Across the European Union, urgency has morphed into desperation, and the mask is slipping with it. Censorship is no longer subtle; it’s systemic. As the ideological scaffolding of the EU-NATO order starts to buckle, those clinging to power have turned to outright coercion to keep the remaining member states in line. Nationalism is rising, especially in Eastern Europe. People are questioning the authority of unelected bureaucrats. And instead of listening, Brussels doubles down—shifting from persuasion to pressure, from diplomacy to digital blackouts. The sacred principles they once paraded—free speech, sovereignty, democratic choice—have been tossed aside in favor of “strategic alignment.” What does that mean? Silencing dissent, criminalizing inconvenient opinions, and scrubbing anything challenging the pre-approved script. This isn’t about protecting truth—it’s about controlling it. They’re not scared of lies. They’re afraid of people waking up. What we’re seeing isn’t the defense of democracy—it’s its theater. NATO-scripted, EU-funded, panic-driven. Because they know: once the narrative slips, so does their grip on the continent.

Background: Telegram, Durov, and the Allegations

In a series of statements that have reverberated across geopolitical and tech circles, Telegram founder Pavel Durov accused France’s foreign intelligence agency (DGSE) of requesting that he suppress conservative voices in Romania in the lead-up to that country’s presidential election.

According to Durov, DGSE chief Nicolas Lerner directly approached him in spring 2024, requesting the removal or silencing of pro-conservative Romanian Telegram accounts. Durov publicly rejected the request, stating:

“We didn’t block protesters in Russia, Belarus, or Iran. We won’t start doing it in Europe.”

France’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the DGSE shortly issued denials. The DGSE confirmed past contact with Durov but insisted it was only to discuss compliance related to terrorism and child pornography content, not electoral manipulation. However, Durov’s posts implied otherwise, pointing to France as the unnamed “Western European country” seeking interference, even going so far as to use a baguette emoji to signal the nation.

In response to Pavel Durov’s explosive claims, the French government wasted no time issuing categorical denials. The DGSE (Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure) stated:

“The DGSE strongly refutes allegations that requests to ban accounts linked to any electoral process were made on these occasions.”

The French Foreign Ministry echoed this, declaring it “categorically rejects these allegations.”

But what they didn’t say is just as telling as what they did. Nowhere in their statements did they deny contact with Durov—in fact, they admitted to prior engagements, claiming they had only “reminded him of his responsibilities” regarding terrorism and child exploitation content. But that qualifier—“on these occasions”—reads like carefully curated legalese. It sidesteps the substance of the allegation: whether France pressured Telegram to silence political speech in Romania. Didn’t the French classify “election protests and misinformation” as a form of terrorism?

The French Government has been caught lying on many occasions. Here are some well-established and evident examples from the past years.

Pegasus Spyware Scandal (surveillance goes both ways – gotcha!)

While France initially presented itself as a victim of foreign surveillance, later reports indicated that French intelligence agencies had quietly explored or even deployed similar spyware techniques, sparking internal controversy and a deep rift with civil liberty watchdogs. (Remember that server I said I was present for and had admin access to until it was reported in 2020? It may have been a backend to Winged Horse Surveillance.)

The Gilets Jaunes (Yellow Vests) Protests (2018–2020)

The Macron government repeatedly insisted it supported “peaceful protest,” yet deployed military-grade crowd suppression tactics, including rubber bullets, flashballs, and tear gas on civilians. Simultaneously, mainstream media were pressured to downplay or distort coverage, while social media organizing efforts were aggressively monitored.

The 2015 “State of Emergency” Extension

In the wake of scripted terrorist attacks, France declared a state of emergency that it then extended for nearly two years—a move that rights organizations criticized as a cover for expanding state surveillance and suppressing political activism, particularly in Muslim communities. Despite mounting evidence of indiscriminate raids and detentions, the government denied any abuse of power.

Against this backdrop, Durov’s ordeal takes on new meaning. His detention in Paris in August 2024, formal charges over Telegram content, and €5 million bail, followed by noticeable platform policy shifts, appear less like a criminal matter and more like political leverage dressed in prosecutorial clothing.

