#ideological capture

By: Ben Appel

Published: Mar 24, 2026

A new podcast series on tensions within the so-called LGBTQ movement delivers major revelations.

On Friday, Longview’s Reflector podcast debuted Strange Bedfellows: When LGB met T, a three-part series about how the gay rights movement became the LGBTQ movement. Ben Kawaller, a cohost of the series and its lead reporter, interviewed me for it a number of months ago. The portion of our conversation included in the final product focuses largely on my time working as a News & Rapid Response intern at GLAAD in 2017—particularly how uneasy I felt about the organization’s quickness to condemn public figures who voiced reasonable objections to trans rights initiatives or who perhaps misspoke about trans-related issues.

According to the series, GLAAD adopted this punishing ethos not long after its current president and CEO, Sarah Kate Ellis, joined the organization in 2014. Prior to that, former GLAAD president Herndon Graddick told Kawaller on the podcast, the strategy when a public figure erred was to “try to figure out a way to heal—not throw people off your side permanently, but kind of figure out a path forward that you wind up being friends.”

Graddick’s words felt vindicating, as did the message I received from a former GLAAD employee the day the podcast premiered. This individual, whom I’d never met, wrote to thank me for “verbalizing everything I felt then about the switch under SKE [Sarah Kate Ellis].” They continued: “All of a sudden, I was being asked to make the case for someone being a bigot rather than documenting their actual bigotry.”

What felt even more vindicating, though, was hearing what Graddick told Kawaller in Episode 3: “I think we need to correct what’s wrong first. And so that’s a big thing. I mean, particularly the medicalization of children.”

Kawaller narrated: “He thinks that the time has come to admit it was wrong to medicalize so many of these kids.”

Graddick continued: “Teenagers and kids should not be given the power to make these life-altering decisions that medicalization causes.”

Kawaller’s cohost, Andy Mills—who produced the 2023 podcast series The Witch Trials of J.K. Rowling—was as shocked as I was to hear Graddick say this out loud. “Wait, so you’re saying that the former head of GLAAD told you it was a mistake to unquestionably support the medical treatment of these minors?” he asked Kawaller.

“Yeah,” Kawaller said, before rolling another Graddick clip.

“I just think that we should completely stop doing anything that might harm children, even if it [means we admit] that we got something really wrong, and my understanding is that we have,” Graddick said. “I think that there’s been a lot of fear about discussing things openly for fear of being called transphobic, and I think that we’re at a place that we can really have those conversations without that fear. And certainly transphobia has nothing to do with my motivation to say this, but more like, you know, let’s just get our side of the street totally clean.”

This is a big deal. Graddick joined GLAAD in 2010 and served as its president from 2012 to 2013. It was under his leadership that the organization began to shift its focus to transgender issues, even going so far as to change its name from the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation to simply GLAAD. In May 2013, after Graddick announced his resignation, Chad Griffin, then president of the Human Rights Campaign, issued a statement thanking Graddick for leading GLAAD in its “new and groundbreaking work” to “lift up transgender voices across the country.” That same day, The Advocate reported:

Graddick was also instrumental in GLAAD’s awareness and media competency campaigns around issues impacting the transgender community. GLAAD worked closely with the Colorado family of a transgender 6-year-old whose school refused to allow her to use the girl’s bathroom, filing a complaint with the state civil rights commission and elevating awareness about the situation.

Graddick also led GLAAD’s efforts to educate the mainstream media on how to report on transgender people, including, most recently, the murder of Cemia Acoff, reports of whose death was bungled by local media in Cleveland. In November, the organization published a comprehensive report about transphobic violence and irresponsible media reporting called Doubly Victimized, that offered guidelines for mainstream media reports on transgender issues.

On YouTube, there’s a clip from 2013 of Graddick introducing trans-identified boys Jazz Jennings and Coy Mathis—ages twelve and six at the time—on stage at GLAAD’s annual awards gala. “Earlier tonight I was asked by Ketel One who was my inspiration, and I wrote the both of you,” he told them.

No word on where Coy Mathis is today, but we know how things turned out for Jazz. He had his puberty blocked at 11 and started cross-sex hormones at 14. At 17, he underwent bottom surgery, which was unsuccessful and required at least two surgical revisions. He now battles severe mental health issues and obesity.

One of Jazz’s surgeons was Dr. Jess Ting, who was the surgical director of Mount Sinai’s Center for Transgender Medicine and Surgery. Last month, news outlets reported that the Epstein files revealed that Ting performed personal favors for Jeffrey Epstein, including giving 35 stitches to one of his girlfriends, a Russian undergraduate, while she was “laid out” on Epstein’s dining room table. Ting visited Epstein’s island with his own girlfriend and her children. According to Ting’s Mount Sinai profile, “Dr. Ting performs research in transgender health and his clinical practice is limited to the surgical care of the transgender/gender non-conforming community, as well as victims of female genital mutilation.”

Jazz’s other surgeon was Marci Bowers, a transwoman and the former president of WPATH. Here’s an excerpt from my book, Cis White Gay, about Bowers:

During a 2022 Duke University symposium, Bowers stated that every male whose puberty is blocked at Tanner Stage 2—the stage when the body begins to sexually mature—has never and possibly will never experience a proper orgasm. (This, of course, is on top of the fact that medical transition sterilizes them.) Bowers revealed the experimental nature of gender-affirming care by wondering aloud to the audience what the solution to this could be. Options range from removing the blockers and letting “a little bit of puberty come back” to encouraging the child to masturbate so that they know what an orgasm feels like.

As Bowers made this latter suggestion, he acknowledged that some males might experience dysphoria around their penis, but went on to say, “All a penis is is just a large clitoris—it’s all the same material—so, you know, use it for the pleasurable purposes that partially it was intended!”

To this, any thinking person might respond, “If a child getting over his dysphoria about his body is such a reasonable possibility, then why are we cutting off his penis?”

Unfortunately, none of the other panelists made a peep.

Bowers said that his work with female genital mutilation survivors, whose physical trauma has affected their ability to be intimate with their partners, is what “raised the red flag” for him about this particular issue in gender care.

To this I would say, “When the ‘care’ you provide to adolescents can be compared to female genital mutilation—that is, the excision of women’s clitorises, performed in the name of Islam, to deny them sexual pleasure—you might want to rethink what you’re doing.” And leaving aside for a moment the total impropriety of an adult encouraging a pre-pubertal child to masturbate, I find it tragic that clinicians are taking away his possibility of having his own organic sexual awakening. Rather, he is a lab rat. His sexual life begins in a sterile clinic.

If you’ve been following me for a while, you know I’ve been speaking out against the medicalization of gender-nonconforming youth since at least April 2022, when Newsweek published my op-ed, “The New Homophobia.” Since then, I’ve been—and there’s really no other way to say this—afraid of GLAAD, which wields considerable financial, political, and cultural power. A 2024 New York Times investigation revealed the organization’s “lavish spending,” especially when it comes to Ellis, whose contract allows her to earn up to $1.3 million per year, including bonuses. The Times article begins with Ellis being chauffeured in a Mercedes to “the Tivoli Lodge, a seven-bedroom chalet that cost nearly half a million dollars to rent for the week,” where she and her colleagues stayed during the World Economic Forum in Davos. (In 2017, when I interned at GLAAD, the organization did not pay its interns.) Graddick’s remarks on the podcast, as well as the messages of support I’ve now received from two former GLAAD employees, come as a huge relief.

In the podcast,1 Ellis stands behind the medicalization of minors: “This is finished business. It’s politicians and junk science, who’s creating some kind of debate or argument about this.”

She went on: “It is not a debate. We are actually looking at the single source of truth and they are creating a conversation that doesn’t exist. It’s deeply rooted transphobia. That’s what it is, at the end of the day.”

By: Aaron Sibarium

Published: May 14, 2026

David Blackman, a native of Plano, Texas, was thrilled to be starting law school at Penn State in the fall of 2025.

A former 911 call operator and a veteran of the Texas State Guard, Blackman, 26, loved the university's football team and its location in the Appalachian Mountains.

"I’ve been a fan of Penn State since I was a teenager," Blackman told the Washington Free Beacon. He arrived on campus in August 2025, a 50 percent merit scholarship in hand, excited for game nights in Beaver Stadium and a three-year reprieve from the Texas heat.

Then he sat through his first anti-racism class.

On the first day of "Race and the Equal Protection of the Laws," a required course for all first-year law students, Blackman listened as a transgender faculty member, Emily Spottswood, explained why the course was mandatory.

"It’s not optional," Spottswood said, because "being a lawyer is about recognizing and combating injustice."

In audio of the session obtained by the Free Beacon, Spottswood said that this "institutional message" was "baked into" the law school's "DNA," adding that, as a "trans woman," the course's focus on "combatting oppression … is meaningful to me."

Spottswood's remarks followed a presentation by Jeffrey Dodge, the law school's associate dean, and Shaakirrah Sanders, who was introduced as "the first associate Dean of anti-racism and critical pedagogy in the country." The presentation made clear that Blackman wasn't in Texas anymore; he and his classmates were now conscripts in a political "coalition" that, as Dodge put it in his talk, was dedicated to "building a more anti-racist" future.

"We are taking action to disrupt and dismantle systems that racialize, subordinate, and oppress," Dodge said. "We … want to acknowledge the reality of systemic racism … as a foundation for this course."

Thus began a series of struggle sessions in which professors demanded students affirm activist talking points and ultimately drove Blackman, whose first-choice law school had been Penn State, to withdraw from the school after just one semester. (The Free Beacon reviewed Blackman's transcript.) Over the course of three 150-minute lectures, speakers described all white people as "privileged," called to "eradicate patriarchy," and asserted that the justice system is "about keeping black people in their place." One assignment said students should "consider" framing their essays around "the reality of systemic racism," implying that doing otherwise could affect a student's grade.

"Consider drawing on the instruction we provided on design thinking as a way to frame your assignment," the essay prompt read. Linked below were slides from the first session of the class, which defined "institutional anti-racism" as "acknowledg[ing] the reality of systemic racism, subordination, and oppression."

Launched in 2020 at the height of the George Floyd protests, the class is now raising questions about whether a public law school violated the First Amendment and the Civil Rights Act. Blackman withdrew from the law school after a committee convened by law school dean Danielle Conway refused to grant him an exemption from the course, which he said amounted to compelled speech. In an interview with the Free Beacon, he also noted that the course vilified white people and law enforcement and that professors assigned texts by critical race theorists without presenting an alternative perspective.

"My law degree is not worth sitting through a mandatory DEI class that spits on my entire background," said Blackman, who helped the Texas Guard deliver emergency supplies during Hurricane Beryl. "You have a lot of people who say DEI is bad, but I gave up a law career because of it."

Penn State is a land-grant university with significant ties to Pennsylvania governor Josh Shapiro (D.), who controls 9 of the 36 voting spots on the board of trustees. Along with the law school's strategic plan, which pledges to expand "employment opportunities for candidates who are underrepresented in the University," the course is a stark example of how DEI remains entrenched in many Democratic institutions even as the legal threats to such programs continue to grow.

The America First Policy Institute told the law school in April that the class creates "a racially hostile educational environment in violation of Title VI." And the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE) said Penn State may have violated the First Amendment by pressuring students to "acknowledge" contested claims about white supremacy.

"That would in many cases be compelled speech," said Zach Greenberg, an attorney at FIRE, adding that the analysis would turn on whether students could question those claims without being marked down. "Even if there is not a legal case to be made, we hope that universities are open to a wide array of viewpoints when they’re teaching students."

For his part, Blackman felt pressured to toe the line. Asked to submit an essay on "systemic racism in the law," he wrote about Texas's strict drug laws—which he believed should be reformed—but framed the issue as a matter of racial justice rather than colorblind fairness.

"I added a lot of color that doesn't really stand up with my beliefs to get a passing grade," Blackman said. Penn State did not respond to a request for comment.

Blackman had been willing to put up with the readings from Paul Butler, a Georgetown University Law Center professor who argues that police are "looking for a reason to arrest" black men, and with Penn State's propensity for progressive neologisms, such as "intersectional liberal democracy." The straw that broke the camel's back was a statement from Conway, the law school's dean, condemning Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

"This weekend's blanket of snow with its clean, white veneer starkly contrasts with the conflagration enveloping the rule of law," Conway wrote in a school-wide message on Jan. 26, 2026, referencing the deaths of two anti-ICE protesters in Minnesota earlier that month. "Our power lies in activating critical pedagogy to teach and learn about the importance of our nation’s constitutional order in real time and to voice the need for accountability and transparency to our representatives."

