Heritage Foundation in Crisis: Trustee Exodus Over Antisemitism Uproar

Paul Riverbank, 12/18/2025Heritage Foundation reels from trustee exits, donor unrest, and accusations of antisemitism and lost integrity.

Two of Heritage’s respected trustees, Abby Spencer Moffat and Shane McCullar, didn’t so much exit quietly as march out through the front door, their resignation letters flashing blunt disagreement over Heritage’s recent choices. For McCullar, who joined to advocate for the traditions of the Founding, the institution’s recent actions made continued affiliation impossible. “You can’t uphold American ideals while platforming the language of hate,” he lamented to colleagues in his final days. For Moffat, watching Heritage waver in the face of antisemitism and public missteps was more than a disappointment—it signaled a forfeiture of the “moral authority” that once anchored its influence.

This fracture didn’t spring from nowhere. Sparks flew after Tucker Carlson—no stranger to controversy—broadcast a long, wandering interview with Nick Fuentes, a man widely recognized for antisemitic and racially charged diatribes. Carlson’s relaxed approach and apparent lack of pushback rankled many, both inside and outside Heritage. Critics from the political left shrugged, but voices on the right were uncharacteristically sharp. What many saw in Carlson’s questions wasn’t debate at all but faint endorsement, with hate left unchecked and normalized.

Heritage’s president, Kevin Roberts, first chose the path of resistance, responding to the uproar with a video that landed somewhere between defensive and defiant. He labeled critics—from the ADL to his own conservative allies—as a “venomous coalition,” calling their critiques “cancel culture.” But the wounds inside Heritage only deepened. Donors began making calls. Scholars like Robert P. George and Stephen Moore packed up their offices. Soon, the Zionist Organization of America pulled out, complaining of Roberts’ silence and hinting at deeper rot.

An apology followed. Or at least, something that looked like one. Roberts gestured toward regret but dodged the heart of the controversy—never explicitly addressing what Heritage had actually done wrong, or why Carlson’s defense crossed a line for so many. It played poorly, particularly given the news that Heritage had backed Carlson’s media ventures with nearly a million dollars in sponsorship contracts—not an optics issue, but an ethical one, in the eyes of critics.

Ben Shapiro, hardly bashful about intra-conservative disputes, amplified dissent at a Heritage speaking event that was planned around his new book. Turning from his prepared remarks, Shapiro instead spent ten minutes dismantling Carlson’s worldview and record, calling him “an opponent of conservatism” and listing grievances from wild conspiracy mongering—accusations about Mossad and Trump—to a fixation on Israel he described as “peculiar.” Shapiro didn’t hide behind careful language: “A conservatism that treats Tucker Carlson as a thought leader is no conservatism.” Roberts, trying to play host, chuckled about debate and intellectual diversity. The crowd, for the most part, wasn’t buying it.

Internally, more trustees walked away after that. One cited Heritage’s failure to draw “a line against antisemitism and hatred.” Another pointed to “a drift” from the foundation’s original mission—a phrase that was starting to echo among longtime staff. Heritage’s leadership projected calm, but the foundation’s reputation, carefully built over generations, was already taking on water.

Meanwhile, Carlson himself remained unbowed, laughing off the drama as “too funny.” Some billionaire donors floated the possibility—half in jest, perhaps—that he should run a media empire like CNN. He brushed that aside with a smirk, dismissing CNN as “irrelevant.” His own podcast numbers remain formidable, even as his presence divides rather than unites conservative circles.

For Heritage, though, this isn’t just about public relations. The foundation’s clout in shaping conservative policy rests on the belief that it holds itself to higher standards—even, or especially, when it’s difficult. When board members, scholars, and allied organizations depart en masse, what remains at stake isn’t only personnel, but the foundation’s soul. Once a movement’s compass, Heritage is now being compelled to answer a fundamental question: Will it defend its ideals when tested, or choose expedience over integrity?

These aren’t hypothetical risks. They are playing out, right now, in the choices Heritage’s leadership is making and in the quiet phone calls between former supporters and current staff. As the Foundation navigates the fallout, it is learning—perhaps too late—the cost of hesitation when moral clarity is at stake. There are times when what’s at risk isn’t just a policy win or loss, but the very trust an institution claims to uphold. And a legacy, once tested in daylight, isn’t so easily restored.