In short, the French government’s blanket denials ring hollow in the face of a well-documented pattern of double-dealing, where public-facing virtue is paired with covert enforcement. The truth may be less about whether they asked Durov to censor content, and more about how often they do, and how hard they work to keep it secret.

Classification is everything, and while France has not spelled it out or “officially” classified election protests or misinformation as terrorism, its legal framework and enforcement practices have increasingly blurred the lines between political dissent and national security threats. That’s how they manufacture consent to censor.

The French government has expanded the scope of the offense known as “apology of terrorism” (“apologie du terrorisme”) to include a wide range of expressions. Originally intended to target direct incitements to terrorist acts, this charge has been applied to various forms of political speech. For instance, individuals expressing solidarity with controversial causes or criticizing government policies have faced legal action under this provision.

Additionally, France’s “fiche S” system allows authorities to surveil individuals deemed threats to national security. While initially designed to monitor potential terrorists, this designation has been applied to a broad spectrum of individuals, including political activists and protesters.

The French government has implemented measures to combat disinformation in the digital realm, particularly during elections. Agencies like Viginum have been established to monitor and counter foreign influence campaigns online. While these efforts aim to protect electoral integrity, they have raised concerns about potential overreach and the suppression of legitimate political discourse.

Why Would France Interfere in Romania’s Elections?

As one of the core architects and enforcers of the European Union and NATO framework, France has both the motive and the historical precedent for intervening in allied but wavering states, especially those on the geopolitical fault lines. Romania, situated at the volatile edge of the EU and directly bordering war-torn Ukraine, is no longer just a partner; it is a buffer zone. In such regions, ideological shifts are not tolerated—they are contained.

The specter of nationalist candidates like George Simion gaining traction in Romania represents a direct challenge to the EU’s fragile political unity. France has watched similar waves rise across Hungary under Viktor Orbán, Poland’s Law and Justice Party, and Slovakia with Robert Fico—all of whom have pushed back against Brussels’ central authority, defended national interests over EU mandates, and questioned the extent of Western entanglement in the war in Ukraine. France views these developments not as signs of healthy political diversity but as existential threats to the cohesion of the Euro-Atlantic alliance. A Simion victory would likely amplify Euroscepticism, trigger anti-globalist rhetoric, and embolden other dissenters within the bloc, especially those already questioning the economic cost and strategic logic of NATO’s involvement in Ukraine.

Historically, France has shown a willingness to act preemptively under the guise of stability. During the 2019 European Parliament elections, French intelligence services actively monitored and flagged social media accounts accused of spreading “foreign-influenced” disinformation, many of which were domestic, conservative voices critical of EU policy. In the Gilets Jaunes protests, the state took extraordinary steps not only to suppress mass dissent through aggressive policing but also to control the online discourse tightly. Government-aligned media and digital monitoring agencies sought to delegitimize grassroots outrage by framing it as influenced by “extremists” or “foreign agents”—a tactic France has repeatedly deployed to justify censorship. In other words, terrorism, right?

Telegram, known for its encryption, lack of content moderation, and resistance to government overreach, has become more than just a messaging app—it has become an uncontrollable forum for opposition. From the French intelligence perspective, a platform like Telegram—hosting politically active, conservative Romanian groups ahead of a pivotal election—is a soft-security threat. Paris has long championed stricter regulations on tech platforms, including mandatory moderation, algorithmic transparency, and censorship mechanisms under the Digital Services Act. The French government has effectively created a legal pathway to criminalize nonconformity by labeling dissent as misinformation or extremism.

NonConformity <=> Extremism <=> National Security Threat <=> Terrorism.

This isn’t speculation; it’s a pattern. France has pushed for sweeping regulations like the Loi Avia (2019) to compel platforms to remove “hate speech” within 24 hours or face steep penalties. Though the French Constitutional Council struck down parts of it, the law reflected a broader strategy of institutionalized censorship, cloaked in the language of public safety. In 2021, France also created Viginum, a state agency specifically tasked with monitoring and countering “foreign digital interference”—though critics note its vague definitions and opaque operations also allow it to target internal dissent.

