War and the Post-truth World

War and the Post-truth World

 

As soon as the ceasefire was announced between India and Pakistan, both sides exhibited eerily similar sentiments—oscillating between celebration and scepticism. Some Indians celebrated the ceasefire. Some rejected it—saying that India had an upper hand in the situation, so why did it agree to ceasefire? But, unanimously, the popular consensus and narrative in media and the common public was: India had won this war.

On the other hand, Pakistan had a similar sort of narrative in their media. Their PM came for a media address in the late night—claiming that they have destroyed India’s Defence Systems, Air Force bases, fighter jets such as Rafale.

India also claimed the same—destroying many Air Force bases, destroying their F-16, JF-10 fighter jets, and annihilating their Air Defence Systems.

But then came the contradiction. The ceasefire, though mutually agreed upon, seemed to be simultaneously upheld and violated. Reports of fresh shelling and cross-border firings began to surface. India accused Pakistan of infiltrating territories along the Line of Control (LoC), of drone incursions and missile launches. Pakistan, imperatively, mirrored the same allegations—claiming Indian aggression, destruction of villages, and targeting of civilian zones by Indian Armed Forces.

So, what is the truth? Or does any exist in the first place? What we know, confirmingly, is that there was a ceasefire violation. However, when you look at the media and social media of Pakistan, you realise that they also have the same narratives. Their people are claiming the same—accusing India of the violation.

‘Truth’ and ‘Fact’ are two distinct concepts. When nationalism, identity, and jingoism are involved, the place of ‘Facts’ does not stay. Every Indian believes that they have won. Every Pakistani believes that they have won. And that is how the common public is fed by media, authorities, institutions and establishments.

So, who broke the silence first? Who retaliated and who provoked? The fog of war thickened. As always. And in this haze, a haunting question emerged: 
What is the “truth”? Or rather—does a truth even exist in the first place at a time of war?

The term “post-truth,” coined in the early twenty-first century and first recognised by Oxford Dictionaries in 2016, refers to situations in which objective facts have less influence on shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion, sentiments, personal belief, and ideological narrative. Post-truth, as a theoretical framework, allows cultural critics to investigate how the media, politics, institutions, establishments, power structures, and public discourse construct realities through affect, repetition, and spectacle rather than facts. When applied to wartime narratives, particularly those between India and Pakistan, it allows for a sharp assessment of how both countries manage historical memory, patriotic passion, and public perception; making truth elastic, replaceable, and ultimately negotiable.

This is not simply a matter of perception. It is a symptom of a deeper disorder—a post-truth reality where facts are outbid by emotions, where truth is no longer sought, but constructed. It is not the accuracy of the information that matters, but its ability to resonate with national identity, cultural memory, and popular sentiment. In war—especially between nations as historically charged as India and Pakistan—truth becomes a curated experience, not a shared discovery.

Well, additionally, the question that inevitably arises in the psyches, from this narrative, is this: Is it even possible, in today’s world, to actually find and authenticate a “winner” in a full-fledged war?

Victory in previous eras was measurable in terms of seized territory, overthrown governments, or treaties. However, uncertainty fuels modern conflict, particularly between governments that are politically or nuclearly linked, such as India and Pakistan. Perception turns into the last battleground, tactical victories are fleeting, and strategic objectives are frequently obscured.

Today, victory is designed rather than gained. It is portrayed on television screens, repeated in hashtags, and legitimised in press conferences. Success metrics, such as death figures, infrastructure damage, and geopolitical leverage, are open to manipulation or selective visibility. The media no longer informs; it performs a spectacle. Citizens are no longer passive observers of facts, but rather active players in carefully controlled beliefs.

The belief of victory is not accidental—it is sculpted, disseminated, and performed by media channels, political leaders, official institutions, and amplified across social media. In such a climate, truth is not the convergence of facts but the convergence of collective agreement.

The post-truth world redefines reality rather than just obscuring it. It substitutes loyalty for evidence, sentiment for history, and theatrics for journalism. And in this transformation, war is transformed into a narrative to be told rather than a tragedy to be lamented.

So, we must ask—if everyone wins, has anyone really won in the first place? If truth becomes merely what survives within the echo chambers of ideological comfort, what happens to the people caught in the crossfire of these comforting illusions?