Blackman drafted a reply to the email, thanking Conway for her "effort to create space for reflection" but politely pushing back on her "one-sided view of deeply contested events," which he said could "undermine confidence in the school's neutrality."

"Leadership communications, as the public-facing voice of the law school, carry special weight," he wrote to a school-wide listserv. "It is not in the best interest of the law school, or our educational mission, to appear to prematurely assign blame before … an investigation is concluded and all facts are fully established."

But when Blackman attempted to send the email, he was notified that a moderator for the listserv had blocked the message.

"Your message was rejected by a moderator for these recipients," read the note from Kalene Faircloth, the law school's senior associate director of academic and student services, who did not provide a rationale for the decision.

Fed up with the blatant act of censorship, Blackman filed a petition with the provost's office demanding a "University-level audit of the Race and the Equal Protection of the Law … course and the concurrent administrative suppression of student speech."

"Evidence demonstrates that Penn State Dickinson Law has established a 'Closed Loop' of state-enforced orthodoxy," the seven-exhibit complaint read. "The Dean broadcasts the ideology (Exhibit D), the Curriculum compels students to advocate for it (Exhibit C), and Administrators censor legal dissent (Exhibit F)."

But rather than launch its own audit, Penn State punted the petition to Conway—the very dean who was the subject of the complaint. Conway, the executive director of Penn State's Antiracist Development Institute, was also the driving force behind the creation of the anti-racism class, which she credits with exposing students to "the structure that supports the nation's constitutional democracy."

"REPL allows us to teach that through the lens of enslavement and racism," she said in a press release about the course. "We use critical pedagogy to analyze how a governing system founded on a pledge of democratic ideals produces systemic inequity when legal, social, economic and civil obstacles limit liberty for those othered in society."

The 2024 press release also noted that Conway attends every session of the class.

"It was an obvious conflict of interest," Blackman said. He quoted a Latin saying, "nemo iudex in causa sua," which means "no one should be a judge in their own case."

On Feb. 26, the law school informed Blackman that he would not be excused from the class.

"We conclude that none of the remedial actions you seek to have the university take are required," law professor Jud Mathews said, writing on behalf of a committee Conway had convened. "To graduate from the law school, you will need to complete all required courses, including REPL."

That was the last straw. Blackman withdrew from the law school rather than complete the course, returning to Texas for a master's degree in business administration.

Before he left, he gave Conway one final piece of his mind.

"As a former member of law enforcement in the Great State of Texas, I abhor everything this class teaches and will no longer be even a passive participant in such a farce," Blackman wrote in an email on Feb. 27. "I am 'free to think, and speak as I wish, not as the government or law school demands.'"

The full audio recordings of two class sessions are included below.

==

This is "Emily" Spottswood, the man speaking in the beginning of the first audio recording.

You don't get to pretende to be "oppressed" when you can coerce others into mimicking your opinions with the threat of an undeserved failing grade.

By: George Leef

Published: Jun 17, 2026

Suppose you have a friend who knows little about American higher education but is eager to learn about it. You might want to recommend to him a book that introduces the subject with readily understood essays covering the range of problems we face.  A good choice would be Higher Education in America: It’s Worse Than You Think. The book consists of nineteen essays by people who have been on the front lines in the battle to rescue our colleges and universities from the menaces of mediocrity and politicization.

So, what has gone wrong with American higher education?

One theme that recurs throughout the book is that most of our colleges and universities have lost their sense of mission. As Hillsdale College president Larry Arnn writes in the foreword, they have converted the “sublime activity of education” into a “manufacturing operation.” Rather than working with young minds to help them learn how to discover truth, most colleges just want to process through as many graduates as possible. And worse, instead of enlightenment, students are often steeped in conflict, taught that certain groups are oppressors and others oppressed.

In his introduction, Christopher Rufo observes, “The great project of liberal education, designed to inculcate knowledge of the truth, appreciation of the beautiful, and the civic virtue necessary to advance both, has been replaced by bureaucracies, activism, anti-Western ideology and empty credentialism.” College degrees that used to betoken a wide range of knowledge and skills now signal nothing. Rufo argues that education and liberty are inextricable and we need to worry for our civilization because many students now graduate without the slightest appreciation for liberty.

Among the reasons why college has become such a poor value is the way the federal government makes it so easy to borrow to pay for it. In his chapter, Preston Cooper concludes, “For too long, colleges have taken advantage of an opaque and dysfunctional financial-aid system to strong-arm students into paying higher tuition than they would in a free and competitive market.” That’s what we need.

Can’t American students depend on colleges for a high quality education? Supposedly, our accreditation system ensures that they do, since colleges and universities (at least those that accept federal funds) have to obtain accreditation from an agency approved by the Department of Education. Unfortunately, obtaining the stamp of approval from an accrediting agency does not ensure that students receive a sound education. In their chapter, Jonathan Butcher and Madison Marino Doan disabuse readers of the notion that accreditors ensure that students receive a good education.  Accreditors, they observe, don’t actually investigate courses to see if they have serious academic standards, but instead focus on institutional inputs—and sometimes those inputs are the wrong types, such as “diversity” among faculty.  

That many American students receive a weak education in college is the theme of the chapter by Adam Kissel and Madison Marino Doan. They investigated the course offerings at many of our supposedly finest schools and found that it would be easy for students to avoid intellectually challenging ones and coast along taking courses that focus on pop culture and politics. And, generally, colleges have cashed in by luring in students with weak academic preparation by dumbing down the curriculum and offering lots of enjoyable amenities. Kissel and Doan conclude that it’s time to make college hard again and to stop subsidizing it with easy government loans.

One of the most frequently heard complaints about our colleges is that they allow faculty members to substitute political advocacy for objective teaching. In “The Leftist Monopoly Problem,” Andrew Gillen shows that this is a serious concern. Many academic fields are now completely dominated by professors who embrace a leftist worldview that is hostile to individualism, limited government and free enterprise. Such professors usually want to hire only ideological allies by screening out applicants who might voice differing views. Gillen makes it clear why this matters, writing, “When one side dominates, only truths that conform with that political ideology will be acknowledged. Inconvenient truths will be ignored, dismissed, or explained away.” Academic fields thus become hidebound and intolerant.

What is the experience of college like for today’s students? In his chapter, Kyle Washut argues that it is far different from what it used to be. He writes, “For many students, going to college at a legacy institution involves faculty who do not teach, the students themselves spending little time on learning (and what time is spent studying is on classes of little rigor or in slanted “studies” departments) and immersion in terrible experiences of loneliness and anxiety, all while spending vast amounts of money and garnering large quantities of debt.” In short, we have lost sight of the purpose of education. He argues that one step in the right direction would be a law that would empower universities with large endowments to create smaller colleges under their umbrellas with a traditional academic focus.

At the heart of our drift away from the serious, useful college education of the past into the often feeble and politicized education of the present is poor leadership. Few college and university presidents have been willing to say “no” to the ruinous trends. In his chapter, George Harne drives that point home. He writes, “Unfortunately, leaders of colleges and universities frequently derive their leadership not from the natures and highest purposes of their institutions but from the worlds of leftwing politics, moralistic-therapeutic culture, the corporate book trade, or some combination of the three.” If we are going to restore academic standards and integrity, we will need to choose leaders who are deeply committed to the educational enterprise, not to promoting themselves or their personal views.

And there is also the faculty problem, which John Sailer discusses in depth. He writes, “Today, an increasing number of faculty have come to see their scholarship as a means for advancing a political agenda. These scholars—more accurately, scholar-activists—place primacy on the categories of race, sex, and ethnicity. They often invoke faculty-lounge neologisms, such as ‘racial capitalism’ and ‘decolonization.’” Over the last several decades, the pipeline into academic life has been altered so that it greatly favors candidates from “underrepresented” groups, so long as they favor leftist activism. Those who don’t fit are filtered out.

Our college leaders love to spend money but much of their spending is on projects and programs that are inimical to the nation’s long-run good. For that reason, Jay P. Greene argues, donors ought to stop ladling money carelessly into college coffers. He suggests that billionaires direct their educational giving toward the founding of new institutions that will once again provide higher education that is untainted by politics. As for wealthy Americans who don’t have the funds to start new universities, Greene suggests that instead of trying to establish good programs at existing schools, which are apt to be taken over by leftists eventually, they direct their money to help programs at those new schools, such as the University of Austin.

Kenneth Marcus, in “Antisemitism on College Campuses,” shows how virulent that has become, as student organizations, faculty committees and even administrative programs spout anti-Semitic rhetoric and commitment to intifada. This has come about, he argues, because “ideological movements have gained influence in the humanities and social sciences, replacing the older ideal of the university as a neutral forum with a model in which higher education serves as an instrument for social and political transformation. When that view takes hold, the safeguards against bias and partiality weaken.” They certainly have.

By: Eden Cohen

Published: Aug 4, 2025

A coordinated campaign is reshaping how the world understands Zionism, Jewish history, and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Wikipedia’s broken system is helping it happen.

If you’ve ever Googled anything about Jewish history, Zionism, or the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, chances are one of your first stops was Wikipedia. The site isn’t just another online resource; with over 15 billion page views per month, it’s become the default reference for nearly everything — from personal research to school assignments to media coverage.

But what happens when that reference point is deliberately manipulated?

Over the past year, activists have mounted a coordinated campaign to reshape how millions of readers understand the Jewish story, from ancient history to modern Zionism to the Israel-Hamas war. They have removed references to Hamas’ antisemitic charter, reframed Zionism as racism and colonialism, and systematically pushed fringe narratives into the mainstream. 

They’ve rewritten the narrative around the expulsion of Palestinians, erased records of suicide bombings to portray Palestinians as more innocent, and revised articles on ancient history to downplay or omit the Jewish people’s presence and historical connection to the land.

The issue isn’t just the edits themselves. It’s that Wikipedia’s own systems, which rely on unpaid volunteer labor, minimal oversight, and a confusing governance structure, have no reliable way to stop this kind of coordinated manipulation.

This isn’t an obscure internet issue. Wikipedia’s content shapes Google search results and powers knowledge panels (the summary boxes that appear at the top or side of your screen) for countless search terms on a wide range of topics, including “Zionism.” It also influences what’s considered “neutral” information across academia, government, social media, and newsrooms.

When Wikipedia gets Jewish history wrong, the whole world does.

So how exactly did activists hijack Wikipedia’s coverage of Jews, Israel, and antisemitism — and what does that mean for the future of truth online?

Let’s unpack it.

How Wikipedia actually works and why it’s so vulnerable

At first glance, Wikipedia looks like the internet’s ultimate democracy. Anyone can edit nearly any article at any time. Its open model invites collaboration and constant improvement… or so the theory goes.

In reality, Wikipedia is run by a relatively small group of highly active editors who dominate entire topic areas. These core contributors are enthusiastic, but often bring ideological zeal to the table instead of the neutral point of view that Wikipedia claims to uphold. They also frequently lack deep subject matter expertise. Many of these editors frequently manipulate and weaponize academic citations to fit their agendas, giving fringe ideas the appearance of scholarly legitimacy. While Wikipedia claims to value “neutrality,” that neutrality is often shaped by whoever controls the editing process for a given subject.

Administrators and arbitrators — Wikipedia’s closest equivalents to moderators or judges — are unpaid volunteers elected by other editors. Crucially, there is no requirement that admins have expertise in the subjects they oversee, even on complex or contentious topics like the Israeli-Palestinian conflict or Jewish history. Their authority is granted primarily through demonstrated familiarity with Wikipedia’s internal policies and social norms, not on any outside credentials. That means major editorial decisions often come down to procedural gamesmanship rather than informed judgment.

This setup can create serious vulnerabilities. Editors with coordinated agendas can influence content by outlasting or overwhelming opposition in what are known as “edit wars.” When conflicts escalate, the Arbitration Committee (ArbCom) is supposed to step in as a kind of Supreme Court. But it has just a handful of active volunteers, months-long backlogs, and a limited appetite for policing content disputes.

