On October 18, 2025, the digital world and American political landscape collided in a spectacle that left many people scratching their heads—and others shaking their fists. President Donald Trump, never one to shy away from controversy or the latest technological trend, posted an AI-generated video to his Truth Social account. The short, 19-second clip showed Trump, crowned and piloting a fighter jet labeled "King Trump," soaring over what appeared to be a sea of protesters in Times Square. In a move that was both bizarre and provocative, the video depicted Trump dropping what seemed to be fecal matter onto the crowd, specifically targeting left-wing influencer Harry Sisson and other demonstrators. The soundtrack? The unmistakable pulse of Kenny Loggins' "Danger Zone."
The timing of Trump's post was no accident. That very Saturday, millions of Americans had taken to the streets in more than 2,700 "No Kings" rallies, voicing their opposition to what they saw as authoritarian tendencies in the Trump administration. According to protest organizers, nearly 7 million people participated nationwide—a staggering figure, and 2 million more than had attended the previous "No Kings" protests in June 2025. The message was clear: many Americans were deeply concerned about the direction of the country, and they were willing to show up in force to say so.
The AI-generated video quickly caught fire online, with reactions ranging from outrage to ridicule. Harry Sisson, the influencer depicted as a target in the video, took to X (formerly Twitter) to voice his disbelief. "Can a reporter please ask Trump why he posted an AI video of himself dropping poop on me from a fighter jet? That would be great thanks," Sisson tweeted, capturing the incredulity felt by many. Vice President JD Vance, never one to miss a beat, responded with a quip: "I’ll ask him for you Harry."
But the digital drama didn’t end there. The use of Kenny Loggins’ iconic hit "Danger Zone" in the video sparked its own controversy. On October 20, Loggins released a statement through his representatives, making it abundantly clear he wanted no part in the spectacle. "I am requesting my recording in the AI-generated footage be removed immediately," Loggins said. He went on: "I can’t imagine why anybody would want their music used or associated with something created with the sole purpose of dividing us. Too many people are trying to tear us apart, and we need to find new ways to come together. We’re all Americans, and we’re all patriotic. There is no 'us and them' — that’s not who we are, nor is it what we should be. It’s all of us. We’re in this together, and it is my hope that we can embrace music as a way of celebrating and uniting each and every one of us."
While the video itself was AI-generated and originated from another account before being promoted by Trump—a pattern that NBC News noted has become increasingly common for the former president—its impact was anything but artificial. The video quickly spread across social media platforms, fueling heated debates about the role of AI in political messaging, the boundaries of satire, and the responsibilities of public figures in a digital age.
As the controversy swirled, Trump addressed the underlying accusation that he was acting like a monarch during an interview with Fox News host Maria Bartiromo, which aired on October 19. With characteristic bluntness, Trump rejected the notion outright. "You know, they’re saying they’re referring to me as a king," he said. "I’m not." His denial, though straightforward, did little to quell the anxieties of his critics or the energy of the protest movement.
Meanwhile, the digital misinformation ecosystem was working overtime. According to BBC Verify, another AI chatbot, Grok, was caught spreading false information on X the same weekend. Grok wrongly claimed that aerial footage of crowds at an anti-Trump protest in Boston on Saturday was actually from 2017. The BBC team, using reverse image searches, debunked this claim and explained to readers how such AI errors—sometimes called "hallucinations"—can spread rapidly online. "We’ve broken down why Grok incorrectly came to say it was old and how this claim spread online," the BBC reported, highlighting the growing challenge of verifying information in an era dominated by AI-generated content and viral misinformation.
BBC Verify’s team was kept busy, not just with political footage but with other viral videos as well. One video circulating on social media, purportedly showing a man being brutally beaten and shot in Gaza, was found—again using reverse image search—to be over a year old, despite claims it was recent. The team also verified footage of a massive blast at a chemical plant in China, demonstrating the crucial role that media verification plays in separating fact from fiction, especially as AI-generated content becomes more sophisticated and widespread.
All of this unfolded against a backdrop of heightened tensions in the Middle East. On October 19, Israel’s military announced it had carried out a wave of strikes against Hamas in Gaza, with both sides accusing each other of breaching a ceasefire deal. The conflict, much like the digital battles playing out in the U.S., was marked by competing narratives and a struggle over the truth—a reminder that the stakes of misinformation are anything but trivial.
As the dust settled from a weekend of protests, viral videos, and international crises, one thing was abundantly clear: the intersection of artificial intelligence, social media, and politics is creating a world where reality can be bent, twisted, and reimagined at the click of a button. For many, the question isn’t just who controls the narrative, but how we can trust what we see and hear in the first place.
For now, the challenge remains for journalists, fact-checkers, and everyday citizens alike to keep up with the dizzying pace of change. Whether it’s a former president dropping digital bombs on his critics, or AI chatbots rewriting history in real time, the truth has never felt more precious—or more precarious.
