Launch week concludes. Navalny pulls off an amazing caper.

Thank you for spending the week with the Cosmopolitan Globalists

By Claire Berlinski and the Cosmopolitan Globalists

This concludes the Cosmopolitan Globalists’ frenetic launch week. From now on, we will be publishing weekly, except on special occasions, which may happen often. If you haven’t yet subscribed, please do: Our newsroom celebrates every single subscription; indeed, we’ve invested our entire sense of self-worth in our subscription numbers.

When I explained to Vivek that I had enabled the Substack function that alerts us to every new subscriber but disabled the feature that notifies us of cancellations, he was taken aback. “This is no way to run a business, surely?”

“Of course it is,” I explained. “Remember, I’m not only the editor for the Western hemisphere but the Senior Human Resources Officer for Claire Berlinski’s Morale. She cannot tolerate bad news.”

“Claire, you will simply have to find the courage to know who is unsubscribing and who is not. Unsubscribing is not a rejection of us personally, nor a rejection of our ideals or opinions. It’s simply human nature. There could be hundreds of reasons and none of them are truly rejection.”

I tried to think of a single reason that wouldn’t truly be rejection. I failed. If a reader unsubscribes, clearly he rejects us personally or rejects our ideals and opinions. What else could it mean? Perhaps it is not a vigorous rejection. Perhaps he finds the newsletter unobjectionable but can’t bear the idea of having yet another damned thing to read in his inbox. Still, that’s a rejection, plainly. Would you say of a man who leaves his bride at the altar that he hasn’t rejected her, he just feels he’s got too many women on his hands already and another one would be a damned nuisance?

In any event, we’ve arrived at a compromise. Subscription alerts come to me; rejection alerts go to Vivek.

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It is possible you’ve been so distracted by the antics in the White House that you’ve missed the most astonishing story you’ll read in the 21st century. It is just remarkable journalism—well done, Bellingcat—mixed with Edgar Allen Poe and Saki plus James Bond.

Taking advantage of the Russian black market in personal data, Bellingcat fingered at least eight FSB operatives who had, according to their phone and travel data, shadowed Alexei Navalny on more than 30 trips. These are the operatives who poisoned Navalny with Novichok, you’ll recall. If you need a refresher, here’s Navalny himself narrating the best 50 minutes of television you’ll watch this year.

Yes, yes, it’s like in a movie—only real life. It’s cooler than any movie.

The case of my attempted murder has been solved. We know the names of the killers— real and fake. We know their addresses. We know their place of work: the FSB. We know the organizers and customers.

This is one of the most amazing investigations ever. After examining it, you will understand why Putin, personally, lies so desperately about my poisoning. Why propagandists are going crazy.

After the publication of this video, the authorities will throw a real tantrum, and I ask you to help. Of course, there will be no official investigation. But let’s answer the scoundrels at least by disseminating this video as widely as possible so that tens of millions will know the truth about what happened.

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Here is the amazing part.

A few days ago, at his annual press conference, Putin snottily declared the FSB had nothing to do with poisoning Navalny. “If we’d wanted him dead,” he said, “the case would have been concluded.”

So Navalny gets on the phone and calls the FSB—on their landline. He declares that he is “Maxim Ustinov,” an aide to the Chairman of Russia’s Security Council, Nikolai Patrushev.

There is no such person as Maxim Ustinov. Doesn’t matter. He manages to get through to Konstantin Kudryavtsev, an FSB guy who graduated from the Military Biological-Chemical Academy then worked in the biowar Institute of the Ministry of Defense.

Maxim Ustinov rips Kudryavtsev a new asshole: “How come Navalny’s still alive, you sacks of—”

Kudryavtsev stammers something about it maybe not being a good idea to talk about this on an open line? Navalny tells this idiot to forget all that: the boss is pissed. Ustinov—who doesn’t exist, remember—needs every team member’s personal assessment of the operation, and he needs it now, and furthermore, he says, General Vladimir Bogdonov himself—director of FSB’s Special Technology Department—has authorized this call. The heads of the Security Council need a report from every member of the team. Do not make Nikolay Platonovich wait. “Did you hear what I said, Konstantin Borisovich? I am calling on Patrushev’s orders!”

That’s all it took. This terrified idiot promptly spent the next 49 minutes confessing every detail of Navalny’s attempted murder to Navalny, on an open line, with the astonished Bellingcat journalists listening. “I am doing a report for Nikolay Platonovich,” Navalny says archly, “which will be discussed by the Security Council at most senior level. I need a single paragraph from every unit member: What went wrong? Why was the Navalny operation in Tomsk a complete failure? Tell me your view, I will write it down and then you can elaborate further in your own report.”

The cowed Konstantin Borisovich obliges. The problem, it seems, was that everyone was more competent than they expected them to be: The pilot landed so quickly; the ambulance was waiting at the airport; the medics knew just what to do …

Navalny demands Borisovich rate his colleagues’ performance. “Okay. From one to ten, how do you assess Osipov?—Wait,” he says, in the voice of a bureaucrat both imperious and beleaguered, “so I can write it down.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Borisovich replies. “I assess him positively.”

“Therefore,” Navalny replies, “one might reasonably ask, and I am sure you would agree, and I must explain to Patrushev—if both Alexandrov and Osipov were doing their job well, how come the operation failed?

“Well, I’ve been wondering about that myself,” he says, “not once or twice—”

It’s beyond anything we could have written for any amount of money.

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Navalny pursues: “Perhaps, the dosage was not correctly estimated?

“Well,” Borisovich says, “I can’t say that. As far as I know, we added a bit extra.”

