The BBC should stand up to Trump’s $1bn legal demand – it would probably win in court

As a lawyer, I have seen my fair share of ambitious lawsuits. But even by those standards, Donald Trump’s threat to sue the BBC for $1bn (£760m) – over its edited broadcast of his January 6 speech – is a spectacular legal misadventure. From where I sit, it looks less like a fight for justice and more like a public relations gambit that could backfire badly on him.

There are a few legal tripwires between Trump and any conceivable victory against the BBC. For a start, the limitation period for any UK defamation claim has lapsed: the US president had one year from the broadcast date of 28 October 2024, meaning the deadline expired on 28 October 2025 – about two weeks ago. However, a claim in Florida would still be within time, since the limitation period there is two years, but less likely to succeed.

Trump’s problem is that the edition of Panorama wasn’t broadcast in the United States, and BBC iPlayer isn’t available there either, so no one in that jurisdiction would have watched it there on catch-up. That means it is not clear that any US court could entertain the claim. Setting aside that technicality, even if the case somehow got off the ground, the legal and evidential hurdles facing Trump remain formidable.

The most ticklish problem for Trump’s lawyers is that his reputation in relation to January 6 was already in tatters before the BBC aired its documentary, which took the president’s rally cry to “fight like hell” – a reference to contesting the presidential elections – and spliced it onto a comment made almost an hour earlier when he told supporters he was going to walk with them to the Capitol (“to peacefully and patriotically make your voices heard”).

It is not yet clear why the production team took the decision to edit two parts of the speech together, without making it apparent either to viewers or to the BBC’s editorial team. But judicial findings, congressional hearings and global media coverage have long established Trump’s central role in the events of that day. When it comes to the January 6 riots, does he have a reputation to uphold?

When you assess defamation, one of the key questions is whether the defamatory meaning alleged is substantially true. If the “sting” of a claim is true, then it isn’t libel. In other words, the BBC cannot have lowered Trump in the estimation of right-thinking people if the core allegation – that it was he who incited the mob – was already widely accepted.

Multiple judicial findings and official reports have described Trump’s speech as “plausible incitement” and the “central cause” of the January 6 attack. The DC Circuit Court has also ruled that he could be sued for inciting violence by victims of the riot. Nine separate federal judges have linked his speech to the insurrection. He was impeached for incitement to insurrection, and came perilously close to the Brandenburg threshold for criminal incitement.

Trump’s legal team would have to convince a court that a programme never broadcast in Florida somehow changed Floridians’ view of him. That is a difficult argument to make, especially when one’s reputation is already heavily damaged.

Worse still for Trump, a libel trial would put his conduct on January 6 under the forensic microscope of the courts. The full speech – not just the edited version – would be played, alongside judicial opinions branding his words as incitement. That would be a PR disaster for the president, reviving every uncomfortable detail of his actions during the insurrection, and reminding US citizens of the episode and his role in it.

Then there’s the issue of litigation risk. If Trump were my client, I would advise him that this is not the hill to die on – it is a legal cliff edge. Yes, he has successfully portrayed the BBC as “fake news” in some circles, but pursuing that narrative through the courts could expose him to humiliating defeat.

To be fair, he is entitled to feel aggrieved if the BBC edited his remarks in a way that suggested intent he did not possess. An apology might be a reasonable remedy. But a billion-dollar libel claim? That is a stretch.

Nor does Trump have anything like the kind of leverage he once enjoyed. The BBC doesn’t require regulatory approval from him, unlike CBS or other networks that have historically needed US government permissions. He could attempt to bar BBC reporters from White House press access, but that tactic has failed before; Associated Press has successfully challenged such bans in court.

Ultimately, this isn’t about legal merit; it’s about political theatre. Trump’s camp may hope to stoke outrage among his supporters by portraying him as the victim of an “anti-Trump” media conspiracy. But in law, libel is not about being wronged – it’s about being wronged in a way that causes real reputational damage.

In the United States, Trump faces another hurdle: he is the ultimate public figure, and the law there requires proof of “actual malice” – that the BBC deliberately sought to harm him. No serious observer has suggested that.

Add to that the stark difference in damages: the maximum libel award in the UK is around £250,000, whereas he is currently demanding $1bn. And since he was elected president after the broadcast and has made millions since, it would be hard to argue that he suffered any real loss.

By taking on the BBC, Trump has bitten off more than he can chew. But the corporation should still tread carefully. It is tempting to dismiss his legal sabre-rattling as bluster – yet this is precisely the kind of fight that can drag a respected broadcaster into the mud. Sometimes, the smart move is not to win the argument, but to walk away.