The BBC's biggest problem isn't Donald Trump - it's British taxpayers

We've always treated the BBC like the family member who might be a bit pompous but means well. Lately, though, even the loyal ones are starting to lose patience. Public trust in the broadcaster has plummeted after a string of damaging scandals that have shaken its reputation for impartiality and accuracy. Take the latest Donald Trump scandal - the US president has threatened legal action against the BBC for $1billion in damages, claiming the broadcaster edited his January 6 2021 speech to make it seem like he was inciting a riot. The BBC admitted that the Panorama episode "gave the impression that President Trump had made a direct call for violent action."

BBC bosses are now facing a growing backlash - and honestly, whether you like Trump or not, it's hard to blame the public for being furious. A petition has already been launched demanding the corporation refuse to use licence fee money to pay Donald Trump a penny in compensation. And yet, after the resignation of two senior figures - BBC News chief executive Deborah Turness and director-general Tim Davie, you can see why people have stopped trusting the system.

Michael Prescott's report exposed the truth - Trump's speech was chopped up to sound like a rallying cry to "fight like hell." That's not a slip, it's a stitch-up.

But even if we look past the lawsuit, the bigger story is what it tells us about the relationship between the BBC and us, the licence-fee-paying public.

The BBC's failure here is not just about Trump. It's about our trust.

Similarly, the BBC was found by Ofcom to have breached its own rules after failing to disclose that the 13-year-old narrator of its Gaza: How to Survive a Warzone documentary was the son of a Hamas official.

The regulator said the omission denied viewers "critical information... relevant to their assessment of the narrator and the information he provided."

In plain terms, British licence-fee money was given to the family of a proscribed terrorist organisation. It's scandalous, indefensible, and yet another example of how far the BBC has drifted from the standards the public expects.

These aren't isolated mistakes. They point to a deeper breakdown: we expect a publicly funded broadcaster to act as a neutral guardian of facts, not an institution that treats editorial accuracy like an optional extra.

When we pay for the licence fee, we're not subscribing to entertainment - we're investing in integrity.

If that trust erodes, the model falls apart. The licence fee isn't just a tax; it's a contract between the BBC and the public.

But when high-profile errors pile up - from misleading edits to undisclosed political links - that contract starts to look one-sided.

It's not only about Trump suing. It's about millions of Britons quietly asking: why should I pay for this if I can't trust it?

Ultimately, the BBC's biggest problem isn't Donald Trump and his big bad billion-dollar lawsuit - it's us: the viewers, the payers, the people who used to believe it spoke for all of us.

Until the BBC understands that the licence fee doesn't guarantee loyalty, only accountability, its most dangerous critic won't be Trump - it'll be its audience, and we're fed up.