Summary of this article
To manufacture consent, language becomes a powerful weapon in wartime, as mighty as the missiles and guns
The first casualty of war is the truth—a quote often attributed to multiple sources, with no real answer
The language of war has evolved rapidly over the last few decades, but it remains deeply rooted in ‘history repeating itself’
History, they say, is written by the victors. But the contemporary is written by those who either profit from wars and terror or those who have prominent allies in the former category.
And this contemporary language (and future history) is built on foundations of crusades, colonialism, racism, and supremacism. In 2026, the US allegedly told its military personnel that President Donald Trump was anointed by Jesus Christ to bring Armageddon on Iran—that eliminating Iran was part of a Biblical plan. War was thus framed as a path to peace; much like the Orwellian phrase, ‘War is peace’.
History professor Mohammad Sajjad notes: “Look at how they are professing a biblical war. It is a medieval crusade language—Christianity versus Islam. Israel is also calling it a war of survival—these words are used to evoke certain validations, to manufacture consent in a reader’s or voter’s mind.”
To manufacture consent, language becomes a powerful weapon in wartime, as mighty as the missiles and guns. The first casualty of war is the truth—a quote often attributed to multiple sources, with no real answer.
“Military might, economic power and political influence are all interlinked. One cannot function without the others,” says Muddassir Qamar, experton West Asia. He explains that the international order as we understand it today was not entirely codified law but more an understanding by the victors of World War II on what constitutes war, what defines a country’s sovereignty and what is acceptable or unacceptable during war and peace situations. “Most of today’s Global South did not participate in setting these standards. The political and economic model of governance was laid down by a group of countries who were global elites and colonial powers.”
As the victors of World War II decided the rules, these rules largely favoured powers rooted in colonialism. The language, therefore, was also rooted in colonialism, privileging countries with might in both finance and weaponry. So, when are the governors of a state a ‘government’ and when are they a ‘regime’? All of this is rooted in whether the aggressor side is backed by colonial powers—through culture, wealth, language or powerful allies.
Even the word ally is of subjective use in modern warfare. When a White-led country has supporters, they are allies. But Iran has proxies. With the word regime, or proxy, or ally, or armed attackers versus soldiers, apart from the dictionary meanings, there is a clear power angle. “The more powerful decides what the less powerful will be called. Words are then used by the media to manufacture consent. If the US government calls Iran a rogue regime, so will the media. But if you analyse, the biggest regime in the world is the US–Israel,” says Sajjad, adding, that from kidnapping a president in Venezuela, to killing the supreme leader in Iran, or blowing up an Iranian ship, these acts are all in defiance of internal ethics and laws.
Then language is used to sanitise these acts, to make them justified, to make them more ‘moral’. By politicians, media, and academics alike.
“The United States of America does not target civilians, unlike the ‘rogue’ Iranian regime that kills its own children; it has effective propaganda for which many people in this room have fallen,” White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt said on March 4, answering a question on whether the US ordered a strike on an Iranian school which killed 175 children. However, Reuters has reported that it was, in fact, a US attack using a US Tomahawk missile. Further, it was two missiles, a ‘double tap’ attack.
Despite no records of any Iranian missile targeting its own school for no reason, while the US and Israel launched a ‘surprise’ attack on the country, the former narrative quickly gained traction on social media—well before Leavitt said it officially. At this point, it becomes confusing to dissect whether social media is repeating government ‘newspeak’ or vice versa.
In headlines, from the USA to India, the aggressors vanished. ‘175 girls died in a strike’ most said. No allegations, no pointing fingers. But immediatelyafter Iran’s retaliation, the language turned active again, no more passive voices. ‘Iran hits Bahrain’.
Same playbook was used in the Gaza war. Israel, responsible for killing over 60,000 people in Palestine, was rarely mentioned by Western media during reports of missile-led killings. The ‘young women and men’ (never children) almost always ‘died’ in Gaza without mentioning the attack methods. But when Hamas attacked Israel on October 7, 2023, the headlines were as active as they could be, and with ample whistling to the viewer or reader about who the clear ‘villain’ was.
When an Israeli soldier was killed last week, most of western media used active voice; ‘Israeli killed in Iran attack’. However, the killings of little children in Iran, and thousands of Palestinians by Israel will have ambiguous headlines—young women under 15 died, hundreds perished, two dozen die in Gaza.
