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Democracy is built on debate, disagreement, and the free exchange of ideas. It requires passion, argument, and, above all, respect for one another’s right to be heard. Yet, time and again, we are reminded that even in societies that pride themselves on openness, those who step forward into public life risk not only criticism but violence and, tragically, sometimes their lives.

The murders of Jo Cox in 2016 and Sir David Amess in 2021 remain stark reminders here in the UK that public service can come with a terrible cost. Both were committed parliamentarians, motivated by a desire to make their communities better, yet both were targeted in moments that should have been the most ordinary, a constituency surgery, a meeting with the people they represented.

Across the world, the picture is no different. In the United States, figures such as Minnesota’s Melissa Hortman have faced threats simply for carrying out their democratic duties. And only yesterday, an attack on Charlie Kirk underlined again that political violence is not limited to one ideology, one nation, or one moment in time.

What unites all these incidents is the brutal attempt to silence voices through fear. But democracy cannot function when intimidation takes the place of dialogue. Violence is never the answer.

Disagreement is natural in politics, essential, even. But disagreement must never become dehumanisation. When we reduce those with different views to enemies rather than opponents, we create the conditions in which violence festers. If democracy is to survive and thrive, we must relearn the art of arguing without hatred, of criticising without cruelty, of holding strong convictions without wishing harm on those who disagree.

Nobody should be killed for participating in democracy. Nobody should be attacked for speaking, campaigning, or representing others. Whatever our politics, we must stand together on this: the ballot box, not the blade or the bullet, is the only legitimate path for change.

Only by rejecting violence, not only in action but also in language, in rhetoric, in the way we treat one another online and off, can we ensure that democracy endures as the safeguard of freedom it was always meant to be.

@Newdaystarts

Every time there’s a flashpoint of division in this country, the finger gets pointed straight at the so-called “far right”. Politicians line up to denounce “extremists”, social commentators blame online echo chambers, and the cycle of outrage spins on. But let’s stop pretending for a second. The real gateway to radicalisation for most people isn’t some obscure Telegram group, it’s the mainstream media (MSM).

Choudary and the MSM Circus.

Take 2009. Anjem Choudary and his crew from Al-Muhajiroun hijacked headlines when they heckled soldiers returning from Iraq. It was ugly, disrespectful and enraging. But here’s the point: until the MSM plastered Choudary’s face across every front page and news bulletin, hardly anyone knew who he was.

It was wall-to-wall coverage, Choudary wants to take over Britain, Choudary says Sharia is coming, Choudary vows Islam will dominate the West. Broadcasters ran endless documentaries about him. Newspapers treated him like Britain’s bogeyman-in-chief. Even extremists uploaded their own content to fan the flames, which the press eagerly pointed to.

The result? The EDL was born, thousands of people felt validated in their anger, and Choudary’s profile skyrocketed. The MSM built him up as a monster, and then acted shocked when the public responded.

Immigration: Today’s Choudary

Fast forward to today, and the script is identical—only the headline act has changed. Immigration has become the new Choudary.

Every day the BBC, Sky, the tabloids, you name it, pump out stories about “migrant crises”, “floods” of people, “Britain at breaking point”. Politicians pile in with soundbites that could have been lifted straight from the mouth of Enoch Powell. News channels lap it up, run it on repeat, and sell it as sober analysis.

Then, when ordinary people voice concerns, they’re instantly slapped with the label “far right”. No discussion, no listening, just condemnation. And guess what? Those same people then drift towards platforms and movements where they can speak without being silenced, even if those spaces are extreme. The MSM lights the fire, then blames everyone else when the blaze spreads.

Stop Hiding, Start Owning

Let’s cut through the hypocrisy. The MSM thrives on fear. Fear sells papers, drives clicks, and boosts ratings. Whether it’s Choudary in 2009 or small boats in 2025, the formula hasn’t changed: exaggerate the threat, repeat it endlessly, and then sit back while society tears itself apart.

This isn’t responsible journalism. It’s radicalisation by proxy. And the gall of it is staggering: the very institutions that have spent years stoking division now posture as guardians against extremism.

