The History of American Propaganda: An Overview

Propaganda in American History has functioned as the perpetuation and promotion of ideologies and partisan agendas through various forms of media – namely, visual art. Unlike art, which invites interpretation, propaganda directs thoughts, shaping perception rather than leaving space for uncertainty. Organic art itself does not usually carry such an intention. 

When asked to define art, Luca Wood ‘26 neutrally describes it as “A depiction of something literal or figurative, leaving the meaning up to audience interpretation.”

If art is commonly understood to invite differing interpretations, then what about the images that leave little space for ambiguity? What about the pieces– such as wartime posters, political cartoons, or patriotic banners– that allow little freedom? By that point, are we analyzing art, or something else entirely: propaganda? 

To accurately analyze the history and effects of propaganda, we must begin at its root. What exactly is it, and how did it start? 

Hunter Rems ‘26 described propaganda as “Any form of visual or artistic … media that is supposed to promote a specific cause.”

Rems said, “I think good art tells a story in any way. And I think if you have a story worth telling, it should be saying something meaningful. And in turn, saying something meaningful, I would say, is inherently propagandist, if your cause for creating is to change people’s opinions.” 

When looking at art through a historical lens, it is clear to see how many works of art were intentionally politicized and were able to further political schemes and values through artistry. Paul Revere’s drawing of the Boston Massacre is widely considered the earliest recorded work of American propaganda. Yet, by no means was Revere the first artist in the colonies, so what made his work so distinct? 

Many sources cite the Boston Massacre of 1770 as a pivotal moment that fueled the colonists’ growing anti-British sentiments. The Massacre, where British soldiers killed five colonists, was a key event that inspired the American Revolution. Revere’s artistic documentation of the event depicted defenseless colonists being assaulted by British gunfire and weapons, essentially portraying the soldiers as ruthless aggressors and the colonists as innocent victims. Following the confrontation, Revere’s image was widely disseminated, appearing in virtually every colony. 

What made Revere’s work propaganda, however, was the omission of several important situational details, which included the crowd’s incessant taunts towards the soldiers, as well as their potential usage of rudimentary weapons. According to historian Steven L. Danver, “What set Revere’s engraving apart was the editorializing function that it played, allowing colonists in disparate locations to have a more visceral sense of what had occurred in Boston and thus relate more directly to the Patriot cause.” 

Furthermore, Revere’s clear embellishment of details (including his depiction of the event as a daytime occurrence, rather than it happening at night, or his complete removal of Crispus Attucks, a man of color) shows that Revere made decisions to distort the truth, ominously foreshadowing the reality of propagated art in the future. This was one of the earliest recorded examples of fear-mongering—the depiction of external threats as exaggerated threats to fuel anti-British sentiments and the desire for revolution. 

As propaganda shifted from depicting a single event to shaping public sentiments, artists began to rely on satire and symbols rather than individual scenes. The emergence of political cartoons introduced a new style of easily craftable pieces that, combined with a short yet powerful message, are just as compelling as an intricate painting.

According to a 1944 analysis of propaganda, “political leaders in office must necessarily explain and justify their courses of action to an electorate. Through the use of persuasion, those in office seek to reconcile the demands of various groups in the community.” 

A remarkable example, especially when compared to other elaborate wartime paintings, is Thomas Nast’s political cartoons about the Civil War. Often referred to as the “Father of the American Cartoon,” Nast’s work is predated by Benjamin Franklin’s ‘Join or Die’ woodcut cartoon of the 1750s. While Franklin relied on a single symbolic element—the severed snake—to promote unity across the colonies during a period of revolution, Nast expanded the scope of cartoons nearly a century later.

Using recurring characters, satire, idealized depictions of political figures, and visual details to influence public opinion and perception during the Civil War, Nast effectively demonstrated how political cartoons evolved from sparsely ornamented messages to artistic commentary. Through caricatures and embellishment, Nast was able to capitalize on fear, as his depiction of the Confederates as threats to democracy reflected how propaganda can easily manipulate anxiety and panic in times of division. 

Nast used concise yet meaningful imagery in his cartoons to critique the opposing views of the seceded Confederate states, as well as to promote Union values. His drawings did not rely on abstract and personal interpretations, as every expression, symbol, word, and color was meticulously selected to further Nast’s narrative. Yet unlike Revere’s engraving, in which he relied on dramatized images to portray a single event, Nast’s images were produced for mass replication for newspapers, essentially created to reach many audiences through satire and repetition. 

By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the growth of print media and escalation of conflicts only amplified and inspired propaganda. During World War I, the US government formally commissioned over 300 artists through the Committee of Public Information (CPI). Posters such as the infamous Uncle Sam “I want you”  showed that these artworks were not designed for interpretation, but for assembling. 

Unlike earlier propagandist work—Benjamin Franklin’s woodcutting, or Revere’s engraving—these images were all mass-produced with the direct intention of shaping public opinion. The United States ultimately produced over 20 million war posters, more than any other nation at the time, reflecting a shift from art created to be interpreted, and art intended for recruitment, funding, and unity. Fear-mongering was now a government-run effort, as posters warned of invisible adversaries and framed participation in wars as the only way to avoid potential downfall. 

As World War I expanded beyond borders, so did American messaging. Artists modified their symbolism to reflect political responses to external threats. While Revolutionary War propaganda highlighted colonial unity, and Civil War cartoons emphasized the Union and its strength, WWI imagery often glorified war and romanticized sacrifice and duty, portraying soldiers as the pinnacle of American bravery. 

Unlike in the 18th and 19th centuries, propaganda did not stall between wars—it grew rampant during the interwar period. Senator Joseph McCarthy ran a national anti-communist campaign, weaponizing art such as films, posters, and other media to instill a collective fear of infiltration. 

