TV coverage of the conflict is rage bait masquerading as news. How did India get here?

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10-05-2025

On Thursday, as the India-Pakistan crisis boiled over on Indian television screens, what followed wasn't journalism – it was a full-blown circus. Panic, nationalism and pure noise surged in real time. Anchors shouted over each other. 'Breaking' graphics danced across screens. By Friday morning, it was clear: what people had consumed wasn't news. It was a frenzy of misinformation – unverified, sensational and largely fake.
A question echoed through group chats and social media timelines: Where do we go for real news? Who do we trust now?
Here's the uncomfortable answer: you don't get real news because you never really paid for it.
The problem isn't just that audiences today won't pay. It's that journalism in India was never meant to be reader-funded. For over a century, advertising subsidised the Fourth Estate. Newspapers and magazines were built on ads. The mission was public service; the money came from private sponsorship. That model has collapsed. And nothing has replaced it.
The ad game is over -– and newsrooms lost
Today, most digital ad money no longer goes to media houses – it flows directly to tech giants. Why? Because these platforms (Google, Facebook and more) offer advertisers what journalism can't: scale, attention and precision targetting. Algorithms now drive the sale.
Traditional media, once propped up by full-page ads and prime-time sponsors, now limps along with shrinking newsrooms, shuttered bureaus and eroded credibility. Audiences do open their wallets –but for streaming platforms,and wellness products.
There's an illusion that news is free because information is everywhere. But what's abundant isn't journalism – it's noise. Rage bait. Viral content. And in a system driven by reach, what spreads fastest isn't the most accurate – it's the most provocative.
India's media: Reach over ethics
India's $30 billion media and entertainment industry doesn't run on ethics – it runs on metrics. Television channels don't need viewers to pay; they need advertisers to spend. In this model, the viewer isn't the customer but the product. The goal isn't to inform the public – it's to maximise reach, sustain attention, and keep the ratings high.
All legacy media outlets have buckled under pressure. Budgets have been slashed. Photo departments shut. Reporters turned into content creators. Editors no longer shape the agenda – they follow it. Entire organisations now rely on studio pundits who haven't set foot in the field for years. The few exceptions – small public-interest newsrooms – are barely holding on.
The no-truth economy
We are not in a post-truth era. We are in a no-truth economy. Journalism has been priced out – first by advertisers, then by algorithms and finally by our apathy.
This isn't about the public being naive. Some of the poorest citizens understand democracy best – they file applications using the Right to Information Act, petition courts and invoke the Constitution. But the middle class and elite, numbed by liberalisation and its dopamine drip, have become strange creatures: distrustful of institutions, yet loyal to power; addicted to spectacle, but allergic to complexity.
Even the opposition has stopped trusting the media. During the Bharat Jodo Yatra, Rahul Gandhi ignored legacy media and gave interviews to YouTubers – because even politicians now know where the audience has gone.
On Friday morning, my father – who has lived through several previous wars – called me. 'How can the media be this reckless during a national crisis?' he asked. He wasn't being rhetorical. He remembered the trenches dug in our yard, the blackouts, the uncertainty – and a time when journalists verified facts before going to print. When trust was earned slowly, one byline at a time. That era is long gone.
Will the next generation aspire to be journalists?
In this warped media economy, the brightest young Indians no longer dream of becoming journalists. Why would they? They see no future, no money, no security – only a moral burden and in many cases, a hostile newsroom.
The truth was always there. We just didn't pay for it
We scroll through curated chaos, forward propaganda, and treat journalism like a free buffet. But when news is free, it's not journalism. It's narrative – funded by whoever can afford the mic.
Elsewhere in the world, fragile but functional alternatives exist. Media organisations in the West survive on reader contributions and philanthropic funding. The ones making a comeback are rebuilding trust with something worth paying for: investigations, data journalism, verification, fieldwork.
India has none of these protections. No media endowments. No independent media barons. No civic-minded capital. Our version of capitalism has no stake in truth. So we built an entertainment machine where journalism should have been – and now it's devouring the foundations of our democracy.
Whenever efforts are made, there is mindless pushback. A rare example is the Independent and Public-Spirited Media Foundation, established by philanthropists such as Azim Premji, Rohini Nilekani and Kiran Mazumdar Shaw among others to fund independent journalism. Still, in September 2022, it faced an income tax 'survey' – a move that underscored how even transparent, homegrown initiatives are not immune to pressure.
So what now?
We fund journalism. Not opinions. Not influencers. Not fake debates. Real reporting. In depth investigations. Good photojournalism. Editorial independence that doesn't bow to pressure. Stories that take time, risk, and money – because that's the cost of truth.
It's not a hard choice. It's just one we keep avoiding.
We don't get real news because we refuse to pay for it. So pay up. Or get used to living in a country where the truth has no sponsor – and no future.