Enough Scaremongering

If we want to break the cycle, the MSM needs to be called out. They can’t keep laundering sensationalism as “public interest reporting” while shrugging off the consequences. It’s time for honesty: people aren’t radicalised in a vacuum, they are radicalised by the constant drumbeat of fear hammered out by the very outlets who claim to be protecting democracy.

The solution isn’t more finger-pointing or more censorship. It’s allowing real, honest debates without the instant stigma of labels. Because if the media keeps pumping poison into the bloodstream of the nation, then don’t be surprised when society gets sick.

And if we don’t change course soon, we’ll be leaving our children a country not defined by community and resilience, but by suspicion and division, all courtesy of the nightly news.

@Newdaystarts

In recent years, the word remigration has started to creep into political debate, particularly online. At first glance, it sounds like an ordinary description of people moving back to their country of origin. But in practice, the term carries a far more loaded meaning.

What Does “Remigration” Mean?

In mainstream usage, remigration could simply describe voluntary return migration—when people who have settled in a new country decide to move back home. Governments sometimes even fund such schemes, usually framed around economic migrants returning when work opportunities end.

However, when the term is used by certain political movements, it takes on a different character. In far-right and nationalist circles, “remigration” is promoted as a solution to what they describe as the “problems of mass immigration”. In this context, it is less about voluntary return and more about enforced removal. The idea is that large numbers of immigrants—sometimes even naturalised citizens or second-generation communities—should be pressured or compelled to leave Western countries and “return” elsewhere, regardless of whether they were born abroad or not.

Who Is Pushing the Narrative?

The push for remigration comes largely from the far-right across Europe, with echoes in the UK. Parties, movements and online influencers who subscribe to the “Great Replacement” theory—a conspiracy claiming native populations are being deliberately replaced by migrants—often use remigration as their proposed solution.

In Germany, the word has gained particular traction among the far-right AfD (Alternative für Deutschland). In France, figures associated with Éric Zemmour’s movement have also used it as a rallying cry. Online, the term has been adopted by networks of activists who frame remigration as a “peaceful” alternative to social collapse. In reality, it points towards mass expulsions, something that would be both socially divisive and legally impossible under current human rights frameworks.

In the UK, the concept appears in fringe nationalist circles and increasingly in online spaces where anti-immigration sentiment is amplified. While no mainstream political party openly advocates remigration, the language of “sending people back” or “reversing immigration” is sometimes hinted at in culture war debates, especially when immigration statistics are published.

Why It Matters

At its core, remigration is not a neutral policy idea but a narrative strategy. It reframes xenophobia in seemingly reasonable terms. Instead of calling for “deportations” or “expulsions, language that might sound too harsh, many supporters of remigration brand it as an orderly and necessary correction. The softer word masks a hard reality: the erosion of citizenship, belonging, and equality before the law.

For critics, this is why it must be challenged directly. Immigration policy is a legitimate area of political debate. But calls for remigration go beyond policy and into the territory of exclusion, targeting people not for what they do but for who they are.

The rise of the term is a reminder of how language can shift the Overton window of debate. By normalising words like “remigration”, extremist narratives inch closer to mainstream discussion. And that, perhaps, is precisely the point.

Scroll through social media for more than a few minutes and you’ll likely stumble upon dramatic claims that the UK is “on the brink of civil war”. The supposed trigger? Immigration.

It’s an attention-grabbing line, but is there truth in it or, is it simply scaremongering designed to inflame, divide and drive clicks?

To call what we are seeing “civil war” is, by any realistic measure, an exaggeration. Civil war implies organised armed conflict, rival factions, territory under dispute, and institutions breaking down. Britain is nowhere near that scenario. Whatever tensions exist, our political system, law enforcement, and institutions remain intact. The word “war” trivialises genuine conflicts elsewhere in the world, where people face daily violence and instability.

That said, dismissing the conversation entirely would be naïve. Immigration has become one of the most contentious political issues in Britain. It is shaping elections, fuelling heated debates, and dividing communities. Social media has a way of magnifying anger, giving fringe voices a platform that makes them seem louder and more representative than they actually are.

