From Beetles to Broadcasts: The Modern Machinery of Manipulation
This hit home on Facebag
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The Architecture of Persuasion: A Deep Analysis
What you're about to read is a systematic deconstruction of persuasion,how it operates at the individual level, how it scales to state identity, and how it ultimately shapes national consciousness. This isn't your typical surface-level discussion about influence or marketing tactics. If you want a fast talking, flame throwing heap of hogwash, visit YouTube and you’ll find plenty of losers pitching their how to’s without having done it. And that’s a fact. And so, this is about understanding the fundamental difference between constructive persuasion that builds and unifies, and destructive persuasion that divides and destroys.
Consider how Texas has mastered a single symbol, the lone star, through what we call unifying persuasion. That five pointed star isn't just a logo; it's a carefully constructed identity anchor that creates positive tribal cohesion. Every time a Texan sees that star, they're experiencing neurological reinforcement of their identity as independent, resilient, exceptional. Take the Star of David, a six-pointed star formed by two interlaced equilateral triangles, is a widely recognized symbol of Judaism and Jewish identity. Thus an introduction to appropriate persuasion, one that builds pride, fosters unity, and strengthens productive social bonds. It's the same principle that made Florida's "Sunshine State" branding so effective for decades through its use on vehicle tags to all types of state marketing campaigns.
This is why we maintain our three-word foundation: traditional, transparent, trustworthy. These represent our crucial persuasion, and we’re forthcoming and forward about it. This is the kind of persuasion that encourages people to think, to verify, to engage their rational faculties rather than bypass them. We know our clients do something we speak of often, and that is to think about it. Those who can’t and especially those who live in the slogan and meme world, are never a good long-term fit.
When people hear consistency over time, their brains develop trust, but it's earned trust based on demonstrated reliability that truly wins the day, race, and marathon.
Now, my perspective on this comes from an unusual vantage point. Born in the 1950s to parents who were both born in 1915, I witnessed firsthand how different forms of persuasion shaped the 20th century. My parents were born as World War I was in high gear, and through them and their siblings, I learned to distinguish between the appropriate persuasion that rallied Americans to defend democracy, and the negative, destructive, violence-prone persuasion that characterized our adversaries.
Think about this for a moment. As one who wore a uniform for a few years, the symbology and messaging was clear, and no different than that of the gang member. Again, think about it without becoming an emotional basket case. If you had an ah ha moment, well then, we’re connecting.
Communist persuasion operates through what we must recognize as fundamentally different principles,division, resentment, and the deliberate destruction of traditional bonds. Where American persuasion at its best seeks to elevate and unite, communist methodology relies on what researchers call "negative social proof", convincing people that their neighbors are enemies, that their traditions are oppressive, that their successes are stolen from others. This is destructive persuasion designed to weaken social fabric rather than strengthen it.
This is why the slogan, Make America Great Again works and is so upsetting to those who suffer from Trump Derangement Syndrome.
The danger comes when we fail to call this out clearly. We saw this recently when leadership, involving the prior administration members, refused to engage in honest conversation rather than endless persuasion in the denial of obvious incompetence. When leaders fail to accept and name problems accurately, they create what psychologists call "cognitive dissonance" in the population. People know something is wrong, but without clear leadership calling it what it is, they become susceptible to more dangerous forms of influence.
The deeper game here involves understanding that persuasion is never neutral. It either builds or destroys, unifies or divides, elevates or degrades. At the individual level, appropriate persuasion works through appealing to people's better angels, their desire for truth, progress, and community. At the state level, unifying persuasion creates shared identity around positive values. At the national level, it builds what scholars call "imagined communities" based on mutual respect and common purpose.
But negative, destructive persuasion, the kind employed by communist regimes and other adversaries, both external and internal, works by exploiting fear, resentment, and tribal hatred. It convinces people that their problems are caused by other people rather than by systems or circumstances that can be improved.
The point here isn't just to call this out, but to understand the psychological infrastructure behind both approaches. I start with World War I because that's where my generational knowledge begins, where I can trace how American unifying persuasion successfully countered Axis authoritarianism, and later how critical persuasion helped us recognize and defeat communist influence during the Cold War.
And then we let our guard down. Especially during the 41st through the 44th Administrations. And as for the 46th Administration, it was a nightmare.
As you listen, I want you to engage in what psychologists call "metacognition.” Let me explain the term Metacognition, is the awareness and understanding of one's own thought processes, essentially "thinking about thinking". It involves actively monitoring, regulating, and evaluating one's own learning and cognitive processes to improve performance and problem-solving. This includes planning how to approach and ask yourself: Is this persuasion designed to help me think more clearly, or to stop me from thinking? Is it encouraging me to trust my fellow Americans, or to fear and resent them? Is it building something positive, or just tearing something down? This of the politician who used the word deplorables.
Business schools often teach SWOT, which is an acronym that stands for Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, and Threats. It's a strategic planning tool that is often used to assess an organization's current situation and help with decision-making.
