If the Kargil War of 1999 was the first televised war on Indian screens, Operation Sindoor will go down in history as the first time an India-Pakistan armed conflict was live-streamed on television and social media. When India launched air strikes against Pakistani terror targets as a response to the Pahalgam attack in which 26 nationals died on April 22, 2025, Pakistan retaliated, going as far as to send drones to cities in the border regions of Jammu & Kashmir, Punjab, Rajasthan and Gujarat. Cell-phone and television cameras alike were trained on flashing red streaks across the skies, as they were successfully intercepted by India’s Russian-made S-400 air defence systems.
Hours after Operation Sindoor hit terror camps within Pakistani territory, the Indian Foreign Secretary, Vikram Misri, flanked by two female military personnel — Wing Commander Vyomika Singh of the Air Force and Colonel Sofia Qureshi of the Indian Army — emerged to tell reporters that these strikes were specific and non- escalatory in nature. The secular ethos and assertion of women’s rights behind the name of the operation and the choice of female defence personnel seemed significant. But given the reality of the abuse that the country’s minorities and women face regularly, many critics dismissed the subliminal messaging as mere optics.
In stark contrast to the gravity with which the three state representatives spoke, the Indian media and social media influencers could barely contain their jubilation at the prospect of military victory over Pakistan, and wanted more. News channels, especially, were only too happy to oblige. After all, in a ratings game, conflict and war pull in audiences and money like little else. As channels sensationalized news and social media trivialized information to simple binaries of right and wrong, good or bad, the complexity of conflict became a victim of the spectacle.
Much of this fervour also drew on an existing atmosphere of jingoistic nationalism and hatred of Pakistan, whipped up in recent times by the government and the Indian entertainment industry through films and OTT series like Uri (2019), Shershaah (2021), Fighter (2024), IC 814 (2024) and Skyforce (2025). In fact, given how profitable these releases have been and the successful marketing strategies that have emerged in the context of war, it is no surprise that only a day after the launch of Operation Sindoor, trademark applications were filed for the use of its name and logo by Jio Studios, owned by Reliance Industries. A media backlash forced a withdrawal of the application. But similar applications were also reportedly filed in England and the United States, even though government operations and logos are not subject to private copyright applications.
As the Indo-Pak conflict escalated, television news studios became theatrical sets with exaggerated props depicting the rugged, mountainous terrain of Kashmir. Anchors donned combat fatigues and pretended to fly Indian fighter jets over Pakistani territory, while they delivered ‘news’ in high-pitched, dramatic voices. On field reporters gesticulated wildly from vague locations, creating frenzy and distracting viewers from the actual damage to civilian lives and property. In the process, many made a mockery of themselves and of journalism itself — trading in accuracy for misinformation, context for propaganda, and gravity for spectacle.
In the anxiety-driven gaps between media briefings, anchors tucked safely inside brightly lit studios, with little else to do, fell back on old tropes — passing off existing footage from other situations, such as videos of Israeli air strikes over Gaza, as those of Indian strikes in Pakistan. Even footage from the Iraq war, incorrectly used to depict the 2019 Pulwama attacks in Kashmir, was played out during a government briefing. With official briefings just once a day, and air strikes taking place mostly at night, it would often be hours before claims that journalists picked up from social media chatter or anonymous ‘sources’ were debunked. Many journalists quietly rescinded their reports, without even an apology to the news viewer for being incorrect in the first place. But in our mediatized world, where everything is shared and reshared over and over again, many of these misleading images developed a life of their own, and continued to circulate even after they had been called out or officially pulled down. It also became unimportant for viewers to make the effort to sift fact from fiction, as they had likely already moved on to the next big story.
Disinformation was also spread from across the border and India’s Chief of Defence Staff, General Anil Chauhan, pointed out that a significant chunk of his energy was spent countering false news coming from Pakistani social media handles. By May 8, these handles had even claimed Pakistan’s victory over India. They ran fictitious stories of the destruction of India’s air defence systems, and of India trying to launch ballistic missiles, among other fanciful claims.
Fact-checking services “witnessed a surge of old and non-contextual videos and images being used as footage of the attack, with an aim to polarise citizens already on the edge,” wrote Jency Jacob, Managing Editor of Boom Live, to highlight the Islamophobia circulating in India immediately after the Pahalgam attacks. Among their various civil defence protocols across cities, the government of India had to call out a fake advisory, urging citizens to prepare for the worst and store non-perishable food and medicines. The Ministry of Electronics and Information Technology issued coverage guidelines, requesting journalists and social media users to fact-check with government or official sources and share only verified information and advisories. The sudden, unexpected announcement of ceasefire by the US President Donald Trump on social media on May 10, 2025, only added to the confusion, especially given the completely divergent reactions of both India
and Pakistan to his claim of mediation.
Undoubtedly, war reporting poses a dilemma for ethical journalists who struggle to meet the competing demands of their duty to provide accurate, objective information while maintaining the sanctity of national security. In addition to this, now, in an increasingly vitriolic digital public sphere, reporters face an extra layer of pressure to grab attention over others and ensure their patriotic citizenship remains unquestionable. It is common knowledge that public sentiment during a military conflict tends to swing in support of the armed forces and rallies behind the national flag. The safety of soldiers, notions of honour and martyrdom, and the justness of military action against the adversary typically dictate the tone of domestic media coverage.
In the “fog of war,” when incomplete and unverifiedinformationcan create chaos, it becomes imperative for journalists to be more diligent and mindful of what they say and report to the public. The term itself, according to the Oxford Dictionary, denotes “A state of confusion, disorientation or uncertainty caused by limited awareness of the current situation in a battle or war,” becoming “an impediment to tactical or logistical decision making.” The theorizing of this concept is widely attributed to the Prussian war strategist, Carl von Clausewitz, and the terminology to a British Colonel, Lonsdale Augustus Hale, who discussed these in the 19th century. Over time, the meaning has extended to include information warfare, with media turning into both a source of strategic calculations but also confusion. This becomes particularly relevant in our digital world, in which the ability to clip videos, make reels and easily shareable YouTube shorts by individuals with limited journalistic skills but significant reach has only amplified the fog in conflict coverage. Given its leanings “towards infotainment,” the visuals accompanying this kind of reporting also draw on video-game formats, fancy graphics and satellite images, making it a “largely virtual, even bloodless coverage of war,” as media scholar Daya Thussu argues. Those watching an air war play out from the comfort of their homes in cities far away from the action are therefore governed by two desires — their own safety and victory over the adversary — and care less for collateral damage (which they see as a necessary sacrifice for a larger purpose).
At the best of times, journalistic ethics demand information integrity and a tone of professional detachment while disseminating news. Good journalistic practice consists of the ability to ask questions and seek answers without fear or favour. Good reportage in conflict requires that harm to human life or property (civilian and military) is acknowledged. But in an environment that has seen major shifts in the ways news and information are consumed, and audiences being subject to algorithms that thrive on confirmation bias, and bombarded with material that blurs the line between information and entertainment, there are no guarantees of a clear vision even when the fog of war lifts.
This article first appeared on July 25, 2025 on The Critical Collective
maya mirchandani 