When it was revealed that Abdullah, the 13-year-old narrator of the BBC documentary Gaza: How to Survive a Warzone, was the son of the deputy minister for agriculture in the Hamas-run government, I felt many things. Shock. Disappointment. Fear of the inevitable damage it would bring to the corporation. But, as a producer and reporter of BBC documentaries and current affairs programmes for 15 years, my overwhelming emotion was one of disbelief.
When I think back to how much scrutiny there was of the stories I covered, I simply cannot understand how this happened. Others I’ve spoken to confirm that it feels “different” this time. The mood inside the corporation is dire. How could it be that the independent journalist David Collier was able to reveal, within hours of transmission, the link to Ayman Alyazouri, the high-ranking Hamas official, but the BBC did not? Alyazouri’s job was published online, not a deeply hidden secret. How could it also be that the BBC didn’t so much as check the accuracy of the subtitles on the film, allowing references to “Jews” to be translated as “Israelis” or “the Israeli army”?
Let me talk you through how the process works for, say, a 30-minute radio documentary, of which I made many. When it becomes clear that a programme might be in some way controversial, it is added to something called the managed risk programmes list (MRPL). Colloquially, we’d refer to this as the “red-flag list”. The Pollard Review of the dropped Newsnight investigation into sexual abuse by Jimmy Savile described the MRPL as a “mechanism by which stories… in any part of the Corporation that might carry some element of risk – be they physical, legal or reputational – are flagged up to management”. Will Wyatt, the author of another BBC review, explained that inclusion on the list effectively meant it carried a “handle with care” notice. It didn’t mean BBC staff should “tread softly”, but ensured everyone involved was “aware of the possible risks… and act[ed] accordingly”. I understand the Gaza documentary was on the list and all potential risks were correctly identified.
As well as being flagged, an investigation would be properly dissected. The editor responsible for ithad the right to know the identity of any source, even if they were being protected in the final broadcast, and – crucially – how the journalist found them. (I’m aware of huge stories the BBC turned down precisely because those behind them did not want to participate in the full disclosure the BBC requires.) There would be long conversations with the legal and editorial teams: detailed discussion about what sources said, other material that supported them, and any factors that might make their testimony less trustworthy. Scripts would be pored over for accuracy and fairness.
If BBC journalists are subject to such scrutiny, how can a prime-time television documentary on the most controversial subject of the moment not have been? I am generally a subscriber to the “cock-up over conspiracy” worldview – and I think this is no different. I don’t believe it was an attempt to fool the public or evidence the BBC has an “anti-Semitic bias”. As one former BBC editor told me, “there’s always too much going on” at the corporation. “Sometimes, the more meetings and fuss and worry there is about a programme… the less clarity about who is responsible.”
That may be true, but there has been a shocking level of carelessness here. According to the Times, BBC staff asked Hoyo – the independent production company behind the film – on three separate occasions whether there was any connection between Abdullah and Hamas. According to a BBC statement, Hoyo acknowledged it knew the identity of the boy’s father and “never told the BBC this fact”. But it is extraordinary, incomprehensible even, that the BBC did not insist upon a response to this crucial question prior to broadcast.
Samir Shah, the BBC chair, told the Sunday Times: “There needs to be greater accountability. People have to face the consequences of what they do.” It seems highly unlikely that a “senior head will roll” as early as this week, as was rumoured. My sources agree: the internal investigation won’t be rushed. But there is real anger inside the BBC, and some feel that someone must go. That is generally not how the BBC behaves. Insiders joke the corporation’s motto is “deputy heads must roll”: those with ultimate responsibility invariably are shuffled quietly to another post. Unlike previous BBC chairs, however, Shah knows the TV industry. He understands how things should work.
But something else occurred to me as I watched this mess unfold: a programme so important, so controversial, would once have been made in-house. This “dagger to the heart” of the BBC – as Shah described it – is, in part, a consequence of the sweeping cuts the corporation has made. When I worked there, we had the privilege of being able to spend time on a story and abandon it if we found it didn’t stack up. We still got paid. Independent production companies are not so fortunate. They have the commission and need to deliver.
Maybe the BBC needs to reflect on whether the best way to stop repeatedly wounding itself is to stop the salami slicing. More damaging than the loss of some big-name presenters has been the clearing out of the “middle deck”. A generation of senior producers and editors with not just journalistic but life experience has been hollowed out. That is not easy to replace.
[See also: The fall of the mainstream media]
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This article appears in the 12 Mar 2025 issue of the New Statesman, Why Britain isn’t working