Mid-January 1991. Just minutes before the evening news in the U.S. aired, Americans turned on their televisions expecting the usual bulletin—but instead, they saw three men whispering in a dark room. In the background, sirens sounded intermittently, and reporters peered out windows, narrating live as bombs exploded over Baghdad. It was CNN. For the first time in history, a war was being broadcast live. The entire world was glued to CNN’s screen. This moment also marked the beginning of a new era in American foreign policy. The Gulf War blurred the lines between media and diplomacy; CNN did more than report news—it became a defining actor shaping the face of war.
Founded in 1980 by Ted Turner, CNN was still a young channel, but it stood out as a 24-hour news network. The Gulf War was CNN’s breakthrough moment; while outlets like the New York Times and Washington Post prepared their next day’s headlines, CNN was broadcasting live from Baghdad on the morning of January 17.
Peter Arnett, John Holliman, and Bernard Shaw—these three journalists set up security cameras themselves inside the Al Rashid Hotel in Baghdad and went live. Even the studio anchors were unsure what they were about to witness. Traditionally, war correspondents operated under predetermined military plans. But CNN was alone on the ground this time. This uniqueness impacted not only journalism but diplomacy as well. Saddam Hussein used CNN as a channel to speak to the West, while the George H. W. Bush administration mobilized domestic public opinion through these broadcasts. The White House understood the issue was not just the content of the news—it was about where and how cameras were positioned.
Moreover, Pentagon-approved footage of “smart bombs” played on CNN screens day and night. Precision-guided missiles reinforced the image of America’s ‘clean’ high-tech war, though behind the scenes, the tragedies experienced by Iraqi civilians largely remained invisible. In this conflict, the army fought alongside cameras. What became known as “public diplomacy” was shaped not only by official statements from ambassadors but also by the curated selection of footage broadcasted. Through CNN, Washington spoke to the Arab world, Europe, and its own electorate simultaneously.
As Bush famously said, a “New World Order” was being established—and CNN was its screen.
The CNN Effect: It’s Not Politics, It’s What the Camera Shows
After the Gulf War, the academic concept of the “CNN Effect” emerged. According to this theory, governments’ foreign policy decisions increasingly aligned with the media imagery presented to the public. Examples often cited include the intervention in Somalia and the delayed response to the Rwandan genocide. This explosion of media coverage during war signaled a new age in international relations. CNN International’s midnight broadcasts from Baghdad marked a historical turning point in modern diplomacy. Wars would no longer be fought only on the battlefield but also on screens. While some analysts argue the CNN Effect has been overstated, it is clear that during the Gulf War, media played a crucial role in mobilizing American public opinion. President Bush himself said, “You have seen the images; now we all know what must be done.” This statement was both a justification for war and an acknowledgment of media’s power in policymaking. Cameras became as powerful as diplomacy; broadcast schedules transformed into strategic tools. CNN’s coverage did more than inform—it shaped emotions, fueled anger, and activated conscience. During the Gulf War, media evolved from a passive observer answering the who, what, when, where, why, and how, into a strategic actor conducting war in both physical and informational arenas, shaping perceptions and controlling narratives.
As green flares rose from Baghdad and the “smart bombs” lit the screen with a sterile aesthetic, war was transformed into almost a sanitized spectacle. Blood, civilian bodies, and children’s screams were absent.
We also know that the transparency touted by American democracy was sometimes more a stage for darkness than a spotlight for truth. After Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait in 1990, while global public opinion debated the response, in a Washington hearing room, a 15-year-old girl wept as she recounted atrocities—Nayirah.
Appearing as a hospital worker, Nayirah testified before the Congressional Human Rights Committee that Iraqi soldiers had removed babies from incubators, leaving them to die on cold floors. This moment helped legitimize a war. Thirty-five million Americans saw Nayirah on their screens; the national conscience was shaken. Her story influenced congressional records, public sentiment, and government reactions. George H. W. Bush repeatedly cited this dramatic testimony; Congress authorized bombing, and Iraq was attacked. But behind the scenes, another truth emerged. Nayirah was not a hospital worker—she was the daughter of Kuwait’s ambassador to Washington. Her “volunteer nurse” narrative was crafted by Hill & Knowlton, a major public relations firm. The Kuwaiti government paid this firm approximately $11 to $12 million to galvanize the U.S. into war. Amnesty International initially corroborated the story but later retracted after field investigations found no reliable evidence that Iraqi troops had removed babies from incubators. The real tragedy was due to war-related chaos and medical shortages, not deliberate Iraqi cruelty. This case became one of the most effective psychological warfare operations in modern history. For the first time, a PR company scripted a media narrative that decisively shaped the course of war.
