“How is the world ruled and how do wars start? Diplomats tell lies to journalists and then believe what they read.”
— Karl Kraus in Die Letzten Tage der Menschheit (The Last Days of Mankind), 1919
One of the most widespread diseases is diagnosis.
—Karl Kraus, in Harry Zohn (ed.), Half-Truths & One-and-a-Half Truths – In Hollow Heads (p. 77)
“The press was not only the fourth estate, it was all four in one.”
—-In These Great Times: A Karl Kraus Reader, edited Harry Zohn (University of Chicago Press, 1990), p. 76.
On 16 September 2024, Toronto hosted an evening of celebration as Pankaj Mishra delivered a mordant speech while accepting the Weston International Award for his outstanding lifetime contributions to nonfiction writing. His words offered salient thoughts, illuminating our understanding of the world through the power of nonfiction. Mishra, who splits his time between London, UK, and Mashobra, India, is the author of two novels and eight books of nonfiction. His writings appear in major publications like the London Review of Books, The New York Review of Books, The Guardian, and Granta.
In his speech, he sought to provide updated specificity to the contours and rhetorical guardrails inscribed in the definition and exercise of Western Intellectual culture and its agents—intellectuals, memory, and regimes of censorship. Mishra’s sharp wit and piercing critique of society illuminated the moral vacuity of our time.
Importantly, Mishra also declared that he is donating the prize money—the Award of Canadian $75000—to the Palestinian Writers Network and made the clarion call “to restore dignity to truth” in response to a question from Nahlah Ayed, who currently helms Ideas, the esteemed and long-standing Canadian Broadcasting Corporation Radio program renowned for its deep exploration of intellectual and cultural themes.
The Reckless Minds
I begin where Mark Lilla’s The Shipwrecked Mind leaves us at the crossroads of nostalgia and reaction, where the most potent revolutionary slogans start once upon a time.
The political bedtime stories spun in Toronto—the very heart of Canada’s founding Anglophone solitude—offer a window into how the West grapples, or instead fails to grapple, with the urgent moral and political dilemmas of our age. Beneath the city’s self-proclaimed mantle as the world’s most diverse metropolis lies a deep conservatism, where political orthodoxy and groupthink thrive. Universities, cultural institutions, politicians, and legacy media function as the loyal conduits of this status quo, with censorship—and its more insidious cousin, self-censorship—quietly embedding themselves as norms. Over the past two decades, we’ve witnessed a subtle but profound shift: what was once a fringe argument for curbing free speech now sits comfortably at the heart of public discourse, eroding the very foundations of open debate.
This tendency to stifle dissent is not merely a local phenomenon but a reflection of a broader malaise in the West, particularly when confronting the moral contradictions of its political allegiances. For Zionists, the ongoing genocide in Gaza is cast as part of an imminent eschaton, a divine struggle for land that unfolds not in some far-off, messianic future but within the contested soil of today. This mirrors the millenarian fervour surrounding the 1967 Six-Day War when Zionist movements saw victory and the reunification of Jerusalem as the realisation of a prophetic destiny in real time, not the distant echo of a future age. Such eschatological visions persist in modern times, not just among religious sects predicting the apocalypse but in political movements that foresee environmental collapse, technological singularity, or revolution as harbingers of a new world order. In the West, this manifests as a moral dualism—where salvation hinges on preserving a tarnished liberal order while conveniently glossing over its complicity in ongoing atrocities. Mishra, in his talk, builds on his previous essays as in Bland Fanatics: Liberals, Race and Empire, offers a searing critique of this liberal hypocrisy, especially as it relates to the U.S.’s self-proclaimed role as the vanguard of freedom and democracy. For people who know, this lecture resonates with his speech earlier last fall at Berkeley Centre in the U.S. on What the Global South Can Teach Us.
