The long-standing tension between India and Pakistan has resurfaced with a vengeance, triggered by the recent terrorist attack in Pahalgam, Jammu and Kashmir. Allegedly carried out by The Resistance Front (TRF), a militant outfit linked to Pakistani elements, the attack resulted in the death and injury of several Indian tourists. This tragic event should have led to serious diplomatic dialogue, careful intelligence sharing, and measured counterterrorism responses. Instead, it has become the latest episode in a never-ending media saga, where news anchors scream over each other, online influencers dramatise conflict, and the public is left consuming a bizarre mix of fear-mongering and parody. What should have been a moment of collective mourning and strategic clarity has degenerated into a carnival of nationalist jingoism, where nuclear threats are tossed around like punchlines, and war is just another trending hashtag.
The moment news of the Pahalgam attack broke, Indian television channels launched into their familiar rhythm of “breaking news” cycles, looping patriotic jingles over visuals of army convoys and military jets. Primetime debates morphed into battlegrounds for nationalist rhetoric, where facts were secondary to the frenzy of chest-thumping anchors. Phrases like “we will not forget,” “Pakistan will pay,” and “India strikes back” dominated headlines. There was little to no room for nuance, analysis, or introspection—just a carefully choreographed narrative of retaliation and heroism. On the other side of the border, Pakistani news outlets responded with their own firepower, dismissing Indian claims as fabricated and labelling the incident a “false flag operation.” They accused India of manufacturing conflict to deflect from internal problems or manipulate upcoming elections. Rather than taking the opportunity to explore the roots of cross-border militancy or advocating for regional peace, the Pakistani media used the moment to play the victim and amplify propaganda.
What makes the current episode even more dangerous is the ease with which discussions escalated into nuclear rhetoric. No sooner had the news cycle stabilized than television pundits and social media influencers began outlining hypothetical war scenarios, complete with animated graphics of mushroom clouds and missile trajectories. This shift from conventional reporting to apocalyptic fantasy was both irresponsible and alarming. Phrases like “nuclear deterrent,” “retaliation doctrine,” and “full-spectrum response” were repeated not as cautionary warnings but as rallying cries, as if mutual annihilation was just another episode of a political drama. The gravity of nuclear war was reduced to mere spectacle, a prop to keep viewers glued to their screens and YouTube thumbnails looking more dramatic.
Meanwhile, on platforms like Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, the situation took an absurd turn. Indian and Pakistani users engaged in meme warfare, ridiculing each other’s armed forces, governments, and historical conflicts. Hashtags like #IndiaStrikes and #PakDefense trended globally, not because of meaningful discourse but because of viral memes and reaction videos. YouTubers used green-screen effects to mimic airstrikes, while some YouTubers pieced together gaming footage and old news clips to fabricate battle scenarios. What should have been a sobering moment to reflect on national security and international diplomacy turned into a comedy show masquerading as geopolitical commentary. Even verified media pages joined the fray, sharing satirical posts and jokes that blurred the line between journalism and jest.
This descent into digital chaos isn’t just embarrassing; it’s deeply troubling. As the focus shifts toward entertainment value, the real questions are ignored. Why does TRF continue to operate with impunity? How is it able to plan and execute attacks despite surveillance and intelligence networks? What mechanisms of radicalization remain unchecked in both countries? Why is there no substantial push for deradicalization programs, intelligence collaboration, or multilateral peace dialogues? Instead of investigating these core issues, both media ecosystems have chosen to rally their domestic audiences around nationalism and fear. It’s a convenient distraction for political leaders, who gain short-term popularity from anti-neighbor sentiment, and for media outlets, who profit from clicks and ad revenue.
In many ways, what’s unfolding is not a war but a war of narratives—crafted, exaggerated, and monetized for public consumption. The real battlefield isn’t on the borders of Kashmir but on our screens. The victims are not just the soldiers or the citizens in conflict zones, but also truth, empathy, and rational thought. Indian and Pakistani media have effectively turned the Pahalgam attack into a television serial, a content stream that thrives on crisis. The online ecosystem, with its parody channels and nationalist influencers, serves as the laugh track that gives this grim drama its absurdity. Everyone’s performing—for the camera, for the voters, and for the clicks.
As the cycle continues, so does the desensitisation. With every attack, public outrage becomes shorter, replaced quickly by satirical reels and humorous skits. Tragedies that should provoke grief and policy reforms become mere reference points for the next round of online trolling. This pattern is dangerous. It not only trivializes the lives lost but also normalizes a state of perpetual hostility, where war is always around the corner but never taken seriously. The sheer absurdity of the situation is that two nuclear powers are using their media ecosystems to simulate a war that neither side genuinely wants, all while ignoring the tools that could prevent it.
The solution is not easy, and it certainly won’t come from the current media climate. It requires a conscious shift from jingoism to journalism, from performative patriotism to policy-driven discussions. It demands that both India and Pakistan take responsibility for curbing toxic narratives and promoting informed debate. That includes calling out fake news, de-escalating rather than amplifying tensions, and choosing diplomacy over drama. It also means recognizing the media’s power—not just to inform, but to inflame. Journalists and influencers must be held to a higher standard, especially in times of crisis.
In conclusion, the Pahalgam attack and the media circus that followed exemplify the tragic transformation of Indo-Pak relations into a spectacle. What should have been a call for unity and strategy became a theater of absurdity. Both countries deserve better—not only from their governments and intelligence agencies but also from their media. The future of South Asia cannot be built on clickbait, memes, or primetime shouting matches. It must be grounded in truth, dialogue, and above all, a shared commitment to peace.
