Last week, the first report from the inquiry into the Southport killings was published.
On the 29th of July, 2024, Axel Rudakubana, a 17-year-old of Rwandan heritage, carried out a knife attack at a Taylor Swift-themed children’s dance class in Southport, northwest England. He murdered three young girls: Elsie Dot Stancombe, Alice da Silva Aguiar, and Bebe King. Ten other people were injured, both children and adults.
Rudakubana was tried and sentenced to a minimum of 52 years in prison. In a country and continent which have sadly grown used to mass casualty attacks, this stands out for its sheer nihilist depravity.
The Southport Inquiry was established in order to examine the circumstances surrounding the attack and the events leading up to it. And to the surprise of absolutely no one, it turns out that ‘systemic failures’ meant it wasn’t prevented when it really could have been.
After every atrocity, the script writes itself. Reviews are commissioned and committees are convened. When the resultant report is published, it is always damning, prompting grave-faced ministers to appear before the cameras and promise that ‘lessons will be learned.’
But they’re not, are they? With weary inevitability, another attack comes along, exposing not new failures but the persistence of old ones. From the July 7, 2005, London bombings to Southport, Britain has endured not just a series of violent acts but a pattern of institutional cowardice so consistent that it has now become a ritual. A deeper tragedy is not only that these outrages occur but that so many unfold along lines already mapped, analysed and—supposedly—corrected.
The shock of 7/7 was meant to be transformative. That fifty-two people were butchered one summer’s morning on the way to work supposedly forced a reckoning with Islamist extremism. Subsequent reviews identified familiar weaknesses: fragmented intelligence, insufficient co-ordination, and a failure to grasp the nature of the threat—not least confronting the realities of full-strength multiculturalism. The conclusion was clear. Systems would improve, vigilance would increase, and awkward conversations would be had. Because such failures should never be repeated.
And yet. The Glasgow Airport attack in 2007 (infamously executed by those two paragons of the multiculturalists, a doctor and an engineer) raised more concerns. 2013 saw the very public slaughter of soldier Lee Rigby by individuals who openly expressed a desire to kill someone from the military. Then, the seemingly endless attacks of 2017—Westminster Bridge, Manchester Arena and London Bridge—shattered any lingering hope that we had this beaten.
In each case, the perpetrators had previously come to official attention, and warning signs were recognised but not acted upon. Systems hesitated where decisiveness was required, in no small part because those charged with looking after us were scared of being labelled as racist. These were human choices, shaped by a culture that puts political correctness over preventative action.
The pattern has repeated since. The Reading stabbings, the murder of MP Sir David Amess, and the Nottingham attacks all featured perpetrators who had passed through multiple layers of state oversight. Each time, post-incident reviews returned the same conclusions: flawed risk assessments, a failure to act on what was already known, and officials viewing everything through the prism of race. This is not a story of isolated lapses but of a system that knows the issues but refuses to confront them.
No serious observer claims that risk can be eliminated entirely. A free society will always remain, to some extent, vulnerable. But Britain’s recent history is not defined by unforeseeable shocks. It is defined by recurring patterns. Known individuals, known behaviours, known institutional weaknesses—all followed by familiar conclusions that fail to translate into any profound change.
Part of the failure is bureaucratic complexity, but that does not explain two decades of repetition. The real issue here is risk aversion reinforced by weak political and moral ideologies. If officialdom were to act early in these cases, it would undoubtedly risk triggering legal challenges and provoking the racism industry into megaphone activism. But when the alternative is people being murdered in what are often, at least in part, racially or religiously motivated attacks, then it shouldn’t be difficult to choose the right course of action. However, in a system paralysed by progressivism, the greater perceived risk is not failing to act but acting at all. The result is predictable. Hesitation, delay and inaction until the threat becomes undeniable—by which point people are lighting candles and singing ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ all over again.
The Prevent Programme, launched by the UK government in the wake of 7/7 and the rise of Islamist terrorism, now spends far too much time and energy amplifying the spectre of some nebulous ‘far right’ than concentrating on what it originally was set up for. But public-sector groupthink means they would rather focus on something they can all agree on than confronting the truth about where their quasi-religious belief in multiculturalism has got us.
Accountability must be made real. At present, institutional failure is all too often absorbed without meaningful sanction. As police officers, we all remember sitting in an auditorium, after another outrage, listening to some senior officer stating that “key learnings will be embedded into our processes moving forward” but we all knew that lessons were merely noted. When officers fear legal reprisal for acting in good faith, they are more likely to defer action. A system that expects decisiveness must also provide protection for those who exercise it.
Governments also need to grow a backbone. They cannot demand risk-taking from institutions while retreating at the first sign of political controversy. Professionals must be defended publicly and consistently. This requires a willingness to have those honest conversations about the actualities of ethno-religious pluralism. We need to accept difficult trade-offs and to articulate them.
Yes, this approach will provoke opposition, both genuine and performative. But the status quo carries a much greater cost, one measured in lives lost, trust eroded, and a sense that the state is trapped in a cycle it cannot break. “Lessons will be learned” has become a ritual phrase, drained of any meaning through repetition. And it convinces no one.
Credibility will not be restored by another report, however comprehensive it is. It will be restored only when the pattern is broken. When known risks are confidently acted upon by professionals who aren’t running on pre-approved opinions and who know their leaders are willing to support the tough decisions that true prevention requires.
Until then, the cycle will continue. Another attack, another vigil, another review. And each time the words will sound that little bit more hollow—and the public will be less inclined to believe them.
The Empty Mantra of the ‘Another Inquiry’
A friendship bracelet reading ‘Cruel Summer’ is pictured amongst tributes to murdered Alice Da Silva Aguiar, Bebe King, and Elsie Dot Stancombe are pictured outside the Town Hall in Southport, northwest England, on August 20, 2024.
