Posters, as a form of mass media and an important component of graphic design, possess enormous potential. They can not only reach a wide audience but also convey ideology, culture, ways of thinking, and behaviors in work, war, and society in an accessible and insightful manner.
In The Politics of Design: A (Not So) Global Design Manual for Visual Communication, the author Ruben Pater clearly emphasizes that design is never neutral. Every deliberate choice a designer makes in typography, layout, and color carries profound political meaning, whether consciously embedded or unconsciously inherited. Design not only reflects ideology but also constructs and disseminates it. This perspective provides a critical lens for analyzing how visual communication has historically operated within systems of power—particularly in countries like the Soviet Union, which explicitly used graphic design as a tool for ideology.
When placed in conversation with Soviet visual culture, Pater’s argument becomes even more revealing. Soviet revolutionary propaganda posters, the name of this artistic trend explains its intention. Born from the Revolution, out of the needs of revolutionary propaganda, its aim was to introduce revolutionary ideas to the broad masses.
In the 1920s, under the guidance of Suprematism represented by El Lissitzky and Constructivism represented by Alexander Rodchenko, visual communication was fully mobilized as a revolutionary weapon. At that time, many Soviet artists devoted themselves to poster design, viewing participation in it as a professional duty. The posters of this period, with their strong compositional tension, asymmetrical layouts, diagonal structures, and photomontage techniques, were not merely driven by designers’ aesthetic or experimental pursuits—they also facilitated profound changes in social ideology. The vivid revolutionary red, the resolute gaze of leaders, and the dynamism of typography all functioned as visual rhetoric, translating the abstract ideals of Marxism and Leninism into the concrete, everyday perception of the masses.
Pater argues that the critique of Western design hegemony parallels the way the Soviet state used design to resist capitalist ideology. Although their goals were completely opposite, both systems treated design as a tool to persuade the public and shape consciousness. Western corporate design sought to influence consumer behavior and uphold capitalist values through branding and advertising, while Soviet visual communication aimed to build a collective consciousness beyond individualism to consolidate power. In both cases, however, they reveal the profound dependence of visual forms on ideology. The shapes of letters, the rhythm of composition, and the emotional temperature of color all became instruments of belief.
The book also challenges the assumption that design merely communicates pre-existing ideas. Instead, it proposes that design actively produces ideology by shaping the audience’s visual perception, emotions, and behaviors. From this perspective, Soviet propaganda poster design did more than depict socialist imagery; it also manufactured the visual and emotional experience of being socialist. For instance, the asymmetrical compositions derived from Constructivism reflected the tremendous momentum of social transformation, while the later symmetrical, centralised compositions of Stalinist posters visually reinforced hierarchy and order. The evolution from experimental dynamism to rigid, theatrical forms mirrors the ideological shift from revolutionary collectivism to authoritarian stability.
Through Pater’s framework, it becomes clear that ideology is not an external force imposed on design, but rather something that evolves alongside it. Design serves as a medium through which ideology becomes visible, tangible, and actionable. In the Soviet context, visual communication acted as a laboratory for ideological experimentation—testing how abstract political ideals could be materialized through form. Similarly, in capitalist democracies, design functions as a medium for reproducing consumer choice and the ideology of individual freedom. In both cases, visual language serves as the cultural infrastructure of power.
Another key point in The Politics of Design concerns globalization and visual homogenization. Pater shows how global design standards erase local visual languages, promoting an illusion of universality that aligns with economic and political dominance. This argument resonates with the Soviet ambition to create an international visual language of socialism—a language capable of uniting workers across countries. However, both projects reveal the paradox of ‘universal design’: attempts to erase difference often reinforce the centralization of ideology. ‘Globalization’ becomes another form of control, whether through capitalist branding or socialist propaganda.
Moreover, Pater’s discussion of design ethics invites us to reconsider the responsibility of designers. In authoritarian systems, the designers often become an agent of power. The Soviet designers displayed overt political alignment, while the contemporary designer is subtly reflect ideology. In both cases, design mediates belief. As Pater writes, design determines “who is included, who is excluded, and whose voice is amplified.”
In connection with my own studio research, the Soviet propaganda posters can be read not only as products of the ideology of their time, but also as a process of negotiation between artistic autonomy and political demands. Constructivist artists initially saw design as a way to merge art and life, to democratise aesthetics and communicate directly with the masses. However, as ideology became increasingly rigid and turned into state propaganda, the experimental potential of design was constrained. Pater’s critique helps illuminate this tension: the moment design serves power, its political agency risks being absorbed. Nevertheless, even within these constraints, Soviet designers managed to infuse formal innovation—proof that ideology and creativity are not always opposites, but often interdependent.
Ultimately, The Politics of Design shows that the relationship between ideology and design is reciprocal, dynamic, and inevitable. Design is not simply a mirror of ideology, but its engine—a system that shapes what can be seen and how it is thought. The Soviet propaganda posters is a vivid historical example, but the same mechanisms continue to operate in today’s digital platforms, data visualizations, and branding. For designers, recognizing this entanglement is the first step in repositioning design as a space for critical reflection rather than passive replication.
Reading Pater’s text through the lens of Soviet visual culture has clarified my position: the political power of design lies not only in its persuasiveness, but also in its capacity to shape perception. Every visual choice—whether under capitalist or communist—participates in constructing the way reality is presented.
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