Why some people think there is no such country as Finland (and why it matters to your HR team)

There is no such country as Finland.

This is one of my favourite conspiracy theories, up there with “birds aren’t real” (all birds were replaced by the US government in the seventies with surveillance drones) and the Avril Lavigne replacement theory (Avril Lavigne died in the early 2000s and was – for unclear reasons – quietly replaced by a double).

But Finland is particularly good. According to its adherents, Finland is not a nation at all but a cartographic fiction invented during the Cold War so that the Soviet Union and Japan could quietly divide up fishing rights without attracting attention. The cities, the language, the people are all either misplaced Swedes or unusually compliant actors.

All of these ideas — along with the baby-eating lizard people who apparently rule us — have two things in common. First, they are all objectively false. Second, they nonetheless not only persist, but are often defended with vehement seriousness.

Which is all jolly good fun, until it isn’t.

These are examples of macro-conspiracy theories, propelled by the internet and brought to life through frantic online engagement, YouTube videos, TikToks and a fair amount of merchandise.

But what about micro-conspiracies?

These are everywhere. They exist amongst neighbours, around boardroom tables, at social gatherings and — critically for our purposes — in the workplace.

Generally, people don’t think that Colin from Accounts is an alien, a robot, or a baby-eating lizard. But they might think he isn’t very good at his job. Or that he’s trying to undermine you. Or that he simply doesn’t like you. Or that he’s rude, or a bully. And yet after investigation none of these things turn out to be true — yet still the rumours persist. People still cling to their alternative truths even when all evidence points the other way.

Why is that? Why do people die on a hill over something they have almost no evidence to support?

Part of the answer is that we are predisposed to accepting rumour and gossip as fact, at least initially. Our brains tend to assume that what someone is saying is true unless the contrary is demonstrated. That’s because it takes effort to disbelieve someone. Critical thought demands cognitive resources that might be better used elsewhere. So we often take the line of least resistance when it comes to making up our minds.

Conspiracy theories also build communities, and that is powerful. People who believe the same thing — nine-eleven truthers, flat earthers, or people who dislike Colin from Accounts — share a bond. They are the in-group; everyone else is the out-group. The loyalty owed to the group can be a stronger force than the facts themselves. In this way, conspiracy theories subtly shape who we can trust and who we can’t trust.

The brain also prefers assimilation to accommodation. We do not like changing our minds (the mental discomfort we feel when we try to reconcile two apparently incompatible truths is called cognitive dissonance; our brains actively seek to avoid it). When new facts are presented that do not fit our existing model, it is often easier to reshape the facts than the model itself. Those people occupying the land to the east of Sweden? Actors. Those photographs of Neil Armstrong stepping onto the moon? Filmed in a studio.

Most important of all, conspiracy theories — whether macro or micro — often attach themselves to identity. When people are presented with incompatible facts, they sometimes don’t not see those facts as a challenge to their ideas; they experience them as a challenge to themselves. The natural response is to cling more tightly to the belief, no matter how implausible it becomes.

At the heart of many conflicts lies a core belief about a person, a business, a situation or a group that is grounded less in evidence than in identity. People are often reluctant to change their minds not because the facts are unclear, but because of what changing their minds would mean for them — and for the community that shares their belief.

Bombarding people with facts and data rarely solves this problem. Creating a space in which people feel safe enough to reconsider is a better bet.

Very often you cannot get people to change their minds. But you can sometimes get them to want to change their minds.