We always strive to explore these very questions. Might also be critiquing not the military actions alone, but the cultural, psychological, and media-driven architecture that sustains these illusions. Because, in a world where war is televised and truth is manufactured, it is not bombs that do the most damage—it is belief.

Indian media houses showcased confident generals, retired defence analysts, and news anchors with loud voices and louder opinions. Maps were drawn, arrows traced paths of invasions and counterattacks, while video loops of missile trails and airstrikes played on repeat. “Pakistan has been taught a lesson!” echoed on one channel. “India gave a befitting reply!” screamed another one. There were animated simulations of how India’s Rafales outmanoeuvred enemy jets. Panels debated tactics, celebrated destruction, and condemned any scepticism as anti-national. Fairly.

Meanwhile, across the border, Pakistani media also mirrored the choreography with eerie precision. Their anchors saluted their armed forces. They displayed grainy night-vision clips of explosions, claiming Indian radar installations were wiped out. Defence experts—some real, others self-declared—explained how Indian bases had been “neutralised,” how Pakistan’s retaliation was supposedly “measured, mature, and devastating.” Footage of captured drones, destroyed vehicles, and aerial dogfights—regardless of origin or authenticity—were passed off as proof.

Following the ceasefire, Pakistan’s retaliation activities against Indian military sites and civilian areas deserve close scrutiny. While Pakistan, like India, presented its military activities as a moral response to perceived aggression, a closer look reveals a more problematic pattern of justification based on national myths rather than actual realities.

Pakistan’s narrative of a measured, “mature” response conveniently overlooks the wider ramifications of targeting Indian military bases as well as civilian infrastructure. The airstrikes on Indian soil were heralded as necessary acts of retaliation, presented as surgical and precise. Yet, such acts cannot be dissociated from the fact that they were, at their core, acts of aggression, not just retaliation, ones that also risked civilian casualties and further destabilisation of the fragile peace that existed in the region. The line between military and civilian zones became increasingly blurred in media portrayals, with a focus on military triumphs overshadowing the possibility of larger-scale collateral damage. Consequently, truth becomes a collective agreement rather than a factual convergence.

What is particularly concerning is the justification of these retaliations within Pakistan’s own mythmaking machinery. Historical events, often misrepresented or manipulated, have played a significant role in fuelling national pride and self-righteousness. The mythology surrounding previous wars—such as the 1965, 1971, and 1999 conflicts—has been perpetuated to justify contemporary aggression. An average Pakistani is often unaware of Pakistan’s losses in 1965, 1971, or 1999. These events are not just questioned, but deliberately overturned in public discourse. Past successes, real or perceived, have been recast as moral high ground from which Pakistan can claim legitimacy for its retaliatory tactics, regardless of the actual repercussions.

In the particular case of military strikes on Indian land, the myth-based narrative emphasises revenge and restitution for perceived wrongs, rather than a reasoned or proportionate response. With its appearance of certainty, Pakistan’s media unearths certain elements of previous battles, interpreting them in ways that support the cause for current military action. To the average Pakistani, these myths of historical success and vengeance give a soothing image of constant resistance—one that demonstrates their country’s perseverance. However, no matter how confident this narrative is, it misses reality’s intricacies.

India is no stranger to its own mythologies. From the 1971 narrative of liberators in East Pakistan to more recent airstrikes portrayed as divine retribution, the media has often celebrated militaristic responses while eclipsing the complex causes behind them. The rhetoric of “befitting reply” and “national honour” perpetuates a cycle where dissent is sidelined, and emotional gratification becomes the goal. These stories, too, form a parallel mythology that elevates selective truths while silencing nuance.

This mythological framework, when examined closely, is dangerous because it perpetuates a cycle of violence in which the reality of human cost is conveniently hidden behind the banners of nationalist pride and righteous retaliation. It is no longer the facts of the present moment that matter, but the emotional resonance of a carefully constructed past. The tragic irony is that, in this emotional calculus, real human suffering—both military and civilian—becomes a mere footnote.

The media is used as a weapon in post-truth warfare, but not just for spreading false information, but also for manipulating emotions. The intended victim? That is definitely the consciousness of the common citizen.

