The report named 51 organisations it categorised as gender-critical - including women’s rights groups, gay and lesbian campaigners, organisations concerned about the medical treatment of children and SEEN in Journalism which campaigns for accurate reporting on sex and gender

Following formal complaints from many of those named - and the threat of legal action from JK Rowling, whose domestic violence support service Beira’s Place appeared on the list - Amnesty withdrew the briefing.

In a public statement Amnesty UK admitted the report had fallen “significantly short” of its research, evidential and editorial standards. It accepted full responsibility, apologised to the organisations affected and commissioned an independent external review.

Amnesty also sent an email to supporters, members and activists which stated:

“We know that this will be disappointing, frustrating and upsetting,” it told them, “and for this, too, we apologise without reservation.”

In other words, Amnesty apologised for publishing the briefing - and also apologised to its supporters for withdrawing it.

The language is revealing. Amnesty acknowledges that the briefings fell short of its research, evidential and editorial standards. But it does not say that the ideas underpinning them were wrong.

Instead, it emphatically reaffirms the same broad worldview. It remains committed to defending trans people whose “very existence” is said to be under sustained attack, while declaring its support for “all women and girls” facing attempts to roll back their rights.

What it does not acknowledge is that many of the organisations named believe women’s rights are being undermined by policies promoted in the name of trans inclusion- or even that a conflict of rights exists.

Nor does it admit that portraying lawful organisations as part of an “anti-rights” movement was itself wrong.

In effect, Amnesty is telling its supporters: the briefings were flawed, but our underlying position remains unchanged.

In other words: sorry, not sorry.

Sadly, this is not unusual. In recent years, we’ve seen similar responses from organisations captured by gender ideology that have been forced to apologise or change course.

When Girlguiding announced in December 2025 that boys who identified as girls would no longer be eligible to join, it did not acknowledge that its previous policy had been wrong - or recognise the legitimate concerns of the women who had challenged it.

Instead, it presented the change as something forced upon it by the Supreme Court: a “difficult decision”, made “with a heavy heart”, which it “would have preferred not to make”.

The Women’s Institute struck a similarly reluctant note when it announced that men who identified as women would no longer be eligible for membership.

The WI said it was acting with “the utmost regret and sadness” and only because it had “no other choice” following the Supreme Court judgment.

It did not acknowledge that admitting men to a legally recognised women’s organisation had been wrong.

Instead, it emphatically reaffirmed its belief that “transgender women are women” and promised to continue extending “fellowship, sisterhood and support” to them.

I’ve even experienced a “sorry, not sorry” reversal first-hand.

In April 2026, the choir I founded was dropped from Scope’s London Marathon cheer squad because of my lawful gender-critical beliefs.

I tried to resolve the matter quietly. But Scope refused to accept that its decision might have discriminated against me and the other choir members - who, to my knowledge, had expressed no views on the subject whatsoever.

The choir was reinstated at 6pm on the eve of the marathon, after lawyers became involved. But there was no apology or acknowledgement that cancelling us had been wrong.

Instead, Scope recognised my right to hold protected beliefs while describing those same beliefs as “deeply upsetting” and “alienating”- apparently feeling the need to reassure its supporters even as it reversed its decision.

None of these reversals came easily. In every case, women had to question, complain or threaten legal action before the institution changed course.

I say reversal rather than apology because, when organisations are captured by gender ideology, apologies rarely sound sincere. They become reputation-management tools: a way to placate those they have wronged while reassuring their own side that nothing fundamental has changed.

Like a child made to apologise for bullying, they are contrite while the teacher is watching - then back to poking classmates in the ribs the moment their attention shifts elsewhere.

Amnesty’s external review should examine more than its research methods and editorial processes.

It should ask how a human-rights organisation came to portray women defending single-sex spaces, gay and lesbian campaigners protecting same-sex rights, journalists committed to accurate reporting and parents concerned about children’s medical treatment as part of an “anti-rights” movement.

Which voices shaped the briefings? Which assumptions went unchallenged? And why did Amnesty’s safeguards fail?

A meaningful review would confront all these questions. But I’m not hopeful - because nothing in Amnesty’s response suggests it believes its underlying position was wrong.

That is the problem with captured institutions. The challenge is not merely to make them say sorry.

It is to make them understand why they should be.

