In a move that has sent tremors through the Kremlin’s propaganda machine, the British media watchdog Ofcom has issued a clarion call for sanctions against state-sponsored disinformation. The target? None other than the master manipulator himself, Vladimir Putin, whose mastery of the dark arts of propaganda has been exposed as a grotesque pantomime of truth. The watchdog, in a rare fit of pique, has demanded that the government slap sanctions on those responsible for the torrent of lies that has flooded the airwaves like a backed-up sewer.
Let us pause for a moment to savour the delicious irony. Ofcom, the very body that spends its days regulating the dulcet tones of British radio and the pixelated squabbles of reality TV, has suddenly grown a spine. They have seen the enemy, and it is not a rogue tweet from a Love Island contestant. No, it is the systematic, state-funded dissemination of falsehoods that has poisoned the well of public discourse from the Urals to the Thames.
Putin, that cherub-faced czar of chicanery, has long wielded propaganda like a Kalashnikov in a playground. His media outlets, from RT to Sputnik, have become the go-to sources for anyone with a thirst for alternative facts and a generous helping of conspiracy theory. They peddle a vision of the West as a decadent, decaying empire, a narrative that would be laughable if it weren't so dangerous.
But now, the jig is up. Ofcom has declared that the emperor has no clothes, or at least that his clothes are made of the shoddiest, most mendacious fabric. The watchdog has identified a pattern of 'systematic breaches' of broadcasting standards, a phrase that sounds more like a diplomatic note than a sledgehammer. But make no mistake, this is a sledgehammer to the glass jaw of Russian state media.
The call for sanctions is a welcome, if belated, recognition that the information war is not a spectator sport. It is a fight for the very soul of democracy. We have watched for years as the Kremlin has weaponised disinformation, turning the truth into a casualty of geopolitical ambition. And we have done little more than tut and shake our heads, as if the BBC's annual report on impartiality would somehow set the record straight.
But here is the rub. Sanctions against disinformation are a tricky business. How do you sanction a lie? You cannot slap a tariff on a falsehood or freeze the assets of a factoid. The Kremlin's propaganda machine is not a single entity but a hydra-headed beast with tentacles reaching into every corner of the digital world. Slap a sanction on RT, and it will rise again as 'Russia Today Global' or some such Orwellian rebrand.
And let us not forget the double-edged sword. The same government that now clamours for action against Russian disinformation has been known to play fast and loose with the truth itself. The spectre of Brexit, with its bus-loads of lies and promises, hangs over this whole affair like a bad smell. The British government, having weaponised its own fictions, now seeks to police the fictions of others. It is a bit like the fox calling for guard duty at the henhouse.
But let us not be churlish. This is a step in the right direction, a tentative march towards a saner information ecosystem. The call for sanctions is a recognition that words have power, that the weaponisation of information is a crime against humanity, or at least against the small sliver of humanity that still bothers to read a newspaper.
So, bravo to Ofcom for finally growing a pair. Let us hope that the government listens. And let us also hope that in their zeal to punish the Kremlin's lies, they do not forget to sweep their own doorstep. For the truth is a fragile thing, easily broken and hard to repair. And if we are not careful, we will all be left with nothing but the sound of our own propaganda, echoing in the void.