In this context, the CNN Effect disrupted traditional foreign policy hierarchies. Yet, it did not always operate. The silence of the media during the Rwandan genocide meant no public pressure was generated, delaying intervention. Thus, the CNN Effect is a conditional and context-dependent dynamic. CNN’s role in the Gulf War remains the historical example of media transforming into a foreign policy instrument. At that time, there was no internet or social media. Information flowed from few sources, and their footage was accepted as absolute truth.
Even Saddam Hussein understood this. In 1991, he agreed to an exclusive live interview with CNN’s Peter Arnett. This was a dictator deliberately communicating through the enemy’s news channel. Media had become as strategic as weapons. When to speak, what to show, which images to highlight first—all were determined through diplomatic calculations. For America, CNN was not just a domestic pulse-check but a global propaganda machine crafting narratives worldwide. The Gulf War was the first major rehearsal of media diplomacy.
Looking Back from Today
Today, the single-voiced, centralized broadcasting of the 1990s has given way to decentralized, simultaneous, and participatory digital platforms. CNN was not only replaced but also outpaced by Twitter (now X), TikTok, and Instagram, which have become carriers of global narratives. One of the most insidious and effective weapons of the modern era is the “battle of narratives.” Now, what matters is not the objective truth but which “truth” is made visible.
This new order was laid bare in the Russia-Ukraine war. Zelensky was crafted on TikTok and Instagram not just as a leader but as a symbol of frontline resistance—a media strategy in tune with the spirit of the age. Similarly, Palestinian journalists in Gaza document reality with their phones; narrative writing now happens not only in central newsrooms but also in alleyways. States fight not only on the battlefield but also on screens and social media algorithms. Public diplomacy is intertwined with media strategy, and truth is continually reproduced in the media environment. The line between appearance and reality grows ever more blurred. Media no longer just tells stories—it determines which narratives will triumph.
Who Controls the Narrative Controls Public Opinion
Throughout history, narratives have been among the most powerful tools of power. Since ancient times, history has been shaped as the memory crafted by the victors. For instance, the Behistun Inscription of the Persians was not just a record of victory but a statement legitimizing empire. Gothic cathedrals in medieval Europe were more than religious buildings; they were symbolic instruments through which kings controlled collective memory. Similarly, Napoleon’s propaganda machine after the French Revolution portrayed his victories not just as military success but as the spirit and order of a new era.
In the modern era, media has become both the stage and the leading actor in narrative production. During the Gulf War, CNN transcended journalistic ethics to become a live constructor of the war’s visual and auditory representation. Audiences received not only images of bombs but also a carefully crafted narrative of the war’s “legitimacy,” “moral foundation,” and “technological superiority.” This evolution resembled the global, audiovisual advancement of public opinion management from WWII propaganda films and radio broadcasts. The media strategy that began with the Gulf War continued as an effective tool in interventions in Afghanistan, Iraq, and beyond. Its prototype was scripted on CNN screens.
Today, media is a multilayered entity, interconnected with digital networks and social platforms. Narratives are no longer confined to TV screens but constructed through micro-stories on smartphones, viral content, and algorithmic flows. While this suggests a decentralization of information power, the frame of narratives remains controlled by global power centers. “Reality” is still shaped by these centers’ will. Yet, media is increasingly complex and interactive, influenced not only by state control but also by audience reactions, technological innovations, and platform dynamics.
From the Cold War to today: the Cold War itself was a battle over dominant narratives. The U.S.’s Voice of America and the Soviet Pravda symbolized media as a strategic tool. Today, this struggle manifests in Russia-Ukraine and Israel-Palestine conflicts, played out in social media and AI-powered disinformation campaigns.
Media Oligarchy
Compared to the propaganda of the 1930s, Cold War information wars, and even post-truth era misinformation campaigns, today’s “battle of narratives” is far more sophisticated and pervasive. Neither Truman’s rhetoric nor Orwell’s dystopia could have anticipated this vast invisible stage.
Media has ceased being merely a news medium; it has become a power that constructs truth itself. This reality confirms Foucault’s theory of knowledge-power relations. Truth is no longer a fixed fact but a process shaped by ideological divides and cultural practices. Those who craft the narrative decide not only what will be seen but also what will be forgotten or obscured. These choices shape public perception, collective memory, and ultimately historical understanding. Manufactured stories like Nayirah’s serve not only political expediency but also test ethical boundaries and collective conscience—much like Augustus shaping his image through history in ancient Rome.
In the digital age, accessing news is insufficient; we must develop critical awareness of media manipulation and understand the underlying context. I see this as an “intellectual resistance.” We must oppose hegemonic narratives, dismantle them, and open space for plural truths. Only a society that transforms narratives and learns from history can endure.
Ultimately, “Whoever controls the narrative controls public opinion” is not just media criticism—it is one of our era’s epistemological and political keys. Mastering this key is essential to securing our freedom. As we navigate the complex maps of the information age, revealing the thin line between history and truth is our collective intellectual and moral responsibility.
