These days, my social media feeds carry a steady stream of clever “hacks” and health tips. Some promise better sleep. Others claim to improve memory or solve everyday ailments with ingredients already sitting in the kitchen.

Many of them look convincing. The videos are polished. The explanations sound confident. Sometimes they even come with charts and demonstrations that make the advice appear scientific.

More than once, I caught myself believing some of these claims. Only later — after a bit of reading or a quiet correction from someone more knowledgeable — did I realize that the information had little scientific basis to begin with.

Many people who share these tips probably mean well. They think they are passing along something useful. But the result is the same: the information travels quickly, often long before anyone pauses to check whether it is actually true.

This dynamic is not limited to harmless tips. The same pattern — information shared quickly, accepted easily, and corrected too late — also appears in more serious claims about public events, policies and personalities.

Another form of misleading information appears in times of public anxiety. From time to time, viral posts circulate online claiming that a major earthquake is about to strike on a specific date. The Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology has repeatedly explained that such predictions have no scientific basis.

Earthquakes simply cannot be forecast with any kind of precision. Still, posts like this spread quickly on social media and group chats, reaching thousands before the corrections do.

What spreads fastest is not always what is most accurate. In that widening gap between viral claims and verified information, truth becomes not only an institutional concern but a civic one.

In information systems, there is a concept meant to prevent this kind of confusion — a shared reference for truth. Organizations create a central point where verified data resides so everyone consults the same set of facts. When systems rely on shared information, contradictions shrink and decisions become more reliable.

In technical environments, the idea is elegant. Public life, however, is more complicated. Truth in a democratic society rarely comes from a single repository. It emerges through a process.

Earlier this month, on 4 March, that pressure took a visible institutional form. The Presidential Communications Office signed a memorandum of understanding with nine major newspaper organizations — including this publication — under what is called Oplan Kontra Fake News.

The initiative established an Anti-Fake News Desk where journalists and citizens can report suspicious content, with referrals to agencies such as the Department of Information and Communications Technology and the Department of Justice, and coordination with digital platforms for faster verification and response.

Efforts like this recognize a simple reality: when false claims can circulate widely within hours, verification must become faster and more coordinated.

But if a society hopes to build something resembling a shared reference for truth, that repository cannot belong to the government alone. In a democracy like ours, it must be guarded and maintained not only by public institutions but, more critically, by every citizen who participates in the flow of information.

In an age where information — true, verified, mistaken, or malicious — travels faster than we can open another browser tab or scroll to the next post to confirm it, the responsibility for truth becomes quietly shared.