The import of his thesis suggests that the shadow of World War I still looms ominously over contemporary global affairs. Just as the intellectuals of 1913 clung to the universality of their values, today’s liberal thinkers, particularly in the U.S., maintain their convictions through a dangerously selective worldview. Their moral certitude, Mishra argues, has long been exposed in the Global South, where American interventions—often couched in the language of freedom, democracy and human rights—have manifested as support for authoritarian regimes, manipulation of elections, resistance to wealth redistribution, and austerity measures. A century later, these same failures have circled back to roost in American society, starkly revealing the cracks in the liberal edifice—the presidential election circus as its prime example.
Mishra’s critique, however, is not an outright rejection of liberal ideals. He acknowledges the inherent value in certain principles of freedom, democracy, and human rights. His actual indictment lies with the advocates of these ideals—those who have willfully ignored the persistent realities of racism and inequality that undermine their lofty declarations. The rhetoric of rights and freedoms, Mishra observes, often comes with an unspoken asterisk: these privileges are granted, but only to a select, privileged few.
With a smirking dismissal of David Gress’s From Plato to NATO, Mishra notes, for over a century, the West has enjoyed intellectual hegemony, but as global power shifts and the once-dominant Western minority loses its authority, there is an urgent need to engage with the experiences and perspectives of the Global South. He implores that in an era of poly-crisis, writers and journalists must break free from this entrenched intellectual inequality. The narratives spun in Toronto, however, suggest that the West remains mired in the comfort of its own moral superiority, far from opening itself to these new realities.
Cancelled and Censored
Customarily, as a laureate, Mishra’s speech (as an excerpt) was to be published in The Globe and Mail, the media partner for the Weston International Award. However, it was later revealed in an interview with The Breach’s Martin Lukacs that his speech was returned to him with every mention of Israel edited out and that Mishra was not surprised. (“In total, The Breach counted 17 examples.”) In the interview, he said: “It was presented as an edit that was, essentially, going to focus on the main points of my talk,” he said. “But I couldn’t help seeing that even when I was talking about Israel in the part of the lecture which they wanted to publish, there, too, (editorially) the references to Israel were taken out.” After receiving the cuts as proposed edits, “I’m very strongly inclined to believe that this was a political decision not to carry criticism of Israel,” said Mishra.
Ironically, The Globe and Mail’s actions served as the ultimate confirmation of Mishra’s argument.
It was not just the mention of Israel; even a litany of Western luminaries mentioned was strikethrough. Like Mark Lilla, in Reckless Minds, Mishra presents a cautionary tale about the dangers of ideological fervour when detached from ethical responsibility. He highlights how intellectual brilliance can be twisted into justifications for authoritarianism or extremism, urging modern thinkers to remain vigilant about their work’s moral and political implications. Take this example: “One could read millions of words on the merits of Western democracy and liberalism and the evils of Eastern totalitarianism by such celebrated writers of Anglo-America as Michael Ignatieff, Timothy Garton Ash, Martin Amis, Thomas Friedman, Timothy Snyder and Anne Applebaum, without encountering a paragraph on the consequences of slavery, imperialism and decolonisation in Asia and Africa. The liberal internationalists barely manifested any awareness that America’s democracy had been secured by mass bondage, colonial dispossession and wars of aggression.” As per The Breach, The Globe and Mail crossed out the names as part of its edit.
In his Toronto lecture, there was some spattering of Canadian references, like the Art Gallery of Ontario’s firing of the internationally celebrated Indigenous curator Wanda Nanabush for expressing solidarity with the Palestinian people.
This incident reminds me of the London’s Barbican Centre episode across the pond. On 6 February 2024, the Guardian reported that the Barbican cancelled a lecture by Pankaj Mishra, organised by the London Review of Books (LRB) after it learned that Mishra would be discussing the ongoing genocide in Gaza. It was part of the LRB’s winter lecture series, a long-running fixture in London’s literary calendar, and the other two lectures in the 2024 series were by Hazel V Carby, professor emeritus of African American studies at Yale University, and the writer Terry Eagleton.
The Barbican backed out of hosting, issuing a statement saying, “…we knew that Pankaj Mishra’s lecture—titled ‘The Shoah after Gaza’—would need dedicated and thoughtful care given the importance of the topic… we lost the opportunity to properly consider how to hold the events with care or to do the preparation they would need.”