When news turns into spectacle, and facts are stripped of their complexity in favour of digestible patriotism, the audience does not merely consume—they conform. The act of questioning is disincentivised. Nuance is labelled as a weakness. Doubt becomes betrayal. The public does not demand accuracy—they demand catharsis. They want to feel vindicated. They want to feel victorious. And the media—well aware of this—feeds them what they crave.

And in doing so, it does not just blur the line between truth and lie—it erases it altogether.

A blurry image of a demolished aircraft hangar becomes “exclusive proof.” Another warfare zone’s random footage is clipped and re-captioned. Press briefings are translated selectively. And the intended fabrications have already gone viral before the reality had a chance to catch its breath. Furthermore, it isn’t always done with pure malice. Ratings can be a factor. It can be pressure at times. Occasionally, it’s the convergence of institutional ambitions with political preferences. However, the outcome is the same.

And, what is worse—people stop caring. Surprisingly, if they know the reality already, they choose to ignore it because it usually does not align with their belief and conformity. Why? Because it no longer matters whether the image shown is real, or whether the claim made is verifiable. What matters is that it feels true. And that is the very cornerstone of post-truth culture: truth is not what is; truth is what resonates.

The tragedy is not just that both nations fed their people illusions of victory, but that the people accepted them without hesitation, and often—without even curiosity. As if the truth no longer needed to be uncovered, just delivered in palatable headlines.

No one asked: What did we lose? Who died? What did this escalate? Was it necessary? Could it have been avoided? Of course, ‘rage’ does not accommodate ‘sanity’ and ‘conscience’ in the sort of society we live in.

Instead, the public danced in digital victory processions, posted flag emojis, and trended hashtags declaring national pride. Meanwhile, families grieved in silence, lives disrupted by conflict fell into media shadows, and geopolitical tensions simmered—waiting for another spark. It is here we see the media not as a window to the world, but as a mirror to collective delusion. And each time we look into it, we don’t see war—we see ourselves, victorious, righteous, and unchallenged.

But mirrors lie—especially when they’re made of screens.

And so we return to where it began: a ceasefire marred by contradiction, confusion, and celebration. Two nations, one silence, and yet two victories claimed. This moment, now archived in social media timelines, stands as the clearest metaphor for the post-truth era—where perception trumps precision, and memory is weaponised.

The tension between the actual events of war and the narratives of victory we construct is a delicate one. As we’ve seen, both India and Pakistan, in the wake of military confrontations, portrayed themselves not only as survivors but as victors. The paradox is glaring: when truth becomes malleable, is there really a victor at all?

The post-truth environment we inhabit today, fuelled by the media, social platforms, and political structures, constructs versions of reality that serve the emotional and ideological needs of the populace. In times of war, this manipulation of truth is magnified—war is no longer merely fought on battlefields but in the hearts and minds of the people. And in this war for control over belief and perception, the boundaries of truth erode.

The overarching question, therefore, remains: What happens when truth is no longer a shared understanding but a battleground? Can we ever reclaim the notion of objective reality in the face of rampant emotional manipulation?

In this context, war becomes less about the physical confrontation between nations and more about the psychological and cultural warfare waged on the home front. Through carefully curated narratives, victories are declared, enemies are demonised, and the wounds of war are buried under the gloss of patriotic fervour.

In this post-truth world, where truth is subjective and selectively curated, the war between India and Pakistan becomes not just a geopolitical struggle but a cultural one—a fight over whose narrative will define the reality of the conflict. Both nations may claim victory, but the greater tragedy lies in how easily the people are manipulated, made to believe in something that does not exist in its full, unvarnished form.

The price of such mythmaking is clear: in a post-truth world, it is not just the soldiers on the ground who suffer. The people—the ordinary citizens caught in the crossfire of these mythologies—bear the true cost, unaware that the truth they hold dear is nothing more than a carefully constructed illusion. Thus, when victory is claimed on both sides, we must ask ourselves: what have we truly won? And more crucially, what have we lost?

Perhaps, then, the first resistance to post-truth warfare lies not in institutions, but in our individual refusal to be comforted by certainty. But, this is something, in today’s times, one can only hope for…