Beyond ideology, France’s ambitions for a “Europe puissance”—a powerful, autonomous Europe independent of U.S. dominance—often clash with Eastern European states that continue to favor Washington over Brussels. Romania, home to key NATO military infrastructure, including Deveselu’s Aegis Ashore missile defense system and other U.S. assets, is a strategic cornerstone. Moreover, its Black Sea energy resources—notably offshore oil and gas projects—are vital to Europe’s energy diversification plans. Whoever controls Romania’s political orientation controls more than its borders—they influence the flow of military logistics, energy policy, and EU foreign alignment.

If Romania were to drift ideologically toward nationalism and away from EU-NATO orthodoxy, France would have every incentive to intervene, at least informationally. Silencing or sidelining conservative Romanian voices via Telegram would thus appear not as censorship, but as a “strategic correction”—a containment effort dressed in the language of cybersecurity or counter-disinformation. From Paris’s perspective, it’s not interference. It’s “defending Europe”—even if that means violating its professed democratic principles.

Pressuring Pavel Durov to suppress Telegram accounts wasn’t an anomaly. It was consistent with France’s evolving doctrine of narrative control, especially in areas where political volatility threatens EU cohesion. France’s genuine concern isn’t just Romanian elections—it’s what they represent: the potential collapse of the enforced consensus that keeps Europe bound to its postwar order.

DUROV TARGETED FOR NON-COMPLIANCE

The timeline surrounding Pavel Durov’s legal troubles in France is too calculated to be coincidental. His detention at Le Bourget airport in August 2024, followed by formal criminal charges related to extremist content on Telegram, reads less like a neutral enforcement of digital policy and more like a retaliatory strike—a clear message to those who defy the silent directives of Western intelligence apparatuses. Just months before, Durov had publicly exposed and rejected a covert request by the DGSE, France’s foreign intelligence service, to suppress conservative Romanian voices ahead of elections. The blowback was swift and severe.

Officially, Durov was charged with “failure to curb extremist and terrorist content” and “distribution of illegal material”—legal language intentionally broad, designed to cast a wide net over noncompliant platforms. These are the catch-all charges that European governments now use as blunt instruments to discipline digital platforms that refuse to kneel. The idea that France, which had admitted prior contact with Durov and conveniently omits key details in its denials, would just so happen to detain him within months of his refusal to censor election-related content- a coincidence, of course.

€5 million in bail. It was not a judgment, not a fine—it was a RANSOM paid in full to purchase temporary freedom. But freedom with strings attached. Telegram quietly began rolling out content controls in the following months, subtly conforming to the same moderation demands it once resisted. Whatever defiance Durov stood for publicly was now slowly bent behind closed doors. By March 2025, French authorities permitted him to leave the country for Dubai, a move that reeks of conditional cooperation, not exoneration.

It’s clear | you play by the rules of Brussels and Paris, or you get grounded.

This wasn’t just law enforcement—it was information warfare, reputational containment, and judicial coercion, all wrapped in legal formality. Durov became an example, not just for other platform founders, but for any actor, corporate or individual, who dares to hold the line against the expanding surveillance-and-censorship regime being constructed across the EU. France didn’t just want compliance from Telegram. It wanted a public submission. And it got it: one arrest, bail payment, and quiet platform shift at a time.

Control and Tyranny Masquerading as Law

France may deny any intent to interfere in Romania’s elections, but denials mean little when the facts align too perfectly. The convergence of timing, strategic imperative, and Pavel Durov’s firsthand testimony suggests something far more insidious than a simple misunderstanding or legal coincidence. What we are looking at is not a criminal prosecution—it’s the precise choreography of geopolitical enforcement, disguised as due process.

France had the motive. The stakes were high: preserving EU and NATO cohesion at a time when both are straining under the weight of populist pushback and anti-globalist sentiment. Romania’s elections threatened to tip that balance, especially with a candidate like George Simion rallying nationalist energy against Brussels’ centralized authority.

