This an assessment of the main themes and arguments of the book. Looking back at Brexit, what is most striking is the subsequent economic decline of the UK – a consequence of Leave demagogues diverting voters’ attention from economic risks. Brexit’s populism was a manifestation of the Europe-wide rise of identitarian politics, the normalisation of national populism and the drift toward authoritarianism. These trends went with viewing the world as a collection separate sovereign nation states. A national population was imagined as a homogeneous mass, potentially embodied in a single sovereign leader. Seeing nations as separated entities brings a focus on foreign others, exemplified in the Brexiters’ fixation on immigration into the UK. Demagoguery, bound up with ‘post-truth’ culture, is used as an explanatory concept throughout this book, but requires redefinition in the age of mass media, data collection and psychological profiling. The most important conclusion is that Brexitspeak, Brexit policies and Brexit attitudes in government constitute threats to representative democracy, foreshadowed in the referendum process and actions by post-Brexit governments.

Lucas L. Schulte analyzes “The Book of Isaiah in the Persian Period.” This was a crucial time in the book’s overall development. He shows how Persian emperors were able to enlist scribal elites in various subject nations and win their support. The well-known Cyrus Cylinder from Babylon may be the most prominent example, but Isa 40–66 also reflects its own interpretation of this international Persian Royal Propaganda Model. This chapter also shows how the later parts of the book of Isaiah interacted with religious and sociopolitical issues in the postexilic Persian province, comparing and contrasting it with the viewpoints of Ezra and Nehemiah in particular.

This chapter focuses attention on covert or unattributable propaganda conducted in India by the Foreign Office’s Information Research Department. Between the outbreak of the Sino-Indian border war in 1962, and the Indian general election of 1967, IRD operations in the subcontinent peaked. At the time, the Indian government welcomed British support in an information war waged against Communist China. However, cooperation between London and New Delhi quickly waned. Britain’s propaganda initiative in India lacked strategic coherence and cut across the grain of local resistance to anti-Soviet material. The British Government found itself running two separate propaganda campaigns in the subcontinent: one openly focused on Communist China; and a second, secret programme, targeting the Soviet Union. Whitehall found it difficult to implement an integrated and effective anti-communist propaganda offensive in India. The chapter also recovers the importance of nonaligned nations in the story of Cold War covert propaganda and reveals that India was never a passive player in the propaganda Cold War.

The CIA remained a fixture at the heart of Indian civil debate throughout the 1980s. To the very end of the Cold War, the political fortunes of Indira Gandhi, and her son, and successor, Rajiv Gandhi, were intertwined with a series of espionage scandals in which, almost inevitably, the CIA figured prominently. This chapter examines the Reagan administration’s reliance of the CIA as a cold war foreign policy tool and its difficulties in securing Indian support to counter what officials in Washington perceived to be an alarming and unacceptable expansion in Soviet disinformation activity in the subcontinent. It explores the assassinations of Indira and Rajiv Gandhi and how these two tragic events came to be connected by South Asians with the Agency and its earlier CIA involvement in subversion and political assassination in the Global South. As the Cold War approached its end, and Hindu nationalism, rampant corruption, and political violence gripped India, the chapter considers why national powerbrokers in the subcontinent were once again unable to resist urging citizens to ‘look the other way’ and attribute the country’s troubles to a ubiquitous foreign hand?

In order to determine what really happened when Werner Heisenberg and Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker met with Niels Bohr in occupied Copenhagen in September 1941, this visit has to be placed in several contexts. By this time the German uranium research had demonstrated that atomic bombs were probably feasible, even if not for Germany during the war. The summer 1942 German offensive against the Soviet Union had not yet begun to falter, although Heisenberg was nevertheless privately very anxious about the war. The Germans alienated Bohr and his colleagues by their participation in cultural propaganda and nationalistic and militaristic comments about the war. A comparison with Heisenberg’s other lecture trips abroad shows that he acted the same way in other places. Heisenberg’s subsequent efforts in 1942 to gain support from Nazi officials by both describing the power of atomic bombs and the threat that the Americans might get them first also do not fit with an attempt at Copenhagen to forestall all nuclear weapons. Instead the best explanation for the visit is Heisenberg and Weizsäcker’s fear of American atomic bombs falling on Germany.

