« Fu** France ! » : An open letter to Andrew Bustamante, former CIA agent

Régis Ollivier – Le 8 février 2026

Dear Andrew, dear colleague,

If you fuck me, I fuck you
That’s not an insult.
That’s a rule.
A very old one. Older than YouTube. Older than algorithms. Older than your audience.

I read your words. I watched your video.
I heard your “Fuck France”.
Relax. No Scud launched. No splash in the pond. Just a fart on a waxed canvas. A lot of noise for very little substance.

Let me speak to you as a colleague, not as a YouTuber talking to a crowd.

You accuse the DGSE of stealing American technologies and of being more dangerous to the United States than China or Russia.
Very interesting.
In our line of work, when someone calls you dangerous, it usually means you are doing your job properly.

Bernard Barbier, former technical director of the DGSE, said it politely.
I’ll say it more bluntly:
if we worry you, it’s because we learned how to play in the same league.

Now, let’s clear something up.

Cooperation between intelligence services is not a friendship.
It never was.
It never will be.

I served abroad. I worked with your people. In external postings and at headquarters.
And no, I never had atoms hooked with my American counterparts.
Mutual interest? Yes.
Mutual trust? Never.

Exchanging intelligence does not mean kissing on the mouth.
It means exchanging information while keeping one hand on your wallet and the other on the knife.

You know it.
I know it.
Everyone who actually did the job knows it.

The so-called “special relationship” is a myth for journalists and politicians.
Just like the famous Franco-German couple:
a marriage that was never consummated.
A white marriage. Convenient. Photogenic. Mostly sterile.

As for your outburst, let’s be honest:
you are not fucking France.
You are buzzing.

You are talking to an American audience.
You are feeding a political narrative.
You are playing the influencer game.

Fair enough.
But don’t confuse the noise of the stage with the silence of the trade.

In our world, there are only two positions:
the tip or the funnel.
Him or me.
And I still smile today remembering that I once “fucked” a Chief of Station from Central America.
No hard feelings. Just professional hygiene.

So yes, dear colleague,
if you fuck me, I fuck you.

Not out of anger.
Out of balance.

Best regards,
Old Man
Without hard feelings

Postface

In intelligence, there are no friends.
Only converging interests… until they diverge.

Those who confuse cooperation with loyalty end up surprised.
Those who mistake noise for power usually talk too much.
And those who shout the loudest often try to hide something else.

As for us, we do what we have always done:
work quietly, efficiently, and without asking for applause.

Dangerous?
Maybe.

But only for those who forget the rules of the game.

Le Colonel vous salue bien

#AndrewBustamante #CIA