In December 2015, when the Indian prime minister, Narendra Modi, made a surprise visit to attend the wedding of the granddaughter of the Pakistani prime minister, Nawaz Sharif, Pakistani media and analysts were delighted. It was seen as a positive development, building on the bonhomie that had been established when Sharif attended Modi’s swearing-in, in 2014. Much of the media coverage, including by television channels such as Geo TV and Dunya News, focussed on the possibilities of peace between the two countries. The columnist Mosharraf Zaidi tweeted optimistically to discourage commentators’ negative remarks—of which there were few, in any case. “Setting a major breakthrough as a benchmark for PM Modi’s Lahore visit is ridiculous,” he wrote. “Process itself is the breakthrough. Worth celebrating.”
The year since has been markedly tense. Militants from Pakistan have conducted two attacks on Indian soil in 2016—in Pathankot and Uri. Diplomatic ties have been strained, particularly after Pakistan’s foreign secretary met representatives of the Kashmiri separatist All-Parties Hurriyat Conference in October. Consequently, the media narrative on both sides of the border has grown increasingly aggressive, with talk of violence and war regularly bandied about in television studios. Visceral reactions from Pakistani media have since dominated the country’s airwaves, and defined the conversation about India and Modi. In November, when I spoke to Rehman Azhar, of the channel Aaj TV, one of the few Pakistani journalists who went to India to cover Modi’s election campaign, he said, “Hatred for India sells in Pakistan just as well as hatred for Pakistan sells in India.”
Some news anchors, such as Mubasher Lucman and Amir Liaquat, on Urdu channels such as Aaj TV, Geo TV and Dunya News, speak of war with India as a perfectly reasonable move. In fact, in the tones of these talking heads, it is possible to detect some delight in the idea.
When these hawkish commentators gather to discuss Modi in television studios, many speak of him as a bigot, and an evil man who wants war. In October, Amir Liaquat, on a show on Aaj TV, hosted by the journalist Asma Shirazi, called Modi a “butcher,” and India a “terrorist” state, among other things. Personalities such as Liaquat— who hardly qualify as journalists—bristle at belligerent remarks from Modi and perceived threats from India, and assure their audiences that Pakistan will return any acts of aggression: an attitude that mirrors the stances of politicians across the spectrum. Often, these television commentators also attack Nawaz Sharif, with conspiratorial remarks rather than hard evidence, for his perceived lenience towards Modi and India. The commentators’ conversations betray their anger, but, more deeply, their fear. Their voices tend to dominate the national media discourse, eclipsing reporters and analysts doing nuanced work.
Hawkish programmes are dulled by a lack of subtlety and variety of opinion on key issues. An editor at the daily Dawn who did not want to be identified (he feared that being named in an Indian magazine might prejudice his colleagues towards him), said, “Even when Pakistani media makes arguments about Kashmir, these arguments lack information. There are no Kashmiri journalists on the panel, there is no understanding.”
When I asked a few news anchors how exactly Pakistan could counter what the media commonly describes as “Modi’s aggression” these days, most were reluctant to commit to a position. When I pushed them, most of them typically said that the hawkishness didn’t mean much in practice. Almost every television presenter I spoke to in Pakistan—12 in total—maintained that the blame game the media was playing was a “formality,” and that the situation could never escalate into a real war. A full-blown conflict with India, they believed, was unlikely.
This raises several points of concern. What kind of media would amplify conversation about a war they believe is unlikely to occur? What kind of journalists invoke anger and temptation for war in a nation where millions of citizens are already displaced and thousands have been killed by internal conflicts, and where the cost of launching a war against an arch-enemy would further cripple the economy? What kind of journalists criticise their enemy so irresponsibly that even if war was not on the enemy’s agenda, the ceaseless shaming might bring it to the edge? What kind of journalists do not ask, instead, how to stop another war?
Further, while Modi’s verbal aggressions receive extensive coverage, these anchors offer little considered analysis of violent attacks that originate in Pakistan—whether it is Uri in 2016, Wagah in 2014 or Mumbai in 2008. The kind of media that refuses to include every side of a story, because it prefers righteousness or nationalism, slips into its own darkness, and drags the country along with it.
One of the reasons why Modi induces volatile reactions in the Pakistani media is that many of the country’s journalists don’t fully understand the context in which he emerged. Azhar, who hosts one of the country’s top-rated shows, called Islamabad Tonight, pointed out that “most Pakistani journalists really don’t understand the background of Modi’s rise, and it is obvious they don’t realise how hollow his hate speech is.”
Pakistani media has failed to closely study the core psychology behind Modi’s 2014 campaign. During that campaign, Pakistani journalists viewed him as a politician who was too radical for democracy. Media commentators in Pakistan then chiefly ridiculed Modi for his anti-Pakistan rhetoric, and argued that he had a majoritarian mindset, referring to the 2002 Gujarat killings as evidence of this. They saw that he faced opposition within his own party, and thus felt that he didn’t need to be taken seriously.
But Modi did win, and by a landslide. That left Pakistani media and parts of the public nervous about the idea that he might be under pressure from those who elected him to follow through on his rhetoric. According to Azhar, in India, “the core vote bank softened towards Modi. Even liberal voters voted for him on economy. The core fundamentalist voted for him for their own reason.” He believed Modi would face pressure to address the demands of the latter voters. “You can’t ignore that one of his promises was that what happened in Gujarat will happen in rest of India as well,” Azhar said.
This fear of Modi has been heightened by the fact that he has, since his victory, spent considerable time lobbying for international support for India against Pakistan. At first, he managed to do this without isolating Pakistan—the congenial exchanges between the two countries in the early months of his premiership were key to his strategy. But the Uri attack increased pressure on Modi to show that he was taking a firm stand. He has done so through speeches that criticise Pakistan, referring to it as the one nation in South Asia “spreading these agents of terror in the countries of our region.”
But perhaps the comments that stood out most prominently were those Modi made in August, even before the Uri attack, on Balochistan, a region of Pakistan that has long been the site of a separatist movement. Speaking in Kashmir, Modi said that Pakistan “bombs its own citizens using fighter planes,” and that the “time has come that Pakistan shall have to answer to the world for the atrocities committed by it against people in Balochistan and PoK.” The prime minister mentioned Balochistan again in his Independence Day speech at the Red Fort. The move to draw international attention to what Pakistan sees as an internal problem was condemned by the Pakistani government—though it was welcomed by Baloch separatist leaders.
The response to Modi’s remarks from the Pakistani media and public, in many ways, encapsulated the problems with the national discourse on India and its prime minister. According to Saba Eitizaz, an Islamabad-based journalist with the BBC, Modi’s speech strengthened hate against Baloch people in Pakistan. It was considered proof of a long-standing view among certain sections of the country: that Baloch separatists are funded by India. Modi’s vocal support “did not affect the Baloch people in any supportive way,” Eitizaz told me. “In fact, it has harmed them. They are still disappearing, and they are still insecure.” But, she pointed out, the media was more interested in the chest-beating discourse surrounding the issue than in the problems of the people. Even after Modi’s speech, she said, there was “barely anything covered within Balochistan” by the Pakistani media.
It is dangerous for a country’s mainstream media to slip into anger on behalf of the state. Apart from facts and information, the media deals with emotions, too. Taking them into consideration is a key step in finding solutions to any problem. Rather than only attacking Modi, the Pakistani media needs to do more to understand him and the people who look up to him. If journalists can go through the rigours of breaking past established patterns, they may free themselves, and the country’s media, from the limiting narrative of hate and blame.