We live in an age of cameras in pockets, satellite imagery, encrypted messaging, and instant global circulation of eyewitness accounts. Yet paradoxically, the distance between what we can see with our own eyes and the “reality” we are expected to accept has never been greater. This is not merely an intellectual curiosity or a temporary media glitch; it is a sustained, multifaceted phenomenon that corrodes trust in institutions, silences dissent and allows violence and injustice to be normalised. At stake is not only factual accuracy but the moral imagination that tells us when to act and when we can look away.
This essay lays out five interconnected “disjunctures” – places where lived reality and the dominant narratives diverge – and examines how those gaps are produced, protected, and policed. We will look closely at the contested story surrounding Israel and Gaza; at the mythos of police infallibility; at the hollow promises of political elites; at the ways media propaganda operates across platforms and ideologies; and at how religious narratives are mobilised to justify dispossession and exclusion. Each disjuncture is different in its specifics, but together they form a coherent pattern: powerful actors shape perception to preserve advantage. Confronting this pattern is neither cynical nihilism nor passive resignation; it is a moral imperative. If we wish to live in a more just, accountable world, we must learn to trust our eyes and question the narratives that seek to override them.
Disjuncture #1: The Israel?Gaza Narrative and the Suppression of Dissenting Realities
Perhaps no contemporary flashpoint better illustrates the disjunction between what many witness and what official narratives insist is true than the war in Gaza since October 2023. The conventional refrain presented in much international discourse – reductionist, immediate, and decontextualised – is that a single horrific attack by Hamas required an overwhelmingly military response by Israel, framed as a matter of self-defence against isolated terrorism. In mainstream coverage this rendering often begins with the atrocity and stops there, creating a temporal and moral cleanness that erases the longer arc of occupation, displacement, and blockade.
If we start with the human facts visible to anyone paying attention, a more complex, disturbing picture emerges. Gaza is a land of over two million people living in extremely dense conditions after generations of displacement and restrictions that have curtailed economic life, movement, and basic services. Since 2007, a blockade has choked trade, limited reconstruction, and contributed to recurring humanitarian crises. When large?scale military operations have followed acts of violence, the scale of civilian death and destruction has been catastrophic. Multiple independent human rights organisations, UN agencies, and investigative bodies have documented extensive civilian casualties and widespread damage to infrastructure including hospitals, schools, and water systems. Satellite imagery, hospital records, and on?the?ground testimony, all circulated widely via social media, open?source investigation groups, and international news agencies, corroborate a picture of immense civilian suffering.
Legal and diplomatic responses have reflected the gravity of what is reported: the International Court of Justice, in a case brought by South Africa, issued provisional measures related to allegations including genocide; UN agencies have warned repeatedly of famine and the collapse of essential services; and international NGOs have called for independent investigations into alleged violations of international humanitarian law. At the same time, official narratives in many Western capitals, and in sections of corporate media, have tended to foreground Israel’s security claims, present military operations as targeted or defensive, and treat civilian casualties as unfortunate but inevitable outcomes of conflict. This framing often ignores or minimises the underlying conditions that produce cycles of violence – dispossession, occupation, blockade, and an asymmetry of power and resources.
Beyond framing choices, the gap between witnessed reality and dominant narrative is enforced through social, political, and institutional pressure. Public expressions of dissent, demonstrations on university campuses, statements from academics, or solidarity campaigns, have in many places been met with criminalisation, administrative sanction, or professional reprisals. Critics of Israeli policy are sometimes labelled reflexively as antisemitic, silencing legitimate policy critique and conflating anti?Zionism with hatred toward Jewish people. Meanwhile, powerful lobbying groups, diplomatic alignments, and media ecosystems work to maintain political and financial support for the status quo. In the United States, multiple congressional votes, continued military aid, and the activity of well?funded interest groups have shaped policy choices. Similar political pressures are visible in other democracies where public debate over the conflict becomes tightly policed.
This is not to deny the reality of terrorism or the trauma suffered by civilians in any armed attack. The point is to insist on context, proportionality, and the primacy of humanitarian law. When an overwhelmingly stronger actor engages in sustained operations that result in mass civilian deaths, the international principle of accountability is supposed to kick in; independent investigations, arms embargoes when warranted, and full transparency. Yet the narrative machinery often short?circuits that process by normalising or justifying harm in the name of security.
