The contagion does not stop at television. Social media platforms amplify the spectacles, slicing them into shareable clips that ricochet across WhatsApp groups and Twitter feeds. The result is a feedback loop.
In a recent Financial Times article, James Murdoch, scion of media baron Rupert Murdoch, lamented what he called “the cable newsification of everything”. His phrase captures a global malaise that has spread far beyond the studios of Fox, CNN, or MSNBC. “The incentives of cable news — conflict, outrage, and spectacle — have colonised the wider information ecosystem,” Murdoch wrote, warning that this dynamic erodes trust and rewards polarisation. It is a diagnosis that applies, sadly, particularly to India, where television debates have become nightly gladiatorial contests, social media amplifies their shrillest echoes, and even the once sober world of print journalism occasionally feels compelled to mimic their tone.
Murdoch’s central point is that cable news has become less about informing and more about inflaming. This is so true in India. The endless churn of “breaking news” banners, the performative anger of anchors claiming “the nation wants to know”, the reduction of complex issues into shouting matches — all of this has seeped into politics, business, and culture. News shows are spectacles of outrage, and the more divisive the content, the more attention it garners. In India, this model has been embraced with gusto. Our primetime debates are less Socratic inquiry than verbal wrestling matches, where decibel levels matter more than facts, and the anchor’s role is closer to that of a ringmaster than a moderator.
India’s television news channels have perfected their own formula for this phenomenon. Each evening, viewers are treated to “debates” in which 10 talking heads shout past each other, while the anchor interrupts to deliver his thunderous verdict (since his mind has already been made up before he invited them onto his programme to validate his prejudices). Nuance is drowned out by noise; complexity is sacrificed to confrontation. The format rewards those who can deliver the sharpest soundbite, not the most thoughtful analysis. Politicians, activists, and even academics are drawn into this circus, knowing that a viral clip can matter more than a reasoned argument.
The contagion does not stop at television. Social media platforms amplify these spectacles, slicing them into shareable clips that ricochet across WhatsApp groups and Twitter feeds. The result is a feedback loop: Television produces outrage, social media magnifies it, and politicians respond to it, further feeding the cycle. As Murdoch put it, “the style of cable news has become the template for all communication”. In India, it has become the template for politics itself.
What is particularly worrying is that even mainstream print media, once the bastion of sobriety and fact-checking, has begun to feel the pressure. Editors know that by the time their morning paper reaches readers, the public has already been exposed to the television version of events the previous evening. The temptation to echo that narrative, rather than challenge it, is strong. Headlines grow more sensational, analysis more partisan, and the careful verification that distinguished print from television is sometimes sacrificed in the race to remain relevant.
This is a profound shift. For some years, India’s print media prided itself on being the antidote to television’s superficiality. Newspapers offered context, depth, and a measure of restraint. They were the place where readers could turn for sober reflection after the noise of the nightly news. But as Murdoch warns, “when everything is framed as urgent and adversarial, audiences grow cynical and disengaged”. If print, too, succumbs to this framing, the public will be left with little refuge from the cacophony.
The consequences are serious. First, trust in journalism erodes. When every story is presented as a crisis, when every headline screams for attention, readers begin to doubt the credibility of the messenger. Second, polarisation deepens. Outrage-driven journalism rewards extremes, marginalises moderation, and leaves little room for compromise. Third, democracy suffers. A public fed on spectacle rather than substance, triviality and titillation rather than investigation or introspection, cannot engage meaningfully with policy, governance, or civic responsibility.
Murdoch’s warning resonates here: “The constant churn of sensationalism undermines public trust in institutions.” In India, where institutions are already under strain, the erosion of trust in journalism is particularly dangerous. A democracy needs a press that informs, not inflames; that challenges power, not parrots it; that seeks truth, not just “clicks”.
What, then, is to be done? The answer is not to abandon television or social media, but to reclaim journalism’s core values on screen. We need anchors who moderate rather than hector, debates that illuminate rather than obfuscate, and newspapers that resist the temptation to echo last night’s shouting match. We need editors who prioritise verification over virality, and reporters who pursue context over conflict.
This is not a nostalgic plea for a return to some imagined golden age when we actually believed everything that Doordarshan had to tell us. It is a recognition that journalism must adapt to today’s frenetic-paced world without losing its soul. The tools of modern communication — television, social media, digital platforms — are here to stay. But they must be harnessed to serve the public interest, not the outrage economy. Indian telecasters must resist the nightly temptation to turn every issue into a shouting match, and instead invest in investigative reporting, explanatory journalism, and thoughtful commentary.
India has a proud tradition of journalism that challenged power and informed the public. From the nationalist press that defied colonial censorship under the Raj to the newspapers that resisted the Emergency and flowered after it, our media has often risen to the occasion, as this newspaper exemplifies. That spirit seems dormant today, and must be rekindled. Journalism must reclaim its role as a check on power and a source of truth. It must prioritise depth over decibels, objectivity over outrage, context over conflict. The public deserves better, and our democracy demands it.
Murdoch’s warning should be heeded: The business model must not corrode trust and distort discourse. In India, where democracy is noisy enough, we need journalism that rises above the din. We need a press that informs, enlightens and empowers, not shouts or distracts. We need, in short, better journalism.
Shashi Tharoor is a political leader and member of Indian National Congress. He currently serves as a Member of Parliament and represents Thiruvananthpuran in Kerala. Tharoor has also served as the Minister of State for External Affairs and Human Resource Minister in the past. Apart from that, he is also a former diplomat who worked with United Nations for 29 years. Tharoor is also an acclaimed author and has written over 15 books about India’s culture, history, etc. He won the Ramnath Goenka Award for Excellence in English Non-Fiction in 2019.
