The human cost of media abuse of power, from the Jason Arday case to Spanish universities
There is a silent corporatism within academic institutions which, when broken, unleashes storms. I have experienced it in Spanish universities and today I see profound parallels with the media harassment suffered by Cambridge professor Jason Arday, whose recent death has reignited the debate about the human cost of media harassment. In Spain, I have experienced harassment at university on several occasions. In my first year of university, a professor, abusing his power and position, made unwanted and non-consensual sexual advances towards me. Although I considered reporting him, I had absolutely no idea how to do so or what consequences it might entail, so I decided to distance myself from him as much as possible, even though I had to have him as a professor on two more occasions. Years later, when I was a professor myself, I joined twelve other victims in reporting him to the Public Prosecutor’s Office. I decided to report him because I was fortunate enough to have people who supported me, as well as being part of a solidarity network in which the different victims-survivors supported one another. However, at the same time, I witnessed some of those people being subjected to one of the harshest and most brutal smear and discrediting campaigns I have ever seen, precisely because they supported me and other victims. Likewise, from the moment I broke the silence, some people radically changed their relationship with me, distancing themselves from me, or even attacking me or hindering my career.
Thus, and almost compulsively, some people—including journalists, anonymous accounts on platforms such as X, and people interested in making a business out of education—began spreading, through certain newspapers or by sending emails to universities, scientific journal editors, and even the European Commission, that the professors who supported and defended me were part of a cult. In cases of defamation against support networks, the accusation of being a “cult” is a deliberate tactic to isolate victims and criminalise solidarity: it is the perfect mechanism for casting suspicion on any non-criminal action as though it were criminal, generating social panic, and destroying those who dare to support victims. Two concrete examples illustrate the consequences. A professor at my university sent links to reports and news articles describing the research network I belonged to as a cult to my entire department, as well as to the rector and vice-rector for staff, just a few days before the selection process for the Assistant Professor position for which I was applying. Later, a journalist would write to the rectoral candidate I supported, using the same narrative during university elections. I leave it to the reader to interpret why those particular moments and recipients were chosen.
As formulated by the Thomas theorem—as disseminated by Robert Merton—if people define situations as real, they are real in their consequences. In this way, the personal and professional consequences have been as real as they have been unjust: without legal basis and disproportionate.
As a result of the abuse of media power and the news reports that appeared in the press, a significant part of public opinion took sides or passed judgment, even though no criminal offence existed and even though the conclusions were based on hearsay, rumours, and corridor talk that provided no evidence whatsoever, without any complaint having been filed with the courts. By abuse of media power, I mean the deliberate use of the media to pursue interests of power that are neither legitimate nor democratically legitimised—at the expense of the most vulnerable—instead of fulfilling their function of providing truthful, verified information about matters of public interest (Madrid et al., 2020). It is, in the precise sense given to the term by discourse analysis, a form of abuse of power: illegitimate because it benefits the most powerful at the expense of the weakest and because it deprives citizens of the information they would need to make their own judgments (van Dijk, 2006).
Another similarity with what Jason Arday experienced is that, according to his own account, the media harassment he suffered was also affecting his family members. Scientific literature has documented this effect (Aubert & Flecha, 2021; Flecha et al., 2024). Similarly, the harassment I have described has affected my health, that of other victims, and that of those who supported us, including our family members. It affects our relationships with any friend or family member who gives credibility to unverified information disseminated by the media and social networks: if they do not support us, they distance themselves from us or revictimise us. It also harms our relationships within the organisations and institutions where we work or with which we collaborate. I have several examples, both my own and those of others.
Having the solidarity and psychological and professional support of a group of friends and colleagues was essential in preventing me from giving up and leaving my job, which in my case is also my vocation. Thanks to that support, I found the strength to file the complaint and to stand alongside all victims, both first- and second-order victims (Ley 17/2020, 2020; Cañaveras et al., 2024). Knowing that I was not alone gave me the courage not to look the other way when I witnessed other cases of sexual or workplace harassment. Had I been alone, I have often thought that I would not have done so. It is therefore hardly surprising that people with vulnerable backgrounds or without support may collapse, withdraw, or, in the worst-case scenario, take their own lives.
Current legislation needs to be reviewed in order to strengthen democratic and legal safeguards in media coverage of judicial or pre-judicial proceedings, while preserving the safety of all parties. Without such a balance, the risk of instrumentalising the news media and of media trials increases, leading to disproportionate public lynchings that may ultimately undermine human dignity.
To prevent this abuse of media power, the role of the media themselves is crucial. It is necessary to ensure that they provide objective and truthful information, without speculation. But it is even more important to prevent them from becoming a conduit for economic, political, or ideological interests, turning into a “fourth power” that is not independent but rather serves the other powers. This is the most difficult challenge, given that many of these media outlets were established by groups with power or vested interests in order to achieve particular material or ideological goals. This origin helps explain how easy it is for those who later take control of them to use or manipulate them according to their own interests.
Only a couple of months ago, I witnessed several episodes of cancel culture similar to those described by Sari Hanafi in her latest book (Hanafi, 2025). In one case, a research group forced one of its members to resign, justifying the decision with anonymous allegations that had been deliberately disseminated by media outlets to attack professors who defended victims of abuse of power. In another, the rector of a Spanish university prevented the registration of a scientific association on the grounds that prominent members belonged to a group about which the media had published unverified anonymous allegations, without checking the information and, above all, before any competent body or court had ruled on the matter. The rector invoked a principle of prudence: until the information circulating in the press had been clarified, it was better not to authorise the registration. I believe, however, that the principle of prudence should change sides. A public institution should never base its decisions on rumours, falsehoods, or unverified information; properly understood, prudence consists precisely of the opposite: placing such information in quarantine and being able to distinguish rumours from information.
In both examples, we see how a chain of cancellations is set in motion. Once an institution cancels someone on the basis of anonymous allegations and unverified news reports, others invoke that first decision as though it were evidence. At the first link in the chain, there is always the same thing: giving credibility to a rumour. This is why a public institution has an added responsibility: its decision does not end with itself, but becomes a powerful argument for subsequent decisions. It is deeply ironic that a university—the very space that, by definition, should protect rigour, multidisciplinary scientific debate, and critical thinking—ends up making institutional decisions, such as blocking an academic organisation, on the basis of journalistic rumours. That is the true victory of the abuse of media power.
References
Aubert, A. & Flecha, R. (2021). Health and Well-Being Consequences for Gender Violence Survivors from Isolating Gender Violence. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 18(16), 8626.
Cañaveras, P.; Burgués-Freitas, A.; Joanpere, M. (2024). The Role of the MeToo Route in Improving the Health of Gender-Based Violence and Isolating Gender Violence Survivors. Healthcare, 12, 2480.
Flecha, R., Puigvert, L., Melgar, P. & Racionero-Plaza, S. (2024). Health Impacts of Isolating Gender Violence. SAGE Open, 14.
Hanafi, S. (2025). Against Symbolic Liberalism: A Plea for Dialogical Sociology. Liverpool University Press.
Ley 17/2020, de 22 de diciembre, de modificación de la Ley 5/2008, del derecho de las mujeres a erradicar la violencia machista. Diari Oficial de la Generalitat de Catalunya, 24 de diciembre de 2020.
Madrid, A., Joanpere, M., de Botton, L. & Campdepadrós, R. (2020). Media Manipulation Against Social Justice Researchers: Second-Order Sexual Harassment. Qualitative Inquiry.
van Dijk, T. A. (2006). Discourse and manipulation. Discourse & Society, 17(3), 359–383.
Associate professor of Sociology at the University of Girona