Meanwhile, the Wikimedia Foundation — the nonprofit organization that oversees Wikipedia — explicitly avoids editorial involvement except in cases of legal liability. It operates more like a constitutional monarchy: the Foundation is a largely symbolic sovereign, while the real power rests with the self-governing volunteer editors.

This decentralized governance means Wikipedia depends on goodwill, expertise, and transparency to function. But when it comes to politically charged topics, those qualities are often in short supply.

In the case of Israel and Jewish history, activists with sophisticated coordination and strategic know-how have ruthlessly exploited the system’s weaknesses.

A coordinated campaign to rewrite Israel and Jewish history on Wikipedia

Since at least 2022, and with increased intensity after the Oct. 7, 2023 Hamas terror attacks, a group of roughly 40 editors has worked systematically to reshape Wikipedia’s coverage of Israel, Zionism, Jewish history, and related topics.

This wasn’t a series of isolated edits. It was a full-scale information operation, targeting dozens of pages, including “Zionism,” the “History of Israel,” biographies of Jewish figures, and articles about terrorist organizations.

For example, the 1988 Hamas Charter, which explicitly calls for the destruction of Israel and the killing of Jews, was scrubbed or downplayed in key articles. The page on Amin al-Husseini, the Palestinian leader who met with Hitler, was edited to remove or bury photographic evidence of this well-documented historical fact.

More alarmingly, some edits softened or sanitized descriptions of Hamas and Hezbollah, questioned their terrorist designations, and whitewashed their violent histories.

Behind the scenes, a group calling itself Tech for Palestine (TFP) coordinated many of these edits off-platform. Operating through a private Discord server, TFP used job boards, task tracking tools, and even “office hours,” to assign Wikipedia edits tasks like a political campaign.

TFP even tried to pressure British politicians by manipulating their Wikipedia pages ahead of elections in the United Kingdom. Once exposed by investigative reporting, the group deleted its logs, shut down the Discord server, and attempted to cover its tracks — but the damage had already been done to over 100 articles.

This isn’t Wikipedia malfunctioning; it’s Wikipedia working exactly as designed, and being exploited by those who know how to weaponize its vulnerabilities.

What the edits actually changed

The activists didn’t just make minor tweaks to wording. Their campaign fundamentally altered how Wikipedia presents Jewish and Israeli history. Here are some of the most significant changes:

Redefining Zionism: Articles reframed Zionism from a national liberation movement into a form of settler colonialism or racial supremacy. Language that was once confined to activist academic circles has been pushed into one of the internet’s most-read encyclopedia pages (See the current Zionism article for context).

Removing ancient Jewish history: References to the ancient Jewish presence in Israel were minimized or deleted in many articles, downplaying Jewish peoplehood and national identity in favor of more politically convenient narratives.

Whitewashing Iran’s record: Pages covering Iran’s regime were edited to remove references to Holocaust denial, antisemitism, and human rights abuses. The result is a sanitized record of one of the world’s most hostile governments toward Jews and Israel, and a leading state sponsor of terror.

Softening descriptions of Hamas and Hezbollah: Their terrorist designations were questioned or removed, and historical evidence of violence was softened or erased. Editors also rewrote the narrative on the expulsion of Palestinians and removed listings of suicide attacks to present Palestinians in a more innocent light.

Freezing debate through a moratorium: In an unprecedented move, a Wikipedia admin imposed a year-long moratorium on editing a disputed section about Zionism. This meant that no one, regardless of sourcing or new evidence, could propose changes. The biased language was effectively locked in as the “truth.” Veteran editors say such moratoriums are virtually unheard of in content disputes, highlighting just how broken Wikipedia’s internal processes have become.

A system that can’t fix itself

Wikipedia isn’t just vulnerable to manipulation; it has no effective mechanism to respond when it happens.

The Arbitration Committee serves as the platform’s Supreme Court but is hampered by its tiny volunteer base, extensive case backlog, and lack of advanced tracking tools to detect coordinated abuse. Its decisions often focus on banning individual users rather than addressing systemic bias or organized editing campaigns.

Core Wikipedia policies, including the requirement for a Neutral Point of View (NPOV), discouragement of coordinated editing (“meatpuppetry”), and prohibition of canvassing, are routinely violated on Israel-related pages. Enforcement of these policies are rare, inconsistent, and often influenced by politics.

As one longtime insider described it, Wikipedia has become a “barn fire,” a platform run by obsessive hobbyists, ideologically-driven editors, and moderators who either ignore or enable the very problems they’re supposed to prevent.

Attempts to bring in balanced, well-trained editors have mostly failed. Newcomers are often discouraged or overwhelmed by entrenched groups, while reform efforts are treated like constitutional amendments — possible in theory, but nearly impossible in practice.

Wikipedia, Google, and the pipeline of misinformation

It would be bad enough if these distortions stayed on Wikipedia. But they don’t.

Google heavily relies on Wikipedia for its top search results and Knowledge Panels — the summary boxes that appear on the right side of search results of the screen when you search for a person, place, or concept. These panels offer a quick snapshot of information, often appearing above all other sources, and are widely viewed as authoritative.

Studies estimate that Wikipedia powers more than 60% of these panels. This creates a dangerous feedback loop: Biased Wikipedia edits shape what billions of people see when they search terms like “Zionism,” “Israel,” “occupation,” or “Gaza.”

Google’s 2012 decision to cancel its own competitor project, Knol, and rely entirely on Wikipedia further entrenches this dependency and increases Wikipedia’s influence even further.

Worse still, generative AI tools like Google Gemini and Microsoft Copilot pull data directly from Wikipedia when summarizing complex topics. This means misinformation is not only available but actively amplified by emerging technologies.

Why this should matter to everyone

If you care about history, truth, or the ability to have informed debate, what’s happening on Wikipedia should deeply concern you, especially if you care about how the Jewish story is told.

Wikipedia shapes how the world understands Zionism, Israel, and Jewish identity. It influences students, journalists, algorithms, and even policymakers.

When photos of Amin al-Husseini meeting with Nazis are scrubbed, when Jewish indigeneity is erased, or when antisemitic terror groups are given the benefit of the doubt, this isn’t just sloppy editing. It’s historical erasure. It distorts the Jewish story, reframes antisemitism as legitimate resistance, and rewrites reality under the guise of neutrality.

This is not harmless internet bias. It is deliberate, widespread disinformation, designed to legitimize antisemitism and delegitimize Jewish presence in their indigenous homeland.

The fight for accuracy isn’t over

Some activists and watchdog groups are pushing back. Some editors involved in coordinated manipulation have been banned. Tech for Palestine shut down its Discord server after exposure.

Reports by the Anti-Defamation League, Jewish Journal, and others have helped raise public awareness.

However, reforming Wikipedia from within looks increasingly unlikely. The platform’s decentralized volunteer model and minimal oversight make systemic change difficult, especially in the face of well-organized campaigns.

Much of the power to address this problem lies with platforms like Google, which amplify Wikipedia content extensively. Experts and activists are calling for Google to stop treating Wikipedia as a primary source for contentious topics like Israel and antisemitism. Some are petitioning Google to sever Wikipedia as a source in Knowledge Panels until proper safeguards and oversight mechanisms are established. 

Others argue for creating redundant, auditable systems to monitor and verify information on contentious topics (CTOP). At a minimum, CTOP Wikipedia articles should be removed from first-page search results on major search engines until their neutrality can be independently verified. 

Google shareholders must recognize the liability risks tied to Wikipedia’s exploitation for antisemitism weaponization. Beyond Google, there are calls to engage other tech giants like Yahoo and Microsoft to deprioritize Wikipedia in their search algorithms or, at the very least, increase transparency and accountability around how its content is sourced.

Most importantly, the public needs to understand Wikipedia’s structural fragility and how easily it can be hijacked by ideological actors. A crucial part of the response is education, exposing how the platform’s exploitation to rewrite history, deny atrocities, and invert narratives is key to mobilizing broader pressure for reform.

Wikipedia is one of the most powerful information platforms on Earth. Yet its systems were never designed to handle the ideological warfare now playing out on its pages. Just a few hundred anonymous editors are deciding what billions of people read online. 

Without greater accountability, real oversight, and widespread awareness, the digital rewriting of history will continue unchecked. And this problem will not stop with Israel.

==

Compare with the entry in Grokipedia.

BBC clean-up set to loosen activist grip on trans reporting

Censorship by the specialist LGBTQ news desk could be coming to an end after journalists were told to challenge accusations of transphobia

By: Rosamund Urwin and William Turvill

Published: Nov 15, 2025

After Tim Davie resigned as the BBC’s director-general last Sunday, a meme zipped around staff WhatsApp groups. It showed the presenter Martine Croxall reading the news above the mock headline “Tim Davie (he/ him) resigns”, with the ticker reading “anonymous BBC source rolls eyes”.

Just three days earlier, Croxall had been found to have breached impartiality guidelines when she appeared faintly exasperated after correcting “pregnant people” on her autocue to “women”.

That the BBC had been “captured” by activists promoting a “pro-trans” agenda to the detriment of women’s rights is one of the criticisms in the memo that helped precipitate the resignations of Davie and his chief executive of news, Deborah Turness.

[ Tim Davie at New Broadcasting House after his resignation as director-general ]

In this document, sent to the BBC board last month, Michael Prescott, a former journalist, claimed that the specialist LGBTQ news desk had effectively censored stories that “raised difficult questions about the trans debate”. He accused the desk of “a constant drip feed of one-sided stories … celebrating the trans experience without adequate balance or objectivity”.

Women within the BBC have been making that case for seven years. Emails seen by The Sunday Times show that female staff raised a catalogue of complaints with senior executives, including Jonathan Munro, now the interim head of news, Richard Burgess, the director of news, and Stuart Millar, digital news editor, but felt they were rebuffed or ignored.

Their objections ranged from stories that referred to transgender sex offenders as women despite their being biologically male, to articles that avoided using the words “girls” and “women” when discussing menstruation and birth control.

The women also described a culture of fear that had developed in the BBC where even seasoned correspondents did not dare veer from the Stonewall-mandated position on trans issues in case they were accused of “transphobia”. They added that the BBC ignored stories that could be deemed as critical of the transgender movement, despite this being covered by other outlets.

One staffer said: “Any questioning or insufficiently enthusiastic championing risked being labelled as bigoted … It felt like activism, not news.”

This took hold particularly after the publication of the 2018 LGBT Progression Review, which said that the BBC’s culture was “heteronormative” and noted: “There was a general feeling that News & Current Affairs output often presents balanced debates on LGBT issues, which were at odds with the BBC’s corporate stance on LGBT inclusion.”

Edwina Wolstencroft, a former editor on Radio 3, said she raised concerns on coverage of trans issues with both Munro and Burgess, but felt they were dismissed.

Samantha Smith, a former editor of the southwest edition of Inside Out, spoke up about reporting on the case of Karen White, a prisoner who was a biological male but identified as transgender and sexually assaulted two inmates at a women’s prison.

[ Karen White was referred to as a woman throughout the BBC’s coverage ]

Smith, who left the BBC in 2020, felt that the broadcaster should have reported that White was a man, but when she raised this in a meeting of senior managers, was told: “Trans women are women.” She felt the “undercurrent” of this statement was that she was a “bigot” who needed to be “re-educated”.

She said: “The conversation was shut down, which is a bit of a metaphor for everything that’s happened.”

Smith mentioned this experience in a submission to the 2021 Serota Review, which was set up in the wake of the Martin Bashir scandal to examine editorial processes. “I believe there is a wealth of evidence that the BBC has surrendered its core editorial principles on this topic and that has led to flagrant beaches of impartiality and loss of trust among significant parts of the audience,” she wrote.

Last year, BBC News was also criticised for referring to Scarlet Blake, a murderer and cat killer, as a woman without noting that Blake is transgender.

In 2021, LGBT activists at the BBC argued they should be involved in commissioning meetings for Radio 4’s Today although this idea is understood to have been rejected by Phil Harrold, then Davie’s chief of staff. “He gave them very short shrift,” said a BBC correspondent. “But it shows how much influence they had that they even thought this could be acceptable.”

Last year, disquiet deepened after the BBC upheld a complaint against Justin Webb, the Today presenter, who told listeners that trans women were “in other words, males”. He had been discussing the International Chess Federation’s decision to bar transgender women from competing in women’s events. Some journalists have hoped that the next director-general would overturn the rulings against Croxall and Webb and apologise to them both.

