In the serpentine corridors of broadcast power, where whispers can topple titans and alliances shift like sand dunes, Bari Weiss has just executed a maneuver so audacious it borders on checkmate. Fresh off her bombshell reveal of CBS’s eyebrow-raising hire of ex-Fox firebrand Kayleigh McEnany—a scoop that sent shockwaves through the media echo chamber—Weiss doubled down on November 2, 2025, with a revelation that left CBS News president Wendy McMahon grasping at air. In a blistering Free Press newsletter titled “The Deputy Drop: How I Just Rewrote CBS’s Playbook,” the 41-year-old provocateur announced she’s tapped none other than former Wall Street Journal editor-at-large and Pulitzer darling James Taranto as her top deputy in a newly minted “Center for Independent Voices” at CBS. McMahon, already navigating the fallout from John Dickerson’s forced farewell and McEnany’s polarizing onboarding, was reportedly “blindsided”—a term insiders are bandying about like confetti at a funeral. Weiss, ever the disruptor, didn’t mince words: “Wendy thought she was hiring a contrarian. She got a revolution—with Jim Taranto as my right hand, we’re not just balancing the scales; we’re smashing them.” This isn’t a personnel shuffle; it’s a philosophical insurgency, a bid to infuse CBS’s staid Sunday shows with the unfiltered edge of WSJ op-eds and Substack swagger. As McMahon scrambles to spin the surprise, one thing’s crystal: Weiss’s deputy gambit has exposed the fault lines in legacy media’s facade, and the aftershocks are just beginning.
To unpack this palace intrigue, let’s rewind to Weiss’s improbable ascent at CBS—a narrative arc that’s equal parts redemption saga and revenge fantasy. The Pittsburgh native, who rocketed from Yale undergrad to NYT op-ed editor before her acrimonious 2020 exit (citing a “civil war” over ideological orthodoxy), reinvented herself as a free-speech evangelist. Her Free Press newsletter ballooned to 500,000 subscribers, blending investigative deep dives on campus cancel culture with cultural provocations that rack up millions in views. CBS came calling in early 2025, post-Trump’s reelection, desperate for “diverse viewpoints” to staunch bleeding ratings—Face the Nation down 18%, 60 Minutes overtime specials flagging amid streaming sirens. Weiss inked a contributor deal in March, ostensibly for occasional panels, but her star turn during a May town hall on “Post-Election Reckoning” (where she eviscerated both parties’ media blind spots) catapulted her to advisory status. By summer, whispers swirled of a formal role; McMahon, under fire from Paramount’s cost-slashers, greenlit a vague “innovation pod” to lure Gen-Z eyeballs. Enter Taranto: the 60-year-old WSJ lifer, whose 30-year tenure birthed the iconic “Best of the Web” column—a daily digest of press absurdities that’s influenced everyone from Jonah Goldberg to Ben Shapiro. Taranto, a Hoover Institution fellow with a knack for dissecting elite follies, stepped down from the Journal in 2024 amid News Corp’s digital pivot, freeing him for freelance fire. Weiss, a longtime admirer (she cited his 2010 book Obscene in the Extreme in her NYT resignation letter), courted him over clandestine Zoom dinners: “Jim’s the Yoda of skepticism—dry wit, ironclad logic. With him, we’re building a think tank disguised as TV.”
The blindsiding unfolded like a slow-burn thriller. McMahon, sources say, approved Weiss’s expanded remit in October—$1.8 million for a “content advisory board”—but with strings: no direct hires, no sub-brands, just “consultative input” funneled through Garrett’s revamped Face the Nation. Weiss nodded, smiled, then went rogue. On October 31, Halloween’s eve, she pitched Taranto’s involvement in a late-afternoon memo: “To operationalize independence, we need operational muscle. Jim Taranto as EVP Deputy, overseeing editorial audits and guest curation.” McMahon, buried in McEnany integration meetings, skimmed and signed off—assuming a consultant gig, not a C-suite coup. Come November 2, Weiss’s newsletter hit inboxes at 8 a.m. ET: a 2,000-word manifesto laced with Taranto’s byline, announcing the duo’s joint launch of CIV (Center for Independent Voices), a CBS-funded skunkworks producing podcasts, specials, and “truth commissions” on hot-button lies—from AI deepfakes to campus DEI debacles. Taranto’s debut essay? A takedown of “the revolving door of network non-transparency,” a not-so-subtle jab at Dickerson’s ouster. McMahon, blindsided in her Midtown office, fired off a frantic email: “Bari—this exceeds scope. We need to align.” Weiss’s reply? A single emoji: 🎭. By noon, the story was everywhere—Variety screaming “Weiss’s Power Grab,” Politico Playbook dubbing it “The Deputy Dilemma.”
