In ninth grade I gave a short presentation on Kenya.  I didn't know much about Kenya, and I didn't learn much either.  I just got up and said a lot of things that I thought might be true about Kenya.  The way I figured it, my teacher probably didn't know any more about Kenya than I did.  If I just played to her preconceived notions, I'd come out all right.  I just had to say a little about mountains, maybe some colonialism, and a dash of poverty for good luck.  It worked.  My presentation (titled "Kenya Dig It") was a big hit.

I've stopped slacking when it comes to research, but I know that this principle is still out there and in use everyday.  For example, George Lucas admitted that the communicators used in
Episode I are just women's razors.  Watching Episode I now (if you must), it's pretty obvious.  At the time, though, I  believed that those razors were something more because they played to my preconceived notions of high tech (which, incidentally, come from movies and television). 

While this kind of thing works well between directors and the audience, it's not suitable for a relationship between a President and a people, yet it's happening.  Every day, Americans are shown things that are meant not to reflect reality, but to instead bolster their already-held beliefs about government.  Take, for example, this:
How much of this room is necessary, and how much of it is just playing to what Americans imagine a counterterrorist office to look like?  Are those screens with the FBI logo and the map doing anything?  Is the room always this dark?  Is there a reason for that??? (Some say you need to see the screens...I can't even see the people on the catwalk).  This room looks like it could have been lifted from the set of 24.
President Bush visits the National Counterterrorism Center (NCTC) in Virginia
It's not hard to imagine.  If I were a contractor and the Department of Homeland Security approached me with a large sum of cash and said, "Build me the best counterterrorist office possible," I'd probably pull the same shit I pulled in high school.  I don't know what that office should look like, and the people hiring me probably don't either.  I would just design what I think a counterterrorist office might look like,  and you can bet it would come out looking a lot like the set of 24 (The National Counterterrorism Center, it should be mentioned, was built in 2004, three years after 24 debuted and achieved popularity). 

Of course, I'm not an architect.  The real architect (hopefully) had some idea of what that office should look like, but even so his hands are partially tied. The National Counterterrorism Center
has to look like the set of 24, if only because everyone from the staff to the media to the American people need to believe that it's as serious and effective as the one on TV. It doesn't matter if two of the three flatscreens per desk are unnecessary.  No one cares if that futuristic lighting rig under the catwalk is more form than function. That office conforms perfectly to our view of national security, and we like it that way.  Would Americans feel safe if  the real-life equivalent of CTU looked like the office below?
The set of 24
The Land of Make-Believe
If all the functions of the NCTC could be carried out by an office like this, do you think they would do it?  Would Bush take reporters on a tour of this office? Would that be a good PR move?  Here's a better one: 
1) Announce in your State of the Union that you're creating a group that will collect all the data on terrorism
2) Spend a shitload of money to make a kickass office for said group, with everything you've seen on TV.  No, wait, better than the one on TV!  Let's have THREE screens per desk!  Yeah, kickass!
3) Take reporters on a tour of your new kickass office.  Make sure they get a good shot for the 6 o'clock.
4) Americans are reassured that the President is doing a good job, reminded that terrorism is the boogey monster, and that 24 is on tonight.  The Patriot Act practically renews itself. 

This is from the same team that once used boats filled with concert lights to illuminate the Statue of Liberty in the background of one of the President's speeches.  PR is what they do, and for them it's not about what actually is.  It's about what
might be.
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Note: I use "them" because I'm lazy.  If you really want to know who does the President's PR, the names are Scott Sforza, Bob DeServi, and Greg Jenkins, according to a 2003 New York Times piece by Elisabeth Bumiller.