When I cast my vote for Brexit, I believed I was making a rational decision rooted in sovereignty, fairness, and the belief that Britain should shape its own future without interference from Brussels. Too often, it seemed that member states of the EU bloc acted against Britain’s interests. My reasoning was not therefore born of hostility toward migrants, but of an earnest conviction that a nation must have the ability to steer its own course, set its own laws, control its own borders, regulate inflows responsibly, and ensure that infrastructure, communities, and security can withstand the pressures that inevitably come with global migration.
Yet, looking at Britain today, I cannot help but wonder whether the national conversation on asylum seekers has been hijacked—not by migrants themselves, but by the loudest, angriest voices at home. Increasingly, our streets bear witness not to measured debate or thoughtful policymaking, but to riots, protests drenched in hatred, and the weaponisation of national symbols meant to unify us but now brandished as cudgels to divide.
What troubles me more than any disagreement on policy is the toxic descent into a state of what I can only describe as collective madness: a law of the jungle mentality, where nuance is drowned out by rage, where the innocent are vilified because of the misdeeds of a few, and where shouting matches replace reasoned argument.
To blame all asylum seekers for the crimes of a minority is intellectually lazy and morally bankrupt. It is akin to holding every modern Briton accountable for the worst excesses of empire. We would never accept that logic if directed at ourselves—so why embrace it when directed at desperate people who, in many cases, have fled war, persecution, or crushing poverty?
The tragedy is that the mob does not recognise its own reflection. Many of those railing against asylum seekers are not, in fact, protecting Britain’s interests—they are projecting their own frustrations, failures, and anxieties onto an easy scapegoat. Instead of demanding better policies, stronger infrastructure planning, or a fairer immigration system, they wreck property, intimidate communities, and create fear on the very streets they claim to defend. In doing so, they undermine the very security and cohesion they say they want to preserve.
This is not the Britain that the world once admired for its sense of justice, its capacity for tolerance, and its commitment to the rule of law. If we allow the mob to dictate the asylum seeker debate, we risk abandoning those principles altogether.
We must insist that Britain’s asylum policy is guided neither by naivety nor by hysteria. Yes, criminals should be punished—whether they are citizens or newcomers. Yes, migration must be managed to protect social harmony and public services. But equally, the innocent must be shielded from mob scapegoating and ideological witch hunts.
Above all, those who have descended into lawlessness—whether under the banner of nationalism, cultural grievance, or misplaced anger—must face the full consequences of their actions. Without accountability, we risk normalising this descent into chaos.
Britain should aspire to be a nation of high ideals, not low vendettas. Our task now is to reclaim this debate from the lunatic fringes—not for the sake of abstract principles alone, but to make sure that every person in Britain, regardless of heritage, faith, or beliefs, can walk safely through our towns and cities.
The question is not whether lunatics have taken over the asylum seeker issue. The question is: will we allow them to keep it?
Worldwide Temple of Aurora 