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The writer is an international disputes lawyer at Boies Schiller Flexner
Donald Trump’s $1bn lawsuit threat against the BBC is not just another high-profile spat. It is a masterclass in strategic litigation.
The claim, relating to misleading edits of the US president’s words in a documentary, is arguably less about winning in court and more a case of exploiting cross-border legal faultlines. Opting for Florida’s courts as the battlefield, not the more logical choice of the UK, is key to understanding the entire gambit.
The claim letter — conspicuously made public despite alleging “overwhelming financial and reputational harm” — demands the BBC retract a Panorama documentary that aired over a year ago, analysing events on January 6 2021, almost five years ago. It imposes a five-day deadline for full retraction, apology and compensation, threatening a $1bn lawsuit if it does not comply.
At first glance, suing the BBC in Florida over events years ago — and after a successful election — seems odd. While it fits with Trump’s established pattern of filing defamation claims in the state, the BBC is a UK entity, the documentary was produced in the UK and its core audience is British.
However, a lawsuit in the UK was probably a non-starter given its one-year limitation period for defamation claims. And English courts rarely award more than £300,000 for defamation, making recovery of $1bn unlikely. The choice of a US jurisdiction offers three distinct advantages:
First, the headline-grabbing damages. A $1bn claim generates enormous publicity. It suggests monumental harm and frames the BBC as a malicious actor — regardless of legal realities.
Second, the US requires public figures to prove “actual malice” — that the publisher knew a statement was false or acted with reckless disregard for the truth. While an incredibly high bar to meet, it allows Trump to frame the dispute around the BBC’s alleged intent.
Third, the US discovery process is notoriously broad and burdensome. Even a preliminary skirmish could force the BBC to produce vast troves of documents and submit staff to depositions. The process itself becomes a form of punishment.
Despite these advantages, the legal case has high hurdles that make the path to victory (in court at least) a steep one. Trump’s second election victory fundamentally undermines his claim of “overwhelming” harm. If it were alleged that the documentary was intended to damage Trump’s electoral prospects, the election results demonstrate the effect was so minimal as to be legally insignificant.
Another challenge is that the BBC’s online presence in the state may not be enough to convince a Florida court it has jurisdiction over a UK-based broadcaster. And Florida judges could still dismiss the case on the basis that UK courts are the more appropriate forum.
Florida’s anti-Slapp (strategic lawsuits against public participation) statute allows for quick dismissal of baseless lawsuits intended to chill free speech on public issues. The BBC could have the case thrown out early, with Trump ordered to pay its legal fees.
Proving actual malice will be exceptionally difficult, requiring evidence that the BBC knew the edit was false. The broadcaster’s prompt admission of an “error of judgment” suggests negligence, not the reckless disregard the US standard demands.
And the burden of discovery cuts both ways. Litigation exposes the president to detailed examination of his own statements on January 6, potentially creating more reputational damage, irrespective of the original edit. Trump must also demonstrate that this specific edit, in a sea of coverage, directly caused him quantifiable harm. Isolating the impact of a single news report is a near-impossible task.
Perhaps the most curious feature of the affair is the public dissemination of the claim letter. If leaked by Mr Trump’s team, that would constitute a fundamental contradiction and could make the claim susceptible to being struck out for abuse of process.
Courts increasingly scrutinise whether claimants have mitigated their alleged damages; if the BBC’s published content caused harm of the magnitude claimed, it would be odd to amplify it further. If the BBC now complied, the substance would remain public due to the letter itself.
Even if Trump is successful, the US Speech Act prevents the enforcement of foreign defamation judgments that don’t meet American free speech standards. UK courts could also refuse to enforce a US judgment for the same reason: a dead end.
Given these long odds, the lawsuit’s purpose as an act of theatre becomes clearer. The goal is not legal resolution but public condemnation (or distraction) — and has already paid dividends. The BBC chair of governors has apologised and two senior executives have resigned, a victory gained without spending a dollar in court fees.
Whatever the outcome, this case offers a crucial lesson in reputation management. In today’s media landscape, legal threats are no longer a prelude to a courtroom battle, they are a powerful tool of communication and leverage in their own right.