Understanding Modern Politics as Performance
by Nelson S. Thall and Pam Killeen
Have you ever felt like certain forms of media might be deliberately shaping how you think or feel, steering your perceptions away from reality? If so, you’re already on the right path to protecting yourself and your loved ones from manipulation.
In fact, you’re sensing something that’s been strategically deployed for generations: the psychological operation, or psyop. A psyop is a planned effort, usually conducted by governments, political entities, or influential organizations, aimed at influencing and altering people’s emotions, opinions, attitudes, and behaviors through subtle yet powerful methods. Psyops use misinformation, propaganda, staged events, selective narratives, and emotional manipulation to control public perception, often without people even realizing they’re being influenced.
Here’s a provocative thought: What if psyops aren’t just distant military operations overseas, but routine practices embedded in everyday media, politics, and even something as seemingly innocent as a national anthem? What if hidden messages and theatrical tactics are being deployed not only to shape your views but to control your emotional responses, political choices, and social behavior? In today’s world, where media saturation is at its peak, the line between genuine information and sophisticated psychological manipulation is blurrier than ever. To guard against this, we need first to recognize when and how we’re being manipulated.
First, let’s examine the subtle yet potentially significant implications behind a recent lyric change in Canada’s national anthem.
Part 1: The Anthem as Metaphor
At some point in the great bureaucratic wisdom of Ottawa, someone whispered into the ears of the Canadian government: “You know, ‘in all thy sons command’ sounds a little… masculine.” Alarmed by the clear and present danger of outdated pronouns, the nation mobilized.
And thus began the noble mission to surgically remove gender bias from the national anthem—one syllable at a time. The result? “In all of us command.” A triumph of inclusivity! A victory for vague grammar!
Except, of course, it doesn’t actually make sense. While it’s quite common for poetry and lyrics to play loosely with grammar to achieve artistic or rhythmic effects, the curious timing of this particular change in Canada’s anthem prompts deeper reflection. Especially in light of President Donald Trump’s provocative declaration earlier this year about making Canada the 51st state, one can’t help but question whether this awkward lyrical adjustment was truly innocent—or perhaps a subtly intentional nod to broader geopolitical theatrics.
“In all of us command” is not just a minor grammatical slip—it’s a blatant error, and a puzzling choice for a line intended to unite a nation. If they truly sought grammatical integrity, they might have tried “in all of our command”—but that wouldn’t have had the same foggy mystery, would it?
But wait—maybe this isn’t just a clumsy rewrite. Maybe it’s something deeper.
What if “us” isn’t just a pronoun, but an acronym? U.S. As in United States. Suddenly, “in all of U.S. command” becomes not just a lyric, but a geopolitical easter egg. Subtle. Sneaky. Sublime. And it now becomes grammatically accurate!
Perhaps this wasn’t about gender at all. Perhaps it was a covert signal to field agents, sleeper cells, or bored interns at the Pentagon. What better way to announce the secret acquisition of Canada than to encode it in the national anthem? Nobody ever pays attention to the second verse anyway.
This kind of linguistic sleight-of-hand—grammatically dubious but semantically suggestive—isn’t just clever; it’s diabolical. The hidden meaning is so skillfully woven, it’s as if it were designed by a team of cryptographers rather than lyricists.
Marshall McLuhan was a Canadian philosopher and professor, known for his work on media theory, which is often popularly referred to as “the medium is the message.” He highlighted how subtle messaging and media manipulation influence public perception. Perhaps this anthem alteration exemplifies precisely this tactic: manipulating language subtly yet powerfully to shape national consciousness.
Or maybe it’s just a bad lyric.
Either way, bravo to whoever slipped it past the Canadian politicians and bureaucrats.
Part 2: Hidden Messages—Past and Present
Hidden messages are nothing new. Throughout history, artists, writers, and musicians have embedded covert ideas in their work, influencing politics, society, and culture.
Take Homer’s The Odyssey, where Odysseus disguised himself as a beggar to infiltrate enemy territory. Medieval troubadours like Bertran de Born subtly shared political intel through songs. During the Renaissance, Chaucer and Marlowe used literary ambiguity to secretly communicate diplomatic information. Techniques like allegory, double entendre, numerological encoding, and cultural symbolism have allowed powerful ideas to remain hidden yet impactful.
