Antiracism in a Shifting Political Climate: Why Humanity is Not Up for Debate

We are living in a moment where far-right ideologies are finding renewed visibility. The resurgence of the National Front and similar movements is not happening in a vacuum; it is the by-product of fear, uncertainty, and narratives that scapegoat already marginalised communities. Across the country, flags fly from windows, pubs, and government buildings. For some, they are symbols of pride. For others, they have become a warning — a signal of exclusion, nationalism, and anti-immigrant sentiment. Where these banners once represented shared belonging, they now too often speak of tightening borders, not only physical but also social and moral.

Against this backdrop, the headlines have been filled with grief and horror. On 2 September in Bristol, a nine-year-old girl was shot three times with air gun pellets. Just a week later, on 9 September, a Sikh woman was raped in Oldbury in what police have described as a racist attack. These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a long story of violence against women and girls of colour, showing with unbearable clarity how racism and misogyny intertwine, and how the humanity of racially marginalised communities is still questioned, violated, and denied.

And yet, as these acts of violence unfold, the political climate insists on debate. Politicians speak of immigration as though it were a threat. Commentators frame diversity as though it endangered tradition. The recent death of Charlie Kirk — a man who cloaked racist ideas in religious language — has been recast by some as martyrdom, his legacy sanitised into a story of resistance against “woke culture.” But let us be clear: death does not rewrite the harms of exclusion and division. Compassion allows us to acknowledge grief without romanticising legacies that inflicted harm. It asks us to hold two truths at once — that every human life has value, and that ideas which dehumanise others cannot be excused.

This moment demands that we ask ourselves hard questions: Why is humanity being debated at all? Why is it still being contested?

The answer is as old as power itself. Dehumanisation has long been used to uphold hierarchies and justify control. When right-wing movements call for “defending the nation,” they are not speaking to everyone who lives in it. When racist violence occurs on our streets, it is not an accident — it is the consequence of a culture that allows certain groups to be vilified, diminished, and treated as less than human.

This is not only a social issue. It is an organisational one, too. Workplaces mirror society, and society mirrors workplaces. When individuals bring bias, silence, or complicity into their roles, organisational cultures are shaped around them. That is why education, dialogue, and active antiracism within organisations are vital. Staff must understand that the rise of the NF, the co-option of national symbols, the violent targeting of women and children of colour, and the romanticising of racist legacies are not distant events. They shape colleagues, patients, customers, and communities alike.

And the responsibility is not only collective — it is personal. Each of us must ask: when humanity is contested, where do I stand? Do I remain silent, or do I speak? Do I allow grief to be overshadowed by narratives that excuse harmful legacies, or do I name the truth? Do I ignore the flags of division, or do I challenge what they represent?

The Sikh woman attacked in Oldbury deserved to live in safety and dignity. The young girl in Bristol deserved to grow up with her future intact. Their humanity was never conditional, never up for debate. And yet the violence against them shows us a brutal truth: in this political moment, humanity is being treated as though it can be conferred or withdrawn by politicians, movements, or ideologies.

But humanity is not negotiable. It is not conditional. It does not belong to the state, the media, or any political figure. It is inherent. The fact that it is even being debated should disturb us all.

Organisations and individuals alike face a choice. To replicate the silence and complicity that allows racism and nationalism to grow — or to disrupt it. To treat antiracism as optional — or to embed it as the fabric of our everyday lives and work.

The rise of the far right, the use of nationalist symbols as tools of exclusion, the violence against women and children of colour, and the romanticising of racist legacies all serve as reminders of what is at stake. Antiracism is not simply about fairness in the workplace. It is about insisting, again and again, that humanity is not up for debate.