In a world where a single synthetic video can circle the globe before anyone checks it, finding the truth has become something far more difficult than simply separating fact from fiction. It has become a battle against machines designed to imitate reality, against algorithms that reward outrage, and against an endless flood of content that blurs the line between what is real and what is manufactured. This was the central concern raised by Hikmat Hajiyev, Assistant to the President of Azerbaijan and Head of the Foreign Policy Affairs Department of the Presidential Administration, during a special session titled “The Language of Peace and Countering Disinformation,” held within the Baku Culture and Media Dialogue Platform. Speaking to an audience of journalists, diplomats, and scholars, Hajiyev spoke with a mixture of urgency and weariness about the modern information landscape. He reminded everyone that disinformation is not merely an annoying side effect of the digital age; it is one of the greatest obstacles to peace, stability, and mutual understanding between nations. And with the rise of artificial intelligence, he warned, this obstacle is only growing larger, more deceptive, and more dangerous. The truth, he suggested, is no longer just something that can be hidden or suppressed. It is now something that can be convincingly replaced, algorithmically amplified, and weaponized in ways that even the most sophisticated societies are struggling to comprehend.
Disinformation, Hajiyev reminded the room, is not a new concept. It has been used by governments, militaries, and political movements for centuries to shape public opinion, undermine rivals, and justify actions that might otherwise be unacceptable. But what has changed is the scale, speed, and sophistication with which falsehoods are now spread. Artificial intelligence and social media have become powerful factors amplifying this phenomenon, taking a lie that might once have reached a small audience and transforming it into a global narrative within hours. Hajiyev also drew attention to the troubling intersection of disinformation and international law, noting that artificial intelligence is now being used to interfere in the internal affairs of sovereign countries. This is no longer a theoretical concern or the subject of academic speculation. It is happening now, every day, to nations around the world. For Azerbaijan, this is not a new experience. Hajiyev explained that his country has spent thirty years building a system to counter disinformation, because it has been living with the consequences of false narratives for decades. At one point, he noted, a situation was created in which it appeared as though Azerbaijan had occupied another country’s territory, a complete inversion of the truth that took years of diplomatic work and communication to correct. For Azerbaijanis, this kind of manipulation is not an abstract debate about media ethics. It is a lived reality, a constant shadow that has followed their country, their culture, and their people through a long and painful period of conflict and mistrust.
The weight of his words became clear when Hajiyev brought up a specific, recent example. Some time ago, CNN, one of the most recognizable news organizations in the world, published a report that he described as extremely serious and potentially destabilizing. The story suggested that Israeli forces were present in Azerbaijan and could launch an attack on Iran if necessary. This was not a small, speculative aside or a buried detail. It was a headline-level claim with the potential to reshape the regional situation in an instant, inflame tensions, and drag Azerbaijan into a conflict it had no part in. Hajiyev did not mince words when describing the report. He called it unprofessional, inaccurate, and outright disinformation. But what made the situation even more troubling was the response, or rather the lack of it. Instead of allowing the false story to simply fade away, Azerbaijan took formal steps. It requested an explanation from the other side, and it raised the issue at the United Nations, the international body designed to uphold law and order between nations. And yet, despite these efforts, no response has been received so far. There was a quiet frustration in Hajiyev’s voice as he described this experience, a sense that even the most legitimate channels of complaint can leave a country feeling unheard. The silence from CNN, and from the broader international media community, sent a message that many small and middle-power nations understand all too well: when a powerful media outlet is wrong, the correction is often quieter than the original lie.
Perhaps the most striking part of Hajiyev’s speech was his simple, logical explanation of why the CNN report could not possibly be true. Azerbaijan, he reminded the audience, is a country with a very limited geographical area. It is not a vast, empty territory where large-scale military operations could be hidden behind mountains and deserts. It is a compact, densely monitored part of the world, where every border, road, and airspace is watched carefully by both friends and rivals. If Israel were to transport military equipment into Azerbaijan, as the report claimed, it would be impossible to do so in secret. Satellites, surveillance systems, intelligence agencies, and ordinary people on the ground would all notice. There would be evidence, logistical trails, vehicles, personnel movement, all the practical realities that accompany any military deployment. None of that existed. The claim, in other words, was not just politically motivated or diplomatically harmful. It was technically absurd. Hajiyev stressed that journalists, especially those working for professional media outlets, must understand these basic realities before publishing stories that can have life-and-death consequences. When writing about a country they do not know, when describing military movements they have not seen, and when repeating claims that have not been verified, they should pause and ask a simple question: is this even physically possible? In this case, the answer was clearly no. A lie, no matter how dramatic, cannot rewrite geography. And a headline, no matter how sensational, cannot move battleships through someone else’s borders.
Hajiyev did not present Azerbaijan as a passive victim in all of this. Rather, he described the CNN report as part of a broader disinformation campaign targeting his country, one that has adapted and evolved over time. What is particularly concerning, he said, is that the targets of this disinformation are no longer just politicians or government institutions. Now, even journalists and professional media outlets have become targets, and so too have diplomats. The lines between media, politics, and international relations have become dangerously blurred. A false story published by a major network becomes diplomatic ammunition for hostile actors. A misleading narrative shared on social media becomes the basis for international sanctions, or worse, military planning. In this atmosphere, the role of a journalist is no longer simply to inform. It is to exercise enormous responsibility, to understand that a careless article can feed a conflict, displace communities, and undo years of careful diplomacy. Hajiyev’s speech was not an attack on the free press. On the contrary, he seemed to be appealing to the conscience of journalists, asking them to remember their duty to truth, to accuracy, and to the consequences of their work. He was also appealing to the international community, urging greater cooperation in building systems that can resist disinformation, verify claims, and hold those who deliberately spread falsehoods accountable. In an age where artificial intelligence can create convincing fake news, synthetic speeches, and manipulated imagery in seconds, this kind of cooperation is not optional. It is a matter of survival for honest discourse.
At its heart, the session in Baku was about more than one false story or one country’s experience. It was about the human cost of disinformation and the fragile nature of peace in a world where words can be weaponized. Hajiyev’s remarks carried a deep truth that resonates far beyond Azerbaijan: if we cannot agree on what is real, we cannot begin to have an honest conversation about anything else. The language of peace requires trust, and trust requires truth. But when artificial intelligence can manufacture reality at the push of a button, truth becomes the rarest and most precious commodity of our time. Azerbaijan’s experience shows that resilience is possible, that a nation can build defenses against falsehood, and that it can hold its ground even when powerful voices spread lies about it. But it also shows how exhausting and unjust that struggle can be. Thirty years of countering disinformation is not a small achievement; it is a heavy burden. Still, Hirik Hajiyev’s message was not one of despair. By bringing together journalists, diplomats, and cultural figures through platforms like the Baku Culture and Media Dialogue, Azerbaijan is refusing to accept disinformation as inevitable. It is creating spaces for dialogue, for exchange, and for the kind of human connection that algorithms cannot fake. In the end, the most powerful answer to a synthetic lie is an authentic human voice. And at a time when the truth is under attack from every direction, protecting that voice, and listening to it carefully, may be the most important work that any of us can do.