There are moments in a nation’s life when the sky is not the only thing under threat. For the UAE, the recent Iranian attacks were one of those moments—an unprecedented trial that tested not just its air defenses, but its very sense of reality. As Minister of State Noura Al Kaabi described at the Arab Media Summit, the country found itself fighting a war on two fronts at once. One front was physical, measured in the roar of interceptors and the flash of explosions overhead. The other was digital, unfolding in the endless scroll of social media feeds, where fabricated news, manipulated images, and AI-generated falsehoods spread like wildfire. Speaking in a session titled “Media and Diplomacy in a Changing World,” Al Kaabi captured the disorienting nature of this moment with striking honesty. “For the first time in our history, we lived through this,” she said, referring to the attacks. The UAE had to respond to what was happening in the real world while simultaneously confronting what was appearing on screens—misinformation, disinformation, and malinformation all tangled together. It was a strange and exhausting experience, she suggested, because the enemy was no longer only in the sky; it was also in the palm of every hand, in the anonymous accounts and suspicious websites that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. In such a crisis, the speed and credibility of information became matters of life and death. A rumor could cause panic. A doctored video could shape international opinion. A single false claim could undermine the trust that governments spend decades building. Al Kaabi’s words were a reminder that in the modern age, national security is no longer just about missiles and radar. It is also about the stories we tell, the sources we trust, and the lies we refuse to share.
The challenge, Al Kaabi explained, has grown even more complex with the rapid development of artificial intelligence and other technologies that can accelerate the spread of false information. What once required a human hand to fabricate can now be generated in seconds by a machine. A realistic image of a leader saying something they never said, a video of an event that never happened, a voice clone that sounds exactly like a trusted broadcaster—all of these are now possible, and all of them can be deployed in coordinated campaigns designed to confuse and divide. Al Kaabi cited an MIT study that found false news can spread significantly faster than factual information, often because it is more shocking, more emotional, and more shareable. The truth, by contrast, is often boring, nuanced, and slow. This asymmetry is dangerous, especially when AI tools can be used to produce and circulate content at a scale no human fact-checker can match. “We are now at a stage where we need presence, assessment and speed—all three at the same time,” she said. That is a tall order for any government or institution. In the past, a spokesperson might have had hours to respond to a crisis. Now, they have minutes. In the past, a false story might take days to reach a wide audience. Now, it can go viral before the first official statement is even drafted. Al Kaabi stressed that responding to misinformation is therefore not simply a communications issue, but a security concern. When lies can incite violence, erode public trust, or destabilize a nation, the people responsible for countering them are not just PR professionals—they are frontline defenders. This is a shift in thinking that many governments are still struggling to accept. But the UAE, having lived through the reality of simultaneous physical and digital attacks, understands it all too well. The lesson is clear: in a world where information moves at the speed of light, hesitation is a luxury no one can afford.
In the face of such chaos, what can a government or an individual actually do? Al Kaabi’s answer was refreshingly grounded: credibility. She argued that trust built over time is one of the strongest tools for countering false information. A government that has been honest in the past, that has admitted mistakes when necessary, and that has consistently provided accurate information, will be more likely to be believed in a crisis. But she was also realistic, acknowledging that no government can convince everyone or expect everyone to agree with it. “What is important is that I have a record of credibility,” she said. That record is like a bank account of trust—deposited over years of transparency and withdrawn in moments of emergency. If the account is empty, no amount of urgent messaging will help. If it is full, people may pause before sharing a wild rumor about the government, because their experience tells them the official story is more reliable. Al Kaabi also urged ordinary people to take responsibility for what they share. She encouraged everyone to question the source of information before accepting or sharing it, especially when encountering unfamiliar accounts, websites, or logos publishing breaking claims. “When someone tells you news, the first thing you ask is: where did this news come from?” she said. It is a simple question, but in the heat of the moment, it is often forgotten. We see a shocking headline, our heart rate spikes, and we hit share before we even check the URL. Al Kaabi’s advice is a call to slow down, to be skeptical, to demand evidence. The same principle applies to governments and media organizations, she said. They must be able to respond quickly, but they must also be able to assess information quickly—to verify before they broadcast, to correct when they are wrong, and to resist the temptation to trade accuracy for speed. In a world of infinite content, credibility is the scarcest resource of all.