The language of war has evolved rapidly over the last few decades, but it remains deeply rooted in ‘history repeating itself’. In his dystopian novel 1984, George Orwell predicted a language called ‘newspeak’, designed to ensure history is forgotten.
Qamar calls the contemporary use of media and narrative cognitive warfare. “According to international law, there are definitions on when a conflict becomes a war. But what is a war or terror attack can be extremely subjective. In this case, the US and Israel have the upper hand—they define the terms and put forth all the conditions, so they decide what terror is, or what defence is.” Language, Sajjad continues, is among the biggest weapons in war, alongside missiles and bombs.
To blow up a school and kill hundreds of children, one needs linguistic and cognitive wars to manufacture consent for the barbaric action, to make it acceptable, concurs Qamar. Along similar lines, language during war (or peacetime) needs strong emotional evocations. “The language of right-wing extremism is one of victimhood and hatred,” Sajjad says. “I am a victim; the other side is the hateful one who needs to be eliminated. In most wars across history, this pattern has been seen in right-wing initiated wars.”
To manufacture consent in the 1930s, Adolf Hitler used this pattern. He claimed Jews were greedy, vermin, dangerous, and parasites. They would take away Germans’ land, wealth, jobs and women—a pattern repeated by multiple war aggressors over the years to justify the morality of their war efforts.
“Even slogans of solidarity can be othering, alienating, in war situations,” he adds. “And in today’s world, silence is also a language of its own. Can silence be construed as politics? Even Muslim people in other countries are criticising Iran but are hesitant to speak of the US–Israel. The absence of statements is a language of fear.”
The media, too, has long played a crucial role in this process. Analysts at Democracy for the Arab World Now (DAWN) note that Western news coverage—from the Iraq invasion to Gaza—has consistently framed conflicts to align with geopolitical interests. Euphemisms such as “collateral damage” or “neutralising targets” sanitise violence, transforming human suffering into distant, manageable statistics. Sajjad argues that such linguistic framing is deliberate. “There is crudeness and cruelty in the language of war. The violence is inherent even when polished.”
It is not only repetition of a narrative that manipulates perception. Sometimes, silence is just as effective. In Dubai, for instance, influencers have been pressured to delete posts showing destruction following the US–Israel strikes on Iran. One influencer told The Telegraph, “The Dubai authorities want to control the narrative, that’s for sure. There are strict rules about what you can say here.”
Dubai, known for its affluence and tax haven status, is reportedly using threats to prevent influencers from posting about the war. A Dubai-based influencer told The Telegraph she was forced to delete a video showing rubble outside her house. New ‘guidelines’ after the US–Israel attack on Iran and Iran’s retaliation targeting US bases instructed influencers not to post anything that might constitute misinformation or threaten national unity. Posting about the war could be counted as either, and offenders risked imprisonment.
At the same time, Dubai (allegedly) encourages influencers with mass followings to showcase the city’s safety and affluence. The current trend is to post about the Crown Prince taking a coffee break at a popular mall or enjoying picturesque high-rise views—never missiles in the sky. If a foreigner asks about safety, influencers praise the Crown, show confidence in the country’s ability to defend itself, and valorise the Crown Prince’s strength. The answer is always the same: I am not afraid because I know who protects us, often followed by collages of the royal family.
Some influencers even defended the country’s stringent media restrictions, urging followers not to post about the war to avoid misinformation. When asked if this was a ‘paid PR campaign’, they ridicule the idea and return to praising the UAE royal family.
This is not an isolated trend. In India, after the Pahalgam attack, social media and news narratives similarly shaped public perception–through misinformation, disinformation, or PR—as investigated by The Guardian.
Peggy Mohan, author and linguist, wonders if legacy media remains largely under government control what about individuals? “Some of the most amazingly dense poetry written by Ghalib was when Delhi was under occupation. That evoked something—it led to art. But now, I am concerned about the ability of people to even express themselves freely. With the way it is increasingly common to silence and suppress voices, violences, our government remains silent. Our people become silent.”
She notes that this culture of caution has extended to social media. “People now write cryptically rather than expressing overt opinions. This isn’tjust about living under an authoritarian government or trying to evade restrictions. They are also trying to evade AI monitoring systems, which scan for words that don’t fit the narratives and effectively bury these voices online.”
Mohan adds that this environment has affected human connection itself: “There is less contact between people. We cannot express ourselves.”
Language, Qamar emphasises, is deeply tied to power. “The medieval mindset—whoever has the might, takes control of everyone else—still applies,” he says.
