ABOUTOCTOBER 27, 2025, former MP Chris Alexander appeared before a parliamentary committee looking into Russian disinformation. Such committees are designed to help senators better understand external threats and formulate recommendations to strengthen Canada's defense. Alexander, a former diplomat with extensive national security experience, has long been an outspoken critic of Russian aggression, especially in Ukraine. It's easy to see why he seemed like the kind of witness who could offer valuable insight into Russia's information warfare tactics and their implications for Canada and its allies.
But for anyone who followed Alexander's activities last year, his return to parliament was puzzling. The last time he testified, on October 24, 2024, he made an explosive accusation: Ottawa Citizen Reporter David Pugliese was a paid Russian asset, brandishing what Alexander said were photocopies of incriminating KGB documents as evidence. The accusation made huge headlines. Pugliese stepped back. The media moved on.
Maybe they shouldn't have done that. As Taylor S. Nokes reports in this issue (“Spy games“), international experts who reviewed the materials said they showed signs of tampering. The documents used a computer font created in 1993 on documents dating back to 1990; they showed letters with repeating identical “specks of dust” suggestive of digital manipulation; and the handwriting was too uniform to be from different people. Incredibly, almost no one reported this. With the exception of a few online publications, the results were nearly were not registered. Alexander, a man who once ran for leadership of the Conservative Party, peddled fake material to smear a respected journalist. But if the answer is not a clear “no” – if there is even a hint of “maybe”, shouldn’t it be more important?
This made Alexander's encore performance before a similar committee speaking on the same topic of disinformation even more surprising. Not a single senator dared to ask Alexander about these revelations. For his part, Alexander has not publicly presented any new documents or new evidence to support his unusual allegations. This obviously raises questions about the quality of information to which officials have access. It's possible he was fed the wrong information – it's not impossible. But this also leads to a second, more troubling question. If this is the level of analysis that informs our policies, what does that say about the judgments of the media that are supposed to scrutinize them?
Canadian journalists face a huge barrier. In most cases, we are consumers of secondary information, and not participants in its production. We do not have access to raw information collected by agencies. Instead, we rely on leaks and delayed disclosures. We also depend on official statements made in parliamentary sessions. But this cannot justify the decline of skepticism. Our silence is not neutral – it shapes social truth. It seems that even when the facts are available, we are too respectful or too intimidated to pursue them.
The authorities have a way of scaring us. When the accusation comes from a person with a serious resume – a former cabinet minister, a diplomat – editors may simply back down. We tell ourselves that the risk is too high, that maybe they know something we don't. Self-doubt is the most effective psychological operation of all. This is what we impose on ourselves, convincing us to remain silent.
But let's just take stock of where we are. In the corridors of our government, a journalist is called a traitor. We then learn that there is a possibility that the accusation was unfounded. And now, most worryingly, we are left with a profession that shows no persistent instinct to dig, challenge or even ask what really happened.
Does Canada have a press that can call out lies when they see them?