How do we bridge this disjuncture? First, amplify evidence from independent monitors: NGOs, investigative journalists, and forensic analysts who document events on the ground. Second, insist on institutional accountability: unfettered access for UN agencies and independent investigators; arms embargoes where violations are credible; and legal mechanisms to adjudicate serious allegations. Third, protect civic space: the right to protest, to circulate information, and to criticise state policy without fear of retribution must be defended. And finally, educate: historical context – the Nakba, decades of settlement expansion and dispossession, and the political choices that produced the blockade – should be part of public literacy rather than a footnote in policy summations.
Disjuncture #2: The Cult of Authority and the Myth of the Infallible Police
From childhood, many of us learn to respect authority. Badges and uniforms, the solemn architecture of courts, and official rituals inculcate confidence that the state’s instruments are there to protect. This is not inherently wrong: functioning law enforcement can prevent harm and preserve civic order. But reverence too readily hardens into uncritical deference, and that uncritically masks systemic problems.
The lived reality of policing around the world shows a far messier picture: radicalised enforcement, brutality, corruption, and impunity. In the United States, high?profile cases – Michael Brown in Ferguson, George Floyd in Minneapolis – were not mere aberrations but symptoms of deeper institutional practices that Department of Justice investigations have documented in city after city: discriminatory stops, use of excessive force, and a punitive orientation toward disadvantaged communities. In Australia, Indigenous people are arrested and incarcerated at disproportionate rates; commissions and inquiries dating back decades have pointed to deaths in custody and systemic neglect that have yet to be comprehensively addressed. Globally, countries from Brazil to India to South Africa report patterns of police violence, extrajudicial killings, and lack of accountability.
Psychology and organisational theory help explain how this occurs. Experiments like Milgram’s obedience studies and the Stanford Prison Experiment demonstrate how ordinary people can inflict or tolerate harm when the structure and symbols of authority sanction it. Police cultures that valorise “toughness,” that present the world as us?versus?them, and that protect members through a code of silence invite abuse. Legal shields, qualified immunity, administrative protections, or weak internal oversight, further reduce individual consequences. Financial and institutional incentives compound the problem: some departments rely on fines for revenue; police unions resist reforms; militarised equipment and tactics encourage confrontational approaches.
The consequences are profound: wrongful convictions, eroded community trust, and cycles of alienation that produce violence rather than prevent it. That erosion also empowers propagandistic narratives that exploit public fear: “tough on crime” rhetoric sells policy preferences that can be more about incarceration than about public safety, and media portrayals that lionise officers while minimising harms create a cultural immunity to critique.
What might close this disjuncture? Reforms should be concrete and accountable. Independent oversight bodies with investigatory and prosecutorial powers, civilian review boards, mandatory and transparent body?worn camera programs with strong privacy protections, de-militarisation of local police forces, and changes to legal doctrines that immunise misconduct are practical starting points. Equally important is retooling training toward de?escalation, community engagement, and public health models of response for societal problems such as substance misuse and mental illness. Finally, a cultural shift is required: we should teach citizens and officials alike to evaluate evidence over uniformed status and to regard legitimacy as something that must be earned continually, not assumed.
Disjuncture #3: Politicians’ Hollow Promises and the Corrosion of Public Trust
Politics in democratic societies frequently presents itself as a moral venture: candidates pledging to “serve the people,” manifestos promising transformation, and rhetoric that frames elected office as a selfless vocation. Reality often falls short. Institutional incentives, campaign finance needs, short electoral cycles, and the revolving door between government and private influence, distort priorities and make long?term, structural reforms politically costly.
The privatisation of political influence through money is a central driver of this disjuncture. Decisions about healthcare, climate, regulation, and taxation are frequently shaped by lobbyists and major donors, creating a feedback loop where policies benefit concentrated interests at the expense of broader public goods. Landmark examples are instructive: judicial decisions that empower unlimited campaign spending, investigations revealing large?scale corruption at the heart of public procurement, and scandals where economic elites captured regulatory agencies or legislative outcomes. When public policy is perceived as primarily serving the wealthy or well?connected, political disillusionment grows – a fertile soil for demagogues and polarisation.
This gap between rhetoric and reality also produces governance failures on urgent problems: climate change requires coordination, long horizons, and willingness to tax and regulate powerful sectors, but those policies collide with entrenched interests. Social safety nets are undermined by austerity narratives even as inequality widens. Public services erode because short electoral cycles privilege headline?friendly moves over systemic investment.