Internal dialogue, also known as inner speech, inner monologue, or the "voice in your head", refers to the ongoing stream of verbal thoughts that some people experience as they navigate daily life. Research at the University of Nevada and other universities and independent cognitive scientists reveals that only 30-50% of people regularly experience this constant internal verbal commentary. Using experience sampling methods where participants report their inner experiences at random intervals throughout the day, studies show that even among those who do have inner speech, it occurs only about 20-26% of the time. This means that up to 70% of the population either lacks a consistent internal monologue or processes thoughts primarily through visual imagery, emotions, or what researchers describe as "wordless knowing". Those without an internal dialogue capability, a condition some researchers call "anendophasia," often report thinking generally in terms of pictures or broad concepts, and simply do not process thoughts verbally".
The presence or absence of an internal dialogue capability appears to be fundamentally connected to metacognitive capabilities, which is the ability to "think about thinking" that underlies critical analysis and strategic planning. Metacognition involves both monitoring and controlling one's own cognitive processes, enabling individuals to reflect on their reasoning patterns, assess their knowledge gaps, and regulate their problem-solving approaches. People with strong metacognitive skills can step back from immediate reactions to ask themselves diagnostic questions like "Why am I stuck?" or "What assumptions am I making?" or "How well do I understand this?" This capacity becomes essential for sophisticated analytical frameworks like SWOT analysis (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats), which requires systematic self-reflection and the ability to examine one's organization or situation from multiple perspectives simultaneously. It should be noted that research indicates those without an internal dialogue show measurably weaker performance on tasks requiring verbal working memory and sequential processing, suggesting that the absence of inner speech may limit the cognitive resources necessary for the kind of structured, multi-layered thinking that effective strategic analysis demands. This finding has profound implications for leadership, decision-making, asset allocation, rebalancing, forecasting, and any endeavor requiring the ability to mentally rehearse scenarios, weigh competing considerations, or engage in the complex cognitive juggling that separates tactical thinking from true strategic insight.
Remember, in a world where persuasion has become both art and science, the principle that never fails is this: Think it through with full awareness of whether you're being encouraged to think or discouraged from thinking. Trust after you’ve verified not just the facts, but the intent behind how those facts are being presented. Now pause and reflect upon the Covid fiasco. Did you have an ah ha moment? If so, then we connected anonymously on a deep and personal level.
This is how the game has always been played, and why understanding the difference between constructive and destructive persuasion has never been more critical.
I would like to put what I wrote on Facebook as a single post or as a series of chapter-based posts, but Facebook has been protecting the prior administration for a long, long time. And because I wrote about persuasion, cognitive impairment, fraud and illegal acts with a questioning spin on the prior administration and positive spin on the current administration, which I cannot use by name or this post too will be deleted, I’ve violated the non-free speech rules of the face bag. And yes, the face bag is a private entity and they can basically build stifling algos all day long. The trick is to take key components off line, while casting a net for those most likely to want to jump into the boat. This is why I have always said the time for a discussion on the regulatory authority of social media sites as public utilities is long overdue. In other words, there comes a time when a social media site becomes so large and powerful that it has to follow similar rules as the government does in terms of free speech.
So I hope you have a chance to take a look at what I wrote, you'll need to follow the link if you haven’t already, because it cannot be put on my page here.
Now, the story Facebook refused to publish.
From Beetles to Broadcasts: The Modern Machinery of Manipulation
Why It Pays to Confuse, Divide, and Distract - And How to See Through the Noise.
The Long Con: From Potato Beetles to Political Theater and Financial Fakery
INTRODUCTION
In a world addicted to short bursts of outrage, I choose to go long. Long format, long horizon, long view. What you are about to read is not a string of memes, nor is it a sanitized bullet-point summary designed for attention-deficit theater. It is a full-course meal for the mind—served deliberately, not microwaved for likes. I write for those who still read, think, connect dots, and ask: “What is really going on here?”
You have probably heard the phrase “think outside the box.” I do not. I begin by rejecting that the box ever existed. Boxes are made by people with something to sell or something to hide. Real thinking—durable thinking—happens when you break free from structured narratives and see how the moving parts are connected. I do not mean just politically. I mean economically, emotionally, historically, and even spiritually. When you realize that nearly every major institution—media, government, finance, and entertainment—uses the same tools of emotional manipulation, you begin to see that the game is not about left or right. It is about control.
Each Sunday, I offer something more than surface-level opinion. What you will find here is not sensationalism for clicks. It is a slow-burning synthesis of seventy years of patterns—how Cold War propaganda has become social media noise, how the pump-and-dump of penny stocks mirrors the hype-and-crash cycles in politics, and how perception is now packaged and sold like a bottle of soda. This is your invitation to slow down, take it in, and remember that discernment is your best defense. Thank you for your kind words, continued support, and the trust you place in me and my firm.
– Paul Grant Truesdell, J.D., AIF, CLU, ChFC, RFC
Founder of The Truesdell Companies
Soviet Propaganda After World War II — A Historian’s Analysis
In the immediate aftermath of World War II, a dramatic transformation occurred in the Soviet Union’s perception of the United States. Just a few months prior, both nations had stood as uneasy allies in a global struggle against Nazi Germany. But that alliance, based more on necessity than trust, was always fragile. Once Hitler was defeated, the political stage shifted rapidly from cooperation to confrontation.
For Soviet leadership, especially Joseph Stalin, the idea of a postwar balance that favored American and British influence was unacceptable. The Red Army had paid an immense price—more than 20 million Soviet citizens had died. The Kremlin believed it had earned not just a seat at the table, but a dominant voice. But with the American development and use of the atomic bomb—without Soviet knowledge or input—it became clear that Washington intended to lead the postwar world on its own terms.
