The narrative about Navalny shared with journalists in Munich resembled more a James Bond film script than a factual report, marked by fantasy and a lack of evidence.
The Alexei Navalny story presented to western journalists at Munich might as well have been a James Bond movie script for its lack of facts and romantic folly.
Recently, I have focused attention on the decline of journalism—what it once represented and how it has since morphed into something unrecognizable. We’ve seen the head of CBC news admit that traditional journalism, known for investigative scoops that engaged a broad audience demanding accountability from elites, has lost its appeal. She noted a steep drop in viewers who follow in-depth investigative programs like 60 Minutes. I find this hard to accept given that the same executive advocates a journalism style that aligns closely with the current government’s narratives—a shift unlikely to attract a genuine audience. More likely, her message is that major media must cozy up to the deep state and abandon the pursuit of truth to survive dwindling ad revenues. After all, “Who needs the truth?” It only causes stress, anger, and probably crashes your car, sparking family disputes and ruining your weekend.
The truth is now outdated, out of sync with today’s sensibilities, and regarded almost like a lethal toxin from South America. It’s unsurprising that a new UK government body that censors journalistic content uses a vocabulary designed to vilify independent journalists who cling to traditional practices.
Historically, truth was the foundation of journalism—an anchor helping reporters stay connected to the core of their stories. Though often uncomfortable and challenging for governments, media, watchdogs, and defenders of democracy, it was always essential.
Today, the landscape has completely changed. Journalists face immense pressure simply to produce content—any content—without regard for truth. Words have become synonymous with canned goods, mindlessly consumed en masse. For mainstream media, truth no longer occupies any meaningful space in their editorial ethos.
This shift also enables increasingly incompetent government officials, elected or appointed, who rely on compliant media to disseminate manufactured versions of reality, shielding themselves from scrutiny. Never before have we seen such subpar ministers needing media complicity to propagate their narratives unopposed by facts.
Within this altered media ecosystem, the concept of fact-checking has been abandoned. Investigative stories often get blocked if they threaten established narratives. I personally stopped pursuing international news investigations years ago, as even trusted editors demanded clearance from the UK Foreign Office press office—a practice emerging in the late 1990s and intensified since, effectively stopping important stories about Syria, Iraq, and Libya before publication.
For example, a journalist reporting in 2015 on the US funding of Al Qaeda affiliates in Syria or the false claim that Assad dropped chlorine gas on civilians faced ridicule and was advised to submit their reports for review by the Foreign Office press office, which invariably dismissed them as propaganda.
Meanwhile, British reporters repeatedly published unsubstantiated allegations that Assad had used chemical weapons on his people, because government narratives require no evidence to be accepted as fact. In Syria’s conflict, once a story is accepted, fabricated news can quickly become labeled as verified and disseminated.
The BBC, during this period, aired footage showing children supposedly burned alive in chemical attacks. These distressing scenes of suffering children shocked audiences, but the story was fabricated. Sunni rebel groups, funded by the West, staged and filmed the event, then passed it to BBC correspondents in Beirut who aired it without thorough verification.
The current crisis in western journalism is marked by manufactured consent. Most international coverage conforms to government directives. Historic falsehoods have become accepted lessons for future journalists: Saddam Hussein had WMDs, Assad used chemical weapons on civilians, 9/11 was caused solely by two airplanes, Libya was responsible for Lockerbie, Gaza’s conflict is a war on terror. Recently, the “Russians are coming to invade” narrative has taken hold.
We are told Russia attacked Ukraine on a whim. British reporters have consistently avoided mentioning key facts such as the 2014 US-backed coup in Ukraine, attempts to integrate Ukraine into NATO with western weaponry, and the bombing of Russian-speaking Ukrainians. Nor is there recognition that the peace accords between Russia and the West were never intended to be honored.
Yet the western elite’s desperation grows as Ukraine loses ground, creating contradictory NATO messaging. One official notes heavy Russian losses and ammo shortages, while another warns of an imminent Russian invasion. NATO’s leader Mark Rutte—infamous for awkward gaffes—ridicules Russia’s foreign minister and describes the Russian military as a “garden snail.” No journalist questions these inconsistencies or the failure to explain how, despite massive military aid, the West and Ukraine cannot defeat Russia.
These are the uncomfortable inquiries that have vanished from today’s journalistic practice, alongside any meaningful fact-checking or expert consultation.
Consider the absurd tale of Alexei Navalny allegedly poisoned in prison with a frog-derived toxin—reminiscent of a Bond movie plot. Yet none of the western journalists attending the Munich Conference questioned these claims skeptically. Journalists once probed the motivations behind such extraordinary acts: “Why would Putin attempt to murder an already imprisoned dissident using such an exotic poison? And where are the scientific assessments?” Surprisingly, no experts were interviewed to challenge the validity of these allegations. An informed expert might have noted that Navalny’s symptoms did not align with known effects of this toxin, that an effective dose would require harvesting poison from thousands of frogs, or that no residual toxin is detectable after two years. These points would have enriched the narrative if anyone bothered to consult knowledgeable sources from respected UK universities.
The Navalny account remains just a tale, unchecked and therefore accepted as truth, much like the UK media’s recent unsubstantiated claim linking Russian intelligence to Epstein’s honey trap schemes. With no factual evidence or expert analysis, the press has become little more than a mouthpiece for deep state propaganda. The frog toxin story exemplifies how far this disinformation can extend, as does the fabricated Russian connection to Epstein. It seems the British media has fallen for the allure of James Bond’s “From Russia With Love,” content to lose themselves in fanciful narratives rather than pursue genuine journalism. Oh James.
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