In the Fog of War

Sanjay Kapoor

As the dust settles on the India-Pakistan conflict post-Pahalgam, it’s essential to start focusing on journalism that puts facts above flag-waving.

 If one were to believe Indian television news channels, India had not only bombed Pakistan’s Karachi port using its aircraft carrier INS Vikrant, but had also landed troops in Rawalpindi and Islamabad. In this fictional narrative, Pakistan’s Prime Minister Shahbaz Sharif was arrested, and its Chief of Army Staff, General Asim Munir, was removed. Incredibly, none of this actually happened. And yet, a large section of the public, primed by sensationalist coverage and nationalist rhetoric, accepted it as fact.

This episode revealed an uncomfortable truth about the vulnerability of modern societies to disinfor-mation, especially when it’s packaged with patriotic fervour. In India and Pakistan, two nuclear-armed neighbours with volatile relations, the media plays a critical role in shaping public sentiment. But when that media becomes a purveyor of fiction, the consequences can be dangerous and far-reaching.

The short, four-day skirmish that followed the terrorist attack in Pahalgam was not only a moment of military tension but also a litmus test for media ethics. And on both sides of the border, the media failed miserably. Instead of diligently checking facts, exercising journalistic due diligence, and acting as responsible guardians of truth, television channels and digital platforms fed a steady stream of fake news, exaggeration, and one-sided narratives. The result was a heightened paranoia and rage, precisely when cooler heads and accurate reporting were most needed.

Indian media, operating in the world’s largest democracy and enjoying constitutionally guaranteed freedoms, bore a particular burden of responsibility. Unlike Pakistan, where large portions of the media are under the thumb of the military and intelligence agencies, Indian journalism has historically been a robust check on power. Yet, over the past decade, that independence has eroded. Many major channels and publications have become vehicles for government messaging, amplifying official narratives and silencing dissenting voices.

The government, too, has increasingly seen the press not as a partner in democracy, but as a threat to be ‘managed’ and ‘controlled.’ During the Pahalgam crisis, the Indian government made it clear it would not trust journalists with sensitive information. Reporters were discouraged from asking difficult questions or digging too deeply. The message was implicit but unmistakable: toe the line, or be sidelined.

This clampdown became overt with the launch of “Operation Sindoor.” In the name of “national security,” thousands of accounts on X (formerly Twitter) were blocked, including those of independent journalists and media outlets. Prominent platforms such as The Wire, Outlook, and a popular YouTube channel, 4 PM, were temporarily banned. The government provided no explanation. Only after public outcry and a sharp rebuke from the Supreme Court were the bans reversed.

But the damage had been done. The chilling effect on independent journalism was immediate. Many reporters self-censored, fearful of reprisals. Editorial teams avoided contentious stories. This environment allowed misinformation to flourish unchecked. Stories about the supposed downing of five Indian fighter jets–particularly Rafales, which symbolised India’s military modernisation–were shared widely by Pakistani outlets and, in some cases, repeated in India and also in some sections of the Western media without verification and due diligence.

One report claimed Rafale debris had been found in Bhatinda. But beyond the initial flurry of speculation, the story vanished. There was no confirmation, follow-up, or accountability. Did the media choose silence to avoid upsetting the government? Or were they simply not equipped to investigate such claims?

The lack of qualified defence journalists–trained professionals capable of critically analysing military developments–left a vacuum that was quickly filled by hyperbolic talk-show hosts and armchair strategists.

Another case involved reports of Chinese-manufactured missiles being recovered near a disputed border area. Again, no credible outlet followed up. A dynamic and robust press would have pursued these stories, corroborated facts, and provided clarity. Instead, citizens were left with half-truths and wild speculation.

Meanwhile, television news anchors churned out theatrical commentaries, many devoid of factual grounding. While Indian outlets aired animations of India’s military striking Islamabad, Pakistani media claimed that their forces had destroyed India’s S-400 air defence systems–technologically implausible claims, if not outright laughable.

What’s most disturbing is that this misinformation was not just tolerated but actively embraced by segments of the public. Blending patriotism with misinformation has created a dangerous echo chamber, where facts are secondary to feelings, and dissent is mistaken for disloyalty. In such an atmosphere, even the most obvious lies can gain traction.

In the fog of war, real or imagined, the truth becomes a casualty. And in an age of weaponised misinformation, fake news has reached an industrial scale. This disinformation doesn’t merely mislead; it reshapes public memory.

Amid all this, crucial issues were ignored. Take the suspension of the Indus Waters Treaty–a landmark agreement between India and Pakistan that had withstood the test of time for over 60 years. After its suspension, little has been reported about the implications. What happens during the monsoon? Will India hold back or divert water? Are there preparations in place to avoid flooding or shortages? These are pressing, practical questions that affect millions. Yet, the media has shown little interest in exploring them.

Instead of being a harbinger of transparency, the media has become complicit in obscuring the truth. The reason is clear: challenging the dominant narrative, especially in today’s political climate, carries risks. Journalists have been arrested, harassed, and vilified for doing their jobs. The safest course for many outlets is to toe the line.

But democracy demands more. Journalism’s first obligation is to facts, to truth. When the press abdicates that responsibility, society suffers. Citizens make decisions based on falsehoods. Governments face no scrutiny. And in moments of national crisis, when reliable information is most critical, the very institutions meant to provide clarity are found wanting.

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Frontier
Vol 57, No. 50, June 8 - 14, 2025