The judgment landed in New York, but the tremors have reached our shores. E. Jean Carroll, the writer who accused Donald Trump of sexual assault, has declared it is ‘time for him to pay’ after his appeal against a $5m verdict failed. For those of us watching from Britain, this is not just a legal footnote. It is a moment that shines a harsh light on the disparity between how two great democracies treat allegations of power and abuse.
Carroll’s case was, from the start, a study in courage. She came forward with a story from the 1990s, only to be met with Trump’s characteristic denial and mockery. But her legal team persisted, and a jury found him liable for sexual abuse and defamation. The appeal failed, and now the bill is due. The timing is poetic: as Trump campaigns for a return to the White House, he must also write a cheque for his past.
But why should we in the UK care? Because our own courts have become a refuge for those seeking justice against American power. In recent years, British libel laws have been weaponised against British journalists and activists by wealthy foreigners. Yet here, the Carroll case is seen as a beacon. Our legal system, with its lower costs and stricter defamation laws, is increasingly viewed as a fairer arena for those without bottomless pockets. A recent report by the Law Society noted a 40% rise in defamation cases brought by foreign claimants in London, often against media outlets. But the tide may be turning. The Carroll verdict, though American, has a London echo: it suggests that even against a former president, justice can prevail.
On the streets of London, the mood is more cynical. At a coffee shop in Soho, I spoke to a woman named Rachel, 34. ‘It’s good that she won. But in America, you need a lot of money to get justice. Here, at least, the courts have shown they’ll hear you out, even if you’re not rich.’ She has a point. The UK’s civil justice system is far from perfect, but it does not require the kind of war chest needed to take on a Trump. Our legal aid system, though battered, still offers some access. And our judges are not elected or beholden to political donors.
Yet we must be careful not to gloat. The same report that praised British justice also highlighted the vulnerability of our system to libel tourism – where wealthy claimants shop for a friendly court. The Carroll case may actually help us: if America can hold its powerful to account, perhaps the pressure to reform our own libel laws will ease. The UK has already taken steps, introducing a ‘serious harm’ threshold in 2013 to weed out trivial claims. Still, the perception remains that London is the defamation capital of the world. That reputation is a double-edged sword.
For Carroll, the victory is personal. She told reporters outside court that she felt ‘vindicated’ and that the verdict sent a message to ‘all women who have been silenced’. But it also sends a message to the world: that even a former president can be held accountable. The challenge now is whether our own institutions can match that standard.
As I watch the news cycle turn from Carroll to the next scandal, I cannot help but wonder about the human cost behind these legal battles. Carroll has spent years in a gruelling fight – one that many would have abandoned. Her demand for payment is not about the money; it is about the principle. And that principle, that ‘time for him to pay’, is one that resonates across the Atlantic.
The sun sets on a day when justice was served, but the next case is already waiting. In a world where the powerful often escape accountability, the Carroll verdict is a small but bright spot. Let us hope it inspires similar courage in our own courts, and in the women who will come after her.