Modern history continued this tradition. During WWII, poet Ezra Pound embedded secret messages in his radio broadcasts. James Angleton, a Cold War CIA operative, used poetic ambiguity inspired by T.S. Eliot and W.B. Yeats to navigate the murky waters of espionage. British double agent Kim Philby used literary references to hide secret messages, and Russian poet Anna Akhmatova subtly criticized Stalin through symbolic verse.
National anthems, too, have concealed political messages. La Marseillaise, the French national anthem composed during the revolutionary fervor of 1792, epitomizes the dual-layered significance embedded in national anthems. Originally titled Chant de guerre pour l’Armée du Rhin, it was explicitly designed to inspire troops fighting against oppressive monarchies. Its intense imagery, exemplified by the line “Qu’un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!” (“Let impure blood water our furrows!”), served as both literal calls to arms and powerful metaphors for revolutionary resistance. Additionally, “What does this horde of slaves, of traitors, of conspiratorial kings want?”—another line from La Marseillaise—rang out not only as a literal call to arms but also as a searing metaphor for resistance against tyranny.
Similar dual-purpose anthems emerged globally, serving as instruments of resistance or national sovereignty assertion:
• South Africa’s Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika: Originally composed in 1897, this anthem operated covertly as a rallying call against apartheid, embedding political resistance within religious and nationalistic imagery.
• Ireland’s Amhrán na bhFiann (The Soldier’s Song): Initially performed secretly among Irish rebels, this anthem subtly expressed resistance to British occupation, effectively concealing political aspirations within a patriotic guise.
These examples show how powerful lyrics can carry layered meanings—rallying a cause in plain sight while cloaking deeper messages for those attuned to hear them. And it’s not just music that works this way. The same principles are applied in modern political theatre, where symbolism, selective language, and staged moments act as psychological operations (psyops)—tools designed to steer public perception and emotion without appearing overtly manipulative.
Part 3: Modern Politics as Performance
But manipulative messaging isn’t limited to subtle lyric changes—it also thrives in the theatrics of modern politics. Today, politics often resembles performance art more than genuine governance, a phenomenon exemplified dramatically by Donald Trump. Trump’s theatrical public persona mirrors the wrestling concept of “Kayfabe,” where rivalries are staged yet presented as genuine to provoke emotional engagement.
As illustrated in the 2024 Netflix documentary Mr. McMahon, Trump’s close friendship and collaboration with WWE’s Vince McMahon notably influenced his political approach. McMahon built WWE by intentionally blurring reality and fiction. Paul Levesque, his son-in-law and former pro wrestler, noted, “As performers, you’re going for whatever the biggest reaction is.” McMahon, according to Phil Mushnick, columnist for the New York Post, knew exactly how to manipulate crowds by embracing controversy because “they could get away with everything.” McMahon understood that using crass language or controversial scenes—things you’d expect to drive people away—actually drew them in. The more outrageous and controversial he became, the more tickets he sold.
Similarly, Trump adopted WWE-style theatrics, using confrontational rhetoric, sensationalist tactics, and carefully choreographed controversies to dominate media coverage. This “pro-wrestlingification” of politics is clear. Sportscaster Bob Costas observed, “Trump’s sensibility and public persona are much closer to that of a wrestler than to a statesman.” Ironically, the more vulgar and provocative these figures became, the more their popularity soared.
There are numerous examples of Trump employing vulgarity, yet instead of alienating his audience, these provocative remarks only seemed to draw supporters closer. One incident particularly captures this dynamic: during a campaign rally in Las Vegas, Trump responded to a heckler by saying, “I’d like to punch him in the face, I tell ya.” He then doubled down, adding, “You know what they used to do…? In the old days, they’d be carried out on stretchers.” Although it was later confirmed by security staff that the protester had posed no actual threat and that Trump’s comments were exaggerated, the crowd responded not with disapproval but with enthusiastic cheers.
Former pro wrestler Steve Austin captured this paradox succinctly: “Vince McMahon is easy to hate… he knows how to manipulate a crowd as well or better than anybody that’s ever done it. He was a master of making people care, or making people hate him, or feel emotion. Emotions are when you sell tickets.” McMahon himself proudly declared, “When you go out and manipulate the audience… go embrace it. Such a great feeling.”
Trump’s shocking proposal to make Canada the 51st state demonstrates his wrestling-inspired strategy, intentionally provoking strong emotional reactions through controversy and spectacle. Yet, beneath the surface, this tactic represents something deeper and more insidious: the calculated use of psychological manipulation to control public perception and behavior.
