NCHIs have no place in the 21st century, writes the former Home Secretary Suella Braverman, for the Telegraph. Here’s an extract:
The Test Act of 1672 required individuals to pledge allegiance to the Church of England before enjoying liberties. Those who refused were excluded from public life, barred from universities and relegated to society’s margins. This draconian system is a relic of history, but echoes of its spirit persist in 21st-century Britain.
Today, the modern equivalent is ideological conformity under the guise of tolerance – enforced not by bishops but by police officers and bureaucrats logging non-crime hate incidents (NCHIs).
These records, designed to monitor “hostility” that falls short of a crime, reflect a warped understanding of inclusion. The existence of NCHIs has created a dangerous precedent: that expressing a view, even in good faith, can lead to a police record if someone, somewhere, decides to take offence. Journalists, politicians and children have all been caught.
The parallels between the Test Act and NCHIs are striking. In the 17th century, dissenters who refused to sign articles of faith were punished. Now, those who dare challenge today’s creed of open borders, gender ideology, or pro-Palestine activism face ostracism, reputational damage, and potentially – through NCHIs – state-sanctioned monitoring.
NCHI reports can follow individuals for years, showing up on background checks for jobs. Consider the absurdity of that: a person could lose a career chance over something that isn’t classified as a crime. The tools may differ from the 17th century, but the effect is the same: coerced conformity.
This has a chilling effect on public discourse. When people fear that expressing an opinion might land them on a police database, they become less willing to engage in open debate. That fear, though subtle, gnaws at the fabric of a democracy built on the contest of ideas. The result is a homogenised culture where dissenting views are stifled not by force, but by the quiet terror of surveillance
This was demonstrated in the case of Harry Miller in 2021, a former police officer investigated for tweeting gender-critical views. Though breaking no laws, Miller was subjected to a visit from the police, who wanted to “check his thinking”. His tweets were recorded as a non-crime hate incident because someone perceived them as transphobic.
The Court of Appeal ruled that police intervention was unlawful, stating that the guidance on NCHIs undermined freedom of expression. The judgment underscored what should have been obvious: policing speech that does not meet the criminal threshold erodes our freedoms. Yet the practice persists.
NCHIs originated in the aftermath of the Macpherson Report following the murder of Stephen Lawrence. The aim was to capture incidents of racism and ensure that victims felt heard. Over time, this measure expanded to include all protected characteristics under the Equality Act; the threshold for recording an incident became dangerously low: if someone perceived hostility, it could be logged – no evidence required.
But the reality is that the subjective nature of NCHIs makes them unworkable. By elevating hurt feelings to the status of quasi-law, we risk creating a society ruled by the tyranny of the most easily offended. This asymmetry corrodes trust in policing and creates a perception that the system is rigged.
When I became home secretary, I was determined to tackle this misuse of police powers. Building on the Court of Appeal’s judgment in the Miller case, I introduced new statutory guidance in 2023. This raised the threshold for recording NCHIs, making it clear that free speech is a cornerstone of British society. But these changes did not go as far as I would have liked.
Police forces have largely ignored the guidance, and the culture of policing thought remains entrenched. Stronger action is needed.
Worth reading in full.