[ Justin Webb had a complaint upheld against him in the trans debate ]

After the Supreme Court ruling in April, two BBC executives wrote to members of the corporation’s LGBT network, BBC Pride, inviting them to a “listening session” and noting: “The last few days have been difficult for many of you,” upsetting some female staff who felt they had not been afforded such kindness when they felt isolated by the corporation’s position on gender.

The BBC is not monolithic, however. Deborah Cohen, who has investigated subjects including de-transitioning, told The Guardian last week that she had not felt any pressure to alter her reporting.

There are signs of change too. Last year, in a guide to reporting on sex and gender BBC presenters were told to challenge guests who accuse others of transphobia after the broadcaster admitted that news reports on JK Rowling did not meet its editorial standards. That shift seems to have accelerated since Prescott’s memo was published.

On Wednesday, Burgess told staff that the broadcaster had made mistakes in its coverage of trans issues. “Have we got everything right on it? No, I don’t think any of us would say that, but I am also pleased with the progress we have made in terms of covering that story,” he said.

That afternoon, on The Media Show, Jamie Angus, a former editor of Today, said the corporation had struggled with how to cover trans issues. “The BBC should never be in the vanguard of pushing societal change,” he argued.

The shift was arguably noticeable in the BBC’s more sympathetic interview with the Darlington nurses who were protesting against a transgender colleague’s use of their changing rooms. This month it described their colleague as “a biological male who identifies as a woman” — a significant linguistic change.

A presenter said: “Everybody in the building sees that: it has a galvanising effect. The next step is to identify correctly men who murder or rape women and pretend to be a woman — that’s a huge deal online and is damaging to the BBC’s reputation.”

One persistent flashpoint is the BBC’s style guide, which still instructs journalists to use an individual’s preferred pronouns — in effect accepting self-identification — meaning the broadcaster uses “she” for convicted male rapists who identify as women.

Cath Leng, a former chief writer who said she felt forced out of the corporation in 2023 for her gender-critical views, said: “I think the problem isn’t solved while they still have self-ID in the style guide — that is the definition of institutional bias because it means that even if journalists want to say ‘he’ [about a sexual predator], they can’t.”

She added that Turness had, however, understood the issue, writing to Leng six days before her resignation: “I am happy to assure you that we fully agree that biological sex is real and that is reflected in our editorial approach.”

Nick Wallis, a former BBC journalist known for his work on the Post Office scandal, recently turned his attention to covering transgender issues. “I think the reason that women in the BBC were ignored is just rank misogyny,” he said. “It shows how easy it is for powerful men to brush aside serious and valid concerns because they are coming out of the mouths of women.”

A BBC insider disputed the idea that the institution had been ideologically “captured” on trans issues, and said that the corporation had made changes in its recent reporting.

By: Dana Stangel-Plowe

Published: Mar 15, 2026

Five years ago, I blew the whistle on a school I loved. Did it make a difference?

I taught high school English at an independent school in New Jersey for seven years. I loved the school’s focus on resilience and growth. I loved my colleagues, who challenged and nurtured our students, including my own children, who attended the school. And I felt lucky to be part of such a vibrant learning community. That all changed in 2014. 

A young dean, fresh from an education conference hosted by the National Association of Independent Schools, led the faculty in what we now recognize as a “privilege walk,” in which participants were forced to take a step forward or back based on their identities.

[ Dana Stangel-Plowe resigned from teaching in 2021. 5 years later, she is sad to see that the environment in K-12 schools has only gotten worse. ]

Where they end up in relation to their colleagues signals how much privilege or oppression they supposedly experience.

Soon, the school hired a DEI officer, who admitted privately that her job was to “transform” the school. The oppressor–victim ideology soon appeared everywhere: weekly student programming, faculty training, and course offerings.

In my department, “dead white males” were explicitly “disinvited” from the core curriculum.

Colleagues debated whether emphasizing “logical” thinking was too Western compared to other ways of thinking. By my final year, the institutional transformation was complete.

Faculty was informed that the central assumption of the ideology — the pervasiveness of systemic oppression — could no longer be debated.

Colleagues began speaking openly about “deprogramming” and “de-radicalizing” students who disagreed with their orthodoxy.

The cost of the ideological takeover was unmistakable. My teenage students censored themselves. In class, they stopped engaging authentically with the material and one another, afraid of harming their classmates or being labeled a bigot. I had repeatedly raised concerns with the school. Many colleagues agreed with me, but only behind closed doors. The administration completely ignored me. 

So I decided to resign publicly, out of a sense of duty to my students and the school itself. I was terrified. I lost many friends, near and far.

Even well after my resignation, my children were disinvited from alumni events. I had no idea what would come next.  

So what did I accomplish? I wish I could say that K-12 education has changed for the better, but it has only gotten worse. 

After my public resignation, I connected with education reformers who shared my concerns. I started work in the advocacy space, where I met hundreds of parents and educators who saw the harm of this new orthodoxy in schools. I now understand that the problem wasn’t isolated to my school, but instead, it is systemic. The organization I work for recently released a groundbreaking report that explains the institutional nature of the problem.

As we detailed in the report, the harmful ideology perpetuates itself systemically through a pipeline that runs from teachers’ colleges and unions directly to K–12 classrooms, reinforced by state accreditation and licensure rules, school boards and curricula. 

What we are witnessing is a fundamental remaking of the role of the educator. I have seen how many well-intentioned educators, in addition to some parents, embrace moderate forms of the ideology when it is packaged as “equity.”

This language sounds like it increases fairness and reduces bias, but it masks the underlying political drivers that shut down alternative viewpoints and, in its most extreme forms, calls for the dismantling of America and its institutions. 

Within my left-leaning profession, I know that most teachers are not radical activists. But their good intentions make them susceptible to the path of least resistance paved by those who are. In a captured system, the politicization of education becomes the air that teachers breathe.

They often perpetuate the ideology without recognizing what it is: political.It may sound like an abstraction to say the ideology fuels hostility toward anyone it casts as an oppressor, but it’s all too real. 

In my school, the more radical and often younger educators aggressively insisted on this new approach. They pushed the school to reduce complex issues, such as racial or gender inequities, into moral binaries and treat contested conclusions as settled truth. 

Back then, Thursdays meant student assemblies. The administration brought outside activist speakers and led identity-focused sessions aimed at rewiring group identity into our community. Week after week, I saw my students become demoralized by assumptions that, by design, cast someone — themselves or a student sitting next to them — as the villain. 

Children are especially susceptible to absorbing this dogma as truth, which, for radical activists, is the point. These were real-life struggle sessions.Clear incidents of antisemitism — swastikas on the field and in the bathroom — were perfunctorily managed; they weren’t a concern because Jews had so much power at the school. According to the identity hierarchy, Israel and Jews are oppressors, despite a history of persecution. It was not up for debate.

It was tragic to watch teenagers grow confident in their newfound moral certainty, while failing to develop curiosity or humility.

One student openly condemned Jewish slaves in the Exodus story because, as oppressors, they caused the death of the Egyptians. It’s hard to imagine anyone condemning slaves — or enslaved peoples — from any other period in history for escaping their captors. 

In my work now, I see even more extreme versions taking hold nationwide. 

Organized activists from the Democratic Socialists of America and other political groups are brazenly working their way into the classroom through political and labor union organizing, school district partnerships, and curricula that often fixate on Israel, omitting key historical facts and competing perspectives in favor of their biased political narrative. 

No school — private, public, rural, suburban, urban — is immune from this orthodoxy. 

Education is supposed to anchor our civic life. It is supposed to equip children with knowledge, skills, and habits of mind that democratic life requires. But we are failing at scale, and that failure has consequences far beyond the classroom. It’s time to stop whispering and start sounding the alarm. 

Dana Stangel-Plowe, an attorney and educator, serves as the Chief Program Officer at North American Values Institute (NAVI).

==

Dana Stangel-Plowe speaks out, from Jun 2021:

By: Rob Burley

Published: May 16, 2026

Over his 13 years as a senior BBC editor, Rob Burley saw the Corporation’s defining commitment to impartiality undermined by transgender ideology, a blind commitment to diversity and inclusion schemes, and a culture of intolerance. Informed by his experiences at Newsnight alongside other prestige shows, this major investigation reveals how the BBC took a side in the culture wars.

He draws on extensive interviews with current and former staff — including journalists at the very top. Speaking out for the first time since leaving the Corporation, Fran Unsworth, the former director of BBC News, reveals in an explosive interview: “I would actually say it drove me out, just dealing with the progressive editorial issues and the bullying around them all. It was incredibly difficult.”

But has the BBC learned from its mistakes? Only last November, Tim Davie, the former director-general, had to resign in disgrace over the issue of impartiality. And as his successor Matt Brittin prepares for his first day next week, Burley asks whether the BBC can still deliver on its founding promise to report without fear or favor.

Burley’s investigation covers the BBC’s capture from 2010 until today

• • •

We don’t know much about Matt Brittin, the former Google executive who will become director-general of the BBC on Monday, but we must assume that he likes a challenge. When he walks through the doors of Broadcasting House, he will be greeted by a restive staff, demands for further swingeing cuts and doubts about the journalism that, above all else, must be the BBC’s purpose.

He has to succeed where his predecessor, Tim Davie, failed, and push savings through without further compromising the BBC’s ability to deliver impartiality. That was what the row that engulfed Davie and the Corporation’s CEO, Deborah Turness, last November was about, and Brittin must fix it. Although the focus of the leaked Michael Prescott memo that triggered the crisis which saw both quit their jobs was misleading editing of a speech by Donald Trump, the kicker was an allegation that producers blocked stories unfavorable to the perspective of transgender rights activists.

Davie had never properly addressed the underlying institutional dysfunction that wrought such damage: the decade-long capture of the BBC by a world view that regards any attempt to discuss the issues around transgender rights to be hurtful and transphobic. Davie’s failure to grasp the journalistic implications of this is best exemplified by his use, as late as 2024, of the lazy mantra: “We have to be kind and caring in this and listen to people, and be nice!”

But is Brittin, another 50-something non-journalist who is happy to display his woke credentials on the trans issue, too similar to his predecessor? The similarities between the two men don’t inspire confidence and the BBC’s record isn’t good. It took a side in the culture war. It allowed its pursuit of younger audiences and an obsession with Diversity & Inclusion to skew its editorial judgment and marginalize women. This investigation exposes the extent of that capture. Based on my own experiences at the BBC, and numerous conversations over many months with members of staff, past and present, it reveals the scale of the problem and the difficult task ahead.

Assessing the damage, one former senior BBC executive who worked closely with Davie is particularly damning. ​“I’ve never been an enemy of Tim’s,” he tells me, “but I think that shows, again, his inability to understand what journalism does. He’s not a journalist. And that’s the problem.” One senior presenter despairs for an organization out of touch with its license-fee payers: “We seem obsessed with drag queens. We are in a terrible mess at the BBC.” Another wants drastic action: “There’s no sign of anyone getting a grip on anything,” he tells me. “The only solution is getting rid of them all. It’s like cutting out cancer. You have to just do it.”

“No Debate”: The Newsnight row that exposed a new activism

For me, it all started on a Newsnight shift in 2014 when Frank Maloney, the boxing promoter, announced he was now a woman and his name was Kellie. 

Born Frank in Peckham in 1953, Maloney enjoyed a stellar career as a boxing manager and promoter who helped guide Lennox Lewis to become the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world. Frank, a chirpy Cockney, and a tiny bit menacing, retired in 2013 and began living quietly as a transgender woman. Only when the papers came sniffing in the summer of 2014 did Kellie Maloney come out on the front page of the Sunday Mirror.

It was hardly a new idea, but it was still a shock to see Kellie, transformed by a neat little bob. British culture had tended to play trans for laughs, most memorably in the guise of the unseen, deep-voiced transgender woman taxi-driver Babs in the BBC comedy The League of Gentlemen, and the bearded man in a dress insisting he was, despite the evidence, “a lady” on the less brilliant Little Britain, but the respectful reception in the boxing community, of all places, suggested attitudes were changing.

