On his Russian TV show, a famous presenter takes aim and unleashes a tirade against the UK.
I'm just glad it's not his finger on the nuclear button.
We still haven't destroyed London or Birmingham, barks Vladimir Solovyov. We haven't wiped all this British scum from the face of the earth.
He sounds disappointed.
We haven't kicked out the goddamned BBC with that Steve Rotten-berg. He walks around looking like a defecating squirrel…he's a conscious enemy of our country!
Welcome to my world: the world of a BBC correspondent in Russia.
It's a world we offer a glimpse into in Our Man in Moscow. The film for BBC Panorama charts a year in the life of the BBC Moscow bureau, as the Kremlin continues to wage war on Ukraine, tighten the screws at home and build a relationship with President Trump.
The squirrel barb doesn't bother me. Squirrels are cute. And they have a thick skin—something a foreign correspondent needs here.
But enemy of Russia? That hurts.
I have spent more than thirty years living and working in Moscow. As a young man, I fell in love with the language, literature, and music of Russia. With its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the world's largest country had embarked on the darkest of paths.
In the days that followed, repressive new laws were adopted here to silence dissent and punish criticism of the authorities. Suddenly reporting from Russia felt like walking a tightrope over a legal minefield. The challenge: to report accurately and honestly about what was happening without falling off the highwire.
In 2023, the arrest of a Wall Street Journal reporter showed that a foreign passport was no keep out of jail card. Evan Gershkovich, a US citizen, was convicted on espionage charges. He would spend sixteen months behind bars. He, his employer, and the US authorities denounced the case as a sham.
In the BBC's Moscow office, we're a much smaller team now. Producer Ben Tavener and I often face additional checks flying in and out of Russia. Reporters from countries labelled unfriendly by the Kremlin (that includes the UK) are no longer issued one-year permits. Our journalist visas and accreditation cards require renewal every three months.
With Donald Trump back in the White House, Moscow feels that Washington is paying it more respect. At the Alaska summit last August, the U.S. president rolled out the red carpet for Russia's leader. Still, it's striking how little the Kremlin has criticised America over the last 12 months.
In thirty years, we've gone from white parrots to defecating squirrels. How this war ends will affect not only Ukraine's future and that of Russia, but the future of Europe, too.
I'm just glad it's not his finger on the nuclear button.
We still haven't destroyed London or Birmingham, barks Vladimir Solovyov. We haven't wiped all this British scum from the face of the earth.
He sounds disappointed.
We haven't kicked out the goddamned BBC with that Steve Rotten-berg. He walks around looking like a defecating squirrel…he's a conscious enemy of our country!
Welcome to my world: the world of a BBC correspondent in Russia.
It's a world we offer a glimpse into in Our Man in Moscow. The film for BBC Panorama charts a year in the life of the BBC Moscow bureau, as the Kremlin continues to wage war on Ukraine, tighten the screws at home and build a relationship with President Trump.
The squirrel barb doesn't bother me. Squirrels are cute. And they have a thick skin—something a foreign correspondent needs here.
But enemy of Russia? That hurts.
I have spent more than thirty years living and working in Moscow. As a young man, I fell in love with the language, literature, and music of Russia. With its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the world's largest country had embarked on the darkest of paths.
In the days that followed, repressive new laws were adopted here to silence dissent and punish criticism of the authorities. Suddenly reporting from Russia felt like walking a tightrope over a legal minefield. The challenge: to report accurately and honestly about what was happening without falling off the highwire.
In 2023, the arrest of a Wall Street Journal reporter showed that a foreign passport was no keep out of jail card. Evan Gershkovich, a US citizen, was convicted on espionage charges. He would spend sixteen months behind bars. He, his employer, and the US authorities denounced the case as a sham.
In the BBC's Moscow office, we're a much smaller team now. Producer Ben Tavener and I often face additional checks flying in and out of Russia. Reporters from countries labelled unfriendly by the Kremlin (that includes the UK) are no longer issued one-year permits. Our journalist visas and accreditation cards require renewal every three months.
With Donald Trump back in the White House, Moscow feels that Washington is paying it more respect. At the Alaska summit last August, the U.S. president rolled out the red carpet for Russia's leader. Still, it's striking how little the Kremlin has criticised America over the last 12 months.
In thirty years, we've gone from white parrots to defecating squirrels. How this war ends will affect not only Ukraine's future and that of Russia, but the future of Europe, too.
