When Terrorism Law Is Used to Police Belief in the UK

Democracies rarely collapse loudly. They erode quietly, through legal mechanisms that appear reasonable in isolation but devastating in accumulation. The criminalisation of non-violent expression in the UK under terrorism legislation, particularly the arrest of individuals for holding signs or expressing solidarity with proscribed groups, represents one such erosion. It is not unprecedented. History offers clear and uncomfortable parallels.

Two stand out with particular force. Cold War–era McCarthyism in the United States, and apartheid South Africa’s use of terrorism laws to suppress dissent. Both were justified as necessary for security. Both were later condemned as abuses of state power. Both followed the same structural logic now emerging in the UK.

This is not about sympathy for any one cause. It is about whether a democratic state may lawfully treat expression itself as a terrorist act.

McCarthyism: When Belief Became a Crime

In 1950s America, fear of communism metastasised into fear of communists. Individuals were not primarily punished for espionage or violence, but for ideological sympathy, perceived association, or refusal to denounce others before the House Un-American Activities Committee.

Teachers lost their jobs. Artists were blacklisted. Civil servants were purged. The crime was rarely conduct. It was belief, association, or expression.

The legal mechanisms were deceptively mild. Loyalty oaths, contempt proceedings, and broad definitions of subversive activity required no proof of harm. The mere risk of ideological contamination was deemed sufficient.

The most damaging consequence was not imprisonment, but silence. People learned that speaking carried risk, while conformity carried safety.

The United States now teaches this period as a constitutional failure. Not because threats were imagined, but because the response abandoned proportionality and collapsed the distinction between thought and action.

The parallel with the UK today is stark. When symbolic support, solidarity, or moral alignment are reclassified as terrorism through proscription alone, belief again becomes evidence.

Apartheid South Africa: Terrorism as a Label for Opposition

If McCarthyism shows how democracies drift, apartheid South Africa shows where that drift can end.

The apartheid state relied heavily on terrorism legislation to suppress resistance. Groups opposing racial segregation, including the African National Congress, were designated terrorist organisations. Once labelled, almost any act of support became criminal. Speeches, leaflets, meetings, and even attendance at funerals could result in arrest.

The state did not need to prove violence. Opposition itself was reframed as existential threat. Courts operated within a legal fiction where dissent equalled danger.

Nelson Mandela was convicted under this framework. So were thousands whose only crime was challenging state legitimacy.

History’s verdict is unambiguous. The problem was never the protesters. It was the law.

When terrorism statutes become tools for political control rather than public protection, they cease to function as security measures and become instruments of repression.

The UK’s Drift: Law Without Proportionality

The UK government maintains that it is acting within the law. That is precisely the concern. Every historical abuse cited here was also legal at the time.

By proscribing organisations and criminalising expression of support, the state has collapsed a foundational democratic distinction between violence and speech.

This is not a technical adjustment. It is a philosophical shift.

Once a placard, chant, or statement of solidarity can trigger terrorism charges, the burden of proof shifts dramatically. The state no longer needs to demonstrate harm, intent, or facilitation. The designation does the work.

This is how security law becomes belief law.

Legal Analysis: Article 10 of the European Convention on Human Rights

Article 10 of the European Convention on Human Rights guarantees the right to freedom of expression. This includes the freedom to hold opinions and to receive and impart information and ideas without interference by public authority.

That protection is not absolute. States may restrict expression in the interests of national security or public safety. However, the European Court of Human Rights has consistently held that such restrictions must meet three strict tests.

They must be prescribed by law. They must pursue a legitimate aim. And crucially, they must be necessary in a democratic society.

Necessity is where the current UK approach is most vulnerable.

The Court has repeatedly emphasised that necessity implies a pressing social need and requires proportionality. Restrictions must be narrowly tailored, and states must show that less intrusive measures would be insufficient.

Punishing non-violent expression, symbolic speech, or moral alignment with no demonstrable link to violence fails this test. It is difficult to argue that holding a sign or expressing solidarity poses a pressing social danger that cannot be addressed by ordinary public order law.

The Court has also been clear that freedom of expression protects speech that shocks, offends, or disturbs. That is not a flaw in the system. It is its core purpose.

When terrorism legislation is used to penalise expression rather than prevent violence, the risk is not only a violation of Article 10, but a structural undermining of democratic legitimacy.

Cases may take years to reach Strasbourg. But history suggests the legal direction of travel is predictable.

What Can Be Done

First, legal challenges must continue. Domestic courts and ultimately the European Court of Human Rights remain essential checks on executive overreach. These processes are slow, but they establish precedent that protects future expression, not just current defendants.

Second, Parliament must reassert its role. Proscription powers require stronger scrutiny, clearer thresholds, and regular review. A designation that automatically criminalises expression should never be treated as a technical matter.

Third, civil society and professional institutions must resist normalisation. Universities, unions, media organisations, and legal bodies play a critical role in refusing to accept the framing of speech as terrorism by default.

Fourth, public discourse must remain disciplined. This issue should be argued in terms of law, rights, and precedent, not tribal allegiance. History shows that overreach thrives when criticism is dismissed as partisan.

Finally, journalists and editors must continue to draw clear distinctions between violence and expression. Language matters. When those distinctions collapse, so do safeguards.

Conclusion: Power Always Prefers Silence

McCarthyism and apartheid did not fail because their targets were morally pure. They failed because the state claimed the authority to decide which beliefs were safe to express.

The UK now stands at a familiar crossroads.

To criminalise non-violent expression under terrorism law is not strength. It is insecurity masquerading as authority. History is unequivocal about where that path leads.

The question is not whether the government feels justified. It is whether it has learned anything from those who once felt the same.