A blowback of narrative engineering

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The recent move by National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency to seek a court order against 27 YouTube channels marks yet another chapter in the state's long and complicated history with controlled narratives, political engineering and use of media as a weapon. Most of the YouTubers targeted in this latest crackdown are being accused of promoting an "anti-state" narrative. But to understand how we got here, one must revisit the not-so-distant past, where the voices that are now being criminalised were the chorus, singing praises of the state's chosen political order.

Before the fall of Imran Khan's government, many of these journalists aka Youtubers were the darlings of the power elite. One of the now-banned YouTubers, who has since fled abroad, proudly broke the news of Nawaz Sharif's disqualification on his channel. His tone was celebratory, his posture triumphant. That moment symbolised the height of their influence

These individuals were not just reporting the news — they were creating it, packaging it to build two carefully crafted perceptions. First, that Nawaz Sharif and the PML-N were inherently corrupt. Second, that Imran Khan was the only saviour who could rescue Pakistan from this swamp of corruption. Even the PPP was not spared. Despite Asif Ali Zardari being one of the most compliant presidents in Pakistan's history — tolerating the removal of his Prime Minister, Yousaf Raza Gillani, and quietly recalling Ambassador Hussain Haqqani during the Memogate scandal — he was forever branded as "Mr 10 Percent."

The 2014 sit-in at D-Chowk, jointly orchestrated by PTI and Tahir-ul-Qadri's PAT, was celebrated, not critiqued, by the same YouTubers now under scrutiny. Their content was a mix of sensationalism and state-sanctioned propaganda, camouflaged as patriotism.

But what the state failed to grasp — or perhaps chose to ignore — is that narratives, once unleashed, are not easily controlled. The same platforms that were cultivated to malign one set of political actors eventually turned their gaze elsewhere. When the hybrid model began to crack — when the promised "Naya Pakistan" failed to deliver, when Imran Khan's governance proved hollow, compromised and confused — these same YouTubers pivoted.

Some began questioning the very institutions they had once idolised. Others, aligned with Imran Khan's political ideology, refused to toe any new line that emerged after the regime change. With Khan now in the opposition, the institutional support that once helped shape his image into that of a messiah vanished. But the media warriors did not stop. They turned their criticism toward the invisible hands that had orchestrated not just his rise but also his fall.

The state, which once weaponised these voices to sow division and discredit democratic parties, now finds itself at the receiving end of the same vitriol. The poison allowed to ferment in the political ecosystem has not dissipated — it has simply changed direction. And now, rather than being used to destabilise political opponents, it is being wielded against the very architects of that destabilisation.

Many of the banned YouTubers now live in exile. Others have been jailed or are facing intimidation. Some have lost jobs and rely solely on their YouTube earnings to support their families. This isn't just a story of censorship; it's a case study in narrative collapse. When journalists are nurtured as political tools, when they are paid to promote disinformation and ideological conformity, it does not end with a controlled message. It ends with chaos.

Intelligence agencies must realise that domestic political manipulation is a dangerous game. Their role is to protect the state, not to distort the democratic process or create media mouthpieces. If they wish to project a positive image of Pakistan, there are countless international platforms through which to build the country's narrative. But when they entangle themselves in local political rivalries — by nurturing one party and discrediting another — they not only delegitimise democracy, they erode institutional credibility.

Pakistan is not suffering from a crisis of political leadership alone, but from a systemic refusal to let institutions function independently. Whether it's manipulating elections, engineering alliances or scripting media narratives, the long-term cost has always outweighed the short-term gain. The fallout is not just political instability but also widespread public distrust, deepening polarisation, and a media industry that lurches from sycophancy to rebellion.

The crackdown on YouTubers is not a solution; it is a symptom. A symptom of a state struggling to rein in the chaos it once helped unleash.

If the state truly wants stability, it must start by ending the practice of nurturing journalists as touts and stop interfering in the political process. Let the media hold power accountable — whichever party is in power. Let institutions operate within their constitutional limits. And let the people, not power brokers, decide who governs them.

Until then, every narrative engineered in the shadows will eventually break free — and when it does, it will haunt its creators far more than its targets.