Iker Jiménez Under Fire: The Battle Over Defining Journalism

The accusation against Iker Jiménez reignites the battle over who gets to call themselves a journalist

There was a time when Iker Jiménez only appeared on screen discussing UFOs, exorcisms, and unexplained events. That time is over. His name has jumped from television to the Congress floor, leading to a public clash of accusations between politicians, media, and part of the audience that neither forgives nor forgets. The underlying question—who has the right to call themselves a journalist—has gone unanswered for decades. Now, the dispute has names and is being fought in plain sight.

The Accusation from the Congress Floor

The flashpoint is an accusation made in a parliamentary setting. According to accounts circulating, the presenter's name reached the Congress floor, which some view as a simple political mention and others as a direct attack. In parallel, Pablo Iglesias published a message questioning whether it makes sense for a communicator specialized in UFOs and exorcisms to pass himself off as a serious journalist, comparing him to a healer attending an infirmary. It concluded by calling for laws 'to protect us from manipulation'.

That last point is what causes the most uproar. Discussing new rules to define what information is and what it isn't touches the core of freedom of expression. The reaction to this is almost unanimous: in a democracy, the limit of public speech is defamation or slander, and that boundary is set by a judge, not a ministry.

Does a Degree Make You a Journalist?

Iker Jiménez holds a degree in Journalism. That is the fact his defenders repeat and use to refute the charge of intrusion. The argument is simple: a graduate can dedicate themselves to reporting on UFOs, cooking, or the weather; the subject does not define the profession. The comparison that immediately arises is with other profiles who have held positions of maximum responsibility without equivalent training, packaged under the labels of merit or connection, depending on who is viewing it.

The objection also has its merits. It holds that a degree does not automatically make anyone a serious journalist, and that presenting entertainment of mystery as information degrades the profession. The discussion advances on the professional track but is closed off by the political one.

The Business Behind the Persona

This is where the economic angle emerges, the one least discussed but most explanatory. It is repeated that Jiménez has a daily prime-time program and his own channel on the Madrid terrestrial digital platform (TDT), leading to questions about where the money comes from for such a display and why he is afforded space in the public sphere. It also circulates, always as an assertion without further backing than the message itself, that a house in La Sarracena was paid for by talking about UFOs.

Truth, exaggeration, or caricature—the case is that the persona is profitable. And in television, profitability is rarely retired. This is where two narratives clash: the one that says his audience is ridiculous—and therefore superfluous—versus the one that recalls that if it were so marginal, he wouldn't be cited by the Prime Minister himself on the Congress floor.

The Cost of Credibility: Bonaire

No debate about the presenter avoids a specific episode. In the harshest messages, the accusation is repeated that he claimed the parking lot of Bonaire was full of corpses after the Valencia Dana. Those who maintain this draw a sharp conclusion from it: if you err on something like that, you err in everything.
The reproach comes not only from his ideological adversaries but also from comments within his own orbit.

This is the rift that no professional argument can bridge. One can debate whether a Journalism graduate should dedicate himself to UFOs. What is not equally debated, however, is the responsibility of what one says on air.

Censorship, Freedom of Expression, and the Official Narrative

At the heart of the conflict is a thesis repeated to saturation: the attack is not against a presenter; it is against anyone who causes discomfort. From there, the parliamentary challenge is read as the first step of censorship, 'disguised as a defense of democracy.' The counter-argument is direct: if the issue were the lack of media regulation, the imbalance between them wouldn't be explained.

Not everyone accepts this framework. There is a more skeptical current that rejects both flags: neither David against Goliath, nor journalistic freedom versus censorship. Only the presenter's alignment with the narrative that suits him best.
The episode cited as proof is the pandemic, when—they maintain—he aligned himself with the narrative that suited him best, even if it only appeared so.

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Pablo Iglesias, meanwhile, is working—according to the case material—on creating a syndicate of anti-fascist police officers. The accusation from the Congress floor remains without an official record, the proposed law has not reached any bulletin, and the presenter maintains his prime time slot and his channel. The only thing verifiable so far is the noise.