I put down the phone after calling my parents and break down in tears. They live over 100 miles away in the Midlands and my mum has just rushed home after hearing that far-right rioters have set fire to a bus not far from where she was shopping. She explains that there’s more attacks planned nearer to their home later that evening. I beg them to stay indoors before I hang up.
I take some deep breaths to compose myself before picking up my phone again, this time to doom scroll Instagram and TikTok, taking in one video after another of angry white men attacking Brown and Black people and setting fire to vehicles and buildings. And for the fifth day in a row I decide not to leave the house, despite having a dinner planned with friends. Everyone who knows me would describe me as fearless, but right now, I’m anxious and afraid for my own safety and that of the people I love and care for.
The police have made 428 arrests over the last few days, with 120 people charged, but the violence is expected to escalate tonight with the locations of over 100 planned riots being leaked online. Many women of colour like myself who want to attend counter protests, to stand up to these thugs and help protect community spaces, know that the colour of our skin means we’re likely to be targeted. The UK does not feel safe for us.
“I’m a Brown Muslim woman and I feel extremely triggered by what’s happening, I’m constantly looking over my shoulder,” explains Cultural Inclusion Consultant Arooj Aftab. “I grew up in the north of England where we experienced BNP marches, and we had bricks thrown through our windows. I’ve just cancelled a dentist appointment that is a ten-minute walk from my house because I’ve heard the far right are gathering nearby.”
Arooj goes on to add that she’s not surprised by the riots: “I am horrified at the scale of them but I’m not surprised because of the constant dehumanisation of Muslims by our mainstream media and political leaders, who are constantly feeding misinformation. We are always depicted as the bad guys, as the enemy.”
What do you do when a friend is racist? Do you turn a blind eye, tell them how you feel or cut them out of your life?
I have to agree, while I’m appalled and shaken by what I would describe as domestic terrorism, I am not surprised. I have seen my parents experience racist violence when I was a child in the 80s, and I have faced racist micro-aggressions throughout my life in England, but over the last year, I have seen first-hand the far right become emboldened in their anti-immigrant, racist and Islamophobic rhetoric and violence. Nine months ago, I came face to face with EDL members while I was a steward at a Pro-Palestine protest. I had to chaperone an elderly Muslim woman in a hijab and her daughters away from a group of thugs who yelled Islamophobic slurs at them, before directing their aggression towards a Black female steward. Just two months ago, I became a victim of racial abuse myself on a train in London, when a white man in his 20s talked loudly about voting for Reform UK in the general election, before singling me out in a carriage of white people to repeatedly shout that “Islam is disgusting” in my face. He didn’t know – and didn’t care – that I’m not a Muslim. For those who look visibly Muslim, it’s even scarier, as London-based photographer Noorunisa explains.
“It’s a very worrying time for Brown and Black women, and even more so when you are a visibly Muslim woman – we’re an easy target because you can’t hide the fact you’re a Muslim when you have a hijab on,” she says. “When I heard about the Muslim woman who had her hijab ripped off, that really scared me. I feel incredibly unsafe and I’m worried about going out to work. Trying to live a normal life is scary right now.”
And while the violent rioters are using the horrific stabbings of children at a Southport dance class as their misinformed reasoning for attacks against immigration centres, mosques, hotels housing asylum seekers and muslim-owned shops, the government is yet to identify this criminal behaviour as anti-immigrant or Islamophobic.
“We need to understand that this violence didn’t come from a vacuum. Politicians and the press have demonised Muslims and migrants for decades, scapegoating minority communities for the failures of the political system,” Zarah Sultana MP for Coventry South tells GLAMOUR. “Now many of those same politicians and media outlets are refusing to call this what it is: Far-right, Islamophobic, racist violence. If politicians don’t acknowledge this, they can’t properly tackle it and they fail to show to Muslim communities that they recognise the reality of the threat we’re facing. We need to face-up to this racist far-right violence and end the demonisation of Muslims and migrants.”
Zarah, who herself is a young Muslim woman, is the MP who receives the most online threats and abuse, she knows all about feeling unsafe. "Women of colour and those perceived as Muslims are understandably terrified right now. Muslim women wearing the hijab are being assaulted in the street, mosques are being attacked, hotels housing asylum seekers are being torched,” she explains. “Friends are worried about going out to the shops; my sisters are being encouraged to work from home because it’s not safe for them to walk the streets. This isn’t an environment anyone should have to endure.”
And as news starts to roll in on social media and family WhatsApp channels that far right groups have started gathering around the UK, my heart sinks. My sisters have all admitted to having thoughts about leaving the UK to live abroad because they no longer feel safe, but at the same time, we acknowledge that England is our home, it’s where we were born and we won’t be forced out. My fear is slowly turning to a resilience that I shouldn’t have to show, but I will for those who are less privileged than me, and that’s what we need our white allies to do. Your Black and Brown friends are not ok, so step up and check in on them, and stand up for us in the spaces where we are not safe, whether that’s at an anti-racism protest or calling out Islamophobia from friends, family and colleagues.
