The Breaking Point at ABC
In a stunning shakeup that is redefining the landscape of American television, some of ABC’s most iconic stars and creative forces have walked away from the network, publicly denouncing its culture and signing lucrative new deals with NBC. The mass exodus, marked by the now-viral rallying cry “ABC can kiss our ass,” is not just a business story—it’s a tale of betrayal, censorship, and a revolt that’s shifting the balance of power in prime time, daytime, and late night TV.
For decades, ABC was synonymous with prestige, stability, and mainstream American entertainment. It was the home of family dramas, daytime talk powerhouses, and late night comedic institutions. But by the mid-2020s, that image had shattered. Behind the glossy facade, ABC’s stars and staff describe a network consumed by authoritarian micromanagement, political capitulation, and a suffocating culture of censorship.
The pressure had been building for years. Talent felt increasingly stifled by legal disclaimers, corporate reviews, and directives that turned spontaneous conversation into scripted, sanitized content. The breaking point came not quietly, but in a coordinated wave of public revolt—actors, producers, and hosts began leaving, punctuating their exit with a defiant message: “ABC can kiss our ass.”
The View: Daytime’s Juggernaut Cracks
The unraveling began with ABC’s daytime juggernaut, The View. Long known for its combative style and political debates, the show became ground zero for the network’s internal crisis. Executives launched an “internal review” into the show’s alleged liberal bias—a move hosts saw as censorship disguised as balance.
Rosie O’Donnell, a former host, warned that cancellation was looming behind bureaucratic euphemisms. In interviews, she accused ABC of caving to political intimidation and silencing its most outspoken voices. “They try to silence the artists. They try to silence the truth-tellers,” O’Donnell said, framing the industry as compromised by external pressures and internal cowardice.
Meetings that once buzzed with creative energy turned into legal briefings. Sunny Hostin, the show’s legal expert, was reportedly frustrated that her commentary was subject to disclaimers before she even spoke. Joy Behar called it “death by a thousand lawyers.” Whoopi Goldberg, the show’s anchor, found her comedic timing constantly interrupted by demands for corrections.
Scripted Dramas: Stigma and Scandal
ABC’s scripted division faced its own reckoning. Grey’s Anatomy—once the crown jewel of the network—left scars on its cast. Isaiah Washington’s firing in 2007 became a cautionary tale, transforming him from an award-winning actor into a cultural scapegoat. Katherine Heigl, labeled “difficult” by executives, internalized the stigma for years before publicly rejecting it. “I literally believed that version and felt such shame for such a long time,” she admitted.
Elsewhere, Nicollette Sheridan’s legal war with ABC over her treatment on Desperate Housewives became a symbol of the network’s cruelty. Sheridan was ostracized and, in her view, blacklisted for speaking out about assault and battery on set. “I was absolutely vilified,” she said. Sheridan’s fight left her estranged from colleagues and the industry, but NBC’s eventual courtship represented not just an employment opportunity, but vindication.
Scandal also produced casualties. Columbus Short’s departure was widely reported as a response to off-screen troubles, but he insists ABC distanced itself to protect its image rather than support him as a person. “My character has been assassinated,” Short said, describing ABC’s approach as political and transactional.
The Tipping Point: Censorship and Fear
The cumulative effect of these stories was a network reputation for abandonment and betrayal. Talent who encountered trouble—whether from politics, personal controversy, or disputes with executives—found themselves discarded with remarkable speed. ABC’s culture was increasingly seen as one of appeasement: advertisers, political figures, critics, but never the performers themselves.
Rumors began swirling that ABC was planning sweeping changes, scaling back controversial hosts and restricting political commentary. Jimmy Kimmel, a late night anchor, was scrutinized for remarks viewed as crossing the line. The implication for stars across the network was clear: every word could be weaponized, every sentence subject to punishment.
Rosie O’Donnell cited health consequences from relentless stress, describing her decision to step away as a matter of survival. “My doctor has recommended that I not do a daily show anymore,” she told Disney executives.
NBC Strikes: The Empire Built from ABC’s Castoffs
At the height of ABC’s disillusionment, NBC made its move. NBC Universal executives had been watching ABC’s decline, waiting for the perfect moment to poach its most disaffected stars. Their pitch was simple: bigger paychecks, creative freedom, and a willingness to embrace controversy.
