[Part 8]In the early days of the 2003 Iraq War, as American troops rolled into Baghdad, a now-iconic moment unfolded live on international television: the toppling of Saddam Hussein’s statue in Firdos Square. Cameras captured Iraqis cheering as the statue was pulled down by a U.S. military vehicle, presenting what seemed like a spontaneous act of liberation. But behind the scenes, as later reports revealed, the event was carefully stage-managed. The square had been sealed off by the military, and the crowd was relatively small. The imagery, however, was broadcast worldwide and became a powerful symbol used to justify the war effort—portraying the invasion as welcomed and righteous. This moment remains a potent anecdote illustrating how modern warfare is waged not only on the battlefield but also through the lens of the media, where optics can sometimes outweigh the truth.In the aftermath of the Cold War, the 2003 Iraq War stands as a sobering testament to a new paradigm of conflict—one no longer rooted solely in territorial conquest, but in the battle for narrative dominance. Unlike traditional wars fought for physical space or clear geopolitical interests, the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq was justified through disputed intelligence and the highly publicised spectre of weapons of mass destruction. This rhetorical pretext, later proven to be unsubstantiated, unravelled the fragile credibility of international norms and institutions. As George Packer meticulously explores in The Assassins’ Gate: America in Iraq (2005, Farrar, Straus and Giroux), the repercussions of the war extended far beyond bombed cities and fallen regimes; they penetrated the moral fabric of global diplomacy and set a precedent for how democratic governments could manipulate fear to legitimise pre-emptive military action. The legacy of the Iraq War thus lies not merely in the rubble of Baghdad but in the erosion of global trust and the dangerous elasticity of truth in the hands of power.According to Packer, the consequences of the Iraq War extended far beyond the destruction of buildings and infrastructure. The real damage, Packer argues, was deeply moral and diplomatic. He chronicles how the war, initiated on questionable grounds, fractured America’s moral authority in the world. Instead of being seen as a liberator, the United States came to be viewed as an occupier, mired in hubris and incapable of understanding the culture and complexity of Iraqi society. Packer documents the disillusionment of idealistic American officials, the disarray of post-war planning, and the human cost borne by Iraqis and soldiers alike. This erosion of credibility did not merely affect Iraq; it rippled across global diplomacy, fuelling anti-American sentiment and making it harder for future interventions—no matter how justifiable—to gain international support. The war, as Packer portrays it, left scars not just on the cities of Iraq but on the conscience of a nation that misjudged both its power and its purpose.Packer illustrates how the Iraq War exemplifies a dangerous evolution in the nature of warfare—where narrative becomes as crucial as military might. The Bush administration, he argues, strategically crafted a narrative of fear, portraying Saddam Hussein as an imminent threat armed with weapons of mass destruction. Despite the absence of concrete evidence, this storyline was relentlessly repeated in speeches, media briefings, and intelligence leaks. By manipulating public fear and linking Iraq to the trauma of 9/11, the administration successfully shifted the burden of proof: it was no longer a matter of proving Iraq had weapons, but of arguing that America couldn’t afford to wait and be wrong. In doing so, the war was pre-justified under the logic of “pre-emptive defence.” Packer shows how this fear-based narrative did not just manufacture consent—it paralysed dissent, allowing leaders to bypass traditional checks and balances. Thus, the war became a product sold to the public—carefully branded, emotionally charged, and catastrophically misleading.Packer argues that the true legacy of the Iraq War lies not merely in the physical devastation wrought upon Baghdad, but in the profound and lasting erosion of global trust—both in American leadership and in the international order itself. The war, justified through dubious claims and manipulated intelligence, demonstrated how easily truth can be bent—or entirely fabricated—when power dictates the narrative. Packer underscores how the U.S. government’s ability to distort facts and present a morally righteous facade masked deep strategic confusion and moral ambiguity. The damage extended beyond the Middle East: international alliances were strained, global institutions were discredited, and the post-WWII framework for justifying war was severely undermined. As Packer illustrates, the Iraq War left the world more cynical, more polarised, and far less willing to take powerful nations at their word. It exposed the terrifying flexibility of truth in the hands of those who control the story—and showed how, once that trust is broken, it is nearly impossible to restore.Packer seeks to convey a deeply layered critique of America’s involvement in the Iraq War—moving beyond surface-level political arguments to explore the human, moral, and ideological costs of a misguided conflict. Packer does not merely catalogue events; he captures the disillusionment of idealists, the arrogance of policymakers, and the suffering of Iraqis caught in the chaos. His central