'Serious questions should be asked about the effectiveness and fairness of the BBC's diversity budget,' says Marco Longhi
Marco Longhi is a former Conservative MP for Dudley North
The BBC's £100 million diversity budget, launched with much fanfare in 2020, has been presented as a bold step toward inclusion and representation.
However, beneath the rhetoric of progress, serious questions must be asked about its effectiveness, its fairness, and whether it even reflects the desires of the British public who, through their license fees, are effectively funding this social experiment.
Is the diversity budget a genuine effort to reflect society, or is it merely a performative gesture that achieves little of substance?
In a time of economic hardship and tightening public budgets, is this money well spent?
At first glance, the BBC's £100 million diversity investment looks like a progressive move toward inclusion.
However, a deeper dive reveals that this initiative may be more of a hollow gesture than a genuine effort at change.
The BBC’s diversity budget is often heralded as a way to increase representation on- and off-screen, but critics question how much of this money actually trickles down to long-term, meaningful change.
For instance, it has become increasingly unclear whether the budget has improved representation across all areas of diversity—ethnic, socio-economic, gender, and disability—or if it has instead created tokenistic changes that serve to appease public relations goals rather than actual systemic transformation.
While it is easy to measure diversity in terms of percentages and quotas, the deeper question remains: what has this budget actually achieved in terms of improving content and viewer satisfaction?
The BBC claims it wants to reflect the UK’s diverse population, but diversity for diversity’s sake doesn’t guarantee quality or relevance.
The BBC's real task is to produce high-quality, engaging content for all license-fee payers. While commissioning shows that feature more minority groups sounds good on paper, if these programs aren’t popular or don’t resonate with the broader public, what has been achieved?
Has the BBC really delivered better content, or simply ticked a few politically correct boxes?
Rather than fostering unity, many argue that the BBC’s diversity agenda is divisive.
The imposition of arbitrary diversity quotas—20 per cent from Black, Asian, and Minority Ethnic backgrounds and 12 per cent disabled talent—can create the perception that people are being hired to fulfil a mandate, not because they are the best candidate for the role.
This risks alienating both those who benefit from such schemes and those who feel sidelined by them. Instead of being celebrated for their talent, individuals from underrepresented groups may feel they are viewed as token hires, while others may resent what they see as preferential treatment.
The divisive nature of quotas undermines meritocracy, which should be the cornerstone of any publicly funded institution like the BBC.
Despite the BBC’s diversity drive, it remains unclear whether the corporation actually reflects the diversity of its audience. According to the Office for National Statistics, the UK population is approximately 86 per cent white, yet the BBC’s targets suggest a disproportionate emphasis on minority groups.
This raises questions about whether the BBC is overcompensating and whether its content is representative of the majority of its license-fee payers.
A key criticism of the BBC’s diversity strategy is that it prioritizes fulfilling quotas over recruiting the best person for the job. In any competitive industry, merit should be the primary criterion for hiring.
By introducing rigid targets for diversity, the BBC risks compromising on quality. Hiring decisions should be based on skill, talent, and expertise, not solely on meeting an arbitrary diversity target. If the BBC wants to maintain its reputation as a world-class broadcaster, it should focus on hiring the most qualified individuals, regardless of their background.
The BBC’s diversity budget is funded by the license fee—a compulsory levy that every household with a television must pay. This effectively makes the diversity budget a form of tax-funded social policy.
Yet, viewers have no say over how their money is spent. Who decided that £100 million should go toward diversity initiatives rather than toward content that all viewers can enjoy? Is this really the best use of public funds?
The diversity targets appear to be set by internal BBC committees, largely in response to external political pressure rather than public demand.
There is a strong argument to be made that these targets are arbitrary and do not reflect the diversity of the country as a whole. Shouldn’t the BBC’s content be driven by the interests of its viewers, rather than by top-down directives?
In a country where many elderly citizens struggle with the cost of living, the BBC’s decision to scrap free TV licenses for over-75s while simultaneously allocating £100 million to diversity initiatives seems deeply out of touch.
Instead of funding divisive policies, wouldn’t that money be better spent on ensuring that pensioners, who have supported the BBC for decades, can continue to enjoy its services without financial burden?
The BBC’s diversity budget is well-intentioned but ultimately flawed. It risks dividing rather than uniting, and it raises serious questions about whether the corporation’s priorities reflect the desires of its audience.
The best way to ensure diversity is to focus on quality, talent, and merit, not arbitrary targets that may do more harm than good. As long as the license fee funds the BBC, it is the public who should decide where their money goes—and there are better ways to spend £100 million.
