Twenty-Nine American Assassins and an Invitation to Coffee: Another Evening in Lviv

By Matthew Parish

Monday 12 October 2026

Dear Readers,

There are evenings in Lviv when one is reminded why this charming former capital of Austrian Galicia remains amongst the most intellectually stimulating cities in Europe. There are other evenings when one is followed home by an irate American gentleman with a neck comprehensively covered in tattoos, who informs one that twenty-nine American men are following one around the city with the intention of committing murder. Last night belonged rather more emphatically to the second category.

Readers of the Lviv Herald may recall our recent investigations into the alleged three-week residence of former American MasterChef contestant Noah Sims in Kramatorsk, a subject which has already generated considerably more excitement than might ordinarily be expected from a modest journalistic enquiry into somebody’s travel itinerary. What began as a polite request for corroborating evidence has developed into an increasingly exotic exploration of American diplomatic methods, the psychological condition of certain foreign volunteers in Ukraine and the apparently limitless possibilities of aggressive interpersonal communication.

My latest encounter with the gentleman concerned was particularly memorable. Having followed me through the streets of Lviv and eventually to my home, he proceeded to explain, in terms possessing the unmistakable confidence of a man who has mistaken volume for credibility, that no fewer than twenty-nine Americans were following me around the city with the intention of murdering me. This struck me as an unusually extravagant allocation of human resources to the elimination of a middle-aged British journalist. I should have imagined that two or three reasonably competent assassins would suffice, particularly given my regrettable habit of frequenting the same handful of bars.

Nevertheless, twenty-nine it was. I did not enquire whether these gentlemen were operating in shifts, whether they enjoyed paid holidays or whether their expenses were being reimbursed by some particularly generous American charitable foundation. It seemed impolite to interrupt the operational briefing with questions about administrative arrangements. Lviv has always been a city of international intrigue, but even by the standards of wartime Galicia, the deployment of an entire platoon of American murderers against one British newspaper editor seemed a trifle excessive.

The conversation subsequently turned to firearms and knives. My interlocutor introduced the possibility of drawing a gun in circumstances involving a knife, although the precise choreography of the proposed armed confrontation was not entirely clear to me. Having spent considerable time in Ukraine during the largest European war since 1945, I am familiar with the existence of weapons. I am rather less accustomed to having their potential use against me explained on my own doorstep as though I were attending an introductory seminar on American constitutional rights.

At this point, the average person might have become agitated. Some might have called the police immediately, others might have embarked upon a lengthy denunciation of American foreign policy. My instincts, however, remain those of an English gentleman brought up to believe that even the most profound disagreements can sometimes be resolved through the civilised consumption of hot beverages.

Accordingly, I asked the gentleman for his telephone number, suggesting that perhaps we might meet for coffee tomorrow.

This invitation appeared to introduce an entirely different dimension into proceedings. A man who had moments earlier been describing an elaborate conspiracy to have me murdered by twenty-nine American citizens was now being invited to participate in that quintessentially British institution, a quiet conversation over coffee. I rather liked the juxtaposition. It seemed to represent the clash of two competing civilisational traditions: the American preference for heavily armed declarations of intent and the British conviction that all difficult questions might ultimately be resolved over an espresso and perhaps a small biscuit.

Having extended my invitation, I decided that the evening’s entertainment had reached its natural conclusion. I closed my front door in the gentleman’s face, wished him good night and retired into the comparative tranquillity of my own home. There are limits to hospitality, even in Lviv, and I saw little reason to prolong an encounter in which the principal outstanding question appeared to be whether I was to be murdered by one American or twenty-nine.

Upon reflection, however, I discovered a modest cause for optimism. Notwithstanding the extravagant threats, theatrical indignation and extraordinary manpower apparently devoted to my demise, the gentleman had ultimately confined himself to words. He had not attempted to strike me, stab me, shoot me or otherwise translate his violent rhetoric into immediate physical action. Whatever else might be said about his behaviour, he had demonstrated at least sufficient practical intelligence to recognise the distinction between threatening a journalist and actually assaulting one.

That is, admittedly, a rather low threshold of intellectual achievement. Nevertheless, in contemporary international affairs one must celebrate progress wherever it can be found. A man capable of distinguishing between announcing his intention to commit a violent act and actually committing it has already acquired one of the elementary foundations of civilisation. With patience, perseverance and perhaps sufficient quantities of coffee, further advances may yet be possible.

There is, of course, a more serious aspect to these proceedings. Journalists working in wartime Ukraine are accustomed to threats, accusations, intimidation and occasionally the attentions of people whose understanding of press freedom is somewhat less sophisticated than their understanding of personal grievance. The appropriate response is neither to surrender one’s editorial independence nor to confuse the loudest participant in an argument with the person possessing the strongest evidence.

Nor should such incidents obscure the extraordinary courage and generosity of the overwhelming majority of foreigners working in Ukraine. The country has attracted many remarkable individuals who have sacrificed comfort, security and considerable personal resources to assist Ukrainians resisting Russian aggression. Their work deserves recognition. It is precisely because that work matters that claims made about it must remain open to ordinary journalistic scrutiny.

For my own part, I remain entirely willing to discuss documentary evidence, humanitarian activities in Kramatorsk or indeed the finer points of American etiquette with anybody who wishes to do so in a civilised fashion. I would merely prefer that future discussions take place without references to firearms, knives, mass assassination conspiracies or the recruitment of twenty-nine American gentlemen to perform a task that surely ought not to require quite so many people.

And so another evening in Lviv drew to its conclusion. The streets were quiet, the old Austrian buildings remained reassuringly indifferent to human folly and somewhere in the city, if my tattooed acquaintance’s account is to be believed, twenty-nine Americans were presumably wondering why their elaborate murderous enterprise had been thwarted by the simple expedient of a British gentleman closing his front door and wishing everybody a pleasant evening.

I slept soundly enough. Whether the coffee appointment will ever materialise remains to be seen, although I confess that I should much prefer my interlocutor to arrive unarmed.

Yours ever,

Dr Matthew Parish

Editor-in-Chief

The Lviv Herald