Courageous by Janet Murray has become [Un]Captured by Janet Murray.

I’ve been mulling this over for a while. Courageous was the name of the digital marketing business I spent more than eight years building - a business that began to fall apart after I publicly stated, in April 2025, that I disliked the phrase “pregnant people”.

One opinion that imploded my life in so many ways.

A breast cancer diagnosis followed shortly afterwards. Then, in January 2026, I returned to my previous career in journalism.

While I’m glad I did, I didn’t have many other options. Once you’ve spoken publicly about gender ideology, you can become pretty unemployable.

I learned the hard way just how captured many of our institutions have become - not only by gender ideology, but by other contested ideas that people are increasingly afraid to question.

In many ways, this reflects the journalism I’m already doing.

Much of my reporting focuses on sex and gender, women’s rights and the consequences of institutional policies for women and girls. That will remain central to my work.

But there are other areas I’d like to explore - particularly what happens when public and private institutions become so committed to an ideology or political position that they lose sight of their core purpose and the people they exist to serve.

That will be the focus of this Substack blog:

Investigating institutional capture - and the route back to purpose, impartiality and public trust.

If you were already subscribed, you don’t need to do anything. You’re simply coming with me into this next chapter - and I hope you’ll find it worth reading.

I’m still courageous (I hope). But I now feel ready to leave the old business brand behind and begin something new.

Thank you for supporting my work so far. It really does mean a lot.

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Today is my ‘Cancelliversary’.

One year ago today, I published a short video saying I didn’t like the phrase “pregnant people.”

I knew it would annoy some people.
I did not expect it to detonate my life.

Within days I was labelled a bigot, Nazi, Far Right, transphobic, homophobic. Cancellation campaigns gathered pace. A 28-minute podcast was recorded about me* - which I believe was defamatory - and widely shared.

What followed was a well-worn path for women who publicly defend their sex-based rights.

Clients withdrew. Speaking invitations evaporated. Contracts dissolved. Long-standing professional relationships ended. Conversations with lawyers began. Rooms I had once been welcomed into quietly closed.

There was trolling from activists and their allies. An anonymous “gift” arrived in the post. Police reports were filed.

My 13,000-follower Instagram account, was later removed after repeated (and I believe unfounded) copyright complaints - for sharing clips of unpleasant comments made about me. This account - built over 8+ years - was a key sales channel for my marketing consultancy and digital education products business.

In the middle of all this, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and started treatment. And while health is wealth, bills must still be paid. It was another devastating financial blow.

Twelve Months On

So twelve months on, what have I learned?

I could reach for the cliché: you find out who your real friends are.
And of course you do.

But what I learned was more unsettling than that.

Cancellation doesn’t require widespread malice. It requires incentives - and a culture that rewards withdrawal over courage.

What Sustains Cancellation

It only takes a handful of committed ideologues to ignite a cancellation campaign. What gives it force is everyone else: those who join the attacks and those who quietly step back.

• A former friend messaged to say she was “concerned” about my mental health. Not because I was spiralling. Not because I was incoherent. But because I refused to retract a view about the reality of biological sex. And when disagreement is recast as instability, the debate is over before it begins.

• Someone I’d paid reliably for years withdrew their freelance services. I gather my “intolerable views” are the reason. But they never told me directly. Not in person. Not in writing. The distance did the talking.

• Abusive messages landed in my inbox from someone who provides paid services to a family member. Not a stranger on the internet - someone connected to my real life.

There are other examples I won’t share here. Some things are too personal - and too painful. And despite everything, I still believe in loyalty - even when it hasn’t been extended to me.

What surprised me most wasn’t the aggression. That was predictable.

It was the suggestibility.

How quickly intelligent, thoughtful people can absorb and repeat a dominant narrative once it becomes socially necessary.

In this case - the idea that human beings can change sex. And that calling yourself a woman means you are one.

How rapidly doubt becomes silence.
And how easily language shifts when the cost of objecting rises.

I’ve learned you don’t need mass conviction to transform a culture.
You just need fear.

Rebuilding After Cancellation

Do I regret speaking up?

No.

Not because it was easy. It wasn’t. It still isn’t.

Not because it was cost-free. It wasn’t.

But because I believe women exist. And I believe language matters.

