New approaches to war propaganda are reshaping the conflict between Israel, Hezbollah, and Iran. The footage lasts just three minutes. An Israeli flag flies over a position in the village of al-Bayada, in occupied southern Lebanon. One drone approaches the flagpole while another observes from above. The flag falls after the impact. The final frame displays a digitally rendered, torn Israeli flag with the words: “Al-Bayada does not welcome you.” The video’s caption reads: “Flag lowering ceremony”. This is the latest video released by Hezbollah, which reflects a broader context beyond a single hillside in southern Lebanon. Journalists and observers who covered southern Lebanon in the late 1990s may recall Hezbollah’s media strategy before the Israeli withdrawal. Al-Manar TV functioned as more than a television channel; it operated as a psychological campaign in plain view. Repeated footage of Israeli soldiers screaming after being attacked with a roadside bomb, retreating, positions abandoned, and flags lowered, created the perception in the Arab world that Israel was already departing before any official decision to do so had been taken. Back then, the image pushed forward a new reality, one that played a vital role in mobilising support for Hezbollah and adding pressure on the Israeli government internally to withdraw its forces from Lebanon. Then the withdrawal occurred in May 2000, and to many, it felt like a natural result of all that was happening. This approach was never abandoned, but it became unnecessary for a long period due to Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah’s commanding presence and speeches. For two decades, Nasrallah was the face of the media war. A man whose son was killed in battle. A leader who said things and then made them happen. What he had could not be taught or replicated; it was credibility accumulated over years of real achievement, giving him the rare ability to reshape how his audience understood events. When something went wrong, he could reframe it. When a setback came, he could place it inside a longer story that made sense. He was the frame that held everything together. The war in Syria badly damaged Hezbollah’s image. Seeing its fighters in Qalamoun, Aleppo, Homs, and other Syrian cities, in what much of the Arab world saw as a sectarian war, was hard to absorb. But Nasrallah was there to absorb it for his base, give it logic, and keep the narrative from collapsing. He framed it as a war to preserve resistance against Israel, rather than one to defend an ally combating a revolution. Without him, the organisation could have faced an even worse image, not only among his critics but also among his supporters. The image itself could not survive without him. Then came 2024. Fuad Shukr, one of Hezbollah’s most senior commanders, was killed in Beirut at the end of July. Less than two months later, the pager operation tore through Hezbollah’s ranks, hundreds of devices detonating at once, an intelligence penetration so complete it felt almost unreal. Then the assassinations kept coming. Senior commanders, one after another. And on September 27, Nasrallah himself was killed in an Israeli strike on the southern suburbs of Beirut. His successor, Naim Qassem, was the deputy leader for 30 years. His organisational capabilities helped the party restructure and rebuild, but he is not a communicator. What Nasrallah had was not a transferable skill. It grew from decades of confrontation, presence, and delivery. Qassem’s words lack the crucial layer of strategic narrative his predecessor mastered. So Hezbollah’s media machinery, which always depended on the leader’s voice to shape everything, found itself, for the first time in decades, without a centre, without the voice capable of putting things together, and giving a hint to supporters of what’s to come. As for Israel, its communications strategy wasn’t something it wandered into by accident. For years, Israel had been building it on two tracks simultaneously. The first was operational. A well-resourced apparatus of military spokespersons, carefully managed press access, and rapid-fire media briefings, all designed to get the Israeli military’s version of any story to people’s mobile phones and newsrooms before any alternative could take hold. An investigation by Swiss public television SRF released in October revealed how the Israeli military had been quietly producing slick 3D animation videos weeks before major operations, ready to deploy the moment the strikes began, justifying hits on hospitals, residential blocks, and civilian infrastructure. Many broadcasters ran them, and many did not even ask questions about the accuracy of what they were showing. The second track was cultural and ran deeper. Fauda, the Netflix thriller written by veterans of Israeli undercover units, spent several seasons building audiences worldwide, painting Palestinian and Hezbollah fighters as brutal and ultimately incompetent, always outthought, always outm
The BriefWire