There is something deeply disturbing happening in the British media — and hardly anyone sees it.
Turn on the news during any major war and you’ll find a familiar scene: a well-groomed retired general, seated in front of a tactical map, calmly explaining where the fighting is going, what the likely next moves are, and — astonishingly — what he would do if he were Putin.
And no one bats an eyelid.
In fact, it’s worse than that: we lap it up. We treat it as entertainment, as strategic theatre, as if we’re watching a war-themed boxset. Real human suffering is filtered through slick graphics, polished accents, and speculative “insight.” The horror is made palatable. And most dangerously of all, fiction is blurred with reality.
This is not just tasteless. It’s reckless.
When British experts publicly analyse Ukraine’s military vulnerabilities, discuss where its troops are stretched thin, or suggest what Russia might do to gain the upper hand, they are not just educating the public — they are broadcasting free strategic advice to the Kremlin.
And yes, Russia is watching. Authoritarian regimes don’t need spies anymore. They have Sky News, BBC, The Telegraph, and Twitter. We are helping them — openly, repeatedly, and without consequence.
How did we get here?
Because war has become content. We have grown so used to fictionalised conflict — in films, video games, dramas — that when real war enters our screens, we respond with interest, not alarm. We critique tactics the way we’d critique a script. We analyse offensives like a World Cup match. And when the experts weigh in, they’re treated like characters in a long-running series, not voices with potentially deadly influence.
In this fictionalised haze, no one stops to ask the obvious: Should we really be saying this on air? What if our commentary actually helps the aggressor? What if our hunger for “insight” endangers lives?
Freedom of expression is essential in a democracy. But so is responsibility. And in a time of hybrid warfare, when information is as powerful as artillery, careless commentary can be a form of complicity.
It is not paranoid to suggest this. It is rational. It is necessary.
Because this is not a game. This is not a theory exercise or a clever roundtable.
This is war. People are dying. And when we speak, the enemy listens.
It’s time we realised the cameras aren’t just facing us — they’re facing outward.
And we might be saying too much.
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