Once you’ve been publicly targeted for defending women’s sex-based rights, you don’t return to your old life.

My business - as I knew it - is over.

Starting again at 51 isn’t easy. But it is necessary. I’m still working out what that next chapter looks like.

One unexpected consequence has been a return - at least in part - to my former career of journalism.

Perhaps that isn’t so surprising. When your life is upended for saying something you believe to be true, it makes sense to return to a profession built on truth-seeking.

Some doors have closed permanently. That is simply reality.

But I would rather lose rooms than lose my footing.

One year on, I know exactly where I stand.

And I am still standing.

*I wasn’t named in this podcast but was identified as the subject by multiple sources

Earlier this month I ran an anonymous survey: Fear, Cancellation & Work which aimed to explore whether concerns about cancellation or reputational fallout are shaping professional life.

More than 600 people responded - employees, business owners and freelancers across many sectors.

I’m currently analysing the data and turning it into a structured report. A few early findings stand out:

• Over 95% say they have avoided expressing a view at work because they feared negative consequences

• Nearly half say fear has influenced what they say publicly - including on social media

Alongside the stats are hundreds of personal accounts. For example:

“Coworkers actively discuss how they would report colleagues who disagree with certain political opinions.”

“I have a family to support and can’t risk losing my job by saying how I really feel. It’s terrifying.”

“I always make sure I agree with whatever the ‘right think’ answer is. It’s easier and safer to keep quiet and pretend.”

I’ll be publishing a report with the full findings in the next week or so.

If you’d like to read the report when it’s ready, click the button below.

Get Cancellation Report

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Here are some people I thought were courageous in 1984:

• BBC Blue Peter presenter  Janet Ellis (for her 200,000 feet parachute jump) 

• Singer songwriter Bob Geldof for starting Band Aid and raising millions for Ethiopian children  

• TV Personality Anneka Rice - for being a ‘helicopter sky runner’ on the Channel 4 show Treasure Hunt

Granted, I was ten years old at the time.

But I’m pretty sure I also thought striking miners (along with police officers on the picket lines), war veterans and people who helped hide Jewish families during World War Two were courageous too. 

I was vaguely aware that sexism was a ‘thing’. And that some women made less money, found it harder to break into certain professions and/or get promoted at work than their male counterparts.

But I don’t remember feeling women needed to be courageous to speak up about these things - or any issues that affected them.

So if you’d told me I’d live to see a time where people would call women ‘courageous’ for saying one/more of these things: 

• I don’t want to share a toilet or changing room with a man

• Men can’t ovulate, have periods or have babies 

• I don’t think it’s right for men to compete in female sports categories 

… I wouldn’t have believed you. 

Nor would I have believed the reason it was considered courageous to say these things: because some people believed it was possible to change sex (despite scientific evidence to the contrary). And that there were more than two sexes (i.e. male and female). Because they’d seemingly decided that sex (biological reality) and gender (identity) were one and the same thing.

And not only did they expect you to believe them … and be complicit in their delusions. They’d also insult and abuse you for not going along with them - and incite others to join in. Which could result in the loss of your job/home. And/or threats of physical/sexual violence. 

But this is 2024 folks. 

And while I chose 1984 because that was the end of my first decade in the world … it’s difficult to ignore the irony.

Because the sex- based language we use to describe female bodies is under attack, as is our right to safe spaces - and even our right to voice our opinions on the matter. 

Like many women, however, I was slow to catch on. 

And, as someone who values inclusion and fairness, for the longest time, I did genuinely wonder if I’d missed something. 

Perhaps you’ve been wondering the same? 

But in a world where NHS nurses need a government petition - and legal action - to get a man out of their changing room, I’m more convinced than ever that we haven’t. 

And I can’t stay silent any longer. 

I’m conscious that many women don’t have the time/resources to stay up to speed with every development in this area (and other issues that relate to freedom of speech). And that many feel the same as I do - but are afraid of speaking up (out of fear of being called ‘bigoted’ and/or worse). 

I’m definitely not an expert. But I have done a LOT of research/reading over the last 12 months or so - and feel I may have valuable information and insights to share. 

And while I’m not entirely sure where I want this Substack to go, what I DO know is that it shouldn’t feel courageous to have conversations about these topics.  And yet it does. 

Which is how I know saying something is better than saying nothing.

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