By A. Waseem Khattak
While the world watched Iran, the United States, and Pakistan, I found myself watching Pakistani journalists.
As a media teacher, what interested me most in this entire episode was not merely the news itself, but the condition of newsmaking in Pakistan. At a moment when regional politics stood at a delicate crossroads, when Islamabad had become the center of serious diplomatic activity, and when the world was following developments with great attention, one expected Pakistani media to rise to the occasion. Instead, what emerged was not journalism in its serious sense, but a theatrical performance of journalism.
The most telling detail was simple enough: Pakistani media, which often projects itself as bold and central to every national moment, could not even secure access to J.D. Vance’s press conference. In other words, it was shut out from the very heart of the story. Yet the public impression being created suggested that our journalists were somehow in possession of exclusive insight and privileged access. In reality, many seemed far more engaged with the tea, coffee, gulab jamun, Wi-Fi, and ceremonial arrangements at the Jinnah Convention Centre than with the difficult task of producing meaningful reportage. Hospitality, it appeared, was receiving more attention than diplomacy.
The scene itself was revealing. There were endless photographs, visible displays of professional presence, mutual interviews among journalists, and animated discussions not about the substance of negotiations but about the menu and the setting. The actual story seemed almost absent, reduced to a forgotten possibility in the corner of a highly staged media environment. What should have been the coverage of a major diplomatic moment looked instead like backstage content from a well-managed public event.
The deeper problem, however, was not simply that reporters lacked access. Access is not always guaranteed in diplomacy, and serious journalism often begins where official entry ends. The real failure was that, even in the absence of direct access, journalism itself was not produced. If no one was allowed inside the four rounds of talks, then a basic question naturally follows: where, exactly, was all the so-called breaking news coming from? The pattern was embarrassingly obvious. A delegation arrived: breaking news. A delegation left: breaking news. A car entered the compound: breaking news. A car exited: breaking news. What was presented as live national reporting often amounted to little more than a gate-update service.
More troubling still was the failure to report Pakistan’s own role as a state. If backchannel contacts were taking place, if there were extraordinary diplomatic efforts behind the scenes, if the leadership was maintaining continuous engagement to help make the talks possible and steer the region away from a wider crisis, then that was a major story in itself. It was precisely the kind of story through which Pakistan could have been presented as a serious, constructive, and responsible diplomatic actor. Yet this angle remained largely neglected. Our media, it seems, has become so conditioned by spectacle that it struggles to think beyond the immediate comforts of official hospitality.
Then came the familiar retreat into principle. Once it became clear that no dramatic scoop was forthcoming, the language of neutrality suddenly reappeared. We were told that Pakistan was acting as a mediator and therefore excessive commentary would amount to partisanship. It was an interesting shift. While the atmosphere was pleasant and the optics attractive, few seemed worried about principles. But once the story failed to materialize, journalistic restraint and balance were rediscovered with remarkable speed. In that moment, much of the inflated self-image of our broadcast culture was laid bare.
This points to a larger structural crisis within Pakistani media. Too much of it is held hostage by ownership patterns that reward profit over public responsibility, noise over knowledge, and spectacle over substance. Serious, informed, and intellectually grounded voices are often pushed aside, while those who can generate heat, conflict, and performance dominate the screen. In such an environment, journalism does not help shape a national narrative. It only exhausts and erodes it.
What stood out most painfully in this episode was that for many reporters, the priority appeared to be not the story but their own visibility within it. Some posted pictures, some showcased the lounge, some praised the arrangements, and some treated networking itself as professional accomplishment. It often seemed as though the goal was not to uncover information but to signal social media presence: we were there too. Yet journalism is not validated by proximity alone. The real question is not whether one was present, but what one learned, what one understood, and what one was able to explain to the public.
And perhaps the sharpest irony of all was this: even the news of deadlock or failure did not meaningfully emerge from Pakistani reporters or from the national media’s own reporting networks. It came from outside sources. We were the hosts. The venue was ours. The halls were ours. The tea was ours. The Wi-Fi was ours. But the story belonged to someone else.
That is not just an embarrassment. It is a warning.
A media culture that mistakes presence for reporting, performance for professionalism, and selfies for substance cannot fulfill its democratic role. When journalism becomes more concerned with being seen than with seeing clearly, it stops serving the public and begins serving its own illusion.
If Pakistani media is serious about reform, it must relearn an old truth: journalism is not about standing near power. It is about understanding power, questioning power, and explaining its meaning to the people.
A. Waseem Khattak
Head of Journalism, Women University Swabi
Email: awaseemkhattak@gmail.com
