On August 30 1995 the BBC governors held a special meeting requested by one of their own managing directors (me). There was only one item on the agenda - the proposed move of the BBC's radio journalists from Broadcasting House down the M40 to White City at a cost of £41m. The move, to a purpose-built, state-of-the-art news centre in which all the BBC's journalists across radio, television, satellite and online would be congregated, was a pet project of the then director-general, John Birt, and his head of news and current affairs, Tony Hall. It was bitterly opposed by almost everyone in radio, journalists or not.
Rows of this kind at the BBC usually take place in dark corners, not in the full light of a formal governors' meeting but this issue raised such fundamental questions that I wanted the governors to hear both sides of the story before a final decision was made. To his credit, John Birt agreed.
Tony Hall told the governors that centralisation was essential to meet the challenges of technological change; that it would strengthen BBC journalism; and save £9.5m-£10.5m a year. I said it was inimical to pluralism and the integrity of each radio station's distinctive sound, that White City was a mad place to site the Today programme, and that the figures were unbelievable. It was also obvious - even before a brick was laid - that the site was far too small.
The worst damage, I feared, would be to Radio 4. Broadcasting House, in the heart of central London, was easy for interviewees to reach. Who would be willing to toil down to Shepherd's Bush at 7am to face Jim Naughtie? The dread sound of the "down the line" interview would become the norm, to the detriment of one of the BBC's most important programmes. And while it was clearly sensible to centralise the collecting of the raw material for news, it was impossible to meet the needs and agendas of all the BBC's different audiences - from Radio 1 to the Nine O'Clock News - with the same amorphous and interchangeable troupe of journalists producing the finished programmes.
John Birt had, with great courage, brought radical reforms to the BBC. Everything was subjected to minute scrutiny of costs, management and strategic aim. The exception to such long overdue rigour was this costly and controversial proposal to yank all radio journalism out of its home and into a forced marriage with television.
The ostensible gains were huge financial efficiencies. But no one apart from John Birt and Tony Hall was ever allowed to see the detailed figures. I never met anyone else who believed them for a minute. Stage Six, as the new journalism factory was called, was more than a new office. It was a physical symbol of corporate purpose. Practical arguments about the needs of programmes and programme-makers were secondary.
The governors were in an impossible position. Several declared private support for radio's case but, faced with the insistence of their director-general, the whole thing had become an issue of confidence. It was a choice between losing a managing director and losing a director-general. Quite understandably, they chose the former.
Having lost the argument I had no alternative but to resign, but I was determined not to become a stick for enemies of the corporation to beat it with. For the past five years I have refused to discuss my resignation or to utter a critical syllable about the BBC, which I value and admire passionately.
But what I thought was water under the bridge has suddenly turned into a whirlpool. The BBC is now reported to have discovered serious doubts after all about the suitability of White City for a journalistic centre and is said to be considering reversing the whole damaging episode. There is no official announcement yet but architects are apparently looking at the possibility of scrapping Stage Six and making Broadcasting House the new home of BBC journalism - this time moving TV to radio rather then vice versa.
My staff were disappointed in me for keeping silent publicly when I left. No doubt the BBC will be angered by my writing this after all this time. The criterion in both cases is the same: whether any purpose would be served by speaking out. In 1995 I had had a perfectly good opportunity to put my case and it was rejected. There was neither sense nor justification in banging on. But now - aside from a sense of vindication which is giving me disappointingly little pleasure - there is a real issue to be raised.
I am sure the BBC will produce elegant demonstrations of how essential it was at the time to press ahead with the Stage Six plan only to reverse the whole policy five years later. But I am also sure that no outsider will ever be allowed to know the real cost - in money, morale and programme quality - of either the original move or the eventual move back. What is more, I am afraid that no one will ever take responsibility for this wasteful corporate mistake. And they ought to.
Liz Forgan was managing director of BBC Radio from 1993 to 1996