Essays of the ‘age of catastrophe’ encompassing the two World Wars have been judged aesthetic failures because, in their argumentative force and dogmatism, they break with a fundamental commitment of the essayistic: to provide an open, even democratic relational space between reader and writer. This has hindered our ability to recognise them as important objects of historic memory. Assuming that the rhetorical power of the essay may just as often be used to defend truth and justice as to agitate for and justify violent conflict, this chapter will examine the essayistic mode of political essays by Rudyard Kipling and Vernon Lee. It will argue that political essays often display the same longing for connection and attachment that has long been deemed the cornerstone of the literary essay.

No foreign humanitarian organization garnered more support from Americans during (and after) World War I than did the Fatherless Children of France Society. From New York City, the Franco-American private philanthropic organization rapidly raised a wave of humanitarian response for the children of France’s war dead, doing so through strategic communication and tireless networking. Members of the FCFS toured US cities, states, and territories, opening chapters and addressing assembled crowds, constantly collecting funds. Speakers vividly described the plight of starving babies in devastated France and invited those who had witnessed the trauma of children to testify. Much of the campaigning was done by women representing local committees. Americans were offered a choice on how to spend their humanitarian dollars. From the moment they became sponsors, they could be involved in the process of selecting their orphans. Most importantly, the FCFS reached the wealthy, middle, and working classes alike. In involving school children, laborers, and members of churches, clubs, and associations, the FCFS encouraged a spirit of cooperative – and sometimes competitive – humanitarianism. As a result, the FCFS mobilized large sections of US society to “adopt” some 300,000 French children who were victims of war and kept the aid flowing from 1915 to 1921.

Philanthropic organizations generally operate through networks of political and social élites, mobilizing the wealthy and influential. That was no less true during World War I. The colonies established by the CFAPCF were under the direct patronage of wealthy individuals – Americans who donated parts of their fortune and lent their properties to care for and house relatively small groups of children who were victims of the war: ill, injured, or displaced. The FCFS, which provided money directly to war widows caring for their fatherless children, marshaled the empathy and energies of the American public – initially expatriate Americans in France but eventually wide cross-sections of American society – to support some 300,000 children.

After his conversion to socialism in 1883, William Morris expressed again and again his hope of replacing the ‘cannibalism’ and ‘stupendous organization – for the misery of life’ that characterized modern civilization with the community of liberated equals pursuing satisfying and meaningful work that he saw in socialism (CL, ii.480; CW, xxiii.279). In his own account of his political awakening to the causes and cures of poverty and inequality he described himself as a ‘practical Socialist’ with little interest in politics for politics’ sake. Indeed, he embarked on a relentless programme of propaganda and agitation for the cause: he gave speeches, founded and edited a newspaper, Commonweal, and wrote protest chants, political poems, articles and sketches as well as contributing to pamphlets and leaflets on aspects of socialism in the present and future. This chapter examines the range of Morris’s journalistic and propaganda writings and the ways they formulate and express his practical but never narrowly pragmatic socialism. His recurring emphasis on the interconnections of art, beauty, environment and communities of many kinds shapes an internationalist, revolutionary ideal of socialism founded on and arrived at through fellowship, imagination and action.

Developing an online media presence is of particular importance during a military conflict. Two motivations inform the need for doing so: legitimising the grievances underlying one’s participation in the conflict and delegitimising the opponent by demoralising it or by demonising it in the eyes of third-party observers. Between 2014 and 2018, around forty news sites were set up by the authorities of the Donetsk and Luhansk ‘People’s Republics’. This chapter examines the content produced by four of these news sites. Three main narratives are identified: ‘business as usual’, ‘the cost of the war’, and ‘shaming the enemy’. News sites weaponised emotional discourse, with a focus on evoking fear and anger among their readers. A great deal of attention was paid to portraying Ukraine as a failed state, guilty of war crimes, which has no business continuing the war and which deliberately stymies all attempts at resolving the conflict peacefully. Conversely, ingroup identity was implicitly assumed rather than explored in detail; articles that evoked patriotism or addressed cultural events or local politics rarely explored why readers should identify with the Donbas ‘Republics’.

This chapter traces the development of the Donbas media landscape after the emergence of the ‘People’s Republics’ of Donetsk and Luhansk (DNR and LNR) in 2014. It focuses on the DNR/LNR authorities’ efforts to first break down and then rebuild local media. These efforts consisted of two phases: one of destruction and one of reconstruction. The destruction phase involved tearing down the existing media structure and pressuring journalists into either leaving Donbas or cooperating with the new authorities. The reconstruction phase involved setting up new media channels or repurposing existing ones, as well as implementing new legislation to impose censorship and promote certain desired narratives. The ministries of information of the two ‘Republics’ promoted local media production and set limits to what was allowed to be published by implementing accreditation procedures and keeping track of journalists working in the region. This formalisation occurred through a system of laws, decrees, edicts, and other regulations.

