Propaganda is the deliberate shaping of information to manipulate public perception and shift attention away from inconvenient truths. At its core, it is not about debate. It is about control.

It appeals to emotion, not reason. It relies on repetition, simplified narratives, and emotional manipulation to reinforce belief. The more you hear something, the more likely you are to believe it, even if it is false. Psychologists refer to this as the “illusory truth effect,” where familiarity increases perceived truthfulness. When these messages tap into identity, belonging, or fear, they stick.

Confirmation bias pushes us to seek out stories that align with our opinions and reject everything else. Over time, that becomes belief perseverance, where even the clearest evidence won’t budge someone’s perspective.

We saw this psychological phenomenon following the 2020 election. Courts, audits, and officials confirmed the results, but many Trump supporters still insisted it was stolen. That lie became a badge of identity. It was repeated, emotional, and reinforced by their community. That’s how propaganda works.

Trump’s warnings about an imminent threat from Iran are part of a well-worn tradition in American politics: presidents amplifying public fear, often with little or no evidence, to justify military action. This tactic has deep roots.

In 2003, George W. Bush and his administration repeatedly claimed Iraq had weapons of mass destruction and ties to terrorism, despite a lack of credible evidence. These assertions, echoed relentlessly by top officials, convinced much of the public and paved the way for the Iraq War, only for later investigations to reveal that Iraq had neither WMDs nor meaningful links to 9/11.

The pattern goes back further still: Lyndon B. Johnson exaggerated the Gulf of Tonkin incident to escalate the Vietnam War, while Reagan and both Bushes hyped threats in Grenada, Panama, and the Gulf to rally support for military interventions.

Bill Clinton also leaned on questionable justifications for strikes and interventions, from the bombing of a pharmaceutical plant in Sudan to military actions in the Balkans and Haiti. Now, Trump follows the same script, publicly insisting that Iran is pursuing nuclear weapons despite intelligence agencies saying otherwise. Rather than building international consensus or presenting solid evidence, he simply made the claim and acted on it.

Again and again, American leaders have used fear, often unsupported by facts, to rally the public, marginalize dissent, and justify war. The consequences have been profound, leading to quagmires in Vietnam and Iraq, destabilization across the Middle East, and a public all too easily swayed by propaganda. Trump’s approach is not original, but it is a reminder of how quickly misinformation can push a nation toward conflict.

Trump’s “complete and total ceasefire” between Israel and Iran? Not so much. He blasted out the announcement while missiles were still flying, and neither country confirmed anything because, in reality, both sides were still fighting and weighing their next moves. The delayed responses from Israel and Iran weren’t quiet agreement; they were buying time, managing their own narratives, and refusing to let Trump set the terms.

If this feels familiar, it’s because Trump has a long history of declaring himself the architect of peace deals that never happened. He claimed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war “in 24 hours”, and took credit for stopping India and

Pakistan from going to war, even as India insisted the ceasefire was brokered directly by their own military, not the White House. In each case, reality stubbornly refused to match the headline.

Trump’s peace proclamations are more about grabbing credit than creating calm. The world keeps spinning, and sometimes — keeps fighting — no matter what he posts.

This administration has taken traditional propaganda and supercharged it. It sidesteps the press and floods social media with video clips, memes, and soundbites. Conservative influencers and podcasters echo the message. Loyalist outlets repeat it on an endless loop. Dissent is drowned out by volume.

Project 2025, the administration’s strategy document, outlines plans to eliminate federal funding for NPR and PBS and replace public institutions with partisan alternatives. The goal is narrative control.

The administration uses a “firehose of falsehoods”, releasing so many lies and distortions that fact-checkers cannot keep up and audiences grow fatigued. Confusion becomes the point by way of a disinformation campaign built to scale.