It was during this time that propaganda inside the USSR pivoted sharply. Newspapers, radio broadcasts, school curricula, and public posters began portraying the United States not as a former ally, but as a current and future threat. Americans were now framed as imperialists—driven by capitalist greed, militarism, and a desire to control global resources.
A particularly striking example of this narrative shift was the infamous “Colorado beetle” campaign. Soviet media accused the CIA of releasing potato beetles—tiny striped insects native to North America—across Eastern Europe as a form of biological sabotage. The beetles were said to destroy potato crops, which in turn would starve the Soviet people and undermine the strength of the worker’s state.
Children were shown diagrams of the beetle in school. Posters depicted American agents in trench coats parachuting into collective farms under cover of night. Entire classrooms were sent into the fields with magnifying glasses to hunt down this so-called enemy pest. When potatoes failed, it was not because of poor weather, mismanagement, or exhausted soil—it was because of the Americans.
To the outside observer, this may sound absurd. But within the Soviet Union, where information was tightly controlled, the narrative was persuasive. Propaganda worked not by sheer falsehood, but by overwhelming repetition, emotional appeal, and the elimination of competing voices. It created a moral contrast—America as decadent and manipulative, the USSR as pure and under threat.
The anti-American sentiment was not just political—it was deeply cultural. Soviet citizens were warned against listening to American jazz, reading foreign literature, or wearing Western clothes. Each act was framed as a form of betrayal. The Cold War had begun, not just as a competition of nuclear arsenals and global alliances, but as a battle for control over minds, values, and truth itself.
Some citizens, especially the young and idealistic, internalized this message completely. Others, more skeptical or worldly, quietly questioned it. But few dared to speak out, especially after high-profile purges had demonstrated the cost of dissent. The propaganda was effective in part because it exploited genuine fears—about hunger, war, and national survival.
If you thought of Covid and the Biden lockdown response, the attack on those like Joe Rogan, then you have a sense of Soviet Russia during this period.
Ironically, beneath the hysteria, a quiet paradox remained. Even as Soviet media painted Americans as enemies, some people secretly hoped the Americans would arrive—not to invade, but to liberate. Rumors spread that a U.S. landing might bring food, freedom, and stability. This duality—fear of the other combined with desperate hope—illustrates how deeply confusing and emotionally potent the postwar atmosphere was.
By the late 1940s, the Iron Curtain had fallen across Europe, and the Soviet bloc was firmly established. The narrative of American aggression became a permanent fixture in Soviet political culture, periodically refreshed by global events—from the Korean War to the Cuban Missile Crisis to Vietnam. Each confrontation was folded into the same underlying story: the West wants domination; the East wants peace.
What began as postwar paranoia calcified into a generational worldview. Soviet propaganda succeeded not because it was subtle or sophisticated, but because it filled every channel of communication. It trained children to fear the foreign, celebrate conformity, and equate loyalty with silence.
Again, recall the years of our Covid lockdown
And while we now see those Colorado beetle posters as propaganda relics, they served a purpose. They taught people to watch their fields and their neighbors, to remain vigilant, and above all, to never question the motives of the state.
By the early 1980s, the United States had a problem. The Soviet Union was not going to collapse under the weight of nuclear threats. Everyone knew about MAD—Mutual Assured Destruction—and neither side was stupid enough to push the button. So instead of starting World War III, the U.S. did something smarter. We started sending in television sets, Betamax machines, and VHS players. We loaded them up with Dallas, Dynasty, and Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, and we smuggled them right into the belly of the beast.
This was not a passive cultural exchange. This was intentional. Covert. Strategic. You want to bring down a criminal cartel that calls itself a government? Show their people how the rest of the world actually lives. Let them see air-conditioned homes, full refrigerators, freedom of speech, fast cars, and men like J.R. Ewing, who did not take orders from party bosses, but made his own empire through wit, grit, and deals. Alas, as a native of Dallas, Texas, I assure you, kindred spirits shared much through the glowing digital display. The Soviets called it propaganda. We called it Tuesday night programming.
The machines were the real weapons. VCRs and Betamax players were smuggled in through diplomatic channels, underground networks, and black-market deals. The tapes were carried across borders like contraband. And once they hit Soviet living rooms—hooked up to flickering old TVs, translated in hushed whispers, replayed until the ribbon wore out—it was over. Not all at once. But piece by piece, the Soviet lie started to rot. Because no matter how many slogans the politburo printed, they could not erase what people saw with their own eyes: wealth, power, and freedom built by individuals—not the state.
Sure, some old-timers scoffed. They claimed Dallas was fake, that Americans were greedy and hollow. But deep down, even they knew what they were watching was real. Because nothing makes a man question his cage like seeing another man live free. Reagan understood this better than anyone. That is why when he stood at the Brandenburg Gate and said, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall,” it was not just a line. It was the victory lap for a war that had been fought through tubes and screens, not tanks.
This was American psychological warfare at its finest. Not a shot fired. Not a life lost. Just the steady drip of truth, liberty, and ownership—beamed into kitchens and bedrooms under the noses of thugs pretending to be leaders. It was capitalism’s slow, relentless heartbeat echoing through the Iron Curtain. And it worked.
