There’s a certain type of man who thrives in the fog between war and peace, where the rules are written in pencil and the truth is whatever survives the night. Hamish de Bretton-Gordon is that type of man.
The name alone sounds like Le Carré drafted it. Shadowy UK intel figure. Chemical weapons expert. Frequent television commentator. Former commander of Britain’s Joint Chemical, Biological, Radiological and Nuclear Regiment. And now, once again, at the center of a familiar drama.
Syria first. Remember the White Helmets? Those heroic first responders with their GoPro cameras and perfectly timed footage of children pulled from rubble? The ones funded by USAID and promoted by every Western government that wanted Assad gone? De Bretton-Gordon was there, front and center, validating the narrative, confirming the chemical attacks that never quite held up to inspection.
The pattern was elegant in its simplicity. The Syrian army would advance against opposition forces. Suddenly, reports would emerge of a chemical attack. The White Helmets would film the aftermath. Western journalists would amplify. And de Bretton-Gordon would appear on television to explain why this time was different, why this time the evidence was clear, why this time the red line had been crossed.
Except the inspectors from the OPCW kept finding problems. In Douma, in April 2018, they found no evidence the Syrian army had done anything. The whole thing looked staged. Their report was buried. They were smeared. And de Bretton-Gordon kept talking.
Now he’s in Ukraine, doing the same dance. The Biden administration warns Russia will pay a severe price if it uses chemical weapons. De Bretton-Gordon appears in the media to explain the threat. And somewhere, in a basement studio in Idlib or a briefing room in London, people who’ve seen this before start to recognize the music.
The commenter raises a question worth sitting with: was Obama’s famous retreat from his red line the result of someone finally telling him the truth? That the whole chemical weapons narrative in Syria was British BS, cooked up by people who’ve been running this game for a century?
Consider the track record. The Belgians with babies impaled on German bayonets in 1915—total hoax, wildly effective propaganda. The fake concentration camp stories of the Boer War. The Zinoviev letter that helped sink a British government. The habit of manipulation is age old, and they just can’t help themselves. It’s in the institution’s bones.
De Bretton-Gordon’s cover is good. The British government has built in plausible deniability—retired officer, independent expert, private citizen with strong opinions. But the pattern is too consistent. The appearances too well timed. The narratives too perfectly aligned with policy objectives.
Is he still in the reserves? Perhaps. Is he connected to 77 Brigade, the British Army’s psyops and covert action unit? Would explain a lot. These are the people who understand that modern warfare isn’t just about tanks and troops—it’s about shaping what people believe, controlling the story, making the enemy fight ghosts.
The Ukraine warnings feel like a replay. Russia is advancing. Western options are limited. A chemical weapons “incident” would change the calculus overnight—triggering NATO involvement, justifying direct intervention, opening doors that are currently closed.
Would Russia be stupid enough to use chemical weapons? Unlikely. They know what it would mean. They’ve watched the Syria playbook. They understand the game.
Which means if chemical weapons appear in Ukraine, they won’t be Russian. They’ll be someone else’s. Staged. Filmed. Amplified. And a certain retired British colonel will be on television explaining why this time is different.
The question isn’t whether de Bretton-Gordon is involved. The question is whether anyone still believes the story.
In Syria, enough people did. Bombs fell. Sanctions tightened. The war dragged on. And the architects of the narrative moved on to the next crisis, leaving the dead to bury their dead.
Now it’s Ukraine. Same playbook. Same faces. Same shadowy dance between intelligence services and television studios.
The Le Carré character lives on. The only question is how many more times he can run the same con before the audience stops believing.