PETER POWELL / AFP
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Last week, the first report from the inquiry into the Southport killings was published.
On the 29th of July, 2024, Axel Rudakubana, a 17-year-old of Rwandan heritage, carried out a knife attack at a Taylor Swift-themed children’s dance class in Southport, northwest England. He murdered three young girls: Elsie Dot Stancombe, Alice da Silva Aguiar, and Bebe King. Ten other people were injured, both children and adults.
Rudakubana was tried and sentenced to a minimum of 52 years in prison. In a country and continent which have sadly grown used to mass casualty attacks, this stands out for its sheer nihilist depravity.
The Southport Inquiry was established in order to examine the circumstances surrounding the attack and the events leading up to it. And to the surprise of absolutely no one, it turns out that ‘systemic failures’ meant it wasn’t prevented when it really could have been.
After every atrocity, the script writes itself. Reviews are commissioned and committees are convened. When the resultant report is published, it is always damning, prompting grave-faced ministers to appear before the cameras and promise that ‘lessons will be learned.’
But they’re not, are they? With weary inevitability, another attack comes along, exposing not new failures but the persistence of old ones. From the July 7, 2005, London bombings to Southport, Britain has endured not just a series of violent acts but a pattern of institutional cowardice so consistent that it has now become a ritual. A deeper tragedy is not only that these outrages occur but that so many unfold along lines already mapped, analysed and—supposedly—corrected.
The shock of 7/7 was meant to be transformative. That fifty-two people were butchered one summer’s morning on the way to work supposedly forced a reckoning with Islamist extremism. Subsequent reviews identified familiar weaknesses: fragmented intelligence, insufficient co-ordination, and a failure to grasp the nature of the threat—not least confronting the realities of full-strength multiculturalism. The conclusion was clear. Systems would improve, vigilance would increase, and awkward conversations would be had. Because such failures should never be repeated.
And yet. The Glasgow Airport attack in 2007 (infamously executed by those two paragons of the multiculturalists, a doctor and an engineer) raised more concerns. 2013 saw the very public slaughter of soldier Lee Rigby by individuals who openly expressed a desire to kill someone from the military. Then, the seemingly endless attacks of 2017—Westminster Bridge, Manchester Arena and London Bridge—shattered any lingering hope that we had this beaten.
In each case, the perpetrators had previously come to official attention, and warning signs were recognised but not acted upon. Systems hesitated where decisiveness was required, in no small part because those charged with looking after us were scared of being labelled as racist. These were human choices, shaped by a culture that puts political correctness over preventative action.
The pattern has repeated since. The Reading stabbings, the murder of MP Sir David Amess, and the Nottingham attacks all featured perpetrators who had passed through multiple layers of state oversight. Each time, post-incident reviews returned the same conclusions: flawed risk assessments, a failure to act on what was already known, and officials viewing everything through the prism of race. This is not a story of isolated lapses but of a system that knows the issues but refuses to confront them.
No serious observer claims that risk can be eliminated entirely. A free society will always remain, to some extent, vulnerable. But Britain’s recent history is not defined by unforeseeable shocks. It is defined by recurring patterns. Known individuals, known behaviours, known institutional weaknesses—all followed by familiar conclusions that fail to translate into any profound change.
Part of the failure is bureaucratic complexity, but that does not explain two decades of repetition. The real issue here is risk aversion reinforced by weak political and moral ideologies. If officialdom were to act early in these cases, it would undoubtedly risk triggering legal challenges and provoking the racism industry into megaphone activism. But when the alternative is people being murdered in what are often, at least in part, racially or religiously motivated attacks, then it shouldn’t be difficult to choose the right course of action. However, in a system paralysed by progressivism, the greater perceived risk is not failing to act but acting at all. The result is predictable. Hesitation, delay and inaction until the threat becomes undeniable—by which point people are lighting candles and singing ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ all over again.
The Prevent Programme, launched by the UK government in the wake of 7/7 and the rise of Islamist terrorism, now spends far too much time and energy amplifying the spectre of some nebulous ‘far right’ than concentrating on what it originally was set up for. But public-sector groupthink means they would rather focus on something they can all agree on than confronting the truth about where their quasi-religious belief in multiculturalism has got us.
Accountability must be made real. At present, institutional failure is all too often absorbed without meaningful sanction. As police officers, we all remember sitting in an auditorium, after another outrage, listening to some senior officer stating that “key learnings will be embedded into our processes moving forward” but we all knew that lessons were merely noted. When officers fear legal reprisal for acting in good faith, they are more likely to defer action. A system that expects decisiveness must also provide protection for those who exercise it.
Governments also need to grow a backbone. They cannot demand risk-taking from institutions while retreating at the first sign of political controversy. Professionals must be defended publicly and consistently. This requires a willingness to have those honest conversations about the actualities of ethno-religious pluralism. We need to accept difficult trade-offs and to articulate them.
Yes, this approach will provoke opposition, both genuine and performative. But the status quo carries a much greater cost, one measured in lives lost, trust eroded, and a sense that the state is trapped in a cycle it cannot break. “Lessons will be learned” has become a ritual phrase, drained of any meaning through repetition. And it convinces no one.
Credibility will not be restored by another report, however comprehensive it is. It will be restored only when the pattern is broken. When known risks are confidently acted upon by professionals who aren’t running on pre-approved opinions and who know their leaders are willing to support the tough decisions that true prevention requires.
Until then, the cycle will continue. Another attack, another vigil, another review. And each time the words will sound that little bit more hollow—and the public will be less inclined to believe them.
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