I carved out time on Monday to watch IRIB IRINN, the channel that pumps Persian propaganda to Iranian audiences around the clock. Predictably, they operated in full war mode. Iran's flag fluttered at the screen's corner while they cycled through footage from Israel – rubble, impacts, blazes, and destruction from their heavy missiles targeting "occupied territory" and the "Zionist enemy." Their narrative painted Iranian damage as minimal. Bearded Revolutionary Guard officers occupied the climate-controlled studio, delivering authoritative lies. A burqa-clad presenter covered international backing and tweet reactions, followed by Tehran street interviews and an information security warning segment.
The broadcast climaxed with an actual explosion. IRIB IRINN serves the ayatollah regime but has hemorrhaged credibility within the republic, with ratings suffering lately. Monday afternoon, mid-propaganda monologue, a heavy bomb struck the presenter directly. Israeli Air Force ordnance found its target, sending the anchor scrambling from the studio. The feed remained active. Subsequently, they transmitted live footage of their facility engulfed in flames. A bloodied correspondent positioned himself at the building's entrance, vowing retaliation. Now that generates viewership, doesn't it?
The Israeli interview survival manual
During peacetime, ordinary citizens never find themselves broadcasting live to the nation. But when warfare invades our neighborhoods, anyone becomes a potential survivor interview candidate at strike locations.
Here's essential preparation before facing television reporters stationed outside your damaged residence, asking insensitively: What did you experience? What sounds did you hear? What did you witness? How did you escape?
What to wear? Anyone dashing to safe rooms in underwear, braless, shoeless, or sporting embarrassing threadbare clothing should reconsider. Would you want cameras capturing you after hastily evacuating your apartment when a reporter intercepts you among the debris with a helmet and intrusive questions?
Numerous missile survivors emerge in sleepwear, clutching pets or small children, hearts pounding and thoughts scattered. Precisely then, when microphones thrust toward spontaneous interviewees, peak performance becomes essential.
What to say? We heard tremendous booming. Serious trembling. Glass exploded everywhere. Descriptions typically echo each other. Some emphasize civic duty, stating "follow official guidance, remain in shelters," while others attempt elevated, dignified speech for television, and still others project casualness, relatability, or levity.
"I opened the door – no house remained. I declared, 'Hotel time now,'" quipped a Petah Tikva resident. "Look, we made the news," another celebrated, summoning neighbors to participate. Some choose brevity – delivering one statement before departing. Others weave in viral moments like "I survived needing the bathroom," or "blame the leftists."
How to behave? Standing out among countless interviewees requires showmanship. Consider inviting cameras for guided destruction tours. "Here's the devastation. This Rabbi Kanievsky photograph survived intact – divine protection," declared Monday's survivor.
Essentially, capturing attention means channeling Lihi Griner. When her apartment disintegrated from missile impact, the celebrity welcomed Channel 13 news crew for a property damage assessment. Within her limited airtime, the seasoned celebrity deployed every attention-grabbing technique available.
"Some cleanup happened, unfortunately, I could have staged quite a performance," she acknowledged while still delivering spectacle. She employed theatrical speech, heightened drama, and concluded with a bedroom presentation, "Notice my sleeping quarters. Glass everywhere. This punctured my mattress. Pure horror film. My neighbors died. Such audacity, what do Iranians want from civilians? What wrong did I commit against them?"
