Let’s talk about something that’s been making headlines again: the UK’s Prevent programme. You’ve probably heard about it, especially after the tragic case of Axel Rudakubana, the teenager who murdered three young girls in Southport last year. It’s a story that’s shaken the nation and reignited debates about whether Prevent is doing what it’s supposed to—or if it’s making things worse.
So, grab a cup of coffee, and let’s break this down.
What Is Prevent, Anyway?
Prevent is part of the UK’s counter-terrorism strategy, sitting alongside three other ‘P’s: Pursue, Protect, and Prepare. Its job is to “safeguard and support those vulnerable to radicalisation” and stop them from becoming terrorists or supporting terrorism. Sounds noble, right?
But here’s the thing: Prevent has been controversial since day one. It was launched after the 2005 London bombings, and initially, it focused heavily on Muslim communities. That didn’t go down well. Critics said it felt like discrimination, even spying. Fast forward to today, and over 50,000 people have been referred to Prevent. That’s a lot of names on a list.
In the last year alone, almost 7,000 people in England and Wales were referred. And get this—40% of those referrals came from schools. Teachers, doctors, even nursery staff are required to flag anyone they think might be at risk. But what counts as “at risk”? Well, that’s where things get messy.
How Has Prevent Evolved?
Back in 2011, the government decided Prevent should cover all forms of extremism, not just Islamist extremism. They defined extremism as “vocal or active opposition to fundamental British values,” like democracy, rule of law, and tolerance.
Then, in 2015, they introduced the Prevent Duty. This made it a legal requirement for public sector workers to have “due regard to the need to prevent people being drawn into terrorism.” In other words, if you’re a teacher and a student starts questioning foreign policy or seems a bit withdrawn, you might have to report them.
There’s also something called Channel, a mentoring programme for people deemed at risk. But here’s the kicker: more than 250 kids under 15 were part of Channel interventions last year. That’s a lot of young lives being scrutinised.
The Criticism: Is Prevent Doing More Harm Than Good?
Now, let’s get to the juicy part—the backlash. Critics say Prevent is having a “chilling effect” on free speech. Imagine being a student and feeling like you can’t ask tough questions in class because your teacher might report you. Or being a patient and worrying that your doctor is judging your beliefs.
Yasmine Ahmed from Human Rights Watch put it bluntly: Prevent has turned public sector workers into informers. And Amnesty International? They’ve called for the Prevent Duty to be scrapped, saying it’s having a “racist and discriminatory impact.”
According to the latest Home Office statistics, 13% of Prevent referrals in 2023 were for “Islamist concerns,” while 19% were for far-right extremism. But here’s the catch: Muslims make up only about 5% of the UK population. That means they’re being referred at a rate that’s way out of proportion to their numbers.
A 2022 report, “The People’s Review of Prevent”, found that over 70% of Muslims in England and Wales live in areas classified as “Prevent Priority Areas.” Compare that to just 30% of the overall population. This isn’t just a coincidence—it’s a pattern.
Even the UN has weighed in. In 2017, a UN special rapporteur said Prevent might be promoting extremism by alienating and stigmatising communities. And in 2024, a UN report called for the programme to be suspended and for reparations to be paid to those abused under it.
But not everyone’s against it. Supporters argue that Prevent is a necessary safeguard. They point to the growing number of far-right referrals as proof that it’s not just targeting Muslims.
How Have Governments Responded?
Governments have tried to address the criticism—sort of. In 2019, the Conservative government announced an independent review of Prevent. But it was delayed, and the first reviewer, Lord Carlile, had to step down because he’d previously supported the programme.
Then came William Shawcross, whose appointment was so controversial that many organisations boycotted the review. When his report finally came out in 2023, it called for a renewed focus on the “Islamist threat.” Critics weren’t impressed, but then-Home Secretary Suella Braverman welcomed it with open arms.
Where Are We Now?
Fast forward to today, and the Labour government is under pressure to overhaul Prevent. Prime Minister Keir Starmer and Home Secretary Yvette Cooper have both acknowledged that the programme needs to be more effective.
Cooper announced the appointment of David Anderson, a former independent reviewer of counter-terrorism legislation, as the new Prevent commissioner. His first task? To look into the failings in the Rudakubana case.
Starmer also highlighted a “new and dangerous threat”: lone individuals, often young men, radicalised online. He said terrorism laws might need to change to address this.
Cooper, meanwhile, suggested that referrals for Islamist extremism have been “too low” and that the thresholds for referrals need reviewing.
The Big Question: Does Prevent Work?
Here’s the million-dollar question: Is Prevent actually stopping terrorism, or is it creating more problems than it solves?
On one hand, it’s helped identify and support vulnerable individuals. On the other, it’s been accused of alienating communities, stifling free speech, and disproportionately targeting Muslims.
As Yvette Cooper put it: “The Prevent programme is vital to our national security… but we need it to be effective.”
Prevent is a tricky one. It’s trying to tackle a huge problem—extremism—but in doing so, it’s stepping on a lot of toes. The question isn’t just whether it works, but whether the cost—in terms of trust, freedom, and community relations—is worth it.
You know what they say: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
The Everyday Impact on Muslim Communities
So, what does this mean for Muslims on the ground? Imagine being a parent and worrying that your child’s teacher might misinterpret their curiosity about religion as a sign of radicalisation. Or being a student and feeling like you can’t openly discuss your faith without being flagged.
Prevent has created an atmosphere of suspicion. Public sector workers—teachers, doctors, social workers—are required to report anyone they think might be at risk of radicalisation. But the criteria are vague. Questioning foreign policy? Feeling anxious in class? Wanting political change? These are all behaviours that could land someone on Prevent’s radar.
For Muslims, this means living under a microscope. A 2021 report by Rights and Security International found that Prevent is being used to collect and share vast amounts of data, with children and young people particularly affected. This isn’t just about stopping terrorism—it’s about surveillance.
Critics argue that Prevent is stifling free speech, especially in schools and universities. For Muslims, this is especially troubling. The programme has created an environment where expressing your faith or questioning government policies can be seen as a red flag. This isn’t just about preventing extremism—it’s about silencing dissent.
Let’s not mince words: Prevent has become a tool for suppressing Muslim voices. By disproportionately targeting Muslims, it reinforces stereotypes and fuels Islamophobia. It sends a message that being Muslim is inherently suspicious.
Amnesty International has called this out, saying Prevent has a “racist and discriminatory impact.” Even the UN has weighed in, calling for the programme to be suspended and for reparations to be paid to those affected.
