The Litvinenko Test
Dec 4th, 2006 • Posted in: Commentary
One of the most frequently reproduced photos from 2006 shows former Russian spy Alexander Litvinenko shortly before his death from radioactive poisoning last month. His wan face, staring blankly at the camera from his London hospital bed, seems to telegraph three questions: Who, why, and what next?
In the coming months, these three questions — especially the last — will test the moral courage of Western nations.
Among Russia watchers in the West, the first question — who did it? — is in little doubt. All signs point to Moscow’s agents. Litvinenko, while still a colonel in the FSB (a successor organization to the Soviet clandestine service, the KGB), had criticized his agency and his government. He fled to London and became a British citizen. He was a noted critic of Russian president Vladimir Putin. He was on close terms with London’s most notable Russian exile, the billionaire financier Boris Berezovsky, whom he had been ordered by his FSB superiors to exterminate. At the time he was poisoned, he had begun investigating the assassination of Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya, an outspoken critic of the Kremlin shot to death in the elevator of her Moscow apartment building in October.
As he lay dying, Litvinenko accused Putin of orchestrating his death, a charge that Putin has dismissed. Now, however, traces of radioactivity have been found on British Airways planes that flew the London-Moscow route around the time of Litvinenko’s poisoning. And as of this writing, London media is reporting that British counterterrorism agents are heading to Moscow for further investigations.
Perhaps the most compelling evidence for Russian involvement, however, is the choice of poisons. This is apparently the first time that highly refined polonium 210 has been used in this way — perhaps because it is so hard to obtain. Though polonium occurs in nature at very low levels, refining this isotope into poison requires sophisticated nuclear technology of the sort typically available only to state-supported actors.
Who wanted Litvinenko gone? Who had the means to arrange his death? Who had access to such a poison? Twist these three strands together, and the cable of evidence strongly ties this case to Moscow. But it doesn’t explain which of Moscow’s many factions was behind it. Putin himself? Rogue units within the FSB, wanting to discredit Putin or the agency? Or the FSB itself?
To sort that out, you need to ask why — not why he was killed, but why polonium 210. After all, if you want to silence a dissident, you can do it cheaply with a pistol. You can do it also with well-known poisons that are fatal within minutes. You can even make it seem accidental, so the trail can’t be traced.
But that presumes you’re after only one person. What if your goal is to send a message to every Russian exile, former spy, or would-be dissident still within Moscow’s clandestine services? The message: Don’t even imagine that you can get away with betraying us. We will track you down wherever you are — even in the well-secured capital of one of our former foes — and we will exterminate you. Don’t imagine that you’re not worth the expense; we’ll go out of our way to invent methods never before known. Don’t imagine we wouldn’t dare; we can construct plots so brash and bizarre that they will show up on television screens around the world. And don’t think we care about hiding; we’ll make sure this news story drags on interminably, reminding the world who did it. The result: Long after you’re forgotten, we’ll still be dreaded and invincible.
Seen that way, the pieces fall into place. This in fact may be a remarkably sophisticated modern act of terrorism. Like terrorism everywhere, its principal purpose is not to kill but to send messages. Since spreading those messages depends on intense media coverage, those repeated pictures of Litvinenko’s slow death were essential to the plan. And like most terrorist acts, it has no use for anonymity. The important point is to let your enemies know who did it — and to raise fears that you’ll strike again.
Given those overlapping strands, the choice of polonium 210 is diabolically clever. You don’t need to claim responsibility: Who else could do it? You don’t need to drum up global publicity: The media supplies it freely. You don’t need to track down and threaten each dissident: They’ll all be watching.
Would Putin do it? With all he has at stake in the global arena, that seems doubtful. Could rogue secret service officers do it? Probably not without broad access to the whole system. But would the FSB do it? Given its history of poisoning — extending, allegedly, to the use of dioxin against pro-Western Ukrainian president Viktor Yushchenko during the election in 2004 — it reputedly has few qualms about assassinations in general or this ancient methodology in particular. Given its fierce hauteur and fearsome reputation, it has a tradition of slapping down its enemies. And given the existential dangers it faces from the democratic ideals and processes of the West, where assassination typically is not permitted as a tool of statecraft, it may think the time has come for a grand flourish.
Then what next? The West faces a profound moral choice. If investigations increasingly point to the FSB, will Western nations give Moscow a mere slap on the wrist in the interests of maintaining diplomatic relations? Or will they take a firm and collective stand against a partner who, while aligned with the West in fighting terrorism, is not only using state-sponsored terrorism but inventing new forms for doing so? One thing is sure: This is no small story. If the FSB is at its core, it is either about a once-powerful but fading agency trying to reassert itself, or about a newly empowered agency expanding its global reach. Either way, the next few months will test the moral courage of the West.
©2006 Institute for Global Ethics
Print This Story
Email This Story
[...] more information, see: Related Newsline Commentary, Dec. 4, 2006 — Related Newsline Commentary, Nov. 20, 2006 — Related [...]