So what is the genuine worst-case scenario? Far more likely than “civil war” is mass civil disobedience. We could see large-scale protests, boycotts, and disruptive direct actions from both sides of the immigration debate. Such movements could cause tension, inconvenience and political instability, but they remain a far cry from armed conflict.

The challenge lies in keeping the conversation grounded. Politicians, media outlets, and influencers who throw around words like “civil war” risk fuelling fear, resentment and division. Sensationalism makes headlines, but it also corrodes trust and inflames social fractures.

Britain has weathered waves of social unrest before, from the miners’ strikes to anti-war demonstrations and more recent protest movements. The country is no stranger to dissent. Civil disobedience, disruptive as it may be, is still part of a functioning democracy, it shows that people believe change can be won through collective action rather than through violence.

The responsibility, then, is ours: to challenge alarmist rhetoric, to refuse easy scaremongering, and to address the real issues driving discontent, without surrendering to hysteria.

Civil war? No. Civil disobedience? Possibly. And that distinction really does matter.

@newdaystarts

Whether one agrees with the proscription or not, Palestine Action is a banned organisation. That is a legal fact, not a matter of personal opinion. Once a group is proscribed, the authorities treat open support for it in much the same way as they would with any other outlawed body.

This is why the sight of demonstrators holding placards and signs reading “I support Palestine Action” raises a simple question: what did they expect would happen?

The law around proscribed organisations is clear. Expressing support for them, displaying their symbols, or promoting them in public can lead to arrest and prosecution. Activists may argue that their cause is just, or that the ban is politically motivated. They may well see themselves as engaging in civil resistance. But legality and legitimacy are not the same thing. You can think an action is morally justified, yet still face the legal consequences of carrying it out.

It is also worth pointing out that Palestine Action has pursued a deliberately confrontational strategy—targeting companies linked to the arms trade and staging disruptive direct actions. Their intent has always been to provoke, to draw attention, and to force the issue onto the political agenda. With that approach comes the certainty of state pushback.

Those who take to the streets in support of them cannot be under any illusions. To carry a placard declaring support for a proscribed group is, in effect, to paint a target on your own back. Whether one believes the proscription is heavy-handed or entirely justified is a debate worth having. But the immediate reality is unavoidable: when the law says an organisation is banned, to openly support it is to invite arrest.

Ultimately, this is a clash between principle and pragmatism. On principle, some protesters will always choose defiance, seeing their arrests as part of the struggle. Pragmatically, though, no one should be surprised when the police act in line with the law.

@newdaystarts

Why should anyone be offended by the flying of a nation’s flag? In theory, flags are simple symbols of identity, heritage, and belonging. Yet in England, the sight of the St George’s Cross or the Union Jack can still spark mixed reactions. For some, they inspire pride. For others, discomfort.

One reason lies in history. In recent decades, both the English flag and the Union Jack have, at times, been used by far-right groups as part of their campaigns. This has left a lingering association for many people, who worry that displaying these flags could be misunderstood as a political or ideological statement. Critics argue that this makes it harder for the symbols to serve their original purpose: to unify rather than divide.

Others see the issue differently. They argue that the majority should not abandon their national symbols simply because they have been misused. From this perspective, a flag is neither inherently political nor extremist, and to shy away from it is to allow fringe groups to dictate its meaning.

This leads to an uncomfortable question: if people on the political extremes claim to be “defending their country,” what other flag would they use apart from the one that represents the nation itself? Some suggest that the solution lies in broadening the use of national flags in everyday, non-political contexts — at sporting events, local celebrations, or cultural festivals — so that their meaning becomes more inclusive.

Ultimately, the debate highlights the complex relationship between national identity and symbols. Should a flag be seen purely as an emblem of belonging, or is it inevitably shaped by the political movements that rally around it? And most importantly, who gets to decide what it represents?

Today marks a solemn occasion as we commemorate the 20th anniversary of the 7/7 London bombings—an event that remains deeply etched in the memory of our nation. On this day, we pause to remember the 52 innocent lives tragically lost and the many more affected by the devastating attacks that took place on 7 July 2005.