message is that noble intentions are not enough—without humility, understanding, and proper planning, even democracies can unleash disaster. He shows how the war was shaped by a dangerous combination of neoconservative idealism and bureaucratic incompetence, where dreams of liberation collided with the brutal realities of occupation. Through vivid reporting and reflective analysis, Packer warns that when a nation exports its values by force, it often betrays them in practice. His book is ultimately a meditation on how good people, driven by belief in freedom, can become agents of destruction when blinded by ideology and unaccountable power.Whether in Europe, Asia, Africa, or the Middle East, war has consistently acted as a crucible through which history is not merely altered, but wholly redefined. Across centuries and continents, it is within the violent upheavals of conflict that empires have collapsed, revolutions have ignited, and borders have been redrawn—often in blood rather than ink. War, for all its horrors, remains one of the most powerful forces of transformation in human affairs. It tests not only the resilience of societies and the endurance of cultures but also the very principles we claim to uphold as civilised beings—justice, dignity, and truth. What emerges from the ashes is rarely pure; victories are often muddied by compromise, and liberation can carry the stain of new subjugation. The real question, then, is no longer whether war has shaped the course of human history—it undeniably has—but how profoundly it continues to influence our present. More crucially, we must ask ourselves: are we willing to confront the uncomfortable truth about who profits from the making and remaking of the world through war? And are we complicit when we choose not to look too closely?
From the Crusades to colonial conquests, and from the World Wars to the more recent War on Terror, conflict has persistently functioned as a brutal yet effective architect of global borders and power structures. Time and again, war has torn through civilian lives with merciless force, leaving behind devastation, displacement, and trauma. Yet paradoxically, it has also served as the scaffolding upon which empires are built and expanded. The rise of post-World War II America is a striking case in point: emerging from the ruins of global conflict, the United States cemented its status as a superpower—bolstered by an unprecedented wartime industrial surge and a military complex that never fully demobilised. As Howard Zinn powerfully illustrates in A People’s History of the United States, such transformations rarely benefit the common person. Instead, it is often the working class, the marginalised, and the voiceless who shoulder the burdens of war, while political and economic elites manipulate the chaos to consolidate wealth and influence. War, then, becomes not just a geopolitical tool, but a social mechanism—restructuring societies from the top down, all while selling the illusion of national glory and noble cause.Zinn presents a powerful, counter-narrative view of American history, including its many wars—not from the perspective of generals or presidents, but through the eyes of ordinary people: workers, soldiers, dissenters, and the poor. Regarding war, Zinn is especially critical of how conflict is often framed as noble or necessary, when in reality it frequently serves the interests of political and economic elites at the expense of the broader population. He argues that wars—from the Mexican-American War and the Civil War to the World Wars, Vietnam, and Iraq—have consistently been marketed to the public with patriotic rhetoric, while hiding the economic motives and imperial ambitions behind them. In his view, it is the working class who fight and die, while the wealthy and powerful expand their fortunes and global influence. Zinn exposes how dissent is suppressed during wartime, how civil liberties are curtailed, and how those who question the war narrative are often silenced or demonised. His work urges readers to see war not as an inevitable expression of national destiny, but as a deliberate tool of control, distraction, and profit-making—disguised as sacrifice and service.Who truly emerges victorious in war? Certainly not the soldier bleeding out in the trenches, nor the mother forced to bury her child beneath a flag. While human lives are shattered and families torn apart, the actual beneficiaries often sit in boardrooms, far removed from the smoke and rubble. Arms manufacturers and military contractors rake in billions, thriving on contracts that flourish with every escalation. Those who later bid to “reconstruct” the same cities their technology helped raze are rarely held accountable. As Naomi Klein critically observes in The Shock Doctrine (2007, Penguin Books), disaster becomes a business model—war simply being the most lucrative form of catastrophe.In modern warfare, the battlefield has expanded beyond geography into information. Media conglomerates play an insidious role: framing conflicts, sanitising atrocities, and amplifying nationalistic fervour. Attention becomes a commodity, perception a weapon. Corporations that once merely sold advertising now monetise polarisation. In Manufacturing Consent by Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky (1988, Pantheon Books), the authors detail how mass media serve as a propaganda machine that subtly aligns public opinion with elite interests, especially during times of war. These media actors do not merely report conflict—they