Approval was not unanimous, however. Feminist commentators noted that Maloney, then 61, had enjoyed decades as a man in a macho sport. Was it really fair that he was able to benefit from all those years as a man and then just turn around and expect to be treated as a woman? It was an interesting question, so I commissioned a discussion for Newsnight that was designed to be broad and discursive.

​I approached the issue with sympathy, no agenda and little deep understanding. I assumed everyone knew the difference between a man identifying as a woman and the full Aretha Franklin: a natural born woman. I was unaware of how uncompromising many activists were on the subject. Arguments about issues such as self-ID had yet to hit the mainstream and my basic knowledge had been shaped by Channel 4’s My Transsexual Summer, which had aired in 2011. It was a sympathetic portrayal of transgender young people and what seemed to me to be their deep and sincere desire to live as the opposite sex. When it came to Kellie Maloney, ​I didn’t think Maloney’s years as macho Frank meant he should continue to suppress what he regarded as his true self.

I was keen to explore the issue and give a new generation of transactivists the chance to make their case in an impartial setting. What I was about to learn the hard way was that this new generation rejected debate.

​It fell to the producer — we’ll call him Mark — to assemble a panel. We weren’t looking for conflict but wanted to begin a conversation that hadn’t been had yet about Maloney, women’s spaces and the aspirations of the new transactivism. Mark booked Paris Lees, a high-profile transgender woman who celebrated Maloney’s choice. To understand the nuance, we also wanted to hear from a transgender man, so we booked Freddy McConnell, best known as “the man who had given birth”, also known as a biological woman.

But we needed some grit in the oyster: a guest who could help us explore the implications of biological sex giving way to gender identity. The two women Mark sounded out had received death threats after speaking out on the subject and being labeled as TERFS: “Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists.” It simply wasn’t worth the grief, they said wearily. When Mark posted on Twitter to ask the formidable radical feminist Julie Bindel to take part, the online activists lost it. Bindel, knowing the risks better than we did, declined the invitation.

​Mark pressed on and eventually struck gold with Miranda Yardley. Yardley — a transgender woman who sympathized with the concerns of gender-critical feminists like Bindel — was already asking questions about the difficult issues surrounding biological men demanding access to spaces reserved for women. “The demand for unrestricted access to female spaces,” Yardley had written, “that exist for the dignity, comfort and protection of women, concerns me greatly.”

​I was pleased. A discussion between three transgender people was unusual and interesting, even if it was slightly weighted in favor of Lees’s and McConnell’s approach. But the reaction on Twitter when we announced the line-up was less enthusiastic. The online activists thought including an actual transgender woman with a different set of opinions was transphobic.

Mark was clearly shaken by all the abuse filling his Twitter feed. A section of the transgender community were piling in, calling Yardley a TERF — though I don’t know how you can be both trans and “trans exclusionary” — and there was abuse directed at Mark too, sharing his account name, calling him “scum”.

​We carried on, regardless. But then, at 8:48pm, less than two hours before the start of Newsnight, Lees took to Twitter:

​I’ve turned @BBCNewsnight down as I’m not prepared to enter into a fabricated debate about trans people’s right to exist/express themselves.

McConnell, already in a cab to the studio, wasn’t far behind:

​Was going to go on @BBCNewsnight but thanks to this awesome trans community, found out it’s basically a TERF-filled trap.

Lees’s reasoning was disingenuous. We weren’t debating transgender people’s right to exist: the entire panel was made up of transgender people existing and expressing themselves. And the transgender woman McConnell labeled a TERF was outnumbered two to one. Where was the trap? Instead, it looked like the pair decided to pull out as soon as they learned Yardley was booked. An alternative trans viewpoint was a threat. A discussion was unthinkable. And so, the mighty Newsnight was forced to drop a sane and serious discussion on what it means to be transgender because two intolerant transgender people misrepresented our agenda and closed down the debate.

The transactivist tactics — Twitter storms, name-calling, disingenuous accusations and the insistence on “no debate” — have become all too familiar in the years since. And the feeling that the BBC was being policed and manipulated by activists only grew stronger as their hold on the corporation grew more pernicious. But as we were to discover, this had been going on under the surface for some time.

Stonewall, the Style Guide and the drift towards advocacy

A year or so later — after I’d left the program — the entire Newsnight team was summoned for a special event: Newsnight meets the transactivists, hosted by transgender media pressure group All About Trans. “We kind of all had to go,” one staffer remembers. “It was almost a three-line whip thing. And we were all paired with a trans person when we got there.”

I know of no other campaign group able to secure the attendance of an entire program team, including the then-lead Newsnight presenter Evan Davis. Davis, according to one attendee, “was much more critical [of transactivists] in those days than he is now”, and he pushed back strongly when they tried to tell him the sorts of guests they didn’t want to see on Newsnight. “You can’t dictate who we have on,” he told them, “that’s not what we do.” Unlike the encounters between transactivists and concerned feminists, or those that took place online, the event was cordial.

The connections between trans campaigners and the media ran deep. In 2011, before most of us were paying attention, the lobby group Trans Media Action persuaded the BBC and Channel 4 to stump up £20,000 to get them up and running. Following the investment, which went unnoticed at the time, Trans Media Action, which later became All About Trans, held dozens of workshops for senior BBC staff providing guidance on how to handle transgender people and their pronouns. These workshops included activists from the now-discredited charity Mermaids and various pressure groups.

In 2013, representatives met various BBC executives — sometimes at the swanky Langham Hotel next to BBC HQ — including Steve Herrmann, the boss of BBC News Online at the time, and Colin Tregear, an advisor to the BBC Complaints Unit, as well as other gatekeepers of the broadcaster’s impartiality. Their message was that the BBC should refer to transgender people by the gender they identify with rather than their biological sex as well as using preferred terminology such as “assigned male/female at birth” as opposed to “born a man/woman”.

Such was their sway that when a new BBC Style Guide — the internal rule book that applied to BBC journalists — arrived in November 2013, it had adopted the transactivist position. If you said you were a woman, then that’s what you were. It also asserted that “Homosexual means people of either sex who are attracted to people of their own gender”, a contentious statement since it suggests sexual attraction is driven by gender rather than sex. 

It was the BBC’s job to resist being carried along on a wave of activism and concentrate on impartiality but too many of its staff, including its executives, were predisposed to view the transactivist position as inherently progressive and therefore good. By absorbing the transactivist world view, the new Style Guide seriously compromised the BBC’s ability to be impartial when the controversy around the issue exploded a few years later. But that wasn’t the only problem.

In 2015, having delivered marriage equality for gays and lesbians, the hugely successful lobby group Stonewall decided to focus its energies on transgender rights. This was a perfectly legitimate move — although an ultimately disastrous one — which became a big problem for the BBC. At the time that Stonewall made this fateful decision, the Corporation was already a paying member of Stonewall’s Diversity Champions program which offered advice, “inclusion strategies” and a nice logo to advertise your commitment to diversity. It was also registered with Stonewall’s Workplace Equality Index. The more the BBC reflected Stonewall’s approach in its internal policies, the higher it scored on the Index, and it was keen to do well as the nascent diversity and equality movement took hold within the management. So, when Stonewall added the letter “T” to the “LGB”, giving fresh impetus and credibility to the transgender rights agenda, the BBC found itself aligned with one side of the argument.

This seamlessly embedded the politics of transgender self-ID into the BBC’s HR and corporate policy, just as the Style Guide had embedded it into its journalism. The BBC, we should note, wasn’t an outlier. This was happening everywhere. And there was no resistance. As Gavin Allen, a senior manager and member of the BBC News Board from 2014 to 2021, remembers it, people were blinded by the power of the Stonewall brand. “Stonewall was a credible organisation,” he tells me. “If they said ‘X, Y, Z,’ we thought, ‘Oh, Stonewall, oh God, maybe they’re right, and we’re on the wrong side of history.’ Then you realize, ‘Wait a minute. This is horseshit.’ But unfortunately, that was way too late.”

“I heard that phrase, the ‘wrong side of history’, in so many bloody meetings,” remembers one very senior executive I spoke to. Meanwhile, women were speaking up but being ignored. The BBC seemed to work on the basis that if it was OK with Stonewall, then there was no need to check.

As a result, many at the BBC unthinkingly placed Stonewall and all its ideas firmly in the basket marked “good”, with no discussion. Critical thinking — asking whether you could genuinely draw an analogy between gay rights and transgender rights — risked putting you on the “wrong side of history”, and so it was best avoided. As one senior presenter tells me, this led to a disastrous category error: “Many people just believed the lie that this was gay rights 2.0. This was the same struggle, unfinished business from the gay rights movement, when it was nothing of the sort. It’s completely contradictory to the gay rights movement.”

The two campaigns are fundamentally different. The fight for equal marriage asked nothing of others except the setting aside of discriminatory attitudes — whether rooted in homophobia or religious conviction — about gay relationships. It demanded no one alter their understanding of reality. Transgender rights, as advanced by Stonewall, asked something categorically greater: that people accept transgender women as biological women in law, in language, and in practice — including in single-sex spaces. That is not a prejudice to be overcome. It is a question on which reasonable people, including many gay men and lesbians, profoundly disagree.

There are, of course, people who are simply transphobic — who hate transgender people for being trans. But those who oppose self-ID, the use of puberty blockers, or the opening of women’s spaces to biological males should not be branded as bigots. They are raising legitimate questions about the consequences of a specific set of policies.

And yet those who were there at the time struggle to explain how the BBC got itself into this position. “I don’t think I was ever at a meeting where a policy was agreed saying ‘trans women are women’,” Gavin Allen recalled, “it just sort of seeped in.”

And yet, it was there in black and white in the BBC’s Style Guide.

“I mean, that’s fucking awful,” Allen says when I remind him. “… I just don’t remember any debate about it.” It clearly troubles Allen that, to some extent, when inside the BBC bubble, this huge story passed him by. “I genuinely can’t remember how strongly I felt about this issue,” he says. “I certainly felt miles more strongly once I left, weirdly.”

In the years that followed, as the debate became more intense and public opinion hardened against the demands of transactivism, the BBC had to live with its decision. Impartiality is difficult at the best of times; it is almost impossible when you appear to have publicly taken a side.

• • •

In January 2017, the BBC led the news with the commutation by President Barack Obama of the WikiLeaks source Bradley Manning. Cath Leng was a chief writer for the channel, and she was struggling with Manning’s pronouns; Manning now identified as a woman called Chelsea and the BBC scripts, as per the Style Guide, referred to Manning as she/her throughout. Leng’s position required a commitment to accuracy and impartiality and as she remembers: “It was my job to make sure everything was true. I said, ‘You have to give me reasons why I should lie about this person’s sex. Really good reasons.’”

So Leng set to work on the pronouns, changing them from “she” to “he” to the outrage of some of her colleagues. Reaching an impasse, the subject was taken to the “huddle” of news editors in charge that day. Leng was overruled; from then on, for her, everything changed. “I was ostracized,” she remembers. There were some staffers who were sympathetic but they weren’t willing to back her up publicly. She was up against a generation of younger staff who were suspicious of anyone who questioned the right to self-identify, and who were backed up by the Style Guide. “It was a war of attrition.” she says. “They wear you down.”

Leng argues forcefully that she is neither a bigot nor a transphobe; her objection is based on what she considered to be the principal duty of a journalist: to tell the truth. Her refusal to back down was rewarded with disciplinary action. Ultimately, she won, but left the BBC in 2023, effectively forced out after 25 years, she believes, because of her views.

Leng’s objection — the sacrifice of truth — is a powerful one. As one long-serving presenter put it to me: “It’s the only area of our professional life where we’re told you have to say things that aren’t true.”

How DEI changed the culture

In October 2017, the then-prime minister, Theresa May, put transgender issues on the political agenda by announcing at a PinkNews Awards that she wanted to “demedicalize” the process of applying for a Gender Recognition Certificate: by scrapping the requirement for a diagnosis of gender dysphoria. This was “Self-ID”.

On the night May announced her plans, a self-identified transgender woman using the name Karen White — real name Stephen Wood — was spending another night in New Hall women’s prison in Yorkshire, where he’d been sent because he identified as a woman. He had already carried out a series of sexual assaults against female prisoners, but remained there while the offenses were investigated. The following year, Wood was sentenced to life in prison for a catalog of violent sexual offenses.

