Jonathan Sacerdoti

Bondi Beach is not occupied territory. Yet a Jewish celebration there ended in blood. It is not within a military zone, not contested land, not an ‘open air prison’, but still, among civilians, on a day marked for celebration, Jews were once again slaughtered, picked off by a Muslim father and son who were motivated to kill as if it were their God-given right. The images from Bondi are now etched into public memory, but the political reaction now taking shape confirms how little our leaders understand the nature of what they are facing. The war has not ended. It has migrated. The images coming out of Bondi as the horrors unfolded were a field report from a war already underway. It is a war without formal declarations, which does not depend on tanks or treaties.

When Michael Gove introduced me to Piers Morgan last week at the Spectator Christmas reception, Morgan seized my hand and beamed, ‘I know Jonathan. We're old friends.’ This was generous of him, not least because it isn't true. We'd met once before, briefly. But some months earlier I had written a critique of his YouTube show for The Spectator which, to judge by his response, he did not enjoy. He called me a ‘disingenuous twerp’ on X and blocked me there. He then wrote a piece in the magazine entitled, ‘In defence of Piers Morgan, by Piers Morgan’. I mention this not to litigate any grievance, but in the interest of full disclosure. Fuentes thrives on provocation. His method is not to win the argument but to distort its shape.

The BBC has unveiled its compulsory training course for all staff on how not to be racist to Jews. I completed the online module and found it laughable, feeble and entirely beside the point. This isn’t education. It’s parody. A cartoonish exercise in HR-driven pseudo-virtue, dressed up as moral instruction. I have written before that if one were writing a sitcom about the modern BBC, and wanted to script a scene satirising its institutional absurdities, one might invent a plotline in which a woke producer commissions a documentary about the children of Gaza and secretly casts the 13-year-old son of a Hamas minister as its narrator. As we know, that’s exactly what the BBC did.

Some scoffed when Donald Trump thought to tap Tony Blair’s decades of involvement in the Middle East for his future plans in Gaza. Perhaps they were right to. But not to worry: the global search for strategic wisdom has now been resolved. The path to peace lies not through seasoned statesmen or regional experts, but through the collective judgment of Delia Smith, Stephen Fry, Benedict Cumberbatch, and naturally, Gary Lineker. They are joined by Mark Ruffalo, Tilda Swinton, Simon Pegg and a list of figures known for their contributions to film, fiction, and light entertainment: people with no background or expertise in jihadist Islamic terror movements, counter-extremism, Middle Eastern politics, or international law.

The allegations concerning Nigel Farage’s conduct as a schoolboy have returned with unusual force, not because the country is suddenly preoccupied with the internal sociology of Dulwich College, but because Farage now leads a party that sits at the centre of the national debate. Any claim about his past, however old and recycled, is inevitably refracted through the lens of present politics. The BBC reports, the Guardian testimonies, and Farage’s own responses raise a set of questions that extend far beyond the details of adolescent behaviour. They touch on character, trust, political identity and the delicate task facing any new political movement seeking broad public legitimacy.

The resignations at the top of the BBC mark a critical juncture for an institution long seen as a pillar of British public life. Yet their departures, while welcome, are insufficient. The BBC’s failure is not confined to the mistakes of individual executives. It is institutional, entrenched, and long overdue for a reckoning. The BBC has repeatedly blurred moral lines on Israel and antisemitism Unlike privately funded media outlets, be it GB News, Talk, The Spectator, the Daily Telegraph, or the Daily Mail, the BBC is funded by coercion. Britons are compelled by law to finance its operations if they own a television, regardless of whether they watch or endorse its content.

The city of El Fasher, long a symbolic and strategic stronghold in Darfur, has in recent days become the site of atrocities so grave that the United Nations has openly warned of the risk of genocide. Videos reviewed by the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights show scores of unarmed men executed in cold blood, some lying dead at the feet of Rapid Support Forces fighters, others dragged off and detained. Journalists and aid workers have disappeared. The last remaining functional hospital was shelled, killing patients and staff. The Saudi Maternity Hospital, once a rare lifeline, is now a mass grave.

Now that the remaining live hostages have been freed, and the remains of those killed are slowly being located and returned to their families, we can think more on the details, the testimonies, and the traumas which we couldn’t fully comprehend as the war raged within our minds. Those former hostages now search for recovery and familiarity back home, as they emerge into a world vastly and for ever changed. The same is true for those of us who have never spent a day in a filthy, airless Palestinian tunnel. We didn’t experience the fear, the violence, the hunger or the torture they did. But our world, too, has shifted on its axis, jolted into a different rotation. It will never be the same again.