Gladwell’s career wouldn’t have been destroyed if he’d spoken out against the glaring unfairness, not to mention dangers, of allowing men to compete in women’s sport. He’d have faced loss of approval from the cultural elite and received activist blowback, and even that wouldn’t have come with the tsunami of death and rape threats women face when they speak.

Non-famous people, mostly women, girls and gay people, have genuinely had their careers and indeed lives destroyed for saying what Gladwell was too pusillanimous to say, and Gladwell didn’t lift a finger in their defence. Like many well-known liberals, he was happy to watch members of the great unwashed bullied, traduced and defamed, fine with the erosion of freedom of speech, comfortable with young women being robbed of sporting honours and facing serious injury, because he valued his own standing and security more highly than acting on the feeble promptings of his conscience.

A rash of condescending men will swarm my mentions when I post this to tell me I should be pleased about Gladwell’s cautious backtracking. No. He hasn’t changed. He’s merely sensed a shift in what it’s acceptable to say and feels safe to align himself with the new consensus, excuses for his previous behaviour to the fore. He isn’t an ally, he’s a weathervane.

Changing sides years late, and only after you’ve realised the non-elite opposition is winning, isn’t a mark of integrity but of arse-covering. Those whose overriding focus is remaining in good odour with the in crowd can never be trusted. Gender identity ideology has been the modern arts world’s McCarthyism, and all Gladwell’s done is reveal himself as a man who’d have named names, but felt a bit uncomfortable about it afterwards.

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