Propaganda has a negative connotation, which it partially

The words of Shepard Fairey—“Propaganda has a negative connotation, which it partially deserves, but I think there is some propaganda that is very positive. I feel that if you can do something that gets people's attention, then maybe they'll go and find out more about the person.”—shine with paradox and provocation. They remind us that propaganda, though often tied to manipulation and lies, is at its heart a tool—a vessel of influence. Like fire, it may burn and destroy, or it may give warmth and light. Fairey, an artist whose works seek to stir thought and provoke conscience, dares to see the potential for positive propaganda, a force that awakens minds and directs attention toward discovery, justice, or hope.

The ancients themselves grappled with this duality of influence. Plato, in his Republic, warned of the danger of false stories told to control the masses, yet he also spoke of the “noble lie,” a tale crafted not to enslave but to unify and guide. Likewise, the poets of old were sometimes censored, for rulers knew the power of words and images to stir rebellion or devotion. Fairey stands in this ancient tradition, acknowledging that while the word “propaganda” carries the stain of tyranny, it also holds the possibility of awakening souls to deeper truths.

History bears witness to both sides of this blade. On the one hand, the twentieth century revealed the abyss of negative propaganda, wielded by fascist and totalitarian regimes to spread hatred, control thought, and incite destruction. Yet history also shows its positive face: the posters urging unity during World War II, the messages that inspired sacrifice for the liberation of nations, or the campaigns that rallied people to fight for civil rights and equality. In these cases, art and message were joined to ignite courage and hope, not fear and division.

Fairey’s own example shines brightly in this lineage. His famous “HOPE” poster of Barack Obama was more than art; it was a symbol that condensed ideals of optimism, change, and progress into a single iconic image. Some called it propaganda, and indeed it was—yet not propaganda meant to deceive, but to inspire. The image did not end the conversation, but began it; it pushed people to ask questions, to learn more about the man behind the image, and to consider their role in shaping the future. Here lies Fairey’s truth: if propaganda captures attention, it can lead seekers to knowledge, and knowledge can lead to change.

There is in his words also a moral challenge. If tools of influence can be turned to either shadow or light, then responsibility lies upon the wielder. The artist, the writer, the leader must ask: do I use this power to bind minds, or to free them? Do I stir hatred, or do I plant hope? Fairey dares to reclaim propaganda from its darkest uses, insisting that intention and truth make the difference between chains and wings.

The lesson for us is clear: do not fear influence, but discern it. Recognize that every image, every word that captures attention has power, and power must be guided with responsibility. If you create, let your creations awaken others not to blind loyalty but to inquiry, reflection, and action. If you consume, do not stop at the surface of symbols—ask what lies beyond, seek the truth that propaganda points toward, whether it is clothed in art, politics, or story.

So, dear listener, take Shepard Fairey’s words as both caution and encouragement. Know that propaganda, though heavy with history, can yet be redeemed when wielded with honesty and hope. Use your voice, your art, your influence to lift others higher, to spark curiosity, and to turn attention toward truth. For in every age, men and women will be swayed by signs and symbols; let us then labor to ensure that those signs point not into darkness, but into light.