Bridging this disjuncture requires institutional engineering and civic engagement. Campaign finance reform, whether through public financing, strict limits on private money, or transparency requirements, is central. Structural reforms, independent ethics bodies, conflict?of?interest rules, and vocational paths that discourage capture, can reduce the sway of money. Electoral innovations such as proportional representation, ranked?choice voting, or citizen assemblies can reduce incentives for partisan spectacle and increase responsiveness to a broader constituency. At the civic level, strengthening investigative journalism, protecting whistleblowers, and expanding civic education empowers citizens to hold leaders to account.
The point is not to perfect politics, that is impossible, but to design incentives so that political promises align more closely with plausible delivery and so that failure to deliver has predictable political costs. When systems reward performative action over substantive improvement, the disjuncture between rhetoric and reality only widens.
Disjuncture #4: Social Media, Traditional Media Monopolies, and the Machinery of Propaganda
If politics and state institutions manufacture disjunctures, media and communications systems refine, amplify, and enforce them. Propaganda is not a relic of authoritarian regimes; it is an integrated practice in modern information ecosystems. Its tactics range from the crude (repetition of false claims) to the sophisticated (manufacture of plausible deniability through third?party laundering), but its objective is constant: to make particular interpretations of events seem natural, inevitable, or the only reasonable option.
Historically, propaganda evolved with mass media. World wars and the Cold War saw governments and allied private actors use film, radio, and print to mobilise publics. In the post?war era, the relationships between state interests, intelligence services, and media outlets were sometimes explicit; Operation Mockingbird is an oft-cited example of efforts to shape narratives through embedded influence. In the internet era, the landscape has fragmented and commodified: algorithms monetise attention, platforms reward outrage and shareability, and influence can be purchased or automated. Deepfakes and synthetic media raise the stakes by making visual and audio falsifications frighteningly plausible.
Understanding the tactics matters because once you can name them you can resist them. Common techniques include:
• Repetition (Ad Nauseam): Constant reiteration of a message until familiarity breeds acceptance. The tactic is especially effective in low?engagement settings where audiences do not scrutinise claims.
• Framing and Agenda Setting: Controlling which facts are salient and how they are described. By choosing what becomes “front?page” and what is backgrounded, media outlets shape perceived priorities.
• Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt (FUD): Amplifying threats or ambiguity to close off deliberation and justify urgent, sometimes authoritarian responses.
• Astroturfing and Third?Party Laundering: Funding or creating pseudo?independent bodies (think tanks, “grassroots” groups) to broadcast a message that appears to come from civil society.
• False Equivalence and Manufactured Balance: Presenting an expert consensus as contested by giving fringe views equal time, thereby creating a false impression of debate.
• Demonisation and Dehumanisation: Reducing political opponents to caricatures to make harsh policies seem reasonable.
• Volume and Noise Warfare: Using bots, coordinated posting, and paid amplification to drown out dissenting narratives.
These tools are not ideological in themselves; they are partisan. They are used across the political spectrum. Conservative outlets have employed them to cast doubt on climate science, to amplify cultural grievances, and to stoke fear about migration. Liberal or centre-left outlets and campaigns have also used selective framing, repetition of emotive narratives, and mediated endorsements to build consent for policies. Ownership matters: concentrated media ownership creates incentives to protect advertiser relationships, align with political allies, or avoid stories that threaten corporate interests. Even when journalists seek to be objective, choosing which facts to foreground is never neutral.
Social media complicates this dynamic in two contradictory ways. On the positive side, it allows individuals and marginalised communities to bypass gatekeepers, share eyewitness footage, and mobilise quickly for causes – we have seen this in movements ranging from the Arab Spring to #MeToo to the documentation of atrocities. On the negative side, platform algorithms reward outrage and polarisation, making disinformation spread fast. State actors and private interest groups exploit these mechanics: paid campaigns, troll farms, and hyper?targeted advertising can nudge perceptions at scale.
How do we respond? Literacy is essential. Citizens must learn to read sources critically: check provenance, cross?reference claims, and understand incentives. Platforms must be regulated to require transparency around algorithms and political advertising, to enforce provenance labels for deepfakes, and to limit automated amplified abuse. Journalism needs funding models that reduce dependence on clickbait – public financing, nonprofit models, and legal protections for investigative reporting can help. Civil society can build rapid rebuttal networks to counter organised disinformation campaigns. Finally, democratic institutions must adapt: media ownership rules, antitrust enforcement in digital markets, and disclosure laws for sponsored content are part of the toolkit.
