I came to the UK as an Afghan refugee. The far-right riots remind me of the hatred I fled
As thousands of counter-protesters took to the streets last week to defend immigrants and minority communities, I felt hope seeing many stand for tolerance and acceptance
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It’s been almost three years to the day — 17 August — since I boarded a Qatari military plane to leave my home of Kabul, my heart heavy with mixed emotions. I was departing a city I loved, a place where every street held memories of my life and heritage. But the rising tide of Taliban extremists — an intolerant mixture of religious fanaticism, bigotry and prejudice that had swept through Kabul just two days earlier — forced me to flee a homeland I could no longer recognise.
The years leading up to that day were marked by relentless bombings and assassinations, claiming thousands of innocent lives, among them many of my friends and colleagues. One colleague, AFP journalist Sardar Ahmad, was killed along with his entire family as they celebrated the Nowruz, the first day of the Persian year. The Taliban show no remorse; they view their victims as outsiders.
I first found refuge in France but my heart was set on the UK — a country I admired for its diversity, tolerance and the celebrated English manner. The UK symbolised a haven of acceptance, a place where I could rebuild my life with dignity and contribute meaningfully to society. I worked hard to integrate and soon felt proud to call it home.
But tragically, over the past week the violent scenes of far-right riots across the UK have brought back memories of the shadows I left back home in Afghanistan. This violence has made me question what I felt was a sense of security as an Afghan refugee here in England.
Far-right groups are attacking immigrants and people of colour. Mosques and all kinds of properties and livelihoods have been destroyed. It is clear that this rhetoric has been fed by some media figures and politicians who have built divisive narratives that portray immigrants as threats rather than contributors. Seeing images of angry mobs surrounding hotels housing migrants, hearing the distress of fellow Afghans in cities such as Manchester, and witnessing the fear in their eyes — this is not the UK I had made my home. The thought that people could target those who have already endured so much suffering is deeply alarming. It’s a direct assault on our search for a better life.
Living through this increase in hatred feels like cruel déjà vu. In Afghanistan, I witnessed first-hand how such hate strips away our humanity. I left Kabul to escape the brutal intolerance of extremists, hoping for peace and acceptance in the UK. They use religious extremism as their cause, while here rioters attack under the guise of nationalism. Despite their different masks, both have fostered a climate of fear and violence where marginalised people suffer.
Seeing the seeds of hostility here is deeply disheartening. It’s as if my past has followed me, and the safe place I sought is now infected with the same hatred I fled. This not only brings back old traumas but also shatters the sense of security I had begun to rebuild. As the unrest continues, I find myself questioning how safe we truly are.
Prime Minister Keir Starmer has condemned this violence as “thuggery”. He has assured those targeted because of their faith or skin colour that they are not alone and that these rioters do not represent the British people. I want to believe him. I also want to believe that the majority of Britons oppose the riots. A new YouGov poll shows 85% of the public oppose the “unrest at protests”, with only a small minority expressing support.
On Wednesday, thousands of counter-protesters took to the streets to defend immigrants and minority communities. They held placards saying “refugees welcome” and formed human shields protecting immigration centres. This gives me hope. There are people here who want me, and others like me, as their neighbours and friends. There are people who will stand up to help us. The show of support is a powerful reminder that, despite an increase in hatred, many in the UK still stand for tolerance and acceptance. Such solidarity is something I would never see in Afghanistan under Taliban rule, where fear silences any collective resistance.
While this support is uplifting, we must also recognise the deep fear that this violence has caused in communities like mine. The ripple effect of such hatred is profound. Only by standing together can we ensure that this country remains a place where all people, regardless of their origin, can find peace and belonging.
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