The old saying goes that truth is often the first casualty of war. While that might have been true on the chaos-filled frontlines, the way deception works today has been transformed by technology. Historically, the idea of “truth as a casualty” meant a complete blackout—an actual “fog of war” that left the public in complete darkness. Now, the opposite is true: we’re overwhelmed with “truth.” High-definition footage of airstrikes and live streams of tragedies in Gaza or Lebanon are constantly streaming directly into our phones.
In this new landscape, the real victim isn’t truth itself but our perception of it. Media outlets no longer need to create outright fake news; instead, they manipulate perception simply by framing images and choosing words carefully—most people don’t even realize they’re being influenced. This was particularly clear during the late February joint US and Israeli strikes on Iran.
While official narratives emphasized “sovereignty threats” and the assassination of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the coverage painted Tehran as a cold, unfeeling fortress, driven by “ideological fervor” and populated by a waiting-to-launch nuclear threat. But that depiction was a selective omission. It ignored the everyday realities — the coffee shops of North Tehran, students engaged in pragmatic debates about their future, a population exhausted from repression by their own government and the weight of foreign sanctions. When Western media portray Iran as a monolithic villain, they’re not just reporting—they’re shaping a narrative that makes conflict seem inevitable.
Media narratives aren’t neutral; they are carefully constructed. While the threat of escalation seemed imminent, the story wasn’t just told through missile strikes or military reports. A parallel media war operates, often unseen without close scrutiny. Nations invest not just in arms but in language—crafting statements deliberately, using specific words and phrases to align the story with Western interests. Sometimes, this language works to influence how the public perceives the conflict, framing it in a way that shifts responsibility or responsibility away from certain actors.
Noam Chomsky famously pointed out that “The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow lively debate within that spectrum.” This concept is evident in recent coverage. For example, a report from the Al Jazeera Media Institute highlighted how Western media often portray strikes as acts of “self-defense” while framing Iranian responses as “provocation”—a narrative that ends up legitimizing military actions and downplaying civilian casualties.
The Washington Post headlines discussed the strikes as “a surprise daytime attack,” emphasizing heroism with words like “bold” and “eliminated,” creating a perception of bravery. CNN’s headlines suggested that Hezbollah “restarted the fight” that Israel was merely waiting to finish—an oversimplification that ignores the broader historical context. Western media’s coverage of an Iranian school hit in the first day of the attack used qualifiers like “near,” “adjacent to,” or “likely” to minimize the tragedy, making the incident seem less brutal or deliberate.
The language used in framing these wars reveals a pattern. Terms like “conflict” or “clashes” are chosen deliberately—they downplay agency and responsibility. Dr. Dania Arayssi from the New Lines Institute points out that such passive language obscures who initiated violence and who holds military superiority, often shielding allied governments from moral scrutiny. Critics say it’s a structural bias embedded in Western journalism, aiming to maintain a certain narrative.
Ex-BBC journalist Shumaila Jaffery notes that these choices aren’t random. The terminology signals a clear editorial stance—placing responsibility on Iran by calling it an “Iran conflict” keeps the focus away from US and Israeli actions, thus protecting those involved from blame. This framing also erases the individuals at risk; calling it an “Iran war” erases the diverse realities of ordinary Iranians and their daily lives.
The echoes of Iraq’s past coverage are clear in today’s reporting. Media scholars have long noted similarities: framing government narratives as neutral, marginalizing skeptics, inflating threats, and only holding actors accountable after significant damage is done. Yet, the media landscape has evolved. During the Iraq war, the mainstream media manufactured crises, like the weapons of mass destruction, to support government narratives. Today, digital ecosystems like social media and alternative outlets provide counterpoints, with influencers and independent voices challenging official claims—a shift that wasn’t possible during Iraq.
Despite these new channels, the reliance on government sources remains strong. Journalists still depend heavily on military and government officials for information, maintaining a pattern that reinforces official narratives. Moreover, the framing often involves selective context. For instance, coverage of Gaza or Iran tends to omit decades of sanctions, covert operations, and proxy conflicts, presenting violence as a sudden act rather than part of a long-standing pattern. This omission creates a moral clarity that oversimplifies complex realities.
Language further carries ideological weight. Terms like “conflict” or “clashes” tend to obscure asymmetries of power and responsibility, presenting situations as mutual struggles when they are often heavily skewed. When the media simplifies or omits historical and structural details, it alters public understanding and accountability.
Structural constraints within newsrooms shape reporting too. Speed, engagement metrics, biases, regulations, and risk aversion influence what gets emphasized or suppressed. Sources within governments and militaries continue to provide much of the information, which influences how stories are shaped and what histories are foregrounded. When histories of sanctions and covert actions are ignored, audiences lack crucial context to evaluate the events proportionally.
In effect, the lives and experiences of everyday people in regions of conflict are often erased in the process—reduced to mere backdrops for geopolitical battles. This erasure hinders the public’s ability to see who is really acting and who is responsible for harm, making accountability far more difficult. The language and framing used in Western media serve not just to report but to shape perceptions, often pushing the bigger picture out of sight.
