Who owns our democracy? It’s an uncomfortable question, but one we should be asking more often.

Two cryptocurrency billionaires have just given Reform UK £36 million each. That’s £72 million in a single weekend — the largest political donations ever made in Britain.

What do these donors expect in return? They say they are supporting political change, and there is nothing inherently wrong with people supporting a political cause they believe in. But let’s step back for a moment.

Most of us will never have £36 million to spend on anything. Yet one individual can potentially spend that amount trying to influence the political direction of our country. Is that really the democracy we want?

The Government is proposing tighter restrictions on political donations from people who live overseas or have recently moved to Britain. Those measures are welcome. But they don't address the bigger principle.

Our democracy should not be for sale to the highest bidder. There should be a clear legal cap on how much any individual can donate to a political party.

This isn't about stopping people supporting the political causes they believe in. It is about recognising that democracy depends on political equality. We each get one vote. We shouldn't allow extraordinary personal wealth to translate into an extraordinary political voice.

A donation can be entirely legal and still raise questions about whether the rules themselves are right. Something doesn't have to be corrupt to be corrosive.

And this brings me to a wider question about political integrity.

Integrity isn't simply about obeying the law. The law establishes minimum standards. People who hold public office should aspire to something higher.

That means being honest about mistakes. Being transparent about interests and relationships. Avoiding conflicts of interest. Explaining decisions. Accepting scrutiny. And recognising that being technically within the rules isn't always the same thing as doing the right thing.

It also means personal conduct.

Elected representatives hold positions of public trust. That doesn't mean politicians should be expected to be perfect, or that an allegation of wrongdoing should be treated as proof of guilt. But it does mean that how people behave — including how they treat other people — matters.

Perhaps there is a simple test we could apply: Would I be comfortable explaining what I have done if everyone could see it?

That is a higher standard than simply asking, “Have I broken the rules?” And it should be. Because democracy ultimately depends on trust. We elect people to make decisions on our behalf. We don't expect to agree with them all the time. But we do need to believe that they are acting in the public interest rather than for themselves, their friends or those with the deepest pockets.

And this isn't just a question for politicians.

Political parties need to think carefully about where their money comes from and what relationships it creates. Businesses have a responsibility to be transparent about their lobbying. The media has a responsibility to scrutinise those in power fairly. And all of us have a responsibility to engage with politics rather than becoming spectators to it.

Democracy isn't simply the right to put a cross on a ballot paper. It depends on a deeper bargain: that our voices count equally, that those who seek our votes play by fair rules, and that people entrusted with power meet standards of honesty and integrity.

If the rules allow enormous fortunes to buy enormous political influence, then the rules need changing.

And if we expect politicians to act with integrity, we shouldn't define integrity simply as staying within the law.

The question isn't just whether something is legal. It's whether it is worthy of public trust.

That is the standard by which a healthy democracy should judge itself