France has the means. The tools of statecraft have evolved. No longer limited to diplomacy or espionage, modern coercion now flows through judicial channels and information architecture. France’s intelligence services—especially the DGSE—don’t need to install spyware or conduct black-bag operations to exert control. They summon the target to their soil, detain him under the pretext of “public safety,” and wrap their pressure in legal language that’s impossible to prove but obvious in effect.

France had the opportunity. Durov’s presence in Paris was the opening they needed. The detention, the bail, and the criminal charges weren’t outcomes of a neutral judiciary; they were leverage points. With its vast reach and resistance to EU censorship mandates, Telegram represented a structural threat to narrative control in an already volatile region. The French state ensured the threat was neutralized—or at least domesticated.

The DGSE admitted to direct contact with Durov while remaining suspiciously vague about the content and context of those conversations. They denied making “requests linked to an electoral process”—but that’s not the same as denying they pressured him about political content. That’s not a denial—that’s a lawyered-up omission.

This is what modern “gray zone interference” looks like. It’s not just about rigging ballot boxes or assassinating candidates. It’s about shaping the ecosystem of thought around the vote. It’s about deploying intelligence, legal pressure, and psychological operations to filter the public sphere, so only pre-approved narratives can thrive. In this way, NATO’s machinery has become far more pervasive than the CIA during the Cold War.

The Generals Behind the Curtain: NATO’s Influence Operations and the Weaponization of Influencers

General James L. Jones, a former Supreme Allied Commander of NATO and later U.S. National Security Advisor under President Obama, has long stood at the center of transatlantic influence architecture. After retiring from military service, Jones didn’t leave the battlefield—he changed theaters. Through Jones Group International, he became a strategic consultant for defense contractors and geopolitical players, bridging NATO’s military objectives with private-sector influence operations. His networks extend into information warfare, lobbying, and “civil society partnerships” that align media narratives with NATO’s strategic goals, often behind closed doors.

Generals Stanley McChrystal and Michael Flynn, deeply embedded in military intelligence and psychological operations, were also key architects of modern information warfare. McChrystal, in particular, helped pioneer the idea of “narrative dominance”—that wars are not just fought on battlefields but in the minds of populations. During his time at the Defense Intelligence Agency, Flynn pushed aggressively for military-grade information operations to be deployed in both foreign and domestic spaces. These generals understood that the future of warfare is informational and that control of the digital public square is just as vital as airspace superiority.

In the post-2016 world, where “influence” is measured in engagement metrics rather than military units, NATO has pivoted its strategy. No longer limited to top-down communication from state officials, it now cultivates a bottom-up, networked propaganda model that infiltrates public discourse through influencers, content creators, and “trusted voices.” This new model of digital influence doesn’t require overt control; it relies on funding, partnerships, and brand sponsorships.

Take NATO’s Influencer Strategy, openly acknowledged in 2023, where the alliance began sponsoring TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube content creators to “reach Gen Z” and build support for NATO’s mission. These influencers are paid to create soft propaganda—videos about the importance of “unity,” the “value of peace through strength,” and why NATO “protects democracy.” On the surface, this seems benign. But look deeper, and you’ll see how financial dependency shapes ideological output. Influencers don’t bite the hand that feeds them. They parrot the hand’s message.

Enter figures like Ian Carroll, a rising social media performer whose branding, tone, and subject matter align suspiciously well with NATO-endorsed narratives. While direct documentation of his financial ties is obfuscated, as it often is in covert influence campaigns, the pattern is unmistakable. He shares polished political content that never challenges NATO orthodoxy, always redirects skepticism away from Western institutions, and supports establishment-friendly “anti-extremist” narratives. These creators often receive support from brands and NGOs known to work with transatlantic policy networks, including think tanks and “social impact” campaigns seeded by military-adjacent capital.

When he started TikTok, I was his third follower, and he went from 3 followers at 1 a.m. to 150K in just hours. That sounds unrealistic. I can rattle off MANY big names way bigger than the hot topic today, who “blew up” the same way Ian did. They seasoned him a bit before they brought him mainstream.We have mapped them all out.