It did not go without a pushback from the community. In solidarity, artists withdrew their works from the Barbican Centre and said: “We reject the Barbican cloaking its violent suppression of speech with the gloopy language of “care.” We reject our public art institutions behaving with impunity. We reject their normalised lack of transparency and accountability. We demand they do better. The implications for artistic freedom at the Barbican and the precedent this sets for further suppression of speech in cultural spaces across the U.K. are dangerous and frightening. The vagueness of this language guarantees that any artwork, performance or public conversation at the Barbican can be arbitrarily shut down for its “sensitive” subject matter, or because not enough “care” can be provided.”
In the subsequent publication of the lecture The Shoah after Gaza in the LRB, Mishra posits that society grapples with a profound schism between two opposing narratives. The Shoah narrative frames the Holocaust—as central to Israel’s identity—as a justification for its actions, rooted in Western complicity in historical injustices. In stark contrast, the decolonisation narrative condemns Israel as a settler-colonial state, perpetuating the racism of bygone empires. This collision breeds a perilous polarisation, both emotional and political. Israel is positioned as an exceptional nation, granted freedoms denied to others. At the same time, Palestinians and a global majority assert that the age of colonialism has ended, deeming Israel an anachronistic colonial power. This division compels a reckoning with the possibility of reconciliation in a world increasingly shaped by these conflicting histories.
How Is the World Governed and Made to Fight Wars?
In his talk, Mishra says: “The conviction that ‘diplomats lie to journalists and believe these lies when they see them in print’ is verified as, while showering Israel with lethal weapons and munitions, American diplomats preside, with the help of a compliant press, over a charade of ‘negotiations’ to buy Israel more time to pursue land grabs and ethnic cleansing in Gaza and the West Bank.”
In that quote, Mishra invokes Karl Krau, a Viennese satirist, journalist, and playwright who was a significant figure in the early 20th century. Krau’s work is characterised by his relentless critique of hypocrisy, corruption, and moral decay. The quote—Diplomats tell lies to journalists and then believe what they read—comes from Krau’s Die Letzten Tage der Menschheit. This magnum opus is a haunting chronicle of humanity’s folly, capturing the tumult of an era teetering on the brink of annihilation.
A formidable voice against the ravages of war and the press’s complicity, he wielded language like a weapon, exposing the absurdities of human behaviour and the perils of propaganda. Through his masterwork, Die Letzten Tage der Menschheit, he unravelled the fabric of civilisation, offering a haunting meditation on the human condition amidst the chaos of the early 20th century. Serialised in Die Fackel before its compilation, the play crafts a sprawling sweep of despair and lays bare the absurdities of war. It serves as both a haunting indictment of militarism and a stark reflection on the moral decay of society. Through a cacophony of voices, Kraus captures the tragedy of existence, reminding us that the last days of humanity are not merely an end but a profound examination of our shared humanity.
The quote also unveils a nuanced understanding of media-induced false memory, where the hypnotic rhythm of repetition ensnares politicians, lulling them into a conviction of the very fabrications they have set in motion. Such a dynamic engenders a self-perpetuating cycle of deception, spiralling into a landscape of mendacity with far-reaching and catastrophic implications for the future of humanity. As the lines between truth and fiction blur, the consequences of this delusion threaten to reverberate through the corridors of power, reshaping the fabric of society itself.
History repeats
Between 1908 and 1914, Karl Kraus’s urgent critique of the press unfolded against a backdrop of looming conflict in Europe. The Austrian annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1908 sparked a major crisis, igniting outrage in Serbia and setting the stage for potential war. By March 1909, Austria-Hungary was gearing up to invade Serbia, intent on quashing the South Slavs’ aspirations within its empire. Yet the government faced a significant challenge: to provide a moral justification for its aggression. To accomplish this, the Austrian Foreign Ministry orchestrated a media campaign against Serbia, recruiting historian Heinrich Friedjung to lend credibility to its cause. In a provocative article for Neue Freie Presse, Friedjung justified military action using documents supplied by the ministry.