This was exactly the danger women concerned about allowing biological men into women’s spaces had highlighted. They weren’t suggesting that transgender women were more likely to offend, but opposed making it easier for men to declare themselves women because it risked making access to victims — whether in prisons, women’s refuges or changing-rooms — easier for offenders like Wood. Biological men in women’s spaces was not a popular idea; it just took time to register with the public.

Meanwhile, trans-rights activism continued to gain ground. The politics of intimidation and the fear of cancellation were winning, supported by Diversity and Inclusion (D&I) or Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives — an alphabet soup in which the BBC would slowly drown.

On the face of it, it’s hard to argue with the goals of Diversity and Inclusion: a more diverse workforce working in an environment where everyone is heard. The initiative had gripped the corporate world, and it was spreading rapidly into the public sector. But there was a problem: it was so enthusiastically embraced at the BBC that it became part of its brand and shaped its character.

The conversation quickly shifted from how to increase representation behind the scenes to the content itself: were the guest choices diverse enough? Did the content reflect the barriers and prejudices faced by a given community? How did the content sit with the BBC’s statements on diversity and inclusivity?

Across the organization, and way beyond news, content became noticeably more diverse. This was not a bad thing. But problems arose when the content began to lean towards propagandizing. Coverageof the emerging movement opposing May’s Self-ID plan, for example, was essentially nonexistent, and the films I commissioned for Politics Live represented the sum total of BBC TV coverage over the consultation period. As one BBC staffer recalled: “You’d switch on your computer in the morning, and there would be a message from Stonewall, effectively, saying, ‘We’ve cracked it. We’ve become diversity champions!’”

Meanwhile, though BBC drama, entertainment and kids’ programming worked to highlight the transgender experience, a feminist concerned about single-sex spaces was unlikely to be heard — or even allowed to articulate a view. “There’s no two ways about it,” Allen says. “It was definitely a kind of capture.”

There is an obscure but extraordinary document on the BBC website, which tells you a lot about the character of that capture and how antithetical it is to BBC values. “LGBT Culture and Progression: A report on Career Progression and Culture at the BBC” summarizes a 2018 study into the culture and work environment for LGBT staff at the BBC. It assessed their career progression, and whether the working culture discriminated against them. Designed by Stonewall, the project was overseen by the former cabinet minister James Purnell, then the BBC’s director for radio and education, and whose foreword points out that almost half of 18-24-year-olds identify as something other than heterosexual. The foreword adds that “an organization that appears to have a heteronormative culture is not one that is going to cut ice with them either as a consumer or an employee”.

The BBC’s pride co-chairs at that time — Karen Millington and Matt Weaver — also wrote a foreword. In it, they announced a decision to drop the use of “LGBT” and move to “LGBTQ+”, to ensure that everyone identifying as “genderqueer, bisexual, gay, lesbian, transgender, non-binary, pansexual, intersex, asexual, queer and questioning” feels included. In addition, the pair make several recommendations to improve the lot of LGBT people working for the BBC. All were granted and signed off at the very top of the organization.

The report is really interesting because it openly states a position that is rarely committed to paper:

“There was a general feeling that News & Current Affairs output often presents balanced debates on LGBT issues, which were at odds with the BBC’s corporate stance on LGBT inclusion, which seemed to be invisible.”

This line has been described to me by a senior presenter at the BBC as a “smoking gun”. It reveals that these BBC employees were hostile to the journalistic principles of impartiality and balance when it came to debates about LGBT issues. Instead, they believed that the BBC’s corporate position on LGBT inclusion should be promoted and valued over and above “balanced debates”.

This statement, which contravenes the BBC’s core value of impartiality, is presented without comment as a “finding” in a document signed off by the Executive Board. In case there is any doubt about what was being said, Andrew Young, the BBC’s head of workplace diversity, inclusion and belonging, said the quiet part out loud during a Zoom meeting with LGBT allies in 2019: “I’m not going to get into impartiality. It’s not my view, it’s the BBC’s view that we need to present a balanced view and debate. Hopefully, that kind of thing might change over time.”

According to Allen, there was something else impeding impartial coverage — what he describes as the “constant thumping drum in the background saying we must reach out to younger people”. The result, he says, was a news operation “pandering” to younger journalists whose opinions on trans and identity began to dominate. Decades of experience, particularly if gathered by “cis” straight white men over 40, were dismissed. “No one could say what they honestly thought,” Allen tells me, “you’d be a kind of pariah and reactionary if you did.”

Leng had discovered this to her cost two years before. And things were about to get worse.

A disastrous reorganization

Tim Davie arrived as Director General in September 2020, and quickly decided to push through a disastrous reorganization of BBC News — drawn up by the Director of News Fran Unsworth — before the Covid pandemic delayed its implementation. The cuts centralized editorial decision-making while also hollowing out the ranks of experienced editorial staff. The editorial risks involved were significant, but Davie pressed on regardless.

Those who remained tell me that the effect was felt swiftly, as the mass cull of journalists led to the rapid promotion of junior staff — or “Muppets” as one veteran unfairly put it — and an over-reliance on freelancers. One senior producer recalls returning to BBC News after the reorganization to find the BBC “had changed beyond all recognition. The foot soldiers were very, very young and very different.”

Another staffer on Newsnight recalls open hostility from younger colleagues towards the BBC board member and former adviser to Theresa May, Sir Robbie Gibb, when he went to visit the team at the invitation of the show’s editor. “I just remember really vividly coming out of that meeting, and these two young producers were saying, ‘Oh, who the fuck does he think he is? He hates the BBC. He’s a ‘fucking Tory’.” This was, the staffer remembers, a completely new breed of journalist: “They were complete activists. They had no concept of impartiality or what the purpose of the BBC was.”

Amid the cull, the BBC lost a large cohort of journalists who were genuinely interested in impartiality — a more suburban, less transgressive group. With them, a whole set of attitudes disappeared.

And while many senior positions were axed, some new ones were created. The BBC’s first LGBT correspondent started work in 2018. Ben Hunte would report on “stories, issues and debates surrounding sexuality and gender”, and provide “insight and analysis on matters affecting the LGBT community in the UK”.

The BBC has always denied that it created the post at Stonewall’s behest, but Hunte was openly sympathetic to one side of the argument — their side. The effect was to magnify the sense that the BBC was a participant in Stonewall’s campaign. It wasn’t really Hunte’s fault; it was an impossible job that shouldn’t have been created. Another journalist sums it up: “It was a complete disaster, and actually senior management would accept that. They wouldn’t go on the record and say it, but they’ve said it to me.”

As a result, Stonewall, channeled through the BBC’s diversity team, was able to pursue its agenda across the organization unchallenged. “We were like kids who had got off tricycles and were trying to ride motorbikes,” one senior manager tells me. “People just didn’t know enough about how to deal with this new world of equality. I don’t think anyone took time to try and understand it.”

As D&I thrived, impartiality was an after-thought. Davie always sounded like he was reading someone else’s script when he talked about impartiality and journalism, but was more authentic when it came to D&I. He constantly reaffirmed the importance of diversity and told managers (including me) that they “will not get promoted without us assessing how happy your staff are and how you’ve delivered against diversity targets”. Hardly a manifesto to deal with the problem of groupthink.

One veteran journalist at the BBC who knows Davie well thinks he understood the problem. “Tim is a classic,” he tells me. “He’s a normal guy, normal instincts, and a perfectly nice fellow. He understands intellectually what’s going on, but can’t do anything about it because he feels himself cornered in a way that I don’t think realistically he was.”

The Nolan podcast and the BBC’s Stonewall reckoning

Luckily the BBC is not its Director General. It is its journalists, its mission of delivering impartial coverage, its commitment to the truth. Those, like me, who are critical of the way that the BBC has handled the transgender issue aren’t primarily concerned with the substance of the debate so much as the principle that a service paid for by everyone should not favor one side of the argument and marginalize the other. Nor can that be excused because the favored side is more progressive or fairer or more forward-thinking. Those are opinions not facts.

While the BBC’s management lost sight of all of that, it fell to what Cath Leng calls the “rogue” elements in the BBC — from the English regions, Northern Ireland and Newsnight — to save the BBC from itself. “None of it came from the center,” Leng tells me, “and everything that came from the center was very affirmative.”

No wonder David Thompson, producer of a 2021 BBC Radio Ulster podcast series Stonewall, Nolan Investigates, thought his podcast might never air. For one thing, his series was a masterclass in impartiality — risking ferocious accusations of transphobia. For another, it was utterly damning for the BBC. The podcast, presented by Stephen Nolan, focused on the worryingly close relationship between Stonewall and all the public institutions that had signed up to its Diversity Champions Scheme — awkwardly including the BBC. Across the 10-part series, it laid bare the intimate relationship between the Corporation and the charity, and how that might affect editorial content.

Before the project got its official go-ahead, Thompson and Nolan submitted to an unprecedented pitching session to the BBC’s great and good on Zoom — unprecedented because London rarely paid much attention to something that was being made in Northern Ireland. The virtual room, Thompson remembers, was not enthusiastic.

One senior manager was furious, asking Thompson who he thought he was to question people’s gender identity — despite the fact that this wasn’t a part of the pitch. Crucially, however, the most senior person in the room took a different view. Fran Unsworth, whose reputation for cautiousness had worried Thompson, spoke up and settled the matter: “This is a really important piece of journalism, and we will back it.”

Unsworth’s intervention meant that the series ran, but many employees weren’t happy about it. “Overwhelmingly, people in the BBC didn’t like the fact that it happened,” remembers Thompson, “they felt it was some sort of Right-wing plot against trans people or something.” At every stage, he says, there was push-back and even sabotage with promises of accompanying online pieces being made and then broken.

“In London,” he continues, “BBC online stripped back the online version of the story so far that the article became neutered. But by that stage, I couldn’t be bothered with the fight. At every stage there was resistance.”

But the resistance receded when the listening numbers came through. Despite minimal promotion, and all that difficulty with BBC Online, Nolan and Thompson had a hit on their hands. “And then,” Thompson told me, “everyone wanted a piece. And some people who had not wanted anything to do with it were attaching themselves to it and congratulating themselves on their bravery”

The podcast made such a convincing case of a conflict of interest that the relationship between the BBC and Stonewall became untenable. By November, the BBC, very reluctantly, left the Diversity Champion’s Scheme, not because there was undue influence coming from Stonewall, you understand, but because it might look that way. Nolan Investigates: Stonewall should have marked a turning point, but insider attitudes didn’t shift.

The battle for BBC Online

The real problem, as David Thompson found, was online. “It’s been known about for years” one senior BBC journalist told me “nobody did anything, and they were warned.”

In 2021, one senior manager wrote a confidential memo expressing concern about the volume of trans-related content appearing on the BBC News website’s homepage. It was, he wrote, disproportionate, always affirmative and dangerous: “in doing so we perhaps fail to explore more fully the wider debate over the important societal issues involved.”

Numerous members of staff I have spoken to have echoed those concerns. Online is the part of BBC News where the sense of capture is most acute. Staff would describe it as a place where metropolitan identity politics is the norm, and where women worried about single-sex spaces and the risk of violence were disdained and regarded as extremists. “The level of hatred for women who raise these issues is quite shocking,” one tells me. “It’s actually quite upsetting. I find it very, very hard on a personal level, both professionally and actually personally, to be perceived in this way.”

Caroline Lowbridge, a BBC journalist based in Nottingham, found this out the hard way. She came to the website in 2021 with a feature about lesbians who were facing pressure to have sex with transgender women, and who were being called transphobic if they didn’t.

Her story represented one of the most troubling and bizarre aspects of the transgender argument: Stonewall, of all organizations, was castigating lesbians for not being sexually attracted to penises. The chief executive of Stonewall at the time, Nancy Kelley, even suggested that same-sex attraction was akin to sexual racism, when people exclude potential romantic partners on the grounds of their ethnicity.

Kelley was alerted to the article when Lowbridge contacted Stonewall for comment. Kelley swiftly followed up with Kamal Ahmed, the editorial director of BBC News, expressing concern that the allegations in the piece “neatly intersected with the component of transphobia that is representing trans women as sexual predators”

Ahmed passed the concern onto Lowbridge’s line manager, commenting that the territory was a “bit niche”, but he didn’t try to stop the story. The same can’t be said for numerous others within the BBC who accused Lowbridge of transphobia and her piece of misgendering and mis-use of language. One senior staffer told Lowbridge in an email that the trans community “is already massively under attack, both physically and culturally”.