This is how control works in the modern era—not through censorship alone, but through sponsorship and strategic funding. The new question isn’t who’s censoring you; it’s who’s paying your favorite voices to shape what you believe. If an influencer, podcaster, or online journalist suddenly grows in reach, gains mysterious ad revenue, or lands lucrative “activism” partnerships, ask yourself: Who benefits from their message? If their talking points align with State Department briefings, NATO press kits, or EU info campaigns, odds are you’re watching an asset in action—whether they know it or not.

The pipeline is clear: sponsorship leads to dependence, dependence leads to self-censorship, and eventually, self-censorship morphs into willing compliance. These influencers aren’t just selling skincare or VPNs—they’re selling foreign policy, cultural obedience, and consensus narratives that silence dissent and drown nuance in a sea of branded unity.

And NATO? It doesn’t need to surveil you anymore. It simply pays those you follow to shape your worldview, one sponsorship at a time.

Unlike the CIA, which allegedly operates largely outside U.S. borders and often in the shadows, NATO’s information infrastructure is built directly into the institutions of European governance and “allied nations”—from media partnerships to digital oversight regimes. It operates under the cloak of security and “values,” but its real purpose is ideological enforcement. Every social platform, every independent voice, and every election that drifts off-script is treated not as democracy in action but as a breach to be sealed.

“They don’t need to watch you anymore. They just fund the voices you trust—until your thoughts are no longer your own.”
Tore Says

Integrating social media influencers into NATO’s communication strategies has raised concerns about the potential for coordinated messaging that aligns with specific geopolitical interests. For instance, NATO has actively engaged content creators to disseminate its narratives to younger audiences, particularly through platforms like TikTok and Instagram. This approach aims to bridge the gap between traditional media coverage and the alliance’s efforts to remain relevant in modern geopolitical discussions.

Who’s Lying?

France insists on its innocence. Durov, for his part, stands firm in his refusal to comply with censorship demands, claiming integrity over obedience. But when you look at their histories, the contrast is stark. Durov has made a career out of resisting authoritarian pressure, from refusing Kremlin demands to block protest channels during Russian uprisings to rejecting Iran’s attempts to censor dissent. He’s remained consistent in protecting freedom of speech across politically volatile environments. France, however, has increasingly revealed itself as a polished authoritarian power masquerading as a liberal democracy. Its government favors regulatory coercion, shadowy intelligence interventions, and legal overreach, all wrapped in the language of “public safety” and “digital responsibility.” Its track record speaks not of transparency, but of managed information—of silencing first, justifying later.

In today’s world, power isn’t just exercised by rigging just ballot boxes but by shaping the digital terrain before citizens even reach the polls. This is algorithmic democracy: a tightly regulated ecosystem where every piece of content, every viral video, every trending narrative is nudged, filtered, and curated to serve predetermined geopolitical outcomes. This is your AI governance precursor. The battlefield is no longer the voting booth—it’s your feed. The goal is not to eliminate choice, but to influence what you perceive to be a choice. In this arena, NATO doesn’t need to surveil you with binoculars. It only needs to fund the people you listen to—your influencers, media, experts—until they unwittingly echo its agenda.

And that’s where France plays its role—not as a rogue actor, but as a compliant enforcer of NATO’s broader information doctrine. Unlike the CIA’s traditional covert ops, NATO’s strategy embeds itself into civil society, academia, journalism, and social media, laundering its goals through friendly voices and algorithmic visibility. It’s no longer about silencing dissent directly. It’s about drowning it in a flood of polished, sponsored content that makes obedience look organic.

So, who’s lying? On the surface, France issues its denials with diplomatic precision. But the deeper lie is structural—baked into a system that punishes defiance with legal action and rewards compliance with platform access, sponsorships, and legitimacy. Durov may have exposed one thread, but the tapestry is vast. France may claim no foul, but in the theater of modern geopolitics, narrative control is victory. And by that measure, France—and NATO—may already have won for now.

“All warfare is based on deception.”
Sun Tzu, The Art of War

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Digital Dominion Series is now on Amazon: VOLUME I, VOLUME II, and Volume III.

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