By Vinod Popat
In September 2022, Leicester—my home—was thrust into the headlines for all the wrong reasons. Footage of street confrontations, shouted slogans, and online provocations travelled faster than facts. In the weeks and months that followed, a loud and damaging storyline took hold: blame the Hindus. That storyline was wrong then, and it is wrong now.
A recent High Court judgment offers a timely reset. In Hegab v The Spectator, the court dismissed a libel claim brought by an online preacher who had come to Leicester at the height of tensions. The judge concluded that the description of him as a street agitator who mocked Hindu beliefs and helped inflame tensions was substantially true. Importantly, the court wasn’t asked to adjudicate theology. It didn’t—and couldn’t—issue sweeping pronouncements about “Hinduism” or “Hindutva”. What it did say is simple: in that volatile moment, rhetoric that ridiculed Hindus present made things worse. That matters.
Why revisit this now? Because the post-2022 discourse has been saturated with a lazy binary: if you question anti-Hindu prejudice, you must be defending extremism. That is an insult to Leicester’s thousands of ordinary Hindu families whose lives revolve around work, school runs, seva, and temples that have long been part of this city’s civic fabric. It also misreads the basic civic principle that should guide us: condemn all hatred—anti-Hindu, anti-Muslim, anti-anyone—without qualification.
Let’s be clear about three points.
First, Hindus are not a punchbag.
Mocking reincarnation or caricaturing a whole community as “cowardly” isn’t fearless debate; it’s sectarian baiting. When that language is delivered to a crowd of excitable young men in a neighbourhood already on edge, it’s not merely “speech”—it’s a match near kindling. Leicester learned that the hard way.
Second, conflation fuels grievance.
Some commentators insist on treating every Hindu symbol, procession, or flag as proof of an imported political agenda. That’s as unserious as treating every Muslim community event as an endorsement of foreign politics. Religious identity is not a smoking gun. If there is credible evidence of an offence, investigate it. If there isn’t, stop smearing whole communities by association.
Third, the online outrage machine is not a truth machine.
The 2022 unrest was amplified by misinformation and rumour. We can no longer allow anonymous accounts and clipped videos to set Leicester’s temperature. Community leaders, local media and the police must share verified information quickly and consistently—before bad actors define the story for us.
So where do we go from here?
• Equal standards, equal protection. Hate crimes against Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs—against anyone—must be taken seriously and recorded consistently. Justice that is even-handed is the only justice communities will trust.
• Zero tolerance for sectarian language—whoever uses it. We should all reject rhetoric that ridicules another faith’s core beliefs. Free speech is not a licence to inflame neighbours.
• Invest in youth and neighbourhood dialogue. The overwhelming majority of Leicester’s young people want a future together. Give them safe spaces, shared projects and mentors who can model disagreement without dehumanisation.
• Local voices first. National culture-war commentators parachuted into Leicester in 2022 and promptly left. We live with the consequences. Our city’s story should be told by people who actually have to share its streets on Monday morning.
Leicester’s strength has always been quiet: shopkeepers who know your name; neighbours who bring prasad or iftar plates without keeping a scorecard; coaches and caretakers who keep our kids busy and our parks clean. Those ordinary bonds were strained in 2022. It’s time to repair them—not by pretending nothing happened, but by being grown-ups about what did happen, and refusing to let lazy narratives define our city or its Hindu community.
Vinod Popat is the founder of Radio Utsav in Leicester.