Rewind, Retrench, Reach Through Routers
The Democrats never gave Reagan a fair shake. From the moment he stepped into the political arena, they mocked him—not for his ideas, not for his leadership—but for his background. “He’s just an actor,” they sneered, often dragging out Bedtime for Bonzo as their go-to punchline. Yes, the movie with the chimpanzee. And yes, if you actually watch it, it is a lighthearted, silly film—a product of its time. But the cheap shots were never about the movie. They were about discrediting the man before the public could hear what he had to say.
What they did not want to talk about was his tenure as president of the Screen Actors Guild during one of the most tumultuous times in Hollywood. They ignored how he stared down the threat of Communist infiltration in the industry. They downplayed his two terms as governor of California, where he fought hard battles and won. They buried the fact that when it was time to be tough—be it air traffic controllers or the Soviets—Reagan never blinked. He spoke plainly, acted decisively, and backed it up with results. That terrified the left then, and the same fear resurfaced decades later—only this time, with a new target.
When Donald Trump came on the scene, the blueprint was already in place. Mock the man, not the message. Tear down the personality so the policies never get a hearing. Sound familiar? Call him a game show host, a reality TV star, a caricature. Never mind the fact that he built a global brand, created jobs, and spoke the raw, unvarnished language that working Americans understood. The machine that tried to humiliate Reagan had simply changed its wardrobe and moved online. But the tactics were the same: ridicule, distract, distort, and repeat.
By the time Trump arrived on the stage, the Soviet Union had been officially dead for nearly 30 years—but the Russian mobsters who once wore Communist uniforms were alive and well. They had not disappeared. They had adapted. During the Bush 41 administration, while the West celebrated “the end of history,” the Kremlin’s old guard rebranded themselves as oligarchs. They ditched the red flags and picked up oil shares, tech money, and a new playbook—one that leaned on media manipulation, financial influence, and digital warfare. And they found their perfect match in the rising Chinese Communist elite.
Russia and China did not compete with the United States head-on. They infiltrated, they confused, and they corrupted. They understood what Americans still struggle to grasp: that if you can rot the culture, you do not need to bomb the borders. And when a candidate like Trump came in and threatened to disrupt that slow erosion—to put America back in the driver’s seat—they did what enemies always do. They lit every fuse they could find, both foreign and domestic, to stop it.
American Propaganda During World War II
While the Soviet Union used propaganda after World War II to reinforce isolation and externalize blame, the United States had already perfected its own use of messaging during the war itself. In fact, World War II marked the most expansive and coordinated use of propaganda in American history up to that point. But unlike the Soviet model of fear-based indoctrination, American propaganda largely leaned into themes of unity, duty, and moral clarity—with heavy doses of emotional appeal and commercial-style advertising.
The U.S. government knew early on that winning the war would not just require guns and ships. It would require belief. It would require buy-in from millions of Americans who had just come out of the Great Depression and who, after the trauma of World War I, were reluctant to go abroad again. It would take a cultural campaign as much as a military one.
In 1942, President Roosevelt established the Office of War Information (OWI). This agency brought together artists, filmmakers, writers, psychologists, and public relations experts to create a unified message across radio, film, print, posters, and speeches. The goal was to convince the American public that this war was not just necessary—it was righteous.
From the very beginning, propaganda in the U.S. painted the conflict in stark moral terms. The Axis powers—Germany, Japan, and Italy—were not just geopolitical threats. They were evil. The Nazis were portrayed as soulless machines of murder, the Japanese as sneaky and barbaric. Cartoons, advertisements, and even children’s comic books made clear: this was a fight between good and evil, freedom and tyranny, democracy and totalitarianism.
This black-and-white narrative served several strategic purposes. First, it made the sacrifices at home more bearable. Rationing sugar, rubber, and gasoline was not just an inconvenience—it was patriotic. Buying war bonds was not just financial—it was moral. Every piece of bacon grease saved or every pair of nylons surrendered became a small act of heroism. Americans were not passive bystanders; they were enlisted, emotionally and economically, in the war effort.
Second, it created a cohesive national identity. Posters featured smiling soldiers and wholesome families. The American worker, the farmer, the mother, and even the child were all included in the war story. Propaganda campaigns emphasized diversity and inclusion—at least in theory—by showing Americans of all backgrounds contributing to victory. This unity message was particularly powerful in contrast to the divisiveness of enemy regimes.
But American propaganda also had a darker side. It often relied on racial caricatures, especially in portrayals of the Japanese. Films and posters dehumanized the enemy in ways that today would be considered unacceptable. The message was clear: these people were not like us, and because they were not like us, they were a threat to our way of life. Fear was a tool, just as much as pride.
Hollywood was a willing partner. Major studios worked hand-in-hand with the government. Movies like Casablanca and Mrs. Miniver subtly reinforced wartime values, while documentaries like Frank Capra’s Why We Fight series gave Americans a crash course in geopolitics. Even Walt Disney got involved, producing short films that explained war bonds and mocked the enemy.
And then there was the use of propaganda abroad. The United States did not only aim its messaging inward. Radio broadcasts, leaflets, and psychological warfare tools were deployed across Europe and the Pacific. American propaganda targeted enemy troops and occupied civilians alike, hoping to undermine morale, encourage surrender, and spread doubt. Language, tone, and imagery were tailored to each audience, showing a high level of strategic sophistication.
