If you can't suppress bad news about a Dear Leader, you quietly release it while he is on parade after a glorious victory in battle. The rabble is much more accepting at that moment and the frivolities of youth are carefully rationalized away with a chuckle, a knowing nod and a facial expression etched with just the right amount of chagrin and remorse. "boys will be boys" Tomorrow comes, the sun rises, and only the memory of victory and celebration remains. The king has been purified by glory.