When a former Russian double agent collapsed on a bench in a quiet British cathedral town, it looked like an assassination attempt. Experts soon identified the poison nerve agent Novichok A234. The team at the open source investigative site Bellingcat were watching, and waiting for a chance to dig into what had happened and who was behind it.
Reporters Sans Frontieres published, for the first time, a list of press freedom’s 20 worst digital predators in 2020. Whether state offshoots, private-sector companies, or informal entities, they reflect a reality of power at the end of the 21st century’s second decade, in which investigative reporters and other journalists who cause displeasure risk being the targets of predatory activity by often hidden actors.
Joris Luyendijk’s keynote speech at the European Investigative Journalism Conference posed an uncomfortable question for investigative journalists. Are we, in our pursuit of exposing wrongdoing, unwittingly putting ourselves at risk of becoming pawns or useful idiots for demagogues, protest parties and populists like Trump?
The Bell illustrates a growing trend in which Russian journalists and media managers are finding ways of building news organizations that are not financially dependent on rich businessmen vulnerable to Kremlin pressure.
The reason we know so much about Russian disinformation operations targeting the United States is that some Russian journalists are very good at their jobs. What the world learned about these trolls, it turns out, came not from social media firms, governments or Western media, but from enterprising Russian journalists. Here’s how they first uncovered the Russian troll factory.