The coordinated suicide bombings targeted London’s public transport system during the morning rush hour, with explosions on three London Underground trains and a double-decker bus. The impact was immediate and far-reaching, leaving communities shaken and families changed forever.

In the years that followed, I must admit with deep regret that I used this horrific event to further an anti-Muslim narrative. Driven by anger and ignorance, I channelled my energy into hatred, not once truly considering the individual stories of those who had suffered, nor the feelings of the victims’ families. I saw the attacks only through a political lens, using them to justify prejudice rather than seeking understanding or empathy.

That changed when I began working with local screenwriter John Hales on a play titled The Response, which was performed at the Seagull Theatre a few years ago. During that project, I had the privilege of meeting Dan Biddle—the most severely injured survivor of the 7/7 bombings. Listening to Dan’s story was a turning point for me. His honesty, his pain, and his strength broke through the barriers I had built. As he spoke, I felt tears in my eyes. For the first time, I truly grasped the human cost of that day—not just the statistics or headlines, but the lifelong impact on real people and their loved ones.

Meeting Dan made me realise just how wrong I had been. My previous rhetoric had not only fuelled division but had also dishonoured the memory and suffering of those affected. I had failed to see the human side of the tragedy until I was faced with it directly.

As we mark this anniversary, I reflect with sorrow on my past mindset, and with gratitude for the opportunity to grow and change. It is a time not only to mourn but also to listen, to learn, and to stand in solidarity with those who continue to live with the consequences of that terrible day.

To the survivors, the bereaved families, and all who carry the pain of 7/7 in their hearts. please know that I now carry your stories with me, with respect and humility. May this anniversary remind us all of the importance of compassion over hatred, of unity over division, and of choosing peace in the face of tragedy.

@Newdaystarts

In recent weeks, two cases have emerged that raise unsettling questions about how the UK handles hate speech, public safety, and the principle of equal treatment under the law.

On one hand, a woman received a 31-month prison sentence for posting a grotesque tweet suggesting that migrant hotels should be set on fire. The court concluded that the message constituted incitement to violence, and the sentence reflected the serious threat such language poses, especially amid an increasingly volatile discourse around immigration.

On the other hand, another individual, a religious figure, delivered a public sermon after the 7 October Hamas attacks that quoted a Hadith calling for the killing of Jews. Despite widespread condemnation and media attention, the most severe consequence to date has been his suspension as a charity director.

This has left many asking: how is it that one form of incitement leads to imprisonment, while another appears to result only in an administrative penalty? And what does this say about our justice system and how it navigates hate speech in a plural, diverse society?

Context Matters, But How Much?

It’s important to acknowledge that UK hate speech laws do not operate in a vacuum. The context, platform, intent, and likelihood of causing harm all weigh heavily on legal outcomes.

In the case of the tweet, the message was unequivocal and public, posted on a platform known for rapid spread. It advocated violence directly and plainly: burn migrant hotels. No ambiguity. The court found that the post was not just tasteless or offensive, it was a clear incitement to commit arson and potentially murder, aimed at a vulnerable population.

By contrast, the sermon, while containing language that many would find vile, was framed as a religious quote, and its speaker claimed to be reflecting scripture rather than directly inciting violence. The legal distinction lies here: quoting a text, even a deeply disturbing one, is not always classified as incitement unless there’s a clear call to action or a realistic prospect of that speech leading to violence.

But critics rightly argue: isn’t there a real-world impact either way?

The Problem of Inconsistency

What makes this discrepancy feel so jarring is the perception of inconsistency. Many in the public see one group harshly punished and another seemingly protected, and that undermines trust in the justice system.

This is especially sensitive in a post-7 October climate, when antisemitic incidents have risen sharply in the UK. To many British Jews, the failure to prosecute a sermon that invokes death feels like a terrifying omission. Meanwhile, others point out that Muslims have often faced disproportionate scrutiny for lesser offences, particularly under terrorism legislation.

Where Should the Line Be?

The right to free expression is foundational in any democracy. But it’s not absolute. In the UK, it is limited by laws that prohibit speech which incites violence, spreads hatred, or endangers public safety.