Artists and filmmakers alike were blacklisted for their assumed political affiliations, and the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) forced Hollywood into creating works that aligned with their anti-Soviet sentiments. This period, called the “Red Scare”, transformed art into a weapon aimed to test the loyalty and political adherence of America’s constituents. This era demonstrated how propaganda thrived under paranoia and patriotism, showing Americans that fear was the biggest unifier. 

The evolution in wartime themes became even more pronounced through World War II, especially through Norman Rockwell. His 1943 “Four Freedoms” artistic series—Freedom from Want, Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Worship, and Freedom from Fear—outlined a slower, softer version of American culture and morality. Instead of fear-mongering or propagating the draft, Rockwell framed the war as a protection of American life and democratic functions.

 Like many others, his work was printed in magazines, books, bond campaigns, and posters. Rockwell was able to bridge fine art and mass propaganda. When compared to Franklin’s simple, fractured snake, or Nast’s ironic cartoons, Rockwell’s work represented a development of propagandist art—the ability for it to be emotionally persuasive, the ability for it to be produced on a large scale, and its intersection between national identity and political messaging.  

The biggest shift for propaganda, however, occurred with the creation of the Internet and the integration of Social Media websites. In the early 21st century, political messaging centered primarily on printed posters or newspapers—it moved into digital spaces and communities. Instead of the spread of knowledge from select sources, propaganda became interactive, data-reliant, and easily accessible, yet easily faked. Applications such as Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and later Instagram and TikTok platforms allow political groups, advertisers, and even select individuals to circulate persuasive images and rhetoric instantly.  

Where wartime posters called for action through slogans and symbolic imagery, 21st-century propaganda targeted the public through algorithms that sorted people through existing posted beliefs. Political messaging is now centered mainly on emotional appeal, as well as logic and repetition, rather than formal government campaigns.

American propaganda has evolved along with the tools used to create it– from Paul Revere’s many anti-British etchings, to viral videos of No King’s Day protests. What has remained constant during post-colonial history, however, is the dependence on unified fear, emotions, and manipulation through imagery to manipulate public opinions. Across centuries, fear-mongering has served as a vital tool, one capable of uniting citizens under common causes or dividing them through paranoia. 

Whereas earlier eras had defining artists—Franklin’s cartoons, Revere’s drawings, or Rockwell’s satire—the 2000s through 2020s lack any significant central artist synonymous with propaganda. This shift demonstrates the reality that few artists or groups fail to address the majority, as much of today’s propaganda is crowdsourced. Millions of individuals are now able to participate in the circulation of images and messages, and can modify persuasive imagery. 

One of the most profound shifts in propaganda of the early 21st century followed the attacks of September 11, 2001. In the aftermath of the event, the US government quickly acquired a new tactic for persuasion to justify the military’s intervention abroad, as well as to expand surveillance nationally.

The images of the Twin Towers burning—immortalized by photographers such as Richard Drew, who took the infamous ‘Falling Man’ photograph—were circulated within days of the tragedy, becoming one of the most reproduced symbols in digital history. News outlets played the videos of the tower’s collapse on loop; the emotional impact of these visuals turned them into tools of persuasion. 

Many artists responded as well, turning 9/11 into a representation of patriotism, yet also fear. Eric Fischl’s sculpture “Tumbling Woman” and many other works remarked on the traumatic nature of these events. Still, they were both targeted with backlash after many people considered them to be “unpatriotic.”

Meanwhile, the government commissioned imagery that emphasized heroism and national unity. Thomas E. Franklin’s famous photograph of the firefighters raising the American flag at Ground Zero paid homage to Joe Rosenthal’s 1945 photograph of soldiers flying the American flag at the Battle of Iwo Jima, linking 9/11 to WW2 patriotism. Various slogans and graphics were also created, featuring the New York skyline and phrases such as “Never Forget,” symbolizing the shift from a tragic event into a uniting cause. 

Army recruitment and military propaganda began to incorporate 9/11 symbolism. Digital media, posters, and graphics featured the silhouettes of camouflage-clad soldiers, overlays of the American flag, and images of cities in flames. The Department of Homeland Security’s Advisory System turned into both a poignant reminder of external threats and a tool of propaganda in itself. 

In the 2020s, propaganda has evolved beyond traditional, government-sanctioned campaigns and into more separated, individual messages. Political figures have been able to leverage both the anonymity and specificity of the internet, choosing apps such as X, formerly known as Twitter, Truth Social, and Facebook to create echo chambers of ideology. Memes, visual images relying heavily on humor and satire, AI-generated images, and short-form videos have taken their roles as new propaganda tools, effectively manipulating the audience through speed, emotional appeals, and repetition. 

Fear-mongering is a dominating tool in these digital spaces, often centered around “threats to freedom” or “threats to traditional American values and culture.” Unlike the coordinated propaganda of the World Wars, modern propaganda thrives primarily on polarization and chaos. Misinformation has, in itself, become a tool of artistic expression. This modern take on persuasive art has indisputably reshaped how Americans perceive truth, ideologies, and one another. 

Whether in McCarthy-era films or in 2020 TikTok posts, propaganda has consistently obfuscated the line between artistic expression and ideological control.

As Rems said, “I think good art tells a story in any way. And I think if you have a story worth telling, it should be saying something meaningful. And in turn, saying something meaningful, I would say, is inherently propagandistic, if your cause for creating is to change people’s opinions.”

If propaganda has been commonly described as the “art of persuasion,” then all art has propagandist potential. The difference lies mainly in intention—whether the story it tells is meant to open the mind, or shape it.