Lowbridge’s response was weary but determined: “I’ve been attacked on social media, and the chief executive of Stonewall has contacted the BBC News Editorial Director to complain about me. The story has now been through 18 different people within the BBC (at the last count) and has still not been published.”

Once again, Fran Unsworth had to intervene to get the story out. And when it finally appeared, there was a sting in the tail: the article carried Lowbridge’s name in the byline. Given the nature of the story and the strong opposition to it, it would be reasonable to be given the opportunity to remain anonymous. But I have heard reports that Lowbridge’s bosses were insistent that she put her name to it. Perhaps they thought she might finally back down and decide against publishing the story.

When the article was finally published, there were anti-BBC protests on the streets of Lowbridge’s hometown, Nottingham, and a demo outside New Broadcasting House. But the fact that it made it at all was a minor miracle. One BBC online staff member couldn’t believe their eyes: “I thought, Wow! Finally, we’re actually covering it.”

We will never know how many stories were quietly abandoned or actively suppressed.

The Tavistock Files

Perhaps one of the most consequential stories that actually made it through to broadcast examined one of the most worrying aspects of the whole transgender debate: children.

Deborah Cohen and Hannah Barnes — both Newsnight journalists — had spent two years doing what the rest of the BBC’s news operation conspicuously wasn’t: investigating concerns, first raised in 2019, regarding the Gender Identity Development Service (GIDS) at the Tavistock Clinic in London — Britain’s only specialist service for children seeking to transition. Backed by an independent editor, Esme Wren, their forensic reporting revealed that puberty blockers were being prescribed without sufficient evidence of benefit; that there was an overly affirmative culture that reinforced patients’ desire to transition; and there was a climate in which staff were discouraged from raising doubts. Delivered amid the usual accusations of transphobic bigotry, their work triggered an official investigation into the service and significantly contributed to its closure.

In April 2024, the Cass Report — four years in the making — delivered its damning verdict. It was the lead story on Newsnight. Cohen and Barnes had both left the programme by then, but Barnes returned as a guest to discuss it with Victoria Derbyshire.

The first person asked to comment was Hannah Philips, a transgender woman who’d had a positive experience at the GIDS clinic. This was nothing new. Whenever Cohen and Barnes had reported on the service, there was pressure to include “positive” transgender voices to offset the negative nature of the story. Even when the evidence was in and the verdict delivered, the instinct was still to soften it.

Barnes was genuinely angry as she talked about how long it had taken for anything to be done. Where were the politicians? “Where have large swathes of the media been? And sadly, I include the BBC in that, outside of this programme.”

It was clear that an NHS scandal of the first order had been ignored entirely by the BBC’s health team. One senior staff member at the BBC I spoke to thinks it was simply down to fear. “I do think the department has just dropped the ball. I have a lot of time for Hugh Pym [the BBC’s health editor]. He’s a sweet guy, and the other health correspondents are good, but my God, what an absolutely extraordinary fact that they just avoided this subject for all those years.”

Exclusive: Fran Unsworth on “progressive madness” inside BBC News

As I came to write this piece, I wanted the most senior managers of BBC News to be held accountable and to explain their side of the story. Only one, Gavin Allen, was willing to go on the record. But then, my long-shot interview bid for the former director of news at the BBC, Fran Unsworth, came off. She is closely associated with the failure of BBC News to get a grip of the problem, and yet was also instrumental in supporting the journalism that salvaged BBC News’ reputation.

Unsworth was never your average BBC News executive. She was a grammar-school girl from Stoke-on-Trent and she went to Manchester University, not Oxbridge. Only the second woman to reach the pinnacle of BBC News, she succeeded James Harding, a charismatic former editor of The Times who had failed to address that big question: how could BBC News make the huge savings required after the depletion in the licence fee? This was Unsworth’s unhappy inheritance, and the reorganization she delivered was her malign legacy. It saved money but left BBC News editorially exposed.

It has been four years since Unsworth left her post as the most senior person at BBC News, and her account of the job feels like a trauma relived. This exclusive interview is the first she has granted since leaving the newsroom, and is the first account from the very top of the organization of how the culture wars buffeted the BBC. She’s still raw from the experience of doing something she loved in an environment she began to hate. “It was bullying,” she tells me from Australia, where she now spends half her year. “But it wasn’t just the trans issue. There was lots and lots of bullying going on about all sorts of things: people didn’t want to hear from certain points of view; they’d ‘no platform’ them; all that safe-spaces shit.”

If you were to identify the high-water mark of what, in the absence of a better word, you might call “woke”, it would align pretty much exactly with the period between 2018 and 2022 when Unsworth ran BBC News. She believed in the finest traditions of BBC journalism: editorial independence, open and robust internal debate, and impartial and accurate output that doesn’t shy away from difficult subjects.

In theory, at least, this combination of old-school BBC editorial toughness and political know-how made her the right leader for the moment. The reality was more complicated. Looking back, she concludes that BBC News had become “increasingly unmanageable”.

In seeking to explain why — with the handling of the transgender issue in mind — she returns to the unique environment she encountered in 2018, a time of what she calls “progressive madness”. “This wasn’t something that just affected the BBC,” she says. “The world went mad, and the BBC, because it is part of the world, went a bit mad with it. This was going on in every institution in society; there was a kind of national bullying going on.”

I have heard this a lot from other senior executives within the BBC. But it’s a weak defense. The BBC should stand up to bullying, not be driven by it.

“It’s what you might expect of arts institutions or universities,” I say to Unsworth, “but we are journalists. Journalists are skeptical people. They don’t just lie down. They’re supposed to stand up there and think about it first. And there was an absolute absence of that, and just a complete caving. We shouldn’t have done that. That’s not us!”

​“I don’t feel I completely caved,” she says, sounding a little stung. “I really don’t, but I do think that it could have done something more robust. The BBC needed to be better than that.”

But Unsworth is keen to defend her own staff. She says there was an “awful lot of pressure” from “other parts of the BBC if they felt that the editorial direction of the story was not supporting their particular point of view on it. And maintaining impartiality became quite difficult.” In particular, drama and light entertainment approached the subject from a “mono perspective”, pressuring her staff when dissatisfied with coverage. In this climate, “maintaining impartiality became quite difficult”.

Unsworth’s suggestion that the rest of the BBC was more radical than BBC News echoes what other senior figures have told me. The children’s documentary My Life: I Am Leo (2014), for example, could have been scripted by the charity Mermaids. But the suggestion that News’ missteps were driven by pressure from those colleagues is a stretch. Nor is it supported by the experience of the Nolan team or Cath Leng or Caroline Lowbridge. I have spoken to too many people about the concerted pushback from within BBC News to believe that employees were doing so under pressure from their right-on friend in the drama department rather than from their own convictions.

“As you well know,” Unsworth tells me, “editorial decision-making in the BBC isn’t top-down. It’s about editors deciding what they want to put on their programs. And one of the big factors in it is because they took so much heat whenever they went near this subject.”

This implies that program editors only avoided the subject out of fear. But, in reality, we know that their decisions were more deliberate. As I put it to Unsworth, on transgender issues some BBC News journalists, including editors, thought that there was only one legitimate viewpoint and that everyone else was wrong. “Yeah,” she says, “that was how it was.”

We also know that Stonewall was deeply embedded in the corporation. But Unsworth rejects the accusation that the charity had a direct impact on editorial output: “Nobody, ever, ever said to me as Director of News, ‘you need to get points in the Stonewall league table’.” But, more importantly, she acknowledges that “there was a sea in which we all swam… an atmosphere. We need to be kind to transitioning people. It’s a social phenomenon. And I think this ‘be kind’ thing was at the heart of it.”

“Do you think that’s a problem journalistically?” I ask.

“I do, yes. I do,” she replies.

“I think we could have done a lot more,” Unsworth continues. ”But we did set up a whole impartiality training thing, don’t forget, to remind people what impartiality looked like. People went through the whole course. One question you can ask yourself is: why was it so ineffective?”

While Unsworth agrees that the problem “wasn’t gripped”, she offers an audacious explanation based on a technical interpretation of impartiality and “due impartiality”.

According to the BBC’s Editorial Guidelines, impartiality means “not taking sides, reflecting all relevant strands of public debate and challenging them with consistent rigor”. The need for “due impartiality” arises when treating the two sides of a question equally is inappropriate: the classic example being a discussion between someone who believes the Earth is flat and someone who believes it’s round. Strict impartiality would not be appropriate in such a discussion, because of the overwhelming balance of evidence. There are, of course, less clear-cut issues where the evidence is contested and inconclusive. That doesn’t mean those subjects aren’t covered, of course, but program makers must ensure they are fair.

​It turns out that this concept of “due impartiality” is the crux of Unsworth’s explanation and defense of BBC News’ handling of the transgender story. Here’s how: “Impartiality only operates when you can look at evidence and facts and point to them as the basis of your reporting on this. And the facts at this point were incredibly disputed.”

​But this changed in April 2025, she tells me, when the Supreme Court made clear that a woman — for the purposes of the Equality Act — meant a biological woman. This provided BBC journalists with a “basis of challenge” against those who insisted men could decide to be women. Prior to the ruling, producers couldn’t judge if one assertion (“trans women are women”) was any more true than another (“trans women are not women, they are biological men”).

Can this absurd assertion really lie at the heart of the BBC’s trans tangle? Well, Unsworth tells me, “until the Supreme Court ruling on it, Keir Starmer himself was saying trans women are women”.

Starmer seems a perverse choice of lodestar and the argument seems to make no sense. But then it struck me: the BBC’s Style Guide said that inside the BBC you were a woman if you said you were. It still does. It had already made its choice. The Supreme Court has upended that, Unsworth is saying, so now it’s up for grabs.

Unsworth similarly notes that only since the 2024 Cass report on the Gender Identity Development Service (GIDS) at the Tavistock and Portman NHS Trust has there been evidence to support judgments about transitioning, detransitioning, puberty blockers, surgery, and cross-sex hormones. While valid, this is an immense simplification of longstanding concerns about GIDS — concerns that Newsnight journalists were investigating long before 2024. Surely producers should have approached content about young people and gender reassignment with caution and a duty of care.

​Instead, coverage had been constantly, wildly affirmative. BBC Three pumped out content throughout the 2010s that told only one side of the story. CBBC aired I Am Leo in 2014 (it’s since been removed from the BBC iPlayer). Then there was BBC News’ weekday news program, Victoria Derbyshire, which launched in 2015. It was obsessed with the transgender issue, and transgender kids especially, from the start. After just six months, Victoria Derbyshire was crowned Broadcaster of the Year by PinkNews, which stood proudly as a pro-trans publication. Louisa Compton, the editor of Victoria Derbyshire, declared herself “really proud that our first and probably only ever award is a PinkNews award”. Fair enough, who wouldn’t want an award? But on this subject the program, particularly in those early days, felt uncomfortably aligned with one side of the argument.

“Derbyshire was a sort of an ‘I feel your pain’ type show,” Unsworth says. “It wasn’t ‘Let’s look at the issue in the round’. It wasn’t a current affairs program in the same way that Panorama is or Newsnight was. It was a perfectly legitimate journalistic endeavor.” ​The implication of her answer is that a human-interest-led show doesn’t need to worry about balance and fairness like other news programs.

The first item on the first edition of this “perfectly legitimate journalistic endeavor”, aired in 2015, was an “exclusive interview” with two boys who were living as girls, aged six and eight. The conversations with the children focus on “girl stuff”, “boy stuff”, and being “born in the wrong body”. There is praise for the Tavistock clinic and discussion of when parents might consider surgery. A follow-up film included the moment when a transgender girl, Jessica, tells Derbyshire about her fear of growing up with a beard and mustache. “What do you think you could do, possibly, to stop that happening?” asks Derbyshire. “I’ll get blockers,” said Jessica, aged nine.

Cath Leng worked on the program during its early years. She confirms that: “It was really, really affirmative, and it was impossible to get items or guest ideas that came from a more gender-critical perspective on air.” ​Unsworth’s argument is that before the publication of the Cass report in 2024, editors didn’t have the evidence to achieve “due impartiality” when covering stories about children presenting with gender dysphoria. That would be fine if the programs were scrupulously cautious, neutral and impartial, but, then, that wouldn’t win you a PinkNews award.