help sustain it.In War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning (2002, PublicAffairs), Chris Hedges, a former war correspondent, writes not just as a journalist, but as someone who has witnessed, first-hand, the seduction and devastation of conflict. His work lays bare the addictive power of war—how it provides a false sense of purpose to nations and individuals, while enabling a cycle of violence that enriches the powerful and obliterates the weak. Hedges explains that war is not just orchestrated for profit or politics; it also becomes a mythology—one that shapes identity, controls memory, and suppresses dissent.Chris Hedges offers a sobering and deeply personal reflection on the psychological and societal seduction of war. Drawing from his own experiences as a war correspondent in conflict zones like Bosnia, El Salvador, and the Middle East, Hedges argues that war gives individuals and societies a false sense of purpose, unity, and moral clarity. It becomes a seductive force that fills the existential void—offering a mythic narrative where “we” are righteous and “they” are evil. War simplifies the world into black and white, hero and enemy, thus allowing people to abandon the grey complexities of peace and morality.Hedges explains that war intoxicates. It feeds on the illusion of heroism, sacrifice, and national greatness, while concealing the very real costs: brutality, trauma, and moral corruption. It becomes a kind of addiction—both to violence and to the emotional intensity that war produces. In times of peace, life can feel directionless or numb; but war sharpens meaning, even if that meaning is constructed through lies. Hedges ultimately warns that when societies worship war or allow its myths to go unchallenged, they lose their humanity and descend into cycles of self-destruction masquerading as patriotism.Through poetic yet brutally honest prose, Hedges dismantles the romanticism often attached to conflict. He shows that while war may offer a fleeting sense of meaning, it does so by dehumanising others and deadening the soul of a nation. The tragedy is that, even when the war ends, its myths linger—infecting future generations with the same hunger for false purpose and violent transcendence.The Propaganda Model Revisited, edited by Joan Pedro-Carañana, Daniel Broudy, and Jeffery Klaehn (2018, Westminster Press), shows how propaganda in the 21st century has evolved through digital platforms, big data, and algorithmic control. It underscores how corporate and state interests continue to manufacture consent—often more subtly, but no less powerfully—via social media echo chambers and curated digital realities.The contributors argue that contemporary media manipulation has evolved far beyond the traditional press and television. Today, power operates more subtly—through algorithms, data harvesting, and the architecture of social media platforms themselves. Political and corporate elites no longer need to control what people must read; instead, they shape what people want to see, curating digital realities tailored to reinforce existing beliefs. This is achieved through the construction of echo chambers—self-contained online spaces where users are continually fed content that aligns with their preferences and prejudices.They show how algorithms filter information based not on truth or civic value, but on engagement—clicks, shares, and emotional reactions. In doing so, they amplify polarisation, erode common ground, and make critical thinking more difficult. Rather than fostering democratic debate, digital platforms often serve to fragment public discourse, ensuring that dissenting voices are either drowned out or confined to isolated bubbles.
According to The Propaganda Model Revisited, one of the most profound consequences of modern media manipulation is the erosion of democratic agency. When citizens are trapped in algorithmically curated information silos, they begin to lose the ability to engage in genuine dialogue with those who think differently. This fragmentation of public discourse undermines the foundation of any healthy democracy, which depends on the free exchange of ideas, informed debate, and mutual understanding. Instead, the public sphere becomes a battleground of outrage and misinformation, where truth is no longer determined by evidence but by virality.Another critical impact highlighted in the book is the internalisation of propaganda. Unlike old-school propaganda that was external and recognisable—through posters, speeches, and slogans—contemporary propaganda is internalised, embedded within the very interfaces people interact with daily. It creates an illusion of autonomy while subtly steering perceptions, preferences, and political choices. Individuals may believe they are thinking independently, but their worldview is often a by-product of filtered content designed to manipulate engagement.Perhaps the most chilling consequence is the decline of critical consciousness. When the tools of manipulation are invisible, people cease to question them. They become passive consumers of information rather than active participants in shaping society. This is not just a threat to politics but to culture itself, where conformity replaces creativity, and distraction becomes more desirable than awareness. Ultimately, The Propaganda Model Revisited warns that without media literacy and structural accountability, societies risk becoming comfortable in their manipulation—enslaved not by force, but by carefully engineered convenience.
[Part 6]