What made American propaganda in WWII uniquely powerful was its adaptability. Unlike more rigid systems, such as those in Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union, the U.S. allowed for some level of humor, creativity, and irony. Political cartoons often mocked Hitler, Mussolini, and Hirohito with exaggeration and wit. Songs, jokes, and slogans became part of everyday life. In short, the government understood the culture and used it skillfully.
But even as the war ended and American soldiers came home victorious, the propaganda machine did not stop—it simply evolved. New targets emerged: communism, the Soviet threat, domestic unrest. The infrastructure built during WWII would lay the foundation for Cold War messaging, anti-communist campaigns, and even the marketing techniques we still see in modern political campaigns.
In retrospect, American wartime propaganda during World War II offers a study in contrast. It was idealistic and inspiring, yet sometimes manipulative. It was inclusive in message, but not always in practice—especially when it came to African Americans, Japanese Americans interned in camps, or women encouraged to work during war only to be pushed back into domestic roles afterward.
Still, few would argue that it was not effective. The United States entered the war fractured by economic despair and regional divisions. By war’s end, it emerged with a unified public, a booming industrial sector, and a deeply embedded belief in the moral superiority of its cause. That belief would carry through the 20th century and continue to shape global perceptions of America for decades to come.
In short, propaganda was not a side tool—it was central to the American war effort. And while its methods differed from those used in the Soviet Union, its aim was the same: to shape belief, mobilize action, and maintain control of the national narrative.
The 2016 Trump Campaign — Propaganda, Perception, and the Endless Stories of Foreign Influence
By the time 2016 arrived, the rules of political communication had changed—but the purpose had not. Propaganda was no longer limited to posters or radio jingles. It lived inside phones, behind social media profiles, and within 280-character phrases. And while the platforms looked modern, the underlying playbook was a remix of mid-century manipulation. Now pause and think of the television show Mad Men, staring John Hamm.
Enter Trump.
Trump was not supposed to win. That was the consensus from nearly every traditional institution—media, academia, political consultants, and financial donors. He was loud, unpredictable, and spoke in plain, often crude, terms. But he connected. He bypassed the traditional gatekeepers and appealed directly to the disillusioned. His campaign was not polished. It was primal. And it resonated with people who had long felt ignored.
It is always remarkable how confident the establishment sounds before they lose. In 2016, the Democratic elite—armed with their media echo chambers, poll-tested soundbites, and party-line arrogance—laughed off the possibility that Trump could win. Not just disagreed with him. Not just disliked him. They flat-out denied the very possibility of his election. They believed it was impossible, not because the voters would not support him, but because their system—their club—would never allow it.
President Barack Obama, with his signature blend of calm and condescension, said in February 2016: “I continue to believe Mr. Trump will not be president. And the reason is because I have a lot of faith in the American people.” That was not just a political prediction. It was a warning label, handed down from the top of the elite ladder. If you vote for him, you are not worthy of Obama’s faith. And the media parroted that line day and night.
Hillary Clinton followed suit. She chuckled her way through campaign stops, fundraisers, and interviews. “He’s not going to be president,” she told one audience confidently. “He’s not. That’s not going to happen.” She had the consultants. The donors. The media. She had Hollywood, Wall Street, and Silicon Valley. The machine was already crowning her before the race even started.
Then came Nancy Pelosi, dismissing Trump as “unserious,” “unqualified,” and “unfit.” She would later double down, calling his campaign “a joke that went too far.” Chuck Schumer piled on, saying, “Americans won’t elect a man who builds his platform on division and fear.” John Kerry, former Secretary of State, laughed at Trump’s foreign policy views, saying, “This man is not going to be president of the United States. I guarantee it.”
They all guaranteed it.
They scoffed at the rallies, mocked the slogans, and ignored the movement. They treated Trump’s candidacy like a TV show gone rogue, forgetting that it was their own complacency, their own smugness, that created the opening. Their comments were not just dismissive. They were rooted in contempt—for the man and for the millions who supported him.
And here is the question that still lingers in the minds of millions: did they really believe Trump could never win—or did they already know the fix was in? Was their smug certainty the product of polling and focus groups, or something more sinister? The way they spoke—like it was already settled—sounded less like confidence and more like confirmation. Hillary Clinton did not campaign like someone trying to win hearts and minds. She campaigned like someone who already had the scorecard in her purse. That is the core of the voter fraud debate—not Dominion machines or late-night ballot drops per se—but the sense that it never mattered how many people voted for Trump, because the outcome was already baked. Just like the Kennedy assassination, the missing moon landing tapes, or Epstein’s visitor logs, we may never get the full truth. And maybe that is the point. Real power is not just about what happens—it is about what never gets answered.
What made the 2016 election different, however, was not just Trump’s rise—it was the suspicion that his momentum had outside help. Almost immediately, evidence began surfacing of foreign influence campaigns that operated not with guns or tanks, but with memes and metadata. Thousands of fake accounts, groups, and articles flooded American social platforms, designed to create chaos, division, and mistrust.
