousands of pens with disappearing ink? If fraud were to happen, surely there would be a more efficient way.
• Was the government secretly conspiring with the pen industry?
• Was there a single person responsible for testing the timing of the disappearing ink? (“Okay, boss, this one vanishes in 3 hours. Perfect—send it to the voting site 42.”)

I never saw proof that anyone’s vote actually disappeared—because, of course, that wasn’t happening. But thanks to social media, the rumor spread so widely and quickly that it shaped real-world behavior.

This is how misinformation works: it doesn’t need to be true, it just needs to feel plausible enough for people to share it before checking.

Fake election fraud claims spread faster than facts because they trigger strong emotions—fear, anger, and outrage. The scarier the claim, the more urgently people feel the need to share it. And once something goes viral, it’s almost impossible to erase.

This is what makes election misinformation so dangerous. By the time the fact-checks come in, the damage is already done.