The language of hegemonic media does not merely describe the world. It organizes it, hierarchises it and, above all, disciplines it. Within the dominant vocabulary of international relations, certain terms are systematically deployed to legitimise allies and delegitimise adversaries. This is not a semantic detail, but a central mechanism in the production of consent around the global order.

A simple observation reveals the pattern: countries such as the United States, its European allies and “Israel” are governed by “governments”. Meanwhile, nations that challenge this imperial order, such as Iran, Cuba, Venezuela and North Korea, are frequently described as “regimes”.

A simple observation reveals the pattern: countries such as the United States, its European allies and “Israel” are governed by “governments”. Meanwhile, nations that challenge this imperial order, such as Iran, Cuba, Venezuela and North Korea, are frequently described as “regimes”.

The distinction is far from neutral. “Government” suggests institutional legitimacy; “regime”, in mainstream usage, carries the mark of suspicion, illegitimacy and threat.

This distortion is revealing. In political science, “regime” is a neutral, technical concept referring to the broader structure of power. In media discourse, however, it becomes a political label. To call a country a “regime” is not to describe it — it is to judge it. And this judgement precedes any analysis, shaping public perception in advance.

The same mechanism applies to non-state actors.

Movements such as Hamas and Hezbollah are automatically labelled as “terrorist groups”, erasing their historical, social and political complexity.

Movements such as Hamas and Hezbollah are automatically labelled as “terrorist groups”, erasing their historical, social and political complexity.

Hezbollah, for instance, is not only an armed movement but also an institutional political actor in Lebanon, with parliamentary representation and extensive social services.

What disappears in this framing is the context in which such movements emerge: occupation, war and the denial of national rights. International law, particularly within the framework of decolonisation struggles, recognises the right of peoples to self-determination, resistance and legitimate defence against foreign occupation. This principle has been affirmed in Article 51 of the UN Charter and in numerous UN resolutions throughout the twentieth century.

Yet mainstream media rarely adopts this framework. Instead, it prefers a vocabulary that criminalises resistance and depoliticises conflict.

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This asymmetry becomes most evident in the case of “Israel”. Despite a substantial body of international law recognising the existence of occupied Palestinian territories and the illegality of settlements, the media seldom uses the term “occupying power”. Instead, the dominant narrative is one of “self-defence”.

Thus, even in the face of large-scale military operations against civilian populations and the genocide carried out in Gaza, the prevailing framing remains: “Israel has the right to defend itself”. At the same time, any form of Palestinian resistance is immediately labelled as “terrorism”.

Thus, even in the face of large-scale military operations against civilian populations and the genocide carried out in Gaza, the prevailing framing remains: “Israel has the right to defend itself”. At the same time, any form of Palestinian resistance is immediately labelled as “terrorism”.

The result is a profound semantic inversion: occupation disappears from the discourse, while resistance is criminalised.

This discursive pattern did not emerge by chance. It was consolidated through historical processes such as the Cold War and the so-called War on Terror, periods in which language became a central instrument of geopolitical struggle. Since then, hegemonic media has functioned as a vector for legitimising an international order centred on Western power.

By defining who is a “government” and who is a “regime”, who exercises “self-defence” and who engages in “terrorism”, the media does more than report — it delineates the boundaries of the possible. It shapes public opinion, prepares the ground for sanctions, blockades and interventions, and normalises inequality among nations.

The consequences are concrete. The repeated use of such terms legitimises economic isolation policies that affect entire populations, justifies military interventions under the pretext of international security and dehumanises peoples by associating them permanently with threat and violence. More than that, it constructs a symbolic system in which some lives are fully recognised, while others remain permanently suspect.

In this context, it becomes clear that contemporary political struggle is also a struggle over language. Questioning the use of terms such as “regime” and “terrorism” is not merely an academic exercise, it is a political act.

In this context, it becomes clear that contemporary political struggle is also a struggle over language. Questioning the use of terms such as “regime” and “terrorism” is not merely an academic exercise, it is a political act.

It is a refusal to accept the naturalisation of a narrative that legitimises domination and erases resistance.

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Breaking with this grammar requires conceptual rigour, but also critical courage. It requires recognising that language is part of the battlefield and that words can be as decisive as the facts they claim to describe.

Because, ultimately, the issue is not only how the world is narrated, but who has the power to narrate it.

And as long as this power remains concentrated, language will continue to be used not to clarify, but to justify; not to understand, but to frame; not to liberate, but to dominate.

Deconstructing this vocabulary is therefore inseparable from any project committed to the sovereignty of peoples and to international justice. It is to affirm that no nation should be reduced to a label that serves as a pretext for its punishment. It is to reclaim the right to name — and to exist — beyond the categories imposed by power.

Because, more often than not, the first battle does not begin with weapons.

It begins with words.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.

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