These tactics were familiar to anyone who studied Soviet-era disinformation. The goal was not always to promote one side over another—it was to confuse. To polarize. To push people into extremes and erode faith in institutions. The difference now was scale. A lie in 1947 might have taken weeks to spread. In 2016, it could go viral in 10 minutes.
The foreign actors behind these efforts—mostly traced back to troll farms and state-aligned media from the East—understood American vulnerabilities. They targeted race, religion, immigration, and identity. They elevated wild conspiracy theories and fanned the flames of outrage. And it worked. Longtime friends unfriended each other. Families stopped talking. Neighborhoods grew suspicious.
Meanwhile, Trump thrived in the fog. The more critics attacked him, the stronger his supporters felt. Every insult was seen as proof that he was always the target. Every media takedown only boosted his outsider credibility. His messaging was raw, repetitive, and riddled with exaggeration—but it was consistent. And it cut through.
The traditional political playbook—based on decorum, debate, and party loyalty—was shredded. Trump was not running to be accepted. He was running to be rejected, and in that rejection, to prove his point: that the system was rigged, the elites were afraid, and the forgotten man finally had a voice. John and Jane American had a voice and two words for the Washington elite: "You're Fired."
Even more fascinating was how the media, while outwardly critical of Trump, inadvertently empowered him. Wall-to-wall coverage turned every rally into free publicity. Outrage segments turned him into a constant presence. In the name of resistance, they handed him the megaphone. The more outrageous he was, the more clicks, views, and ad revenue they earned. He hijacked the system by feeding its addiction to spectacle.
Behind the scenes, intelligence officials quietly raised alarms. Classified reports circulated about coordinated misinformation efforts. Some emails had been hacked. Other content had been fabricated. The target was not just Trump’s—it was the American mind itself. Doubt became the currency of the day. “Who can you trust?” became the most powerful question of the campaign.
But by the time the final votes were counted, it was clear: the old model had failed. Trump had won.
To be clear, the election was not determined by a single post or a batch of fake accounts. Trump’s victory reflected deep structural frustrations—about jobs, immigration, political correctness, and a sense of national decline. But the foreign interference amplified those tensions with surgical precision. They did not invent division, but they poured gasoline on it and lit a match.
In hindsight, what happened in 2016 was not entirely new. It was the digital evolution of 20th-century propaganda. But it revealed just how unprepared the United States was for the information battlefield. No bombs were dropped. No troops crossed borders. But the mind of the nation had been scrambled—and the old tools for making sense of it no longer worked.
Ironically, much of the response to this moment mirrored the propaganda tactics it aimed to fight. Think tanks issued reports, government agencies held hearings, and news outlets launched campaigns to “fact-check” in real time. But the more they tried to assert control over truth, the more skeptical the public became. Truth, in this new environment, was a contested territory.
And Trump? He continued to thrive in the chaos. Whether or not he fully understood the mechanics behind the influence campaigns, he knew how to ride the wave. He did not need to be precise—he just needed to be present. His greatest skill was not governing—it was disrupting. He was not a polished leader, but a blunt instrument aimed at everything people hated about modern politics.
In the end, the 2016 campaign will be remembered as a turning point—a moment when propaganda came home. The lessons of Soviet information warfare were not just studied—they were applied. And as Americans learned to navigate this new terrain, they would soon face another challenge: what happens when the image of competence itself is manufactured, propped up, and maintained—not by foreign agents, but by their own institutions?
That takes us to the Biden era.
The Biden Administration — When the Illusion Becomes the Product
In the years following the election of Trump, some believe that many Americans longed for calm, steadiness, and predictability. Others do not. Regardless, there was a feeling that the nation might return to a the normal political process of government, not because normal was great, but because it was familiar. Into that space stepped old Joe Biden.
Biden was not new. He had been around the political circuit for many decades. He had the smile, the handshakes, the polished tone, and the resume. But behind the curtain, there were whispers, about confusion, forgetfulness, slurred words, and being out of step with modern issues. None of this was new to the people closest to him. They had seen the signs. But they also saw something else: opportunity.
Biden, in many ways, became the ultimate vessel for projection. He was not chosen to lead boldly. He was chosen to represent stability—to calm the storm that had followed Trump. While Trump had thrown punches and upended institutions, Biden was sold as the man who would restore order. The slogan was not “Let’s innovate.” It was more like “Let’s settle down.”
And so began one of the most curious propaganda campaigns in modern American history, not led by foreign agents or troll farms, but by institutions that had once prided themselves on skepticism: the media, academia, Hollywood, corporate brands, and government spokespeople. Together, they built and maintained a carefully curated image of Biden as a wise, competent, grandfatherly figure. The public was encouraged to see him as a moral counterbalance to the chaos that came before. All the while, the greatest theft of freedom took place during the Covid fiasco.
Behind closed doors, there were signs the image did not match reality. Those there know it, and one day, the beans will spill; but don't hold your breath.
Footage of blank stares, awkward silences, and gaffes during public events were quietly edited or explained away. Press questions were filtered in advance. Handlers stayed close. When something went wrong, the script was always the same: it was taken out of context, digitally manipulated, or exaggerated by critics. Those who dared to raise questions—about cognitive sharpness, decision-making, or awareness—were quickly labeled as cruel, conspiratorial, or even unpatriotic at best. More commonly promoted to talking heads by Democrat Party leaders were mean, nasty, and vile terms that questioned all Republicans and Trump supporters especially, as dumb, evil, racists, nazi, and killers of the constitution.
