How the News Became a Weapon: Alec Karakatsanis on Media, Policing, and the Fight for Truth

By Marcus Harrison Green

If you’ve ever found yourself doomscrolling the morning headlines thinking, “Wait—how is there always money for more cops but never for clean water or working schools?” You’re not paranoid. You’re paying attention. And Copaganda is the book that confirms what your gut has been telling you: the news isn't just biased, it's weaponized.

Recently, I sat down with Alec Karakatsanis, a civil rights attorney, former public defender, and one of the fiercest, most unflinching truth-tellers out there to talk about his new book, Copaganda: How Police and the Media Manipulate Our News. Alec doesn’t just critique the headlines. He exposes the machine that creates them: a media system that launders state violence into “news,” criminalizes the poor, and calls it public safety.

Here at Hinton, we don’t publish books to help you sleep better at night. We publish books to help you wake up.Copaganda doesn’t just critique the narrative, it interrogates the power behind it. And this conversation? It’s a masterclass in how to stop mistaking propaganda for public service.

Your book, Copaganda: How Police and the Media Manipulate Our News, explores how narratives around policing are distorted to serve particular agendas. How do these narratives impact communities of color and other vulnerable groups?

In so many profound ways. But to me, the most striking impact is how media coverage distracts from the actual material conditions these communities face—and the real solutions they need if we genuinely care about human flourishing, equity, well-being, and yes, safety.

The media often frames repression—more police, more surveillance, more incarceration—as the solution, and even presents it as what marginalized communities want. That’s not just misleading, it’s cruel. What these communities actually need are investments in healthcare, early childhood education, arts, sports, clean air and water, functioning playgrounds, and safe schools. These things have been studied. We have the research. They promote safety and health far more effectively than cops, courts, and cages.

But instead of highlighting those needs, crime coverage makes people afraid of these communities, more likely to support their punishment, and less likely to support the kinds of investment that would make a difference. That’s the real harm of these narratives.

What advice would you give to journalists who want to report differently—but are afraid of being labeled “biased” or accused of spreading fake news?

First, recognize that propaganda is powerful—and pervasive. No one can take it on alone. If you're just one reporter or editor, trying to push back solo is incredibly difficult. That’s why organizing is key. Journalists need to come together—within their own workplaces, across newsrooms, through professional associations—because this is a systemic problem. Think of it like one lawyer trying to take down mass incarceration alone. It's impossible.

Second, broaden your idea of who counts as a public safety source. Teachers, nurses, OSHA inspectors, tenant attorneys, water quality experts—these people are sitting on vital stories. For example, a “Bad Landlord of the Week” series is just a different kind of crime beat. People are dying because landlords don’t replace smoke detectors. That’s a public safety story. So is playground soil testing positive for lead. Or a "Workplace Safety Violation of the Week" story on Amazon supervisors. These kinds of stories hit home, and people click on them.

So yes—reframe what safety means, and don’t do it alone. Organize. Because the reality is, most newsrooms are owned by corporate interests—private equity firms, billionaires, massive conglomerates like Disney or GE—and those ownership structures shape coverage. We either need alternative journalism models that are truly independent, or we need journalists in mainstream outlets to organize and demand change.

Some have already succeeded: pushing to remove mugshots, shift away from dehumanizing language like “felon,” and adopt people-first language. Research shows those changes lead to a less punitive public response. But these are small wins. The deeper structural changes require solidarity.

With platforms like TikTok, YouTube, and Substack, are you more hopeful about the rise of humanizing, citizen-led narratives?

Absolutely. One of the points I make in the book is that everyday people now have the tools to educate and inform their communities—and to build critical consciousness. My mom, for instance, retired and joined a local court-watching group. She and others, including Fiona Apple—yes, that Fiona Apple, who even wrote a song about it—observe judges, prosecutors, and police in court and report what they see. Some of their observations have led to federal civil rights cases.

There’s also participatory defense work, where families impacted by the criminal legal system support each other, document their experiences, and raise public awareness.

But it's not just that. Teachers can host readings or meet regularly with journalists. Artists can use their platforms. Coders can create systems for connecting people to mutual aid or uncovering hidden public information. Whatever your skill set, if you come together with others in your community, you can make a difference—and now it’s easier than ever to share that information publicly.

After writing this book, has your relationship to the media changed? Do you engage with outlets like The New York Times or Washington Post differently now?

Completely. First off, I try to avoid daily corporate news altogether—not just for mental health, but as a counter-propaganda strategy. One of the strangest findings in propaganda research since the 1960s is that the most misinformed people are often highly educated, liberal news consumers. Why? Because they consume the most secondhand, unverifiable information.

They also believe, wrongly, that they’re immune to propaganda because they’re smart. But no one is. The more we consume, the more our brains are shaped by what someone else has decided is worth our attention. Millions of things happen every day—but a tiny handful get coverage. And even if that coverage is factually accurate, the curation itself creates a distorted worldview.

Selective storytelling is one of the most dangerous forms of propaganda. You could run nine accurate stories about shoplifting and convince people it’s skyrocketing, even if it’s historically low. Meanwhile, wage theft—which is a much bigger problem—is almost never covered.

These days, I focus on long-form journalism—books, investigative podcasts, documentaries—things that dive deep and provide the context short articles often miss. And when I do engage with the news, I ask: Who pitched this story? Who benefits? What’s missing? What language is used?

There’s a whole ecosystem working daily to influence every story we read. In the book, I walk readers through how to think critically about all that.

A friend described your book as “seeing through the Matrix.” What’s the response been like so far?

Progressive media has embraced it, and some mainstream outlets are starting to notice. But a lot of major news organizations are ignoring it—which isn’t surprising, given that the book critiques them directly.

No invite from Joe Rogan yet—though I’d gladly go. People aren’t hearing this perspective enough, and that’s part of the problem. But look, I’ve spent over a decade suing cops, prosecutors, and judges. I’ve been detained, threatened, and harassed. I haven’t seen a backlash to the book beyond that—yet. But anyone doing social justice work in this moment should be paying close attention to the growing threats around us.

Even in 2025, we know what works and what doesn’t. So why is it still so hard to get funding for community-based programs over policing?

That’s the question. And the answer starts with understanding that our punishment bureaucracy was never meant to produce safety for everyone. It was designed to catch escaped enslaved people and crush striking workers. Only in the mid-20th century did it start marketing itself as being about “public safety.”

But its purpose has always been to serve the interests of those in power—those who control wealth and political influence. Policing exists to manage inequality, not to solve it. It’s a way to control the consequences of mass disinvestment in housing, healthcare, mental health care, youth programs, and education.

So in a society this unequal, you need a massive repressive apparatus to keep people in line. That’s why, in most U.S. cities, jails are the largest providers of mental health services—even though nobody believes that’s the best way to care for people.

And it’s not just mental illness. Homelessness is largely an economic issue—people simply can’t afford to live. Our early childhood education system is a disgrace. Our healthcare system leaves millions in precarity. And yet, instead of funding what we know works, we double down on punishment. Not because it’s effective—but because it maintains the status quo.

Everyone in power already knows what the evidence says. They’re not waiting to be enlightened. They’ve just decided it’s easier to crush the poor, the unhoused, the disabled, and communities of color than to make society more equal.