However, the anticipated war never materialised, as Serbia retreated under Russian pressure, shifting the narrative from a tale of conquest to one of scandal. The Croatian Diet, aggrieved by Friedjung’s accusations, sued him for libel, claiming he had peddled forged documents to stir public sentiment. Kraus, seizing the moment, attended the trial, where Friedjung’s dubious evidence unravelled before the court. A pivotal moment came when Bozo Markovitch, a professor named in the article, testified that he was in Berlin during the alleged conspiracies. The court confirmed his alibi, exposing the documents as forgeries and humiliating Friedjung while implicating the government in a broader deception.
Kraus dissected this legal drama to illuminate how governments, intellectuals, and the press collude to mislead the public, cautioning that such propaganda could lead to disastrous wars. His analysis highlighted the populace’s dangerous gullibility and the volatile patriotism inflamed by a complicit media—an admonition that resonates powerfully today in an era of information manipulation and media sensationalism.
In the crucible of the 1909 trial of historian Heinrich Friedjung, Karl Kraus unearthed a profound commentary on the insidious collaboration between governments, intellectuals, and the press, deftly illustrating how this triad can conspire to distort public perception. His piercing analysis served as a clarion call, warning that such manufactured narratives could lead to catastrophic warfare. When Friedjung, armed with forged documents, proclaimed Austria to be “in danger,” the courtroom became a theatre of revelation. Yet, the momentum for conflict remained unchecked, ominously foreshadowing the misadventures of the modern world.
Kraus’s critique reverberates with striking relevance today. The spurious intelligence that paved the way for the 2003 invasion of Iraq finds its parallel in Friedjung’s fabrications, each seeking to ignite an enthusiasm for nationalism through carefully curated deception. The infamous allegations regarding Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction, much like Friedjung’s errant claims, were more a product of public relations manoeuvring than of sound intelligence.
Think of the reportage in the West after 7 October – the fabrications of lies and manipulation of public opinion leading to dehumanising Palestinians was part and parcel of the narrative that allowed Israel to commit genocide with impunity.
As Mishra says, “Even the liquidation of Gaza, which, unlike many atrocities, has been live streamed by both its perpetrators and victims, is daily obfuscated, if not denied, by the main organs of the Western Media. Certainly, the Western account of Israel’s recent ‘self-defence’ yet again exposes the radical incongruity between what is said by mainstream journalists in the West and what the rest of us see happening in the world.”
Kraus examined the deterioration of journalistic language with a discerning eye, highlighting how anachronistic metaphors and hollow rhetoric have become manipulation tools. This decay feels eerily familiar, echoing through contemporary political discourse where facts are contorted to incite fear, cultivate consent, and pave the path to war. His work remains a vital admonition against the perils of media complicity and the seductive allure of government propaganda, illuminating the public’s disconcerting readiness to embrace jingoistic narratives.
“I want the legacy outlets to adjust their vision to this new world that we are all living in––now a heavily politicised world––but they seem incapable of learning from their blunders. The War on Terror was the first such major intellectual atrocity (of this century), with much of the media egging on and cheerleading a war on Iraq and Afghanistan. Then, 20 years later, trying to draw a veil of silence over the atrocities in Gaza. Two episodes of suppression, of propaganda by omission or obfuscation. It should be deeply concerning to everyone who cares about the life of the mind, intellectual freedom, and the overall health of democratic society,” Mishra said to Martin Lukacs of the Breach, which broke the story of how Globe and Mail censored criticism of Israel by Mishra in his speech.
In borrowing the title of this essay from the late Milan Kundera’s two-essay anthology, which opens with “The Literature of Small Nations,” an attack on censorship delivered at the 1967 Congress of the Union of Czechoslovak Writers, I am indexing the recurrent theme of censorship. A firm believer in freedom of expression, Kundera concludes that “the very survival of our people” depends on it.
Like Kraus’s and Kundera’s cautionary tale, as relevant now as it was over a century ago, Mishra’s lecture serves as a stark reminder of our responsibilities in the face of narrative construction and the truths we choose to accept.
Narendra Pachkhédé is a critic, essayist and writer who splits his time between Toronto, London and Geneva.
