When Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, a sinister narrative began to circulate almost immediately. Within days, claims about secret “US-run biolabs” operating on Ukrainian territory were being broadcast by Russian state media, presented not as allegations but as established fact. The story was perfectly crafted for the modern information age: it was simple, frightening, and played directly into pre-existing suspicions about American power and covert biological research. What was remarkable, however, was not just the speed with which the lie was created, but the dizzying velocity of its spread. It leapt from the tightly controlled channels of Russian propaganda to the hallowed halls of international diplomacy in Geneva and New York, and then, astonishingly, it found a home on American soil. Within weeks, millions of viewers on one of the most-watched cable news programs in the United States heard the same baseless claims repeated by Tucker Carlson, a prime-time host whose influence had become a significant vector for political narratives. The journey of this single fabrication demonstrated that the battleground of modern conflict is no longer just physical territory; it is the global information ecosystem, where a well-placed lie can traverse continents and political divides faster than any missile.
The biolabs incident was not an isolated outburst of propaganda, nor was it a random piece of fabrication that happened to go viral. Instead, it served as a glaring, high-profile example of a deeper, more systemic phenomenon that is rapidly becoming a defining feature of contemporary geopolitics. This is not the chaotic spread of misinformation—the accidental sharing of falsehoods—but something far more deliberate and insidious: disinformation. This is the intentional, weaponized deployment of false narratives as a tool of statecraft. It is not an incidental by-product of international tension, nor is it a collection of fringe theories bubbling up from the dark corners of the internet. Over the past decade, disinformation has evolved into a calculated and sophisticated instrument of national policy. It is used to manipulate diplomatic processes, to weaken the foundations of international treaties, to corrode public trust in institutions, and to systematically undermine the cooperation required to address global threats. In the specific realm of chemical and biological disarmament, these campaigns are particularly dangerous, as they strike at the very heart of the regimes designed to prevent the use of weapons of mass destruction. By muddying the waters of verification and accountability, they create an environment where arms control agreements become toothless and where suspicion replaces cooperation.
For years, the underlying architecture of these national-level campaigns has remained frustratingly obscure. Researchers, journalists, and policymakers have been left to observe the effects of this digital warfare—the stolen elections, the public health crises, the eroded faith in science—while the machine itself has remained hidden in the shadows. All that was visible were fleeting snapshots of individual allegations, isolated in their own contexts. It was like trying to understand the mechanics of a car engine by looking at only one piston or a single spark plug. This opacity is a critical vulnerability for those seeking to defend against these attacks. Without a comprehensive map of the narratives, the players, and the pathways they use, it is nearly impossible to formulate an effective defense. Recognizing this critical gap, my team and I at King’s College London, in collaboration with other institutions, set out to build a tool that could illuminate this shadowy terrain. We developed the Disinformation Tracker, a systematic and open-source resource designed not just to catalog individual falsehoods, but to document the intricate web of narrative patterns, the key actors who seed them, and the amplification pathways that carry them across the globe.
The Disinformation Tracker was conceived as a powerful investigative instrument to dissect the anatomy of these campaigns. Unlike a simple fact-checking database that debunks one claim at a time, the Tracker operates on a larger scale, identifying recurring themes and connecting the dots between seemingly unrelated allegations across multiple years and geopolitical contexts. It allows researchers to see the forest for the trees, revealing that campaigns once thought to be isolated are actually part of a coordinated, long-term strategy. For example, by analyzing the data, one can see how narratives about a country’s biological research program are not simply reactive responses to present events, but often the re-emergence of themes that were seeded months or even years earlier. The Tracker quantifies the resonance of these themes, showing how a phrase coined in a Kremlin press release finds its way into an obscure blog, is then amplified by a network of bot accounts on social media, and eventually surfaces in a parliamentary debate or a prime-time cable news segment. This data-driven approach transforms our understanding of disinformation, turning it from a vague and intimidating concept into a discrete, analyzable phenomenon. It provides the evidence needed to demonstrate that these aren’t just sporadic “bad takes” but a structured assault on the shared reality that underpins international security.
What the tracker reveals is a deeply worrying evolution in the tactics of influence. The old model of simply broadcasting propaganda through state-owned outlets has been refined and supercharged. Modern disinformation campaigns operate like a sophisticated franchise system. A central authority, often a state intelligence or propaganda arm, develops a “master narrative”—a core falsehood that serves its strategic interests. This narrative is then seeded into the digital ecosystem, not directly by the state’s central organs, but through a complex web of cutouts: semi-official media outlets in multiple languages, influential social media personalities, and strategically placed commentators. These voices provide a veneer of independence and credibility. The content is often carefully tailored for different audiences; a version designed to appeal to far-right conspiracy theorists in the West will be packaged differently than one intended for a global south audience suspicious of Western hegemony. The final piece of the strategy is amplification. Social media platforms, with their algorithms that reward engagement and outrage, serve as perfect accelerants. The sheer coordination and the resources required to sustain this multi-platform, multi-lingual, and multi-year effort prove that this is not the work of amateurs. It is a professionalized, industrialized process that treats the truth as a strategic liability to be managed, and public opinion as a battlespace to be conquered.
The consequences of this new information warfare are profound and chilling, especially in the realm of public health and disarmament. When a government successfully sows doubt about a safe and effective vaccine, or convinces a population that biological weapons research is being conducted in a neighboring state, the practical implications are staggering. It directly endangers lives by eroding trust in public health institutions and undermining collective action against disease outbreaks. In the sphere of disarmament, these campaigns are a poison pill for diplomacy. International treaties like the Biological Weapons Convention (BWC) rely on a foundation of shared trust and the willingness of states to be transparent about their activities. When that trust is systematically corroded by fabrications, the entire framework begins to crumble. Verification becomes impossible, not because the technical mechanisms are weak, but because good-faith participation becomes a domestic political liability. A nation that is perpetually accused of running secret biolabs may decide that the political cost of pursuing legitimate, peaceful scientific cooperation is simply too high. The result is a race to the bottom, where states are incentivized to be less transparent, less cooperative, and more suspicious of one another, creating a dangerously unstable environment that increases the likelihood of miscalculation and conflict. The long-term damage to the global norms that have, for decades, helped constrain the most horrific weapons of mass destruction is perhaps the most sinister legacy of this campaign.
Ultimately, the fight against disinformation is not a battle that can be won by a single fact-check or a well-reasoned rebuttal. It requires a fundamental shift in how we understand and navigate the information landscape. Tools like the Disinformation Tracker are essential, as they provide the forensic evidence needed to expose the puppet strings and hold the manipulators accountable. But the larger solution requires a resilient citizenry and a responsible media ecosystem. People must become more critical consumers of information, learning to question the motives behind the messages they receive and to seek out credible, primary sources. Social media platforms must move beyond a purely reactive stance and take proactive measures to de-amplify state-sponsored propaganda networks. And the international community must develop frameworks to establish clear consequences for states that weaponize information in such a destructive manner. The story of the “US-run biolabs” narrative is a stark warning. It shows that in the digital age, a falsehood crafted in one capital can, within a matter of weeks, find its way into the living rooms of millions, fundamentally altering perceptions of reality and threatening the very structures designed to keep us safe. Ignorance of this threat is no longer an option; understanding its mechanics is the first step towards building a defense.