A number of years ago, as a young advertising creative, I was briefed, along with my creative partner, to come up with a campaign to revive a struggling crisps brand — Walkers of Leicester.
Being a Spurs fan, it didn’t take me long to arrive at one of Leicester’s most famous sons: Gary Lineker. Local hero. Ex-Spurs striker. Barcelona idol. National icon.
At the time, he was playing in Japan but due to return to the UK. We had an idea. A cheeky, mischievous reinvention of the man known for his squeaky-clean “Queen Mother of Football” image: “No More Mr Nice Guy”.
In a widely-reported piece of Adland folklore, our idea was initially rejected in favour of a CGI crispy duck (I kid you not!). However, when that campaign flopped, we were asked to dust off the Lineker idea and shoot it as a one-off whilst something “better” and with more “campaign legs” was developed.
That “one-off” went on to become the longest-running ad campaign in Europe. It helped launch my career. Lineker, meanwhile, went from hesitant pitchman to one of the most eloquent, witty and trusted voices on British television.
It was a win-win — which makes what I’m about to write all the more difficult.
Because I am also a British Jew. And, like many others, I’ve watched with growing dismay as Lineker — someone whose nascent public career I was part of — continues to share content online that, whether knowingly or not, emboldens antisemitism.
This week, he reposted a rat emoji alongside a video attacking Zionism. Perhaps he thought it was harmless. But for Jews, this image is not abstract. It is historical. It was central to Nazi propaganda and used for decades to dehumanise Jews as vermin. Its use in this context isn’t edgy or clever — it’s chilling.
Let me be clear: I don’t believe Lineker is antisemitic. In fact, he was a generous and heartfelt contributor to a film I wrote and directed for Holocaust Memorial Day. His participation was sincere.
Which is exactly why this moment is so disappointing. Because it’s not about intent. It’s about impact.
And that impact also fits a broader pattern. Earlier this year, in an interview with journalist Mehdi Hasan, Lineker was asked about criticism he’d received for his views on Israel and Gaza. His reply? “We know about October 7 and the Hamas thing.”
The Hamas thing? That “thing” was the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. Entire families murdered. Women raped. Children burned alive. Language matters, especially from public figures. To reduce such horror to a vague euphemism is more than careless. It’s minimising.
The exchange ended with Hasan saying, “So you’re in good company if you’re being accused of being pro-Hamas.” Lineker smiled and agreed.
Again, I am not accusing Lineker of supporting Hamas. But when someone with his influence brushes off such accusations with a shrug or a smirk, it sends a troubling signal: Not just to Jews, but to anyone who values clarity, compassion and responsibility in public discourse.
I’m not a paranoid person who believes the whole world is against Jews. I don’t. I still believe in people’s ability to think for themselves and to act with fairness. I also believe passionately in the right to criticise the actions of any government — including Israel’s.
That’s not only legitimate; it’s a cornerstone of democracy. In fact, it’s a tenet of Zionism itself: the belief in a Jewish state that can be argued with, challenged, improved.
But with that right comes responsibility. And when someone with Lineker’s reach and influence reposts toxic symbols or trivialises atrocities, the line between criticism and incitement starts to blur.
The BBC, where Lineker remains (at least for now) one of its best-known figures, has remained silent. Perhaps that’s because he’s on his way out. Perhaps because these are difficult waters to wade into. But silence, in this moment, doesn’t read as impartiality. It reads as evasion.
And this silence is especially hard to take in light of recent events. Over the past year, the Jewish community has engaged with the BBC in good faith. Roundtables. Public meetings. Hundreds of participants. The goal? To rebuild trust. To be heard.
At the end of that process, the BBC’s Director of Nations issued a brief statement: “I do not believe the BBC’s journalism is biased against Israel.” Not even a willingness to consider the possibility. That’s not impartiality. That’s denial.
I love the BBC. I’ve grown up with it. Defended it. I still believe it plays a crucial role in British life. But credibility isn’t maintained through silence or slogans. It’s earned — through listening, through action, through the willingness to acknowledge when something’s gone wrong.
Gary Lineker’s voice carries enormous weight. That’s what made him such an effective ambassador for crisps, daft as it may sound. It’s also what makes his careless posts and comments so damaging.
I’m not writing this out of anger. I’m writing it out of regret. Because I know that Gary is capable of so much better. And so is the BBC.
And yes — for what it’s worth — maybe I should have persuaded Walkers to have more faith in that crispy duck. She certainly wouldn’t have been as controversial.