The difficulty lies in applying these limits evenly, regardless of who is speaking or who the targets are. That means scrutinising not just the content of speech, but its impact, and making sure we’re not selectively enforcing the law based on politics, public mood, or identity.

Holding Institutions Accountable

One thing is clear: greater transparency is needed. The public deserves to understand why one act of hate results in jail time and another in a suspension. It’s not enough to let legal complexity mask real moral questions.

If someone calls for violence against migrants, they should be held accountable. If someone, under the guise of religion calls for the killing of Jews, that too must be addressed with equal seriousness.

Otherwise, we risk eroding the very social cohesion that these laws are designed to protect.

@newdaystarts

When I posted on my personal Facebook profile about watching the new Netflix documentary ‘Attack on London: Hunting the 7/7 bombers’. I received this comment above, After challenging him on the post I noticed comments from my friends Gem and Dan Biddle rightly so because Dan is the most injured survivor from the 7/7 attack.

After thinking for a while, I felt a bit of guilt as a comment on my post has offended good friends of mine, I decided to spend the rest of the day exploring in a bit more detail the comment above.

Debunking the Myths: The 7/7 London Bombings and the “Ripple Effect” Conspiracy.

As the 20th anniversary of the 7th July 2005 London bombings approaches, misinformation and conspiracy theories are once again resurfacing. among them is the video 7/7 Ripple Effect 3, which promotes a narrative claiming that the four suicide bombers were innocent, that they were set up by the British government, and that the attacks were a “false flag” operation.

Claim 1: The four young Muslims were tricked into taking part in a mock exercise and were then killed at Canary Wharf.

There is no credible evidence whatsoever that the bombers, Mohammad Sidique Khan, Shehzad Tanweer, Hasib Hussain, and Germaine Lindsay, were shot dead at Canary Wharf or that they were unaware of their role in the attacks.

The Metropolitan Police, Intelligence and Security Committee (ISC), and multiple inquiries, including the 2011 Coroner’s Inquests, concluded they were suicide bombers who deliberately carried out coordinated attacks on three Tube trains and a bus, killing 52 people.

The claim that they were shot at Canary Wharf originated from vague and unverified reports which were later contradicted by physical evidence, such as CCTV footage of the bombers entering Luton station and King’s Cross, eyewitness testimony, and forensic evidence at the bombing sites linking them directly to the explosions.

Claim 2: The bombings happened during a government-run mock drill simulating the same scenario.

Visor Consultants was conducting a private crisis management exercise that day, but this was not a government-run drill. His company was working with a small group of clients on a hypothetical scenario involving bombings which is a routine exercise for risk planning.

Owner Peter Power has stated that the timings and locations in his scenario did not precisely match the actual attacks. The coincidence is striking, but not evidence of complicity. Emergency services regularly plan for terror scenarios and the existence of such drills does not imply foreknowledge or orchestration.

Claim 3: CCTV cameras were not working at the bombing locations.

CCTV footage of the bombers exists and was made very public during official investigations and court proceedings. Footage shows them together at Luton station at 04:56, and at King’s Cross shortly before the attacks.

While not every camera on the Underground was functioning perfectly that day, which apparently is not unusual according to the documentaries I’ve watched, also there is no evidence of a systemic blackout or deliberate camera failure. Some stations affected by the attacks had limited CCTV coverage in underground tunnels, as was typical in 2005.

Claim 4: Tony Blair needed a false-flag attack to distract from the Iraq war and WMD lies.

This claim is speculative and again unsupported by any evidence. The failings of the intelligence used to justify the Iraq War had already been exposed by the time of the July bombings, and Tony Blair was already under immense political pressure.

To suggest a government would orchestrate the killing of its own people to manipulate public opinion is a grave allegation. No whistle-blowers, documents, or forensic evidence have ever surfaced to substantiate this theory, despite the intense media scrutiny over the years.

Claim 5: A BBC ‘Panorama’ episode in 2004 predicted the bombings, proving foreknowledge.