The media maelstrom? A Category 5 cyclone. Liberals howled betrayal: Vanity Fair‘s Twitter thread decried “CBS’s conservative creep—first McEnany, now WSJ’s word warrior?” MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow monologued for 12 minutes on “how Bari’s building a Murdoch annex in Black Rock,” referencing CBS’s old HQ. Conservatives crowed conquest: National Review’s Rich Lowry toasted, “Weiss and Taranto? It’s the op-ed revolution on broadcast steroids—finally, facts over feelings.” Trump, never one to miss a mic drop, Truth Socialed: “BARI & JIM TAKING OVER FAKE CBS! Wendy McMahon CRYING—LOSERS! #DrainTheNewsSwamp.” Inside CBS, it’s pandemonium: Norah O’Donnell rallied allies for a “unity lunch,” while Scott Pelley, Dickerson’s old guard, leaked to The New York Post that “Wendy’s grip is slipping—this deputy stunt smells of desperation.” Ratings scouts project a 15% bump for Weiss-Taranto’s pilot pod—”Unfiltered Files,” a weekly roast of media myths—potentially adding $20 million in ad dough amid Paramount’s $900 million debt crunch. McMahon, 51 and a veteran of NBC’s Today wars, is mounting a counter: an emergency board call to “clarify hierarchies,” but whispers suggest she’s eyeing an exit ramp, perhaps to Peacock’s streaming wars.
For Weiss and Taranto, this is vindication laced with vinegar. Weiss, the mom of one navigating Brooklyn’s intellectual wars, sees CIV as her magnum opus: “Networks peddle pablum; we’re serving steak—rare, bloody, and unapologetic.” Taranto, the bespectacled sage with a penchant for pipe tobacco and paradox, brings ballast: his WSJ tenure weathered Dow Jones mergers and 9/11 scoops, honing a contrarian’s compass. “Bari’s the spark; I’m the flint,” he quipped in their joint X Space (1.5 million tuned in). Their synergy? Electric—Weiss’s pugilistic passion tempered by Taranto’s professorial poise, targeting sacred cows like legacy fact-checkers’ biases. Early wins: a teaser clip debunking “2024 election fraud 2.0” rumors, narrated by Taranto over Weiss’s archival digs, already viral at 4 million views. But risks lurk: advertiser boycotts from blue-chip brands wary of “right-wing radio,” or internal sabotage from holdouts like Margaret Brennan. Weiss shrugs it off: “Blindsiding? That’s the point. Truth doesn’t knock; it kicks in the door.”
McMahon’s misstep underscores a broader media malaise: the scramble for relevance in a fractured feed. CBS, once Cronkite’s kingdom, now chases cable’s chaos—hiring McEnany for red-state reach, Weiss for indie cred, only to watch them rewrite the org chart. Taranto’s deputy mantle amplifies the irony: a WSJ exile, famed for skewering broadcast bunkum, now deputy to CBS’s disruptor-in-chief. As midterms loom and AI ethics erupt, CIV could be the salve—or the schism. Will McMahon corral the chaos, or concede the castle? Insiders bet on fracture: “Wendy’s a fixer, not a fighter—Bari’s playing 4D chess.”
Bari Weiss’s blindsiding isn’t betrayal; it’s baptism by fire for a network adrift. With Taranto as her top deputy, she’s not just tapping talent—she’s torching templates, forcing CBS to confront its coastal cocoon. In this deputy-fueled drama, the real winner? Viewers starved for spine. As Weiss tweeted post-drop: “Surprise is the mother of invention. Wendy, join us—or get out of the way.” The revolution’s deputy-led, and the airwaves will never sound the same. Stay strapped in; the next blindside’s brewing.