Unsworth says that the BBC couldn’t ignore “the number of children that were presenting as gender dysphoric”. This is true but I wonder whether the BBC might have contributed to the increase in numbers by airing such affirmative content. Unsworth doesn’t dismiss the idea. ​“We’ll never really know that, will we,” she says, “without looking at the timelines on it?”

Between 2014, the year I Am Leo was broadcast, and 2015, the year Victoria Derbyshire began, the number of referrals to GIDS almost doubled. Between 2015 and 2016, that number doubled again. Obviously it’s impossible to ascertain what role, if any, BBC content played in influencing under-18s to transition, given the other complex factors at play. But in any case, Cath Leng believes it was harmful: “I’m convinced that those two programs are responsible for harming children. They need to acknowledge the mistakes they made.”

​​Unsworth continues to insist, though, that it wasn’t until last year’s Supreme Court ruling that there were facts that you could use to challenge the “trans women are women” loyalty test. But I challenged her, suggesting that there were indeed facts: facts about the reality of sex. Asked whether it is not a fact that trans women are women, she pauses, before reluctantly answering: “No. They’re trans women.”

I ask whether this made it a lie that BBC staff were asked to tell.

“What I’m saying to you,” Unsworth fires back, “is that if the BBC had decided to say, ‘Do you know what? We’re not having any truck with this,’ that would have meant the BBC was on one side of the argument. At a time when certain things weren’t determined.”

​Of course, the opposite was true: the BBC had already put itself on one side of the controversy, “until”, as Unsworth concedes, “certain stories bubbled up, which meant [we] couldn’t hold the Stonewall point of view any longer.”

It’s hard to avoid the sense that Unsworth is constantly hedging on the transgender issue by deploying a useful ambivalence. “I seek to influence and change and bring people along with me,” she says, “that’s how I operate.” And it would have been risky to lay down the law: “If Directors of News are seen as partial in any way, they have no role at the BBC.” (And yet some of Unsworth’s former colleagues have told me they’d sometimes leave a meeting feeling certain she was on their side only to realize the hard way that she’d made no firm commitments.)

There is, then, a sad paradox to Unsworth’s tenure. She pushed through the catastrophic reorganization in 2021 from which, as she admits, “many of the problems the BBC faces actually stem”. But she also did more than anyone else in very senior management, with the exception perhaps of David Jordan, the director of editorial policy and standards, to ensure the most impactful pieces of work on the transgender debate did appear — most notably the Stephen Nolan podcast that helped end the BBC’s relationship with Stonewall. Unsworth admits she saw the podcast as an opportunity to make up for coverage that had been “largely skewed to one side”. And with Lowbridge’s much delayed piece on the “cotton ceiling”, she attempted to demonstrate that staff power did have its limits.

Nonetheless, her overwhelming preoccupation was to remain neutral because she knew, from numerous examples, how that same “staff power” often prevailed at BBC News. “I was only too aware,” she says, “that I could have been cancelled by my own staff, not just on this subject, but on all sorts of subjects.” The fact that she thought she might be taken down by progressive staff by forcing them to get to grips with a contested subject tells you everything you need to know about where the BBC had ended up.

This fear of the threat from some staff to her position and well-being hastened her departure: “I would actually say it drove me out, just dealing with the progressive editorial issues and the bullying around them all. It was incredibly difficult. Actually, it was quite miserable dealing with this hard pounding in the trenches. The BBC is an absolutely fascinating, fantastic place. But I think in this particular period, there was an intensity I hadn’t really experienced throughout my 40-year career there.”

Matt Brittin’s challenge: can the BBC recover trust?

Fran Unsworth still cares deeply about the BBC and worries about its future. “We absolutely need the BBC more than ever in these polarized times,” she tells me. “And I think it really does need to be preserved and cherished, not just attacked.”

I share her view of the importance of the BBC, but it can’t be an organization that unites people in a time of division if it is seen to represent and promote one particular perspective above others.

Even though the overt transactivist presence in the BBC might be more muted in 2026, there are still problems within the organization, including at the Executive Complaints Unit (ECU) — the part of the BBC that adjudicates on complaints about its output. Last November, in the middle of the crisis surrounding Michael Prescott’s dossier of alleged BBC bias, the ECU upheld a complaint against newsreader Martine Croxall. The intervention chimed with Prescott’s claims that transactivism remained an issue at the BBC.

In June 2025, Croxall was live on air when she was confronted with a script line — apparently lifted directly from a press release — which referred to “pregnant people”. As she realized what she’d said, she corrected herself and said “women”. Then she rolled her eyes. Some viewers, interpreting her eye roll as an expression of deep-seated transphobia rather than simply exasperation, complained. In November, the ECU upheld the complaints on the grounds that “the facial expression which accompanied the change of ‘people’ to ‘women’ laid it open to the interpretation that it indicated a particular viewpoint in the controversies currently surrounding trans identity”. This was evidenced, the ECU suggested, by responses on social media that either congratulated her or castigated her, depending on where they stood on the issue.

​In the middle of that seismic November week for the BBC, the one which took out both the director of news and the Director-General and saw them being sued by President Donald Trump, the Croxall ruling was emblematic of lessons not learned. ​This was not the ECU’s first rodeo. Back in August 2023, during an interview on BBC Radio Four’s Today program about an International Chess Federation ban on transgender women from competing in women’s events, veteran Today presenter Justin Webb referred to “trans women, in other words, males”. Since the discussion was about how male brains have an advantage in chess over female ones, it required clarity.

Inevitably, there were complaints; extraordinarily, they were upheld by the ECU, which said the phrase Webb used “could only be understood by listeners as meaning that trans women remain male, without qualification as to gender or biological sex” and that Webb “even if unintentional, it gave the impression of endorsing one viewpoint in a highly controversial area”. Asked about the ruling in a Select Committee appearance in the aftermath, the then Director-General Tim Davie characterized it as a foot fault — a very minor offense by Webb — but a fault nonetheless. In light of last year’s Supreme Court ruling, the verdict looks ridiculous, but it stands.

Those close to Webb say he is irritated and a little bruised by the process and is clear that he has done nothing wrong. But he does realize he has got off lightly compared to women such as Cath Leng, who were effectively forced out of their jobs for taking a stand. I understand Webb has taken legal advice and is mulling whether to revisit the matter.

I’d suggest the ECU brace itself in the light of email correspondence I have read in relation to the Webb case, which reveals that the body gives credibility to the fantastical theory that men can actually change into women. In one email, the deputy head of program complaints, Dominic Groves, stated to colleagues regarding the Webb case that the belief that sex is “biological and genetic and therefore cannot be changed” was “vulnerable to the point that many trans advocates (some doctors and scientists among them) say sex isn’t biological and can be changed”.

The idea that the overwhelming body of evidence that sex is immutable is vulnerable to a fringe view like this is absurd. The fact that the BBC’s complaints department even entertains it is extraordinary. Let’s hope the new director-general, Matt Brittin, does the decent thing by reversing the decision and issuing a public apology to Webb and the team at Today, which is one of the few outlets with a record of journalistic bravery on this story)

The question now, as Brittin finds his feet, is how much of a problem the BBC has with activist journalism in its ranks in 2026.

Many I have spoken to think there is still a significant problem and believe an active purge is required. Others believe that the Supreme Court ruling a year ago changed the conversation internally. For instance, director of news content Richard Burgess admitted to staff that they “hadn’t got everything right” in their handling of the trans story.

That’s been built on with a new approach to trans coverage in the current style guide whereby, if it helps the audience’s understanding of a story, the biological sex of an individual will be mentioned. When I asked Unsworth about what regrets she had she immediately said “that we didn’t have a really, really, really hard look at language”. Brittin could decide to do just that.

The DG’s other big challenge is deciding where to find those 10% of cuts. More salami slicing of BBC News is not the answer. He should protect news, current affairs and political programs from further pain. The BBC needs to be a bastion of free speech and diversity of opinion. Politics Live and Newsnight, while diminished, must not face further cuts and the BBC should offer a serious long-form political interview program once again.

Brittin should also demand an audit of the skills and experience of the staff that work in News. The BBC needs to make sure it has sufficient experience and then re-empower program editors to operate independently. Paying for all this will be challenging, but perhaps Brittin should look to non-program-making functions and ask whether the BBC really needs them. Only by rebuilding BBC News intelligently and by insisting every employee signs a pledge to uphold the principle of impartiality can another debacle be avoided.

Another idea, suggested by Gavin Allen, is for the BBC to do as it did with climate change and make clear that it operates on the basis of evidence. Just as the BBC declared it would no longer debate whether man-made climate change was real because the evidence meant there was nothing to debate, Allen argues that the BBC could state that there are two sexes and that people can’t change sex. Once that is taken off the table a constructive conversation about what the transgender community needs that moves beyond the rhetoric of placards and social media might be possible.

A decade ago, transgender people in Britain enjoyed broad public sympathy. In 2016, almost six in 10 people agreed that a transgender person should be able to change the sex on their birth certificate. Only around one in five disagreed. The British Social Attitudes survey revealed a country that was overwhelmingly tolerant on the subject and becoming more so.

But then the discourse shifted. The activists took over. The placards. The threats. The cancellations. Women were hounded out of their jobs for stating biological facts. Academics were driven from their universities. Lesbians were told they were transphobic for not wanting to sleep with people with penises. And the BBC, rather than standing firm as the world went mad, went along with it.

By 2023, support for changing sex on birth certificates had collapsed to just 24%; half the country was now opposed. Nearly half of Britons said attempts to ensure equal opportunities for trans people had gone too far. After the Supreme Court ruling in April 2025, almost six in 10 agreed that a transgender woman was not legally a woman.

The transactivists, with their refusal to engage and their taste for intimidation, have achieved the precise opposite of what they said they set out to do. They have reversed years of goodwill and left transgender people more exposed than they were before any of this started. And the institutions that should have held the line instead capitulated. Let’s hope Matt Brittin, when he starts his new job next week, will take the opportunity to remind those who remain at the hollowed-out BBC, ravaged by cuts and undermined by political enemies, that its demise will be assured unless advocacy journalism for any cause, whenever it rears its head, is stamped out and — well — canceled. 

• • •

A BBC spokesperson said in response to this article: “BBC News has taken a number of actions relating to our reporting of sex and gender including updating the news style guide and sharing new guidance, making our Social Affairs Editor responsible for this coverage, and where there have been concerns about particular stories, we have addressed them. We continually review our coverage to reflect developments such as the Supreme Court Ruling 

“We recognize the strong feelings and concern felt by many people about the reporting of sex and gender. Our intention is to give clear, accurate and duly impartial information to audiences and to reflect the different viewpoints on the issue.” 

By: UN Watch

Published: Oct 1, 2025

The United Nations rebuked British barrister and international lawyer Natasha Hausdorff, after she called out their Human Rights Council for being a “catastrophic failure for humanity and the civilized world.”

Testimony by Natasha Hausdorff before the United Nations Human Rights Council, on behalf of UN Watch:

“Chair,

The United Nations was intended to be the chief guarantor of international law, and this Council, the principal guardian of human rights.

What a catastrophic failure for humanity and the civilized world that it has allowed itself to become the main mechanism by which terrorists, bigots, despots, and dictatorships weaponize international law.

To become a mouthpiece of internationally proscribed terrorist organizations.

To become a platform from which to propagate heinous blood libels against the only Jewish state – blood libels of occupation, ethnic cleansing, colonialism, apartheid, genocide – terms which, having been so inverted against Israel in order to demonize it, have become meaningless.

This Council has become the world’s most prolific disinformation laundering facility.

Because when so-called human rights organizations openly publish Hamas propaganda, they depend on this Council, its commissions, its rapporteurs to repeat those lies.

They depend on that disinformation being parroted by the U.N. General Assembly, the ICC, the ICJ. And once that cycle of fraud is complete, those NGOs that fabricated the lies point to the UN’s endorsement as proof of their veracity.

Future generations will observe how easily these supposedly illustrious institutions were hijacked. And they will hold you all responsible…”

Chair Interrupts: “I would like to call on everyone to adhere to language which is commensurate with the dignity inherent to the discussion on human rights issues. Everyone has the right to express his or her views, but this should remain within acceptable frameworks. With this in mind, I give the floor to the next speaker.”

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