Imagine a shadowy puppet master, pulling strings on the internet to sway public opinion and discredit political candidates. This isn’t a spy novel, but a real-life scenario that unfolded in France, with an Israeli intelligence firm, BlackCore, at its heart.
It all started with two French mayoral candidates, Sébastien Delogu and François Piquemal. They were running for office in Marseille and Toulouse, respectively, and were associated with the left-wing party France Unbowed. Suddenly, they found themselves bombarded with smear campaigns, labeling them “pro-Palestinian,” “pro-Muslim,” and even “rapists.” These accusations weren’t coming from legitimate news sources or political opponents; they were manufactured by a sophisticated disinformation operation.
The tactics used were insidious. Fake social media accounts, often referred to as “avatars,” spread rumors and false information. One particularly vile attack involved a woman, “Sophie,” who claimed to be a blogger and accused Delogu of rape and violence. Another website went even further, publishing AI-generated nude photos purporting to be Delogu, falsely linking them to a Gaza fundraising campaign. Meanwhile, Piquemal was targeted on yet another website, while a fourth site disingenuously tried to guide Muslim voters towards Mélenchon’s hard-left party. The sheer volume and coordination of these attacks pointed to a well-orchestrated campaign.
The operation, however, didn’t stay hidden for long. A joint investigation by the Israeli newspaper Haaretz and the French outlet Libération, building on an initial expose by Le Monde, brought BlackCore into the light. These journalists meticulously pieced together digital clues, revealing a network of fake accounts and websites designed to manipulate public discourse. Once exposed, those behind the operation frantically tried to erase their tracks, deleting avatars and websites, but the internet, as always, remembered.
The French authorities, including the General Secretariat for Defense and National Security, the Interior Ministry, and Viginum (the agency combating foreign manipulation), quickly intervened. They traced the digital breadcrumbs and identified BlackCore as the prime suspect. The name BlackCore had only just surfaced in a Reuters report, indicating the freshness of the discovery.
Haaretz and Libération’s deeper dive into BlackCore unveiled even more intriguing details. Their analysis of BlackCore’s online footprint revealed a marketing website, available in Hebrew and English, openly advertising “political campaign management.” This website boasted about deploying 1,600 avatars and fake social media accounts to “infiltrate Facebook groups, manipulating trends, and skewing polls on TikTok and Instagram.” It was a brazen admission of their intent to meddle in democratic processes.
The investigation hit a wall when trying to find any legal entity called BlackCore registered anywhere in the world. Their website was a ghost, devoid of any identifying details about owners, executives, or even a physical address. The domain name, blackcore.online, was registered through an Icelandic registrar known for allowing anonymity, and it had only been purchased the previous August, a curious detail for a company presenting itself as long-established.
However, the digital forensics team didn’t give up. They uncovered eight subdomains tied to BlackCore. One of these was active on a London-based server, which, until a few weeks prior, had hosted a collection of systems requiring usernames and passwords – tools clearly designed for influence campaigns. One login page, “Galacticos AI Avatar Generator Login Page,” hinted at the use of advanced technology. A source revealed that Galacticos had developed a product to generate avatars for both influence operations and social media monitoring.
Galacticos itself had a changing identity. It was incorporated in Tel Aviv in April 2022 as Pagecorn Ltd., then changed its name to Mycelium Intelligence Networks a year later, and finally to Galacticos in 2024. The investigation connected this enigmatic entity to two Israeli businessmen: Guy Geyor, a tech entrepreneur and former reality TV contestant, and Doron Afik, a lawyer. Both vehemently denied any knowledge of BlackCore or involvement in political activity in France. Interestingly, less than two hours after they were questioned, the remaining digital infrastructure of both BlackCore and Galacticos vanished from the internet.
Further investigation by Haaretz and Libération unearthed connections between the various firms involved and Israel’s intelligence unit 8200, as well as Yigal Unna, the former head of Israel’s National Cyber Directorate. Unna, too, denied any link to the operation. While it’s not entirely new for a state to try and influence foreign elections, this exposure offered a rare glimpse into the mechanics of such an operation. The speed with which it was dismantled and scrubbed clean once discovered is also remarkable, highlighting the desperate attempts to cover up the traces of deceit.
This incident serves as a stark reminder of the hidden battles being fought in the digital realm. It’s a world where anonymous entities can sow discord, spread misinformation, and attempt to sway public opinion with sophisticated tools and tactics. It underscores the vital role of investigative journalism in bringing these shadowy operations to light and holding those responsible accountable, even when they try to hide behind layers of anonymity and deception. The human cost of such operations, the damage to individuals’ reputations and the undermining of democratic processes, is a stark warning for us all.