In an era when news erupts on our phones before official statements can gather breath, the lines separating fact, fiction, and outright propaganda are almost impossible to track. The recent surge of India–Pakistan relations tensions played out as much in the flicker of TV headlines and hurried social media platforms as in the real world—a double helix of streamed chaos and shadowed motives. Behind it all, open-source intelligence stands as both a beacon of hope and a tool of confusion. It promises access and transparency, yet sometimes stokes the very storms it seeks to clarify. Yet, sometimes it had too tall a task to tackle with defusing propaganda in the recent conflict between India and Pakistan.
The idea is simple: OSINT uses information available to all—satellite imagery, public record, social media content, and even street photography—to piece together a picture of what is really happening on the ground. When used well, this approach brings clarity, especially when governments remain silent or scatter their own versions of events. But straightforward answers rarely exist in the charged environment of India and Pakistan. Every piece of data, every photo or video, can leap from a private chat to a breaking news scroll, stirring the atmosphere long before anyone has had time to check the details.
As soon as the conflict flared, X (social network) pulsed with frantic claims of troop movements, missile strikes, and airspace violations—each new post delivered with breathless urgency. Telegram channels, many partisan, flooded timelines with purported images from the border or the aftermath of an attack. The urge to be first often outpaced the will to be accurate.
The system rewards speed and engagement, not verification or careful reporting. In this climate, a single screenshot or blurry video, whether genuine or doctored, could ripple across millions of screens, leaving even experienced OSINT analysts straining to keep up with the pace of correction and contradiction.
Indian media became its own force—a swirling mix of almost two hundred million TV news channels and countless online outlets, all chasing the next big scoop. Major claims, from dramatic missile strikes to the fall of enemy jets, often reached viewers before their authenticity could be probed. Rumors climbed the ladder from obscure Telegram chat to televised debate, sometimes accompanied by expert panels dissecting events that later turned out never to have happened. Political pressure and the sheer competition for ratings only fanned the flames. News, in such moments, became just as volatile as the events it purported to cover, expanding small sparks into wildfires of public sentiment.
Still, in the growing confusion, some stood their ground. Fact-checking groups like Alt News worked doggedly to cut through the fog. When shaky clips claimed new devastation in Karachi or elsewhere, they checked timestamps, ran reverse image searches, and traced footage back to years-old, unrelated incidents. Their efforts restored some balance, but the job was never easy.
They faced lawsuits, online abuse, and threats—a testament to how dangerous challenging the dominant narrative can be in a charged media landscape. Even so, the work of such organizations revealed the power and fragility of institutional truth-making and the vital role transparency plays in holding information wars accountable.
But even the best fact-checkers, armed with rigorous tools, faced an evolving threat when it came to propaganda spread in the India and Pakistan conflict. Social media giants had begun to loosen their moderation, whether due to new ownership or deliberate changes in community standards. Posts that once might have been flagged, labeled, or taken down now remained up longer—or escaped notice altogether. Nationalistic hashtags and political slogans spread faster than efforts to correct them, and even the best OSINT experts were forced to walk back rushed conclusions as new details undermined the “facts” they thought they had confirmed. In the absence of old gatekeepers, misinformation gained new ground, eroding trust in independent analysis and making consensus even harder to reach.
In the middle of these storms, new disinformation tactics emerged. Among them, narrative laundering—a term describing the careful placement of misleading content by state-driven or rogue actors—began to dominate. Slick videos or “leaked” documents would surface on proxy accounts, then gain traction as sincere users repeated and spread the claims, granting them a false legitimacy.
The repetition created a sense that, surely, where there was this much smoke regarding propaganda in this India and Pakistan conflict, fire must be close behind. The tactic, observed not only in India and Pakistan but in other conflicts—such as Russian and Chinese information warfare—consistently aimed to saturate public debate, leaving the boundaries between real and fabricated so blurred that discerning the truth felt almost futile.
The risks were more than theoretical. The rivalry between India and Pakistan is never just about rhetoric or digital skirmishes. It pulses with decades of history and the ominous shadow of nuclear weapon capabilities. False alarms—a rumored missile launch or news of significant casualties—can result in far more than trending hashtags. They threaten to sway public mood, constrain diplomatic choices, and edge both countries closer to a crisis that could spiral out of control. For this region, where every headline is watched as much by world capitals as local communities, responsible reporting and robust verification are not just ideals; they are matters of national security.
To fight through the digital haze, open-source analysts advocated rigorous skepticism. Every post became a possible clue, but every clue needed context: check the geolocation, verify the time, cross-compare with unrelated sources, and, most importantly, explain what is genuinely known and what still hangs in doubt. Leaders in the field, like the founder of Bellingcat, made the case for clear boundaries: facts must not be blended with speculation, and any changes or corrections should be shared openly. This honesty is the foundation of trust in an age when trust is perilously rare.
Ordinary citizens, swept along by the river of content, often find themselves unequipped for these battles. Digital literacy moves faster than the capacity for any platform to check its posts. News organizations, competing for clicks and compelled by commercial or political pressures, can fall into a rhythm where the extraordinary gets more airtime than the proven. In this climate, individual media literacy—basically, the skill and habit of asking, “How do we really know this?”—is a last line of defense. Developing this critical approach is more than an academic exercise. It is a practical safeguard, reducing the risk that rumors or intentional fakes will change individual viewpoints, public pressure, or even government choices.
The reality is that fixing the information mess that contributed to the propaganda in the India and Pakistan conflict will not be the work of individuals alone. Institutions matter—as do the decisions of policymakers, the investments of tech companies, and the independence of media organizations. Quick removal of proven fakes, real funding for thorough fact-checking, and a separation of editorial choices from both government and commercial pressures are all urgently needed. Social media platforms, with their unmatched reach, carry special responsibility. Their algorithms and community standards can encourage accuracy as easily as they can fuel division. The task is complex, but without systemic reform, the theater of Censorship will only become more perilous.
For their part, those who lead in OSINT continue to refine their best practices. The “gold standard” is emerging: always provide supporting evidence, always share sources and methods openly, be ready to accept critique, and, above all, flag and fix errors transparently rather than hoping they escape notice.
Technology helps—reverse image tools, geolocation databases, public annotation sites—but cannot work alone. Partnerships with fact-checkers and training everyday users to be skeptical and careful are equally important to build resilience against the chaos of digital war.