The Panorama programme in question in the comment was a hypothetical exercise exploring how the UK might respond to a terrorist attack on the Underground, a scenario considered likely by intelligence agencies for years, especially after the Madrid train bombings in 2004.

Far from indicating conspiracy, this showed that security analysts were aware of London’s vulnerabilities and that a bombing was widely anticipated. Predictive planning in journalism and policy circles is not evidence of complicity.

Of course it’s natural to question official narratives, especially following catastrophic events, it is also crucial to distinguish between genuine investigation and misinformation dressed up as truth. The 7/7 Ripple Effect videos fail to provide verifiable evidence and instead they promote cherry-picked coincidences and long-debunked claims.

The families of the victims, the survivors, deserve respectful remembrance grounded in facts – not recycled conspiracy theories.

@Newdaystarts


Further reading and viewing for more information,

The 7 July Inquest transcripts and rulings (UK Coroner’s Office)

The ISC Report on the London Terrorist Attacks

BBC and Guardian investigative reports (2005–2011)

Debunking 7/7 conspiracy theories (FullFact.org)

Back from the dead: The untold story of 7/7 – Dan Biddle

Viewing

Netflix – Attack on London: Hunting the 7/7 bombers.

Sky Documentaries – 7/7: Homegrown Terror.

The Untold Story of the 7/7 Bombings by Dan Biddle is one of those rare ones. It’s not just a survivor’s account of one of the darkest days in British history; it’s a brutally honest, deeply human story of pain, resilience, and ultimately, hope. Reading it made me confront not only the horror of that day but also my own past, and the dangerous path I once walked.

Dan Biddle was on the Edgware Road train when a suicide bomber detonated his device just feet away. Dan lost both legs, and one of his eye, and endured life-altering injuries. But beyond the physical scars, what stands out in his story is the psychological and emotional toll, something he shares with incredible vulnerability and courage. He doesn’t hide from the darkness he’s faced. Instead, he invites you to walk through it with him, step by step.

His story had a profound effect on me, not just as a reader, but as someone who used to stand on the opposite side of empathy.

There was a time in my life when I used 7/7 as fuel for my own anti-Muslim hatred. I would bring it up to justify my views, to validate my anger, and to push a narrative of division and fear. The pain and trauma of those affected by the bombings didn’t cross my mind. I didn’t consider the survivors. I didn’t think about the families who lost loved ones or the long shadow that day cast over their lives.

I was so consumed by my own hatred that I dehumanised others to the point where their suffering became a tool for my agenda.

That all began to change when I left that world behind and, eventually, I met Dan and his wife Gem whilst working with Local screenwriter John Hales.

Meeting Dan was like holding up a mirror to everything I had ignored. Here was a man who had every reason to be filled with hatred himself, yet what I found was someone who had chosen a different path. Someone who, despite being a direct victim of Islamist terrorism, didn’t let it consume him with bitterness or vengeance. His strength, humility, and willingness to share his story shook me. For the first time, I saw 7/7 not as a symbol of ‘us vs them’, but as a very real, very personal human tragedy.

I think Back from the Dead isn’t just a memoir of survival. It’s a call to reflection. It’s a reminder of how easy it is to get caught up in hatred and forget the individuals behind the headlines. It’s about grief, trauma, and healing – but also about the choices we make in the aftermath of pain.

Dan’s story made me confront the reality that for years, I had been exploiting other people’s trauma without any thought for the cost. It forced me to take responsibility and to feel genuine remorse.

Since 2017, I’ve made it my mission to educate others about where that kind of hatred comes from, and how easy it is to be swept up in it if you’re not careful. Part of that work has involved encouraging people to see past the stereotypes, to understand the root causes, and most importantly, to listen – really listen – to those who have lived through the worst of it.

Dan’s voice deserves to be heard, not just because of what he endured, but because of the light he continues to shine in the darkness.

If you want to understand what happened on 7/7 beyond the headlines, if you want to understand what real strength and humanity look like, read this book (link below). It might not only change how you see that day – it might change how you see yourself.

@Newdaystarts

Click link for Back from the Dead – The Untold Story of the 7/7 Bombings https://amzn.eu/d/bNcMiMJ