There is an irony, almost Shakespearean in tone, in Sir Ed Davey’s recent call for British political leaders to rally behind the BBC against Donald Trump’s criticism.
His plea that “the BBC belongs to Britain, not Trump” resonates with patriotic fervour and appeals to national unity.
Yet it arrives at a moment when the BBC itself is under scrutiny for a serious editorial lapse that undermines the very moral ground upon which such a defence could credibly stand.
To defend the BBC unconditionally, when it has indeed erred, risks confusing loyalty with blindness and principle with partisanship.
At the heart of this debate lies a delicate tension between defending journalistic independence and demanding journalistic accountability. Both are essential pillars of a free press; one cannot survive for long without the other.
The BBC, as Britain’s most influential media institution, carries an immense moral and professional responsibility.
When it misrepresents facts, as it apparently did in editing Donald Trump’s January 6, 2021, speech to suggest a more direct incitement to violence than actually occurred, that failure must be addressed transparently and fully.
To gloss over it in the name of national pride or in defiance of foreign criticism would be a mistake.
Caution in rhetoric
Sir Ed Davey’s impulse to defend the BBC against foreign interference is understandable, even commendable in principle.
No responsible leader should stand idle while a foreign head of state, even one as polarising as Donald Trump, seeks to influence or intimidate the media of another sovereign nation.
Trump’s history of antagonism towards critical media outlets, both American and international, is well documented. His use of words like “corrupt” and “fake news” to delegitimise journalism poses a danger to press freedom everywhere.
However, the moral clarity of Davey’s position becomes blurred when it overlooks the BBC’s own misconduct in the case at hand.
The leaked memo from Michael Prescott, a former adviser to the BBC’s Editorial Guidelines and Standards Board, indicates that the Panorama documentary edited Trump’s January 6 speech misleadingly, splicing together two parts of the address to make it appear as though Trump had explicitly encouraged the Capitol riot.
Such an action, if true, constitutes not just poor editorial judgement but a direct violation of the BBC’s core values of accuracy and impartiality.
To call this out is not to endorse Trump’s abrasive rhetoric or to excuse his own record of misinformation. It is to affirm that the credibility of journalism depends not on who attacks it, but on its own integrity. A free press cannot demand protection from political interference while shirking responsibility for its own errors.
Politics of solidarity
Sir Ed Davey’s appeal to Keir Starmer, Kemi Badenoch and Nigel Farage to “unite in defending the BBC” carries symbolic weight. In a deeply polarised Britain, unity around shared democratic institutions can be a stabilising force.
Yet solidarity must never become a shield against legitimate criticism.
Defending the BBC should mean defending its right to operate freely, not its right to operate without reproach.
Political leaders have a duty to draw a distinction between external political pressure and internal ethical responsibility.
To conflate the two risks erodes public trust in both media and politics.
When the BBC falters, as it has in this instance, true defenders of the institution should not rush to its defence but rather insist on a transparent reckoning.
Accountability is not an act of betrayal; it is an act of preservation.
Broader implications
Donald Trump’s reaction to the resignations of BBC Director-General, Tim Davie, and BBC News CEO, Deborah Turness was predictably triumphant.
His assertion that the BBC’s leadership had been “corrupt” fits neatly into his long-standing narrative of global media conspiracies against him.
For Trump, such moments are opportunities to vindicate his combative stance towards journalists.
His attacks on the BBC, however, should be seen for what they are: politically motivated efforts to delegitimise criticism and to project strength ahead of his own political ambitions.
Yet, while Trump’s rhetoric deserves rejection, his accusations gain traction precisely when media institutions fail to uphold their own standards.
The BBC’s misrepresentation of his speech, however unintended, lends credence to his argument that mainstream outlets distort his words for ideological purposes.
This is the paradox of the moment: the BBC’s error, however small in editorial terms, becomes amplified when set against Trump’s populist machinery of grievance and mistrust.
BBC’s moral reckoning
The resignations of Tim Davie and Deborah Turness are telling.
They suggest an internal recognition that the organisation failed its own test of impartiality. In such moments, contrition is not weakness but strength.
For the BBC to restore public confidence, it must acknowledge wrongdoing clearly, investigate transparently and implement reforms to prevent recurrence. This is the price of credibility.
Indeed, the BBC’s greatness has never stemmed from perfection but from its willingness to confront imperfection.
Over its century-long history, the corporation has faced crises of bias, political pressure and editorial misjudgement, yet it has survived by confronting those challenges openly.
Its power lies not in its immunity from error, but in its institutional humility to learn from it.
More nuanced defence
If Sir Ed Davey intended to protect the BBC from political bullying, his message would have been more powerful had it included a recognition of the corporation’s mistake.
To defend the BBC without demanding accountability risks reducing his call to political theatre, an easy applause line in the rhetoric of “British unity” against foreign intrusion, but one that fails the test of intellectual honesty.
A more balanced call might have read: “We must defend the BBC’s independence from political pressure, even as we hold it to the highest standards of truth and fairness”.
Such a statement would have upheld both the spirit and the substance of democratic journalism.
Lessons for journalism
This controversy serves as a vital reminder to journalists and political leaders alike: integrity must never be compromised for expedience.
Journalism’s first loyalty is to truth, not to nation or ideology. When a respected institution such as the BBC falters, journalists must be the first to demand correction, not in deference to critics like Trump, but in fidelity to their own craft.
Political leaders, on the other hand, must resist the temptation to treat the press as an extension of partisan battlefields. Defending the BBC should mean defending its independence from both American presidents and British politicians, including those, such as Sir Ed Davey, whose good intentions risk blurring that independence with political solidarity.
Conclusion
Sir Ed Davey’s call to defend the BBC springs from a noble instinct, to protect one of Britain’s most cherished democratic institutions from foreign derision.
But true defence cannot come through denial. The BBC erred.
It must show remorse, learn from its mistakes, and rebuild trust. Only then can Britain’s leaders defend it with credibility and moral authority.
If the BBC is to remain the world’s benchmark for journalistic excellence, its guardians, inside and outside the newsroom, must understand that integrity is not protected by silence or loyalty, but by truth.
In the end, the strongest defence of the BBC will not come from politicians’ words, but from the corporation’s own capacity for self-correction and transparency.
That, not patriotic defiance, is what will keep the BBC truly “belonging to Britain”.
The writer is a journalist, journalism educator and member of GJA, IRE and AJEN
