Racism is back on the streets

A ring-pull moment unleashes violence, what can be done?

Krish Kandiah

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Rioters confront police, one wearing a sinister Union Jack mask

Racist violence is back on the streets of Britain. Some say it never went away in the first place. Never mind that we have just had our first brown Prime Minister or that we have the most diverse cabinet in history. Just listen to the chants on the streets, watch a viral video of a lone black or Asian man being kicked to the ground by a gang of white men, or read the graffiti on the sides of hotels housing asylum-seekers who fled the Taliban because they dared to help the British army. Talk to those who feel afraid - most will agree: racist violence is back and it is unacceptable.

The riots on the streets of cities around the UK brings back all too painfully for me the memory of those dark corners of my school yard where I was trapped by bullies throwing insults and punches in my direction, just because my skin colour was different. Now once again, I, along with my friends and family, and all communities of colour, are beginning to think twice before we leave our homes or walk down our streets.

Back when I was just that kid in the playground, I once opened a can of cola that, unbeknown to me, had been shaken vigorously. As I heard the crack of the ring pull, I was immediately drenched by a fountain of black sugary liquid and an eruption of cruel laughter. That humiliating event of my childhood perhaps offers an insight into what is going on in the UK right now: the tragic incident on Hart Road in Southport where three young girls were murdered was the ring-pull moment that has unleashed the bottled-up frustration of disaffected people around the country – a frustration which has been deliberately and openly stirred up through divisive rhetoric over many years.

Cultural Christians are more unsympathetic to asylum-seekers than any other group of immigrants.

It is not only the rioters who are to blame for this wave of violence. We must also hold accountable those who have been shaking the can. Those who have stirred up anti-immigration sentiment for personal gain, spreading lies and misinformation. Those who have tried to win votes and build careers and influence or grab headlines by scapegoating those who have lost everything and sought sanctuary in the UK. Those who have not questioned as we have drained resources out of schools, cut youth services and failed to provide affordable housing or realistic job prospects. Those who have assimilated a hostility towards asylum-seekers.

Sadly, the can has also been shaken by some who call themselves Christians. Recent protesters in London have been heard using anti-Islamic rhetoric alongside their chants that “Christ is King”. A small number of Christian influencers have consistently contributed to the anti-immigration stance and undermined the importance of diversity and multiculturalism. Data from the Faith and Religion thinktank Theos reveals that cultural Christians are more unsympathetic to asylum-seekers than any other group of immigrants. This despite all the incredible amount the church in the UK has done to lead the way in the welcome of new arrivals from Hong Kong, Afghanistan, Syria and Ukraine. More poignantly, the hostility stands in stark contrast to the Christian virtue of hospitality that permeates every book of the Bible, and every moment of Jesus’ life and teaching.

Racism is unacceptable, and there is a part for all of us to play in ensuring that this message is heard loud and clear. For a start we can refuse to turn a blind eye and pretend it is nothing to do with us. We can challenge anti-immigrant rhetoric. We can counter misinformation with truth. We can choose to deescalate violence and defend those who have become targets and clamp down on those who stir up hate. We can show support for all those who are seeking to keep the peace, and we can choose to foster a more inclusive, generous and compassionate society every day with our words and actions.

Article

Comment

Justice

Leading

Politics

7 July 2025

5 min read

The consequences of truth-telling are so severe our leaders can’t admit their mistakes

When accountability means annihilation, denial is the only way to survive

Leah Brown

Leah is a campaigner for restorative practices and founder of The WayFinders Group.

Baroness Casey.

BBC.

Why do our leaders struggle so profoundly with admitting error?

Media and inquiries regularly report on such failures in the NHS, the Home Office, the Department of Work and Pensions, HMRC, the Metropolitan Police, the Ministry of Defence, and so many more public institutions. Often accompanied by harrowing personal stories of the harm done.

In a recent white paper (From harm to healing: rebuilding trust in Britain’s publicly funded institutions), I defined “harm” as a holistic concept occurring where physical injury or mental distress is committed and sustained and explained that harm is generally something that is caused, possibly resulting in injury or loss of life.

When we look at harm from an institutional perspective, structural power dynamics inevitably oppress certain groups, limit individual freedoms, and negatively affect the safety and security of individuals. But when we look at it through the lens of the individuals who run those institutions, we see people who often believe that they are acting in good faith, believe that their decisions won’t have a significant impact, who don’t have time to think about the decisions they are making, or worse still, prefer to protect what is in their best interest.