The goal is not to return to some imagined golden age of “pure” journalism but to create a media ecology where truth is not frictionless to subvert and where publics have the tools to differentiate evidence from noise.
Disjuncture #5: Religious Narratives, Identity, and the Politics of Exemption
Religious narratives have been central to the human imagination for millennia, providing meaning, moral guidance, and communal bonds. But like any powerful story, religious claims can be used instrumentally to justify political ends: exclusionary identity politics, territorial claims, exceptionalism, and sometimes violence. The problem arises when sacred narratives become the sole, unquestionable ground for political decisions that affect others’ lives.
One contemporary example concerns how certain readings of religious texts have been mobilised to justify territorial claims and political privilege. Religious institutions and national movements have often intertwined, giving theological cover to policies that displace or disenfranchise others. Scholarship in archaeology and history complicates literalist, exclusive readings of ancient texts; yet political movements can treat those texts as binding instruments of statecraft. The result can be a mutual reinforcement: political power protects religious claims, while those claims legitimise political authority.
It is crucial to emphasise two ethical points in approaching this disjuncture. First, critique of political uses of religion is not the same as hostility toward believers. Religious liberty and pluralism are vital parts of democratic life. Second, secular critique must avoid slipping into cultural contempt or collective blame. The task is to interrogate how sacred narratives are mobilised in public life and to advocate for political arrangements that respect faith while preventing any one religious interpretation from becoming coercive public policy.
Bridging this gap has practical elements: robust public education that includes history, critical thinking, and comparative religion helps citizens understand the difference between devotional truth and political justification. Interfaith and intercultural dialogue can defuse tensions and build empathy across identity boundaries. Legal frameworks that protect religious freedom while enforcing equal rights and prohibiting discrimination can set boundaries for public claims based on faith. Ultimately, encouraging humility about the limits of any one narrative and fostering a politics grounded in shared civic values can dampen the destructive tendencies of identity?based absolutism.
Conclusion: How to Live with Less Disjunction
The five disjunctures described here – conflicting narratives about Gaza, the sanctification of police authority, politicians’ self?serving promises, the industrial practice of media propaganda, and the instrumental use of religious narratives – are not isolated problems. They are different faces of the same phenomenon: concentrated power shaping public perception to preserve itself. Each disjuncture discourages critical scrutiny and makes collective action harder. Each normalises harms by embedding them in a “taken for granted” sense of what is reasonable.
Bridging these gaps is not easy. It requires institutional reforms, cultural shifts, and personal practices. Here are practical steps for citizens who want to act:
• Cultivate information hygiene. Check sources, prefer primary documents when possible, and diversify your media diet. Learn to distinguish between reporting, analysis, and opinion.
• Support independent journalism and civil society organisations that document abuses and provide oversight. Financially sustaining investigative reporting and NGOs is an investment in public knowledge.
• Defend civic space. Protest, organise, and express solidarity where necessary. Protect the rights of journalists, protesters, and whistleblowers who make visible what some would hide.
• Demand institutional reforms. From campaign finance to police accountability to media transparency, systemic change reduces the fertile ground for propaganda and abuse.
• Build cross?community relationships. Engage with people who think differently on matters of identity and faith; shared human connection inoculates against caricature and dehumanisation.
• Practice political humility. Insist on evidence over slogans and understand that complexity is not a vice but a fact of moral judgment.
We cannot simply opt out of civic life or delegate our moral imagination to experts and institutions whose incentives may diverge from the common good. To be citizens in a democratic age means learning not only to consume information but to interrogate the structures that produce it. It means recognising that what we are shown as “reality” is often curated, spun, and protected by interests that benefit from our confusion.
The antidote is not cynicism but engaged scepticism: an ethics of attention that trusts verified evidence, cares for the vulnerable, and refuses the comfort of narratives that justify harm. Bridging the great disjuncture requires courage—intellectual, moral, and political. It calls on us to look squarely at what we see, to insist that institutions answer for what they do, and to refuse the abdication of conscience that comes from letting others define the boundaries of our moral vision. In the end, the work of reclaiming reality from those who would shape it for private ends is the work of democracy itself.