Navalny is unfazed. The long-suffering Maxim Ustinov tells Borisovich, “You understand where I’m coming from. My bosses are telling me—you know what bosses are like—‘Hurry! Go! Write this again, for the fifteenth time!’”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” replies Borisovich.

“Let us then turn to the specific technique,” Navalny continues, much in the manner of a man trying to solve the chronic under-supply of Ladies’ Size Seven to the Glavny Universalny Magazin shoe inventory. “How was the substance administered? Do you think an appropriate method was selected?

“Oh, yes, yes. I think, yes.”

“How can I briefly present this in the report?”

Kudryavtsev momentarily considered the wisdom of explaining this. “Well, this should be communicated via a secure channel … ”

An exasperated Maxim Ustinov chastises him. “Do you understand who will read this report? On this level, there is no place for operative channels. On this level, people are not concerned with details—I must explain them briefly how things transpired, and I want to do it correctly!”

“How what transpired?”

“How was the substance administered?

“Well, maybe I should say this on a secure channel—”

“Look. Again. We’re having a frank conversation. You understand why I’m writing this: a bottle, a scandal, television—all discovered! That’s why my bosses are telling me to explain why it was discovered. Why it was on the bottle. And I must explain it succinctly.”

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It’s hard to pick the best part, but it’s probably this:

Navalny: And on which piece of cloth was your focus on? Which garment had the highest risk factor?

Kudryavtsev: The underpants.

Navalny: The underpants.

Kudryavtsev: A risk factor in what sense?

Navalny: Where the concentration could be highest?

Kudryavtsev: Well, the underpants.

Navalny: Do you mean from the inner side or from the outer? I have an entire questionnaire about this, which I am about to discuss with Makshakov, but will require your knowledge as well.

(I have an entire questionnaire!)

Kudryavtsev: Well, we were processing the inner side. This is what we were doing.

Navalny: Well, imagine some underpants in front of you, which part did you process?

Kudryavtsev: The inner, where the groin is.

Navalny: The groin?

Kudryavtsev: Well, the crotch, as they call it. There is some sort of seams there, by the seams.

Navalny: Wait, this is important. Who gave you the order to process the codpiece of the underpants?

Kudryavtsev: We figured this on our own. They told us to work on the inner side of the underpants.

Navalny: Who said that? Makshakov?

Kudryavtsev: Y-yes.

Navalny: I am writing it down. The inner side. Okay … the grey-colored underwear, do you remember?

Kudryavtsev: Blue. But I am not sure, better ask him about it.

Navalny: And they are whole, I mean theoretically we could give them back? We are not going to do this, but they are undamaged and everything is ok with them?

Kudryavtsev: Yes, all is clear.

Navalny: Visually, nothing would be discovered? There are no spots, nothing?

Kudryavtsev: No, no. Everything is fine, they are in good condition, clean.

Navalny: The trousers?

Kudryavtsev: There was a possibility that something remained there—on the inner side. So we cleaned them, as well. But this is hypothetical, since there was contact with the trousers, so some of it may be there. We processed the trousers. They are also clean and everything is fine with them.

Navalny: Do you think this was a mistake—the method of administration?

Kudryavtsev: Well, this is not my call.

Navalny: What is your opinion?

Kudryavtsev: It’s is what my superiors decided, therefore, it is probably correct. The method is a good one.

Navalny: Well, he remains alive, therefore, it is not that good. Do you understand what I am saying?

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The Belling Cat crew presumably stood there with their jaws agape and whispered to each other: “Impossible. They can’t be this dumb. They just can’t be. These are the uber-geniuses who just pulled off cyber Pearl Harbor? Who destroyed liberal democracy in the United States for decades, if not forever? How could they possibly be so gullible, so stupid, so lacking in basic tradecraft? They fell for a prank, for God’s sake—a Navalny prank! They are absolute idiots!”

Then it probably began to dawn on them. I assume they felt a bit sheepish upon realizing what that means. It couldn’t be clearer, though: Americans are dumber than these motherfuckers.

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It’s embarrassing for Putin, to be sure. On December 17, he held a virtual press conference and dilated, according to the Russian media, upon subjects of his choosing for a Stakhanovite four hours and 29 minutes, nearly breaking his 2008 record. Russia has been immensely proud that Putin, unlike Western leaders, hasn’t come down with virus. Everyone has to quarantine for weeks before getting anywhere near him. So yes, this put a bit of a dent in the sheen.

But what does “embarrassing” really mean? No one plans to stop him. He knows this. What’s Europe going to do? The France-UK border has been completely closed since Sunday night because of the new strain of Covid-19. Lufthansa had to organize an emergency airlift of food to England. The British tabloid press is full of sensationalistic rabble-rousing against the enemy, which it believes to be France. What’s the United States going to do? Those feckless FSB sons-of-bitches are probably right now reserving themselves a new fleet of Lambos with our credit cards.

Russia responded to Navalny’s revelations by announcing sanctions—against European officials. The Kremlin’s spokesman Dmitry Peskov told reporters, “If I may express a personal opinion, the patient is clearly suffering from a delirium of persecution and certain symptoms of megalomania.” He suggested that Navalny suffered “a Freudian obsession with the codpiece area.”

Yesterday, Putin signed legislation that allows former presidents to become lawmakers for life and expands the immunity of former presidents to prosecution. Previously, ex-presidents were only immune to prosecution for crimes committed in office. Now they’re covered before and after, too. So are their families. A big relief, we’re sure, for the very populated set of former Russian presidents. This is part of a package of constitutional amendments that would allow Putin to remain in office until 2036.

So: Embarrassing for Putin, yes. Among the small cohort of Westerners who are paying attention.

The only thing we can think to do is enlarge the cohort.