This chapter examines newspaper discourse in the Donetsk and Luhansk ‘People’s Republics’, analysing the content of twenty-six local newspapers between the start of the Euromaidan demonstrations in late 2013 and the end of 2017. The goal of this chapter is to uncover the themes and narratives in DNR and LNR print media, and examine how these narratives relate back to ideology and identity building. Three main narratives are identified: ‘business as usual’, ‘war and memory’, and ‘loss and guilt’. Newspapers in the Donbas ‘Republics’ continued to perform ‘typical’ activities as a source of information for local communities. However, a significant part of their content did address the development of collective identity, for example, through references to newly instated public holidays and a kinship with Russia and the Russian language. However, this ‘ingroup’ identity remained impoverished, projecting an identity discourse without a sui generis, unifying coherence. Instead, negative descriptions of the ‘outgroup’ (i.e., Ukraine/the ‘Kyiv regime’) received much more attention, with a view to demonising Ukraine and Ukrainians in the eyes of the local population.

The Russian–Ukrainian War is one of the most important conflicts of the twenty-first century. Russia’s 2022 invasion was a failure in the military sense, but also in terms of propaganda. Despite a vast reservoir of ideological and historical referents to draw from, neither Russia nor the leadership of the Donbas ‘People’s Republics’ cared much for ideology. All attempts to build a collective identity (an ‘ingroup’) were short-lived, vocalised rarely and inconsistently on the pages of local newspapers and websites. Meanwhile, the outgroup, or the ‘they’ that opposes the ‘we’, was subject to a highly detailed and rich discursive construction. Internally (addressing the local population), this outgroup-focused discourse hearkened back to past conflicts, primarily World War II, and projected a sense of guilt on the part of Ukraine towards Donbas. Externally (addressing audiences outside the DNR and LNR, primarily Russian-speaking Ukrainians), this discourse ignored history altogether, and instead projected a sense of shame rather than guilt, seeking to discredit the Ukrainian government without reference to a shared connection that was lost.

This chapter explores the consequences of the extensive influence campaign mounted by Russia and its proxies during the Russian–Ukrainian war. It focuses on the extent to which the media discourse that emanated from the Donbas ‘Republics’ and Russia about the Euromaidan revolution, the Donbas War, the ‘Kyiv regime’, and the 2022 invasion resulted in shifts in terms of how people in Donbas and Ukraine felt about themselves. Years of sustained effort to portray Ukraine as a pro-fascist country with a US-installed puppet government were at least somewhat successful at fostering stronger anti-Ukrainian sentiments within Russia, and to an extent among Ukrainians in the Donbas ‘Republics’. This success has expressed itself as continued and sustained support among Russians for the invasion of Ukraine. However, in Ukraine itself (and especially among Russian-speaking Ukrainians), this propaganda campaign backfired, and instead contributed to a consolidation of Ukrainian identity, which became stronger than ever before.

Chapter 2 delves into the primary actors and socio-historical events that have led to producing Hindu nationalism’s multiple political imaginaries and policy imperatives. It chronologically follows how Hindutva and discourses of economic development have interacted in post-Independence political regimes. I show how the BJP has been able to build multiple narratives, using both technocratic organisations and populist mobilisation, to gain several forms of legitimacy, many of which contradict one another. Scholars have written entire books on Hindutva’s ideological basis and its interaction with economic development. My intention is to give people an overview so they can appreciate how my specific research and argument fits into existing conversations and concerns. This chapter introduces how the BJP adopts two distinct forms of persuasion, making claims about the (sometimes magnificent, sometimes repugnant) past and the future to different degrees: (1) returning to an ancient, mythic, and strategically changing cultural unity; and (2) ‘cleaning up’ persisting economic and moral decadence in pursuit of invulnerable national glory.

Most people who regularly use the Internet will be familiar with words like “misinformation,” “fake news,” “disinformation,” and maybe even “malinformation.” It can appear as though these terms are used interchangeably, and they often are. However, they don’t always refer to the same types of content, and just because a news story or social media post is false doesn’t always mean it’s problematic. To add to the confusion, not all misinformation researchers agree on the definition of the problem, or employ a unified terminology. This chapter discusses the terminology around misinformation, guided by illustrative examples of problematic news content. It also looks at what misinformation isn’t: what makes a piece of information “real” or “true”? Finally, we explore how researchers have defined misinformation and how these definitions can be categorized, before presenting the working definition that is used throughout this book.