rewind.
Not every war is built on lies. Some are born of panic, others from provocation, and many from the brutal contingencies of power. The United States has gone to war for genuine reasons – in response to clear threats, open conflicts, or treaty obligations. But time and again, when the case for military action has been weak, contested, or altogether absent, another pattern emerges: stories are shaped, truths softened, and the line between persuasion and fabrication fades.
This series explores those moments. It is not a record of every American war, nor a blanket condemnation of conflict itself, but an examination of a recurring structure – one in which the justifications for violence were not only exaggerated, but in many cases, manufactured. From early gunboat diplomacy to Cold War covert action and into the era of “humanitarian” intervention, the United States has often relied on carefully constructed narratives – misleading or outright false – to render military action both palatable and necessary.
The aim is not to accuse, but to understand: how has the American state repeatedly constructed the illusion of necessity? And how, when diplomacy faltered or motives rang hollow, did narrative step in to do the work of justification? Each article in this series will examine a period in the evolution of this architecture of deceit – asking not simply what the lies were, but why they were believed, and what they were designed to achieve.
The USS Maine and the Manufacture of Outrage
The Spanish–American War of 1898 marked not the beginning of imperial ambition, but the beginning of public persuasion as a strategy of war. When the USS Maine exploded in Havana harbour, killing 266 American sailors, there was no clear evidence of enemy action. No culprit was found; no warning had been intercepted. But the explosion came at a time when the drumbeat for war with Spain was already growing – and within hours, the event had found its purpose.
William Randolph Hearst’s New York Journal led a ferocious press campaign blaming Spain, despite the lack of proof – an early instance of “yellow journalism.” “Remember the Maine! To hell with Spain!” became not an inquiry, but a rallying cry.
What followed was not a deliberate misinformation campaign by the US government, but something more ambiguous: complicity through silence. President McKinley never explicitly claimed Spain was responsible, but neither did he challenge the accusations – despite being well aware of the inconclusive evidence. His administration allowed the narrative to harden into certainty. Weeks later, the United States was at war.
Naval investigations were inconclusive, and a later 1976 study suggested the cause was likely an internal coal fire. But by then, the myth had already served its purpose. The war delivered Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines – and what had begun as a tragic accident ended in the consolidation of an American empire.
Liberation Recast as Occupation: The Philippines
The war’s aftermath in the Philippines gave that narrative its first extended life. Filipino revolutionaries, who had fought for independence from Spain, expected self-rule. Instead, they faced American occupation.
The Philippine–American War, which lasted from 1899 to 1902 (and in some areas far longer), was never officially declared. Washington framed it as a campaign against “insurrection.” President McKinley invoked a language of divine purpose, claiming the US was there to “uplift, civilise, and Christianise” the Filipinos – despite the fact that the population was already overwhelmingly Catholic.
This was a brutal and costly war that killed hundreds of thousands of Filipinos – both civilians and fighters. Reports of atrocities, village massacres, concentration camps, and the early use of waterboarding emerged swiftly. But these realities were buried beneath the rhetoric. What might have been recognised as colonial conquest was instead cast as reluctant responsibility. There was no single grand lie – only a quiet reordering of language: empire framed as duty, resistance repainted as disorder.
The Civilising Myth: Haiti and Beyond
A similar pattern unfolded in Haiti in 1915. The assassination of President Jean Vilbrun Guillaume Sam provided the immediate excuse. Within days, US Marines landed in Port-au-Prince. Officially, they came to restore order and protect American lives. In practice, the intervention would last nearly two decades.
Under US control, Haiti’s constitution was rewritten, local resistance was suppressed, forced labour policies were introduced, and a modernised gendarmerie was trained – not to serve Haitian democracy, but to protect American interests. Publicly, this was presented as a peacekeeping mission. Privately, it was a strategic move to extend influence in the Caribbean, particularly amid concerns about German activity in the region.
The fabrication was not explicit. It was built on omission. The government did not need to invent a lie – it only had to allow an incomplete story to become the dominant one.
Stability as Strategy: The Case of Nicaragua
A comparable structure governed American intervention in Nicaragua, where US Marines were deployed intermittently between 1912 and 1933. The official justification was the maintenance of stability and the promotion of democratic governance. In reality, it was a sustained effort to prevent the rise of anti-imperialist leaders such as Augusto Sandino and to install regimes favourable to US business interests.
Throughout these years, American officials described their role as neutral and necessary. They downplayed their influence over Nicaraguan politics and denied the extent of their involvement in shaping leadership outcomes. Publicly, it was a mission of order. Privately, it was regime management.
A Pattern Emerges
Across these cases, a strategy comes into view. It was not always a single, deliberate lie, but a method – a way of turning violence into virtue through narrative. Threats were elevated. Resistance was criminalised. Occupation was rebranded as protection.
These were not yet the grand fabrications of later decades – the Gulf of Tonkin, the weapons of mass destruction – but the quieter groundwork upon which those deceptions would be built. They reveal a confidence: that if the story could be told well enough, the truth might never need to be seen.
This was not yet the Cold War era of covert operations and propaganda. But the architecture was taking shape. In the space between truth and justification, the United States had found room to act.
Bibliography
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Coolidge, Calvin, Intervention in Nicaragua, Teaching American History, https://teachingamericanhistory.org/document/intervention-in-nicaragua/ [accessed 1 August 2025].
McKinley, William, ‘President McKinley Explains His Attitude toward the Philippines, 1900’, speech presented to Methodist Church Leaders, The White House, Washington, D.C., https://web.viu.ca/davies/H479B.Imperialism.Nationalism/McKinley.imperialism.Philippines.1900.htm [accessed 1 August 2025].
Office of the Historian, Milestones: 1914–1920, History.state.gov (U.S. Department of State: Office of the Historian), https://history.state.gov/milestones/1914-1920/haiti [accessed 1 August 2025].
Rickover, Hyman G., How the Battleship Maine Was Destroyed (Washington: Naval History Division, Department of the Navy, 1976).
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Zinn, Howard, A People’s History of the United States (New York: Harper & Row, 1980).