Whistleblowers and secret helpers: How our investigation into the University of Greater Manchester came together

Last summer, I’d just finished reporting my first piece on the University of Greater Manchester — back then, still the University of Bolton. The university was planning to let 82 members of staff go, and I’d written a piece in which I’d interviewed the vice chancellor, George Holmes via phone. During our conversation he insisted there was a financial need to embark on cost cutting at the university – while defending his high salary (the same one which presumably afforded him a sailing boat and a Bentley). All the same, I’d end up spending many hours reporting, corroborating evidence with other sources and fact checking – it was important to me to write a fair and balanced piece. But Holmes wasn’t impressed. As I’d find out later, he had dismissed my article as the efforts of an “irrelevant newspaper”, in conversations with staff. This attitude towards what our reporting uncovered seemed to be par for the course. Later, when I went to him with bullying claims about a senior university executive named Joseph Wheeler, a source told me that I was simply dismissed as a “sensationalist journalist” in conversations with university staff. If we didn’t matter, then maybe what we’d uncover didn’t matter either.

And, honestly, why would Holmes be spooked by a reporter from what the MEN once termed a ‘hyper local newsletter’ digging into the university? Far more established and famous publications than us had covered the lows of Holmes’ career plenty of times before. There was the great Financial Times piece in which two undercover staff journalists uncovered Holmes as one of the names attending a secretive all-male black tie dinner — a dinner in which some of the hostesses (attired as they were obliged to, in skimpy dresses) experienced inappropriate behaviour from the guests  (speaking to the Bolton News at the time, Holmes condemned the behaviour of his fellow guests). He was also involved in a public row over whether university vice chancellors were paid enough (Holmes argued they weren’t, despite owning a sailing boat and a Bentley). He was also criticised in Private Eye for giving a £38k a year salary to the right wing MP John Hayes for a workload of 20-30 hours a month. None of these meticulously researched stories seemed to bring much change. At the University of Greater Manchester, business went on as usual.

Until one day… it didn’t. By this point – this week – I’d written five pieces about the University of Greater Manchester, about Wheeler and Holmes. One reader pointed out that despite Private Eye covering Holmes for years, they hadn’t managed to find what I, with the help of my colleague Joshi Herrmann, had uncovered: namely, that two senior university executives tried to divert hundreds of thousands of pounds from one of the university’s biggest commercial partners into a private bank account. It would be nice to claim that this was because, after working as a journalist for four years following university, my investigative skills were superior to those on the nationals. But really, the truth is never that glamorous: it was probably a few different things. The Mill’s track record of ethical reporting meant that sources trusted Joshi and I enough to know we could handle information sensitively. That in turn allowed us to get contacts that led us to uncover a contract that showed that Joseph Wheeler had pressured one of the university’s biggest partners, the international student recruitment agency ECN, into agreeing to give up 40% of its revenue and transferring it into Wheeler’s bank account in exchange for marketing services.

And besides, Mill reporters enjoy an advantage that the nationals don’t have. Most nationals crash into a place for a day, investigate for a bit and then go and do something else. We’re embedded in Greater Manchester and the community and we’re big on building on our reporting – we believe in returning to stories and keeping digging.

It’s been The Mill’s reporting that’s led to what feels like a potential sea change. Let’s say the quiet bit loud: Potential. I don’t want to exaggerate. After my investigation into their marketing manager Joseph Wheeler’s bullying, racist behaviour came out, the university claimed they’d sacked him. This turned out to not quite be the case – three days later, the university admitted it was still continuing its contract with Wheeler’s company, RSM.

Still, there’s been signs that perhaps, finally, there may be consequences. Our reporting was picked up by Private Eye, who summarised it for a national audience. In response to our articles, the local MP Phil Brickell has written to the Education Secretary and the Office for Students asking for an independent and thorough investigation into the university. Brickell, having spoken to many whistleblowers and senior figures inside the university himself, says he finds their testimony to be credible, and adds: “The contents of The Mill articles are enough to warrant an independent investigation into the University’s financial arrangements.”

It’s gratifying to see our reporting being picked up by MPs and referred to the Department for Education for potential investigation, but the reactions I’ve valued most have been from the sources themselves. One current staff member told me that our work is “giving us hope and a voice” and another current staff member said that the harassment from Wheeler had made them feel hopeless. “It was like he was above the law,” they said. “And that’s why I used to just take it, and lie down, and be a nodding dog. I can’t thank you enough.”

That “voice”, frankly, wouldn’t exist without the 3,288 people who pay for the Mill. While we’re thankful for all 50,000 + Millers — it’s our paying members who (almost) entirely fund our journalism. Without them, The Mill would shut down and we wouldn’t be able to hold institutions like the University of Greater Manchester to account. The misery staff at the university have experienced would have no end in sight. 

As a humble “hyperlocal newsletter”, we can’t thank those members enough. And if you haven’t joined them yet — we’d urge you too. £8.95 a month buys you eight brilliant extra editions a month — including coverage of politics, culture and local people. And remember: you are the last line of defence between George Holmes and a second sailing boat — you know that’s a sound investment.