The latest clash framed as “Rehan Tariq vs Hakeem Shahzad Loha Paar” has less to do with who “won” an argument and more to do with how a conversation was staged for views. What should have been a thoughtful exchange about claims, evidence, and public responsibility quickly became a performance—one where the podcaster’s choices shaped the narrative more than the facts did. When an interviewer telegraphs bias through tone, interruptions, or selective follow-ups, the audience is pushed toward a verdict before the guest can even lay out a coherent case. That is not journalism; it’s theatre with microphones.
Unprofessional interviewing shows up in small, cumulative ways. Leading questions masquerade as curiosity but smuggle in conclusions. Repeated interruptions prevent answers from reaching the “why” and “how,” reducing complex issues to soundbites. Context is skimmed or ignored—dates, documents, and verifiable references that would let viewers test the claims for themselves. Even body language becomes part of the push: an eye-roll here, a smirk there, creating a subtle pressure on the audience to treat one side as credible and the other as clownish.
There is also the matter of verification. A responsible interviewer signals to the audience what is established, what is alleged, and what is still unknown. If a guest cites a document, ask for the title, date, and source on-air; if a statistic is thrown out, press for methodology. When a podcast skips that scaffolding and settles for viral claims, it outsources its editorial duty to the comment section. That is how misinformation thrives—not by one decisive lie, but by a thousand unchallenged shortcuts.
Fairness is not passivity; it is disciplined neutrality. A good interviewer can push hard without being hostile: declare the frame (“we’ll take this claim in parts”), give equal time, and keep a visible timer for each segment so viewers see balance, not just hear it promised. If the conversation heats up, the host’s job is to cool it with structure—“we’ll finish his answer, then you’ll get two minutes unbroken”—rather than escalate for clips. The host is the referee, not another fighter in the ring.
Editing ethics matter just as much as live conduct. Cutting mid-answer, dropping qualifiers, or front-loading the most inflammatory exchange while burying clarifications trains the audience to inhale outrage and exhale certainty. If you must edit for length, disclose it, and provide full audio for those who want it. Transparency is the cheapest insurance against charges of bad faith.
There’s also a duty of care toward the public square. Platforms that host reputational disputes should arrange right of reply, post pinned sources when available, and discourage doxxing or harassment in their own comment policies. Robust debate is not damaged by fairness; it is strengthened by it. When viewers see that the host protects process—time, turn-taking, sourcing—they are more willing to trust the outcome, even if it cuts against their priors.
For guests, the lesson is preparation. Arrive with documents, timelines, and concise explanations. Answer the question asked, not the one implied. If the host interrupts, finish one sentence and ask to complete the point; if allegations drift into the legally risky, bring it back to what can be proved. Refuse personal attacks and stick to verifiable claims; it keeps you persuasive and keeps you safe.
In the end, the problem with this episode wasn’t that two strong personalities collided—it’s that the referee put on gloves. Audiences deserve better than content engineered to confirm their irritation. A conversation with stakes needs structure, sourcing, and respect. Anything less is entertainment in legal clothing, and everyone—host, guests, and viewers—walks away a little less informed than they could have been.