Al Kaabi then turned to a subject that clearly matters deeply to her: the role of young people in shaping the Arab world’s narrative. She spoke with genuine admiration for the younger generation, whose familiarity with technology and artificial intelligence gives them a natural advantage in a rapidly changing media environment. Rather than telling young people what role they should play, she said policymakers and older generations should listen to them and learn from them. “Young people are the ones who teach you now,” she said. It is a humbling statement, especially from a government minister. Too often, adults assume that wisdom flows only in one direction—from the old to the young. But in the digital age, the reverse is often true. Young people understand the platforms, the trends, the unspoken rules of online communities. They know how to create content that resonates, how to spot a deepfake, how to navigate the chaotic ecosystem of TikTok and X. If the Arab world wants to tell its own story to the world, it needs these young voices at the forefront. But Al Kaabi also offered a word of caution. She warned young people against allowing their immediate political or social passions to define everything they say online, noting that digital content can remain accessible for years. What seems like a clever post today might be a source of embarrassment a decade from now. She encouraged young people to consider how they might view their own posts ten years later—to think before they post, to be mindful of their digital footprint, and to remember that the internet never forgets. This is not about censorship or self-suppression; it is about wisdom. The UAE’s approach to coexistence, she said, provides a foundation for how young people can engage with different communities, beliefs, and cultures. By grounding themselves in values of tolerance and mutual respect, they can become ambassadors not just for their country, but for a more hopeful vision of the region.
Institutions, Al Kaabi argued, have a crucial role to play in creating opportunities for young people to build international connections. She pointed to the UAE’s participation in global events, such as Expo 2020, as an example of how such connections are made. She recalled seeing Emirati young people in Osaka who spoke Arabic, English, and Japanese, alongside Japanese young people who had lived in the UAE. These exchanges, she said, help build bridges between countries because they allow young people to understand the audiences they are communicating with. In a fragmented media environment, where people consume information across different platforms, understanding an audience is more important than ever. A message that works on X may not work on Instagram or TikTok. A formal press release may be perfect for a newspaper, but it will be ignored on Snapchat. Al Kaabi said it is essential for governments, institutions, and communicators to understand where their audiences are and how they consume content. This requires not just technical knowledge, but genuine cultural empathy—the ability to see the world through someone else’s eyes. The young people in Osaka, moving effortlessly between languages and cultures, embody this skill. They are not just translators of words; they are translators of meaning. They can take a complex policy announcement and turn it into a story that resonates with a teenager in Tokyo or a student in São Paulo. In a world where attention is the most valuable currency, this ability to connect across boundaries is priceless. It is also a reminder that diplomacy is no longer the exclusive domain of ambassadors and ministers. It is something that every citizen can practice, every time they post, share, or comment online.
Ultimately, Al Kaabi’s message was about the changing nature of diplomacy itself. The wider role of diplomacy, she said, is no longer limited to traditional government channels. It increasingly involves culture, media, technology, and the people who carry a country’s story abroad. A film made in Abu Dhabi, a song recorded in Dubai, a tweet from a young Emirati student—all of these are forms of diplomacy. They shape how the world sees the UAE, and they do so in ways that official statements never could. This is both an opportunity and a responsibility. It is an opportunity because it means that every citizen can be an ambassador. It is a responsibility because it means that every post, every video, every comment contributes to the national narrative. In a world of constant change, where artificial intelligence can create convincing lies in seconds, and where false news spreads faster than the truth, the need for credibility, speed, and human connection has never been greater. Al Kaabi’s speech was a call to action—not just for governments, but for all of us. It was a reminder that in the battle against misinformation, the most powerful weapon is not a firewall or an algorithm, but a society that values truth, questions sources, and trusts the institutions that have earned that trust over time. And it was a hopeful vision of the future, in which young people, armed with technology and guided by values, step forward to shape a narrative that is honest, inclusive, and truly human. In the end, the UAE’s experience during the attacks was not just a test of its defenses, but a test of its character. And if Al Kaabi’s words are any indication, the country is ready to meet the challenge—not by shouting louder, but by building bridges, telling the truth, and trusting the next generation to carry the story forward.