The Heritage Foundation—once the high ground of conservative credentials in Washington—has been thrown off kilter. If one had walked past its headquarters just a few weeks ago, the mood might have seemed the usual bland productivity. Now, conversations in its corridors stumble over words like “integrity” and “principle,” as departures ripple up to the boardroom.Two of Heritage’s respected trustees, Abby Spencer Moffat and Shane McCullar, didn’t so much exit quietly as march out through the front door, their resignation letters flashing blunt disagreement over Heritage’s recent choices. For McCullar, who joined to advocate for the traditions of the Founding, the institution’s recent actions made continued affiliation impossible. “You can’t uphold American ideals while platforming the language of hate,” he lamented to colleagues in his final days. For Moffat, watching Heritage waver in the face of antisemitism and public missteps was more than a disappointment—it signaled a forfeiture of the “moral authority” that once anchored its influence.This fracture didn’t spring from nowhere. Sparks flew after Tucker Carlson—no stranger to controversy—broadcast a long, wandering interview with Nick Fuentes, a man widely recognized for antisemitic and racially charged diatribes. Carlson’s relaxed approach and apparent lack of pushback rankled many, both inside and outside Heritage. Critics from the political left shrugged, but voices on the right were uncharacteristically sharp. What many saw in Carlson’s questions wasn’t debate at all but faint endorsement, with hate left unchecked and normalized.Heritage’s president, Kevin Roberts, first chose the path of resistance, responding to the uproar with a video that landed somewhere between defensive and defiant. He labeled critics—from the ADL to his own conservative allies—as a “venomous coalition,” calling their critiques “cancel culture.” But the wounds inside Heritage only deepened. Donors began making calls. Scholars like Robert P. George and Stephen Moore packed up their offices. Soon, the Zionist Organization of America pulled out, complaining of Roberts’ silence and hinting at deeper rot.An apology followed. Or at least, something that looked like one. Roberts gestured toward regret but dodged the heart of the controversy—never explicitly addressing what Heritage had actually done wrong, or why Carlson’s defense crossed a line for so many. It played poorly, particularly given the news that Heritage had backed Carlson’s media ventures with nearly a million dollars in sponsorship contracts—not an optics issue, but an ethical one, in the eyes of critics.Ben Shapiro, hardly bashful about intra-conservative disputes, amplified dissent at a Heritage speaking event that was planned around his new book. Turning from his prepared remarks, Shapiro instead spent ten minutes dismantling Carlson’s worldview and record, calling him “an opponent of conservatism” and listing grievances from wild conspiracy mongering—accusations about Mossad and Trump—to a fixation on Israel he described as “peculiar.” Shapiro didn’t hide behind careful language: “A conservatism that treats Tucker Carlson as a thought leader is no conservatism.” Roberts, trying to play host, chuckled about debate and intellectual diversity. The crowd, for the most part, wasn’t buying it.Internally, more trustees walked away after that. One cited Heritage’s failure to draw “a line against antisemitism and hatred.” Another pointed to “a drift” from the foundation’s original mission—a phrase that was starting to echo among longtime staff. Heritage’s leadership projected calm, but the foundation’s reputation, carefully built over generations, was already taking on water.Meanwhile, Carlson himself remained unbowed, laughing off the drama as “too funny.” Some billionaire donors floated the possibility—half in jest, perhaps—that he should run a media empire like CNN. He brushed that aside with a smirk, dismissing CNN as “irrelevant.” His own podcast numbers remain formidable, even as his presence divides rather than unites conservative circles.For Heritage, though, this isn’t just about public relations. The foundation’s clout in shaping conservative policy rests on the belief that it holds itself to higher standards—even, or especially, when it’s difficult. When board members, scholars, and allied organizations depart en masse, what remains at stake isn’t only personnel, but the foundation’s soul. Once a movement’s compass, Heritage is now being compelled to answer a fundamental question: Will it defend its ideals when tested, or choose expedience over integrity?These aren’t hypothetical risks. They are playing out, right now, in the choices Heritage’s leadership is making and in the quiet phone calls between former supporters and current staff. As the Foundation navigates the fallout, it is learning—perhaps too late—the cost of hesitation when moral clarity is at stake. There are times when what’s at risk isn’t just a policy win or loss, but the very trust an institution claims to uphold. And a legacy, once tested in daylight, isn’t so easily restored.