Huw Edwards was a man whose on-screen actions were so keenly watched that when he changed his tie, the nation held its breath, waiting for his trusted voice to announce Queen Elizabeth’s death. Less than two years later, he has admitted to a secret life off camera in which he accessed the most horrific, indecent images of children.
The fallout from his crimes affects not just Edwards and his family but the abused children and young people who are his real victims. It also raises questions for the BBC, threatening to further erode trust and respect in a national broadcaster, like a sudden landslide beneath an endangered coastline.
Much attention has so far focused on what the corporation knew and when, and why it allowed Edwards to continue as its best-paid news presenter even after he was suspended last July on separate charges. Yet the far bigger picture is the power imbalance that still affords almost god-like status to high-profile men, public figures who believe themselves to be invincible but self-destruct via secret lives.
This phenomenon is hardly unique to the television industry, but the power of the media, invited into our hearts and minds as well as our living room, has provided some of its best-known examples, most notably Jimmy Savile, but so many more, from Rolf Harris to Stuart Hall and Jonathan King. The fact that Edwards’s crimes are recent suggests that the BBC and other organisations are failing to learn the lessons from the past, or at least the correct ones.
When the BBC’s senior management was told that Edwards had been arrested on suspicion of a serious offence last November, it relied on human resources and legal advice that suspicion is not proof and that the consequences of doing anything could be extreme for a man previously admitted to hospital suffering from a mental health crisis.
Although the BBC has stated that it would have acted “immediately to dismiss” Edwards in the event of a charge, the presenter continued to receive his usual pay and perks until he resigned in April, citing “medical advice”. This meant that Edwards received £200,000 after his arrest and enjoyed a £40,000 increase to a salary already worth almost half a million pounds.
The employment advice may have been correct but has not helped ease the suspicion of special treatment both internally and externally. The culture secretary, Lisa Nandy, brought up the possibility of Edwards repaying some of his pay in her private call with the BBC director general, Tim Davie, last Thursday.
The BBC’s actions also suggest it is still haunted by its treatment of Cliff Richard, who was subjected to wildly misjudged allegations by BBC News teams after a police investigation, despite being neither arrested nor charged. The fact that BBC News knew nothing of Edwards’s arrest or of the BBC’s internal deliberations has led to growing anger inside the newsroom, where journalists feel they have been kept in the dark to protect the corporation and one of its biggest stars.
This partly explains the inflated coverage of the Edwards scandal since his departure last year, and indeed the past week, when main bulletins led with extensive coverage of the case, rather than the riots that followed the murder of three young girls in Southport or the killing of a Hamas leader by Israel. This coverage follows a pattern in which the BBC reports on its own failings with greater passion and enthusiasm than almost anything else – just look at its recent adoption of a tabloid lens on the Strictly bullying allegations – but it also speaks to a deeper complaint about its internal culture.
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An internal investigation was launched last year after the Sun first reported separate allegations that Edwards had paid £35,000 to a man who was 17 when they allegedly began a relationship. This prompted several junior employees to come forward with claims of inappropriate behaviour by Edwards and to talk to other journalists. Any results of this investigation were stayed by Edwards’s admission to hospital and have never been released.
The journalist Meirion Jones, who left the BBC after the Newsnight investigation into Savile was pulled, describes the “anti-whistleblower culture” at the BBC as “very, very strong”. The fact that he is still approached by BBC employees who feel they aren’t being listened to suggests that the closed-room nature of almost all decisions is undermining trust internally. He told me that three women who approached him with complaints about the same manager without wanting to go public had all resigned instead.
This is a deeper issue for the BBC that will not be solved by management speak of “processes and escalations”. Yet to suggest that the abhorrent behaviour of Edwards devalues the power of BBC journalism itself is wrong-headed. A powerful man given free rein and indulged, Edwards was the public face of the BBC, reading out the news largely prepared by others. But he was not the beating heart of its values.
The BBC should focus on what it does best, uncovering and explaining what happened in Southport or events in the Middle East. This is not to deny Edwards’s importance, or the impact of his disgrace. The BBC is reviewing footage fronted by him, though that of “historical significance”, such as the death of the late queen, is unlikely to be shelved.
The age of the anchorman, the once magisterial voice on matters of importance, is already dying in an era of 24/7 news coverage and comment. Scandal, abuse and hubris should kill it off for good.
The BBC, like most of Edwards’s closest colleagues, did not know of his secret, shameful life and cannot be held responsible for it. Yet it still needs to learn the most important lessons from this scandal – as do we all – that men are not gods and should never be treated as such.
Jane Martinson is a Guardian and Observer columnist
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