This was not governance. This was production. The administration operated less like a presidential office and more like a television studio. And the media, rather than investigate, played along. Carefully selected soundbites were repeated endlessly. Slogans were massaged into hashtags. Reporters would smile and nod during awkward moments, quickly pivoting to softer questions. The illusion was the product—and protecting it became the job.
Even allies abroad noticed. Some whispered that Biden was not truly running things—that decisions came from staffers, advisors, or an unelected network of bureaucratic loyalists. When foreign leaders visited, they often commented on the tight choreography surrounding Biden, how every meeting seemed pre-scripted, how staff filled the room before and after like stagehands between acts. Sadly, you know this is not an exaggeration. You saw it, we all did, but the overwhelming barrage of media spin did it's job. Distraction. "Nothing to see here and if you stick around and ask questions, that means you are the enemy and you'll face consequences."
Domestically, the consequences were subtle but real. Policy decisions seemed to appear out of nowhere, often without Biden himself able to articulate them clearly. Press briefings became abstract art. Official statements contradicted earlier ones, only to be “clarified” later. When something went wrong—whether in foreign affairs, domestic emergencies, or economic missteps—the response felt like a fog machine rather than a fire extinguisher.
Yet the protective shell remained. Every misstep was rationalized. Every fumble was ignored or mocked only briefly before being buried under a new headline. In some cases, the media’s silence spoke louder than any broadcast ever could. It was not just what was said—it was what was omitted, downplayed, or postponed.
This form of modern propaganda was not about just about shouting down the opposition. It was about exhausting people—training them to accept mediocrity, ignore contradiction, and rely on “fact-checkers” to tell them what to believe. And the Covid fiasco was the front and center, day in and out. It was about turning trust into a transaction: you give us your support, and we will give you calm, curated competence, and truck loads of cast, even if it is just theater.
Behind this illusion stood a growing bureaucracy of unelected influence—consultants, campaign architects, digital media teams, and aligned institutions. And of course, the Russia and Chinese governments and their proxies were reaping trillions and gaining land mass. The job of the White House staffer was not to empower the leader. No, not one bit. It was to shield him, program him, and keep the illusion alive just long enough to finish the term, or at least reach a strategically timed exit.
Meanwhile, real issues were bubbling beneath the surface. Inflation crept upward. Energy prices fluctuated wildly. Global alliances frayed as other nations began to sense weakness. Domestically, people felt disconnected, frustrated, and gaslit. They were told everything was under control—yet they could see potholes on their streets, chaos at their borders, and rising costs at their grocery stores. The many like Newsom played the real life role of Nero, fiddling away as property burned, riots destroyed, and the trickle of moral decay became a flood.
In response, the narrative simply adjusted.
If things were not going well, it was because of Trump’s lingering impact. Or because of foreign actors. Or because people were too impatient to see how “complex” policies worked. And everything needed to be Green while conveniently that the transfer of wealth for Chinese made Green junk was in the trillions. Biden's team always had an explanation ready. What they never offered was a clear, consistent, first-hand vision from the man himself. And that absence became the story, even when few dared to say it aloud.
Critics who tried to break through the illusion were dismissed as “performative,” accused of undermining democracy itself. But others, especially working-class Americans, began to tune out completely. They knew something was wrong. They just did not know where to turn. And in that confusion, the production continued—one press release, one teleprompter moment, one soft-focus photo at a time.
In the end, the Biden administration became a case study in modern narrative control. It revealed how institutions, when aligned, can build a public reality that is both convincing and hollow. It showed that you do not need to convince everyone—just enough people, for just long enough. And it raised a haunting question: what happens when the illusion outlives the man? Alas, the wizard in Oz is a pipsqueak.
In the old days, propaganda was about posters, radios, and parades. Today, it is about filters, feeds, and emotionally pre-approved messaging. The social media giants control in every increasing complex ways. The lesson is not that one side lies and the other does not. The lesson is that truth itself—when managed like a brand—becomes vulnerable to distortion.
And so we return to where we began: propaganda is not always about pushing ideology. Sometimes, it is about hiding frailty. Sometimes, it is about managing decline. And sometimes, it is simply about buying time. And then there's the art and science of business propaganda.
Pay, Say, and Sell — The Weaponization of Hype and Hate in Finance, Media, and Politics
There is an old saying on Wall Street: “Buy the rumor, sell the news.” But behind that phrase lies a much older trick—one that has shaped markets, media, and even politics for decades. It is called “pump and dump,” and while the method may sound like something from a back-alley poker game, it has become the playbook for modern manipulation across almost every sector of influence.
In its original form, the pump-and-dump scheme was simple. A group of insiders would buy up cheap shares of a little-known company. Then they would hype it—loudly, repeatedly, and dishonestly. They would spread glowing reports, post in investor forums, feed tips to friendly journalists, and maybe even pay for flashy TV interviews. As the hype grew, so did the share price. Once the public piled in, believing they were getting in early on a “winner,” the insiders would quietly sell—dumping their shares at the inflated price. The public was left holding the bag, wondering why the stock crashed days later.
But that was just the beginning.