Part 4: Psyops, Political Theatre, and The Trap
Psychological operations (psyops) involve manipulating public emotions and perceptions. Trump’s political methods align closely with psyops principles, deliberately using provocative rhetoric to polarize audiences and shift political discourse away from rational policy debate toward emotional reactions and tribal allegiances.
Adam Curtis, in his documentary series The Trap, argues that modern political actors have abandoned authentic civic engagement, focusing instead on superficial quotas, ratings, and immediate emotional gratification. This systemic shift prioritizes optics and spectacle over substance and results, transforming politicians into actors rather than genuine representatives of public interests. In fact, many of today’s most prominent leaders have literally come from the stage or screen. Canada’s Justin Trudeau once worked as a drama teacher and has been repeatedly mocked for his over-rehearsed, performative public persona. Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelensky rose to fame as a comedian and actor before stepping into the presidency. Ronald Reagan moved from Hollywood actor to the White House. France’s Emmanuel Macron, described by his teacher-turned-wife Brigitte as a “gifted child actor,” is known for his dramatic flair. Al Franken, a former comedian on Saturday Night Live, transitioned into U.S. politics as a Democratic senator before resigning amid scandal. Arnold Schwarzenegger leveraged his blockbuster action-hero image to become the governor of California. These aren’t just isolated cases—they illustrate a broader trend where our political stage is increasingly populated by literal performers, blurring the line between governance and show business.
Long before entering politics, Trump was already performing a role. As the domineering, larger-than-life host of The Apprentice, he perfected the art of being a bully to keep audiences hooked. Later, he refined and amplified that persona by drawing from the spectacle of McMahon’s wrestling stage, where controversy, confrontation, and even vulgar acts were deliberate tools to pull in the crowd. The self-styled “Mr. You’re Fired!” transformed his reality-TV celebrity into a formidable political brand, his persona—deliberately outrageous, provocative, and larger than life—thriving on spectacle and emotional manipulation. Sharon Maze, author of Professional Wrestling: Sport and Spectacle, observes, “Trump is an example of what seems to be a kind of pro-wrestlingification of American politics and society.” The same theatrics McMahon used to dominate wrestling audiences are now playing out in modern politics, where controversial characters drive engagement through polarization and shock value.
Trump’s annexation suggestion perfectly illustrates how modern political strategies encode subtle intentions within dramatic public gestures. McMahon himself succinctly captured this crossover, remarking: “Our fingerprints are on politics. Why wouldn’t you want to be like WWE?” This strategic use of theatrical controversy aligns directly with Marshall McLuhan’s exploration of media and subliminal messaging in shaping collective perceptions and behaviors.
Conclusion: Unmasking the Stage
Modern politics has become an elaborate theatrical performance. McMahon’s deliberately provocative wrestling persona—crafted explicitly to be despised yet wildly popular—is a psychological paradox mirrored by Trump’s political strategy. Both thrive on outrage and controversy, using emotional reactions as their currency.
Dave Meltzer, editor of Wrestling Observer Newsletter, insightfully notes, “We elected a president that was playing a pro wrestler on TV.” Trump’s political tactics and the subtle yet provocative alterations to a national anthem both demonstrate how language and performance can be strategically employed as tools of manipulation and influence.
Ultimately, navigating today’s political landscape demands critical awareness and vigilance. Recognizing hidden messages and manipulative theatrics—from subtle anthem alterations to provocative political statements—is essential to elevating human consciousness, a role that has always been central to the artist. It is also vital to preserving political integrity and promoting genuine civic dialogue. As Marshall McLuhan highlighted, media and language wield significant power to shape perceptions subtly yet profoundly. Amid the spectacle, citizens must remain alert and discerning, committed to seeking truth beyond the performance, especially when faced with linguistic ambiguity, subtle coding, and strategic controversy in seemingly innocent symbols, like national anthems.
References
- Netflix. (2024). Mr. McMahon [Documentary series]. Netflix.
- British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). (2007). The Trap [Documentary series]. BBC.
About the Authors
Nelson S. Thall is the former President of the Marshall McLuhan Centre on Global Communications in Toronto, Ontario, and a media scientist and former archivist for renowned media theorist Marshall McLuhan. You can connect with him at nsthall@mcluhanesquetactics.com.
Pam Killeen is a health coach, podcaster, and co-author of The Great Bird Flu Hoax. You can find her on Substack, Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, and X, or visit her website at www.truthoverspin.com.