Nicollette Sheridan was promised creative autonomy. Katherine Heigl was offered roles free from micromanagement. Rosie O’Donnell could produce a politically unapologetic talk show without scripted disclaimers. Columbus Short was reassured that his past would not disqualify him. NBC branded itself as the home of reclamation, where the discarded could thrive.
Within weeks, agents representing ABC veterans reported a surge of interest from NBC recruiters. Multi-year deals worth tens of millions were offered to performers who felt exiled. For actors long labeled “difficult,” “toxic,” or “blacklisted,” these offers were transformative.
The Revolt Goes Public
What began as private negotiations exploded into a full public revolt. Stars who once sustained ABC’s prestige took to interviews, podcasts, and social media, blasting the network with unprecedented ferocity. ABC’s disgruntled voices—once contained—were now amplified across every platform.
Roseanne Barr, famously fired by ABC in 2018, accused the network of erasing her cultural legacy and assassinating her character. “They stole my life’s work, perverted it, just to show me that I better keep my mouth shut,” she said, describing her blacklisting as a systemic silencing of older women in the industry.
Rosie O’Donnell broadened her attack, claiming ABC’s capitulation to political pressure represented nothing less than the corrosion of American democracy. She revealed she left the United States out of concern for her safety and her child’s well-being, tying ABC’s entanglement with political intimidation directly to threats against her.
Columbus Short reclaimed his narrative, clarifying that ABC treated his situation as a liability rather than a human being. “You look at it as like a presidential campaign. If there’s some stuff that’s kind of messing up the campaign, you start losing support. And sometimes people have to distance themselves,” he said.
Isaiah Washington reemerged, describing how Hollywood abandoned him overnight after his exit from Grey’s Anatomy. “Nobody was there. Nobody wanted to touch me. It was gone. Everybody,” he said, arguing that networks were quick to exploit black talent for ratings but equally quick to discard them at the first hint of controversy.
NBC’s New Empire: Freedom, Autonomy, and Defiance
As the dust settled, NBC’s strategy became clear. The network had constructed an empire from ABC’s castoffs, transforming exiled talent into the foundation of a new programming slate designed to dominate prime time, daytime, and late night.
Rosie O’Donnell was given a multi-year deal to headline a prime time talk/documentary hybrid, promising editorial freedom. Nicollette Sheridan was cast as the lead in a new prestige drama centered on resilience and reinvention. Katherine Heigl was attached to both scripted projects and executive producer roles, signaling her creative autonomy.
Isaiah Washington’s return to television through NBC was dramatic. He was tapped to develop both scripted and unscripted programming that would draw on his identity as actor and humanitarian. Columbus Short secured a producing deal, a chance to control his narrative after years of controversy.
Even late night underwent transformation. NBC experimented with giving slots to voices once deemed too incendiary for ABC. Roseanne Barr was given a platform to develop a scripted sitcom loosely based on her life after cancellation—both comedy and catharsis.
The Fallout: ABC’s Nightmare Begins
ABC’s attempts to stem the exodus were too little, too late. Executives convened emergency meetings, promising reforms and creative freedom, but the credibility deficit was too severe. Agents pulled clients, contracts were terminated early, and NBC finalized new deals. The entertainment press buzzed with rumors of a mass migration unseen since television’s golden age.
ABC’s ratings slipped, advertisers grew restless, and internal morale plummeted. The phrase “ABC can kiss our ass,” once a private toast among defectors, became a meme symbolizing corporate downfall.
NBC, by contrast, enjoyed a renaissance. Its slate of reclaimed stars brought ratings and cultural relevance. By platforming voices silenced elsewhere, NBC cultivated an aura of defiance, replacing ABC as the cultural heartbeat of American television.
The Lessons Echo Loudly
The revolt has rewritten the calculus of network loyalty. For performers, it proved that exile from one network could become empowerment at another. For audiences, it demonstrated that loyalty to brands can be shattered when stars themselves declare betrayal. And for ABC, it cemented a new legacy—not as the network of opportunity, but as the network that lost its empire to its own neglect.
NBC’s new empire is built on reclamation, autonomy, and defiance. The entertainment world is watching—and the message is clear: ABC can kiss our ass