Eventually, the same tactic was flipped on its head. Instead of hyping a stock, you could short it—betting that its price would fall. Then, using the same channels, you would spread fear. False reports. Dubious lawsuits. Anonymous claims on blogs and in late-night financial shows. If you had access to a camera, a podcast, or a headline, you could do damage. Once the panic set in and the price collapsed, you bought it back for pennies, laughing all the way to the bank.
This tactic—once limited to stock tips and shady newsletters—now exists in every corner of American culture. From business to entertainment, media to politics, the strategy remains the same: create noise, distort reality, profit from emotion, and walk away before the facts catch up.
In the media world, this takes on a new shape. News is not just reported. It is sold. Advertising dollars dictate airtime. “Sponsored content” masquerades as journalism. The message is clear: pay, and they will say. Pay more, and they will say it louder. Truth becomes a sliding scale, calibrated not to facts but to funding.
This is no accident. It is the natural outcome of a media environment where every click counts and every dollar depends on staying in the good graces of major sponsors. Pharmaceutical firms, tech giants, Wall Street players, and political campaigns all hold the purse strings. So stories are carefully chosen, headlines massaged, and controversy manufactured. Not for enlightenment—but for engagement.
What we now call “bias” is just the tip of the iceberg. This is not bias. This is gun-slinger journalism—fast, reckless, and weaponized. Shoot first, correct later. Or do not correct at all. Whether it is a morning news segment, a Hollywood film, or a trending social media post, the message is often preloaded. You are not consuming information. You are being sold a position.
In television and film, the manipulation is more subtle. A character portrayed as noble pushes a certain ideology. A villain just happens to oppose a fashionable cause. Dialogue sounds like a press release. Books echo think-tank white papers. Even the so-called “reality” shows are edited like political ads—designed not to inform, but to steer emotion. Modern entertainment does not reflect culture; it programs it.
And now social media has poured rocket fuel on the fire. Influence is instantaneous. A tweet from an anonymous account can tank a company’s stock or redefine a public figure’s entire reputation. Algorithms reward outrage. Engagement favors exaggeration. Truth is outmatched, not because it is weak, but because it is slow and unprofitable.
This is the modern pump and dump. Inflate reputations, ideas, causes, even currencies—until they are no longer useful. Then discard them. Cancel them. Move on to the next target. It is the same game—only the stakes are higher and the players better dressed.
So what does this have to do with investing? Everything.
Because in this environment, where influence is for sale, the average investor and citizen is constantly at risk of being manipulated. Promoters dress up as thought leaders. Commentators moonlight as marketers. Financial networks become casinos with better lighting. You are told to buy in—emotionally, financially, politically—just in time for someone else to cash out.
And this is why the role of a true fiduciary is more important than ever.
A fiduciary does not sell hype. A fiduciary does not profit from your panic. A fiduciary advisor—whether in finance or life planning—is required by law and ethics to act in your best interest. No commissions. No backdoor fees. No handshakes behind closed doors. Just clear thinking, clear reasoning, and client-first planning.
The difference matters because everything is connected. The way politicians manipulate voters is the same way shady brokers manipulate shareholders. The sales pitch on television is no different from the one in the boardroom. The slogans, the urgency, the emotional triggers—they are all designed to bypass logic and accelerate compliance.
That is the lesson. From politics to business to media, the tools of manipulation are the same—and they are often invisible until it is too late.
We live in an age where image is everything and authenticity is rare. But authenticity can still be found. It does not come from celebrities or slogans or highly-produced ads. It comes from advisors who tell the truth, even when it is uncomfortable. It comes from leaders who prioritize long-term outcomes over short-term headlines. And it comes from voters and investors who take the time to ask hard questions and demand honest answers.
To be clear, not every journalist is bought. Not every company is shady. And not every politician is a puppet. But in a world where money, access, and attention are the currencies of influence, trusting blindly is no longer an option.
Pump and dump is not just a crime on Wall Street. It is a mindset—a cultural disease that rewards short-term gain and punishes integrity. The only antidote is education, skepticism, and strong fiduciary leadership.
In the end, the most powerful investment is not in a fund or a stock—it is in truth. And those who protect and manage your wealth should be held to that same standard. Always.
The Power of Knowing What's True
History does not repeat itself exactly, but it does rhyme—and for those paying attention, the rhymes are getting louder. Whether it is Soviet propaganda, American wartime messaging, political manipulation, financial media hype, or manufactured narratives, the tools of deception have not changed. Only the platforms have. I do not just study this—I live it, connect it, and forecast from it.
The truth is simple, but never easy. We are not facing new challenges. We are facing old tricks dressed in digital clothing. Whether it is voter manipulation, media gaslighting, or economic sleight of hand, it all follows patterns—ones I have tracked for decades. My team and I do not chase headlines. We decode them. We do not follow the herd. We follow the data, the documents, the behavior, and most of all—history.
If you are serious about protecting your wealth, understanding reality, and avoiding the traps laid by people who profit from confusion, then it is time we talk. We bring clarity, structure, and discipline to a chaotic world—because real planning requires thought, structure, and the willingness to act with logic, compassion, and creativity.
We are not here to scare you. We are here to prepare you. Reach out today—and find out what it means to work with someone who does not just believe in truth…
But lives by what is steady and true.
The name is Truesdell—now you know what to do.