How lies become truth: Why politicians master the art of deception

Every songwriter, novelist, filmmaker, and public speaker knows it. Every entertainer relies on it. A sharp two-liner, a catchy logo, a sound bite, something that seizes an audience’s attention instantly. You don’t have much time. Thirty seconds, maybe less. If you fail, people switch the channel, scroll past, or walk out.

Politicians know this game better than anyone. Their survival depends on it, and what is this essential tool? Not intelligence. Not insight. It’s attention, capturing it, holding it, and feeding it over and over again. The opening hook may draw people in, but without a steady stream of shocking, emotional, or outrageous remarks, the audience drifts.

Donald Trump learned this early. When dating, he told women whatever he thought they wanted to hear: that he was: wealthy, impressive, destined for greatness. Later, he weaponized the same tactic in politics. His approach boiled down to one principle: repeat something until people believe it.

Trump’s messaging relied on five tactics:

• Claim that immigrants steal jobs, threaten safety, and even endanger pets.
• Repeat statements endlessly until listeners accept them as truth.
• Paint Democrats, progressives, and anti-corporate voices as America’s enemies.
• Insist on personal wealth and power without offering proof.
• Exploit fear by convincing citizens that outsiders threaten their survival.

This strategy isn’t new. But Trump demonstrated how effective it could be in the modern media environment. Say something enough times, tailor it to the audience’s fears and values, and it will stick. The formula is simple: Lie. Lie convincingly. Lie often. Lie with emotion.

Lies spread like viruses. They travel faster than facts because they demand less verification. A lie doesn’t need to be tested before it lands; it only needs to sound believable. Like COVID-19, deception infects quickly, but unlike COVID-19, there’s no vaccine.

When a politician is caught in a lie, the escape hatch is simple. Apologize publicly. Cry if possible. Appear humble. The apology itself becomes a performance designed to restore trust while preserving influence.

Most liars, especially powerful ones, face few consequences. They continue to command audiences, shifting blame, redirecting outrage, and attacking anyone who challenges them. The moralists shouting, “Liar, liar, pants on fire” are brushed aside with smirks. “So what? I’ll buy another pair.”

The true power of a lie lies in its asymmetry. A lie is quick and effortless. Disproving it requires time, evidence, and attention, resources in short supply. Meanwhile, liars flip the script. They accuse truth-tellers of dishonesty, of bias, of being “un-American.” Now the burden of proof shifts, and confusion multiplies.

This is where North America finds itself today: overwhelmed by misinformation, propaganda, and partisan noise. Trust has eroded. Facts are questioned. Reality feels negotiable, and the public is left asking: Who do we believe?

The stakes are enormous. Lies don’t just distort debates; they shape elections, policies, and lives. They turn citizens against one another and undermine the very idea of truth. In this climate, outrage beats nuance, and performance overshadows principle.

So, what’s the solution? It begins with awareness. Recognizing the mechanics of deception is the first defense. Lies thrive on repetition and fear, but truth, clear, documented, consistent truth, still holds power. The challenge is that truth requires effort, while lies demand only belief.

The responsibility falls on all of us, not just journalists, or fact-checkers. Each time we share a story, each time we repeat a claim, we choose whether to amplify truth or spread contagion. Attention is the currency of power, and in a world where lies buy more attention than facts, vigilance isn’t optional, it’s survival.