Even well-intentioned leaders can become complicit in cycles of harm - not just through malice, but through their lack of self-awareness and unwillingness to put themselves in the shoes of the person on the receiving end of their decisions.

Martin Luther King Jr supposedly said, “the ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” In contemporary politics, leaders are neither selected nor (largely) do they remain, because of their humility. Humility is synonymous with weakness and showing weakness must be avoided at all cost. Responsibility is perceived as something that lies outside of us, rather than something we can take ownership of from within.

So, why do leaders struggle so profoundly with admitting error?

The issue is cultural and three-fold.

First, we don’t quantify or systematically address human error, allowing small mistakes to escalate.

We then enable those responsible to evade accountability through institutional protection and legal barriers.

Finally, we actively discourage truth-telling by punishing whistle-blowers rather than rewarding transparency. Taken together, these create the very conditions that transform errors into institutional harm.

Nowhere is this plainer than in Baroness Casey’s recent report on Group-based Child Sexual Exploitation and Abuse that caused the Government to announce a grooming gangs inquiry. In this case, the initial harm was compounded by denial and obfuscation, resulting not just in an institutional failure to protect children, but system-wide failures that have enabled the so-called “bad actors” to remain in situ.

Recently, this trend was bucked at Countess of Chester Hospital where the police arrested three hospital managers involved in the Lucy Letby investigation. Previously, senior leadership had been protected, thus allowing them to evade accountability. Humble leadership would look like acting when concerns are raised before they become scandals. However, in this case, leadership did act; they chose to bury the truth rather than believe the whistle-blowers.

Until we separate admission of error from institutional destruction, we will continue to incentivise the very cover-ups that erode public trust.

The answer to our conundrum is obvious. In Britain, accountability is conflated with annihilation. Clinging onto power is the only option because admitting error has become synonymous with career suicide, legal liability, and is tantamount to being hanged in the gallows of social media. We have managed to create systems of governing where the consequences of truth-telling are so severe that denial is the only survival mechanism left. We have successfully weaponised accountability rather than understanding it as the foundation of trust.

If Rotherham Metropolitan Borough Council had admitted even half of the failures Alexis Jay OBE identified in her 2013 report and that Baroness Casey identifies in her 2025 audit, leaders would face not only compensation claims but media storms, regulatory sanctions, and individual prosecutions. It’s so unthinkable to put someone through that that we shrink back with empathy as to why someone might not speak up. But this is not justice. Justice is what the families of Hillsborough have been seeking in the Public Authority (Accountability) Bill: legal duties of candour, criminal offences for those who deliberately mislead investigations or cover-up service failures, legal representation, and appropriate disclosure of documentation.

Regardless of your political persuasion, it has to be right that when police misconduct occurs, officers should fear not only disciplinary action and criminal charges. When politicians admit mistakes, they should face calls for their resignation. Public vilification is par for the course. Being ejected from office is the bare minimum required to take accountability for their actions.

The white paper shows that the cover-up always causes more damage than the original error. Institutional denial - whether relating to the Post Office sub-postmasters, the infected blood scandal victims, grooming gang victims, Grenfell Towers victims, Windrush claimants, or Hillsborough families - compounds the original harm exponentially.

In a society beset with blame, shame, and by fame, it is extraordinary that this struggle to admit error is so pervasive. Survivors can and will forgive human fallibility. What they will not forgive is the arrogance of institutions that refuse to acknowledge when they have caused harm.

The white paper refers to a four-fold restorative framework that starts with acknowledgment, not punishment. The courage to say “we were wrong” is merely the first step. Next is apology and accountability followed by amends. It recognises that healing - not just legal resolution - must be at the heart of justice, treating both those harmed and those who caused it as whole human beings deserving of dignity.

Until we separate admission of error from institutional destruction, we will continue to incentivise the very cover-ups that erode public trust. I was recently struck by Baroness Onora O’Neill who insisted that we must demand trustworthiness in our leaders. We cannot have trustworthiness without truth-telling, and we cannot have that without valuing the act of repairing harm over reputation management. True authority comes from service, through vulnerability rather than invulnerability; strength comes through the acknowledgement of weakness not the projection of power.

We must recognise that those entrusted with power have a moral obligation to those they serve. That obligation transcends institutional self-interest. Thus, we must stop asking why leaders struggle to admit error and instead ask why we have made truth-telling so dangerous that lies seem safer.