When a young Sikh woman was raped in Oldbury, her assailants told her: “You don’t belong in this country, get out.” It was an act of sexual violence, but it was also an act of racial violence. Despite the brutality of the crime and the hateful words that accompanied it, the silence is deafening. Hameeda Khan, CEO of People Empowering People and leader on our Spokesperson Programme reflects.
On the morning of 9 September 2025, a young Sikh woman was raped in Oldbury. During the attack, her assailants told her: “You don’t belong in this country, get out.” It was an act of sexual violence, but it was also an act of racial violence. A woman’s body was violated, and her belonging was denied. And yet, despite the brutality of the crime and the hateful words that accompanied it, the coverage has been minimal.
That silence matters. Just four days later, on 13 September, more than 100,000 people were marching through London in the Unite the Kingdom rally led by Tommy Robinson. Flags were raised, chants rang out, and headlines rolled in. The march claimed to be about “protecting women” from migrants. But the rape of a Sikh woman, allegedly by men echoing the very language of those marches, did not command the same outrage. The contrast is painful and telling.
It forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth: in Britain, some victims command outrage while others are met with quiet. When the victim is white, the noise is loud. When the victim is Asian, Sikh, or Muslim, the silence is deafening.
This hierarchy of empathy is not accidental. It is racism at its core. It decides which women deserve compassion, whose pain is grieved in public, and whose suffering can be quietly ignored.
If we are serious about protecting women, we need to be honest about where the threat lies. Last year, 2.3 million people in England and Wales experienced domestic abuse, including 1.6 million women. Police now record around 3000 violence against women and girls offences every single day. The perpetrators are overwhelmingly men, often white men, and most often partners or ex partners. During football tournaments, reports of abuse spike dramatically, almost 40% higher when England lose, and more than a quarter higher when they win or draw. These are the patterns we can measure. These are the dangers women live with every day.
But that is not where the far right directs its anger. Instead, it performs outrage in the streets, wrapping itself in flags and claiming to protect women, while scapegoating migrants and minorities. This is not protection; it is performance. It is a cynical use of women’s pain to justify hate.
The Oldbury case should have been a national reckoning. Here was a woman attacked not only because of her gender but because of her race. Here were words — “you don’t belong here” — that echo the chants of the marches, the slogans of the far right, and the daily reality of racism for women like me. Yet the story barely registered. There was no outcry from politicians, no wall to wall coverage in the media, no urgent national debate. And there has been no call for responsibility from those leading the Unite the Kingdom march, even though the attack echoed their rhetoric. That absence is its own kind of violence.
As a British Asian woman, I know how deep this silence runs. I grew up with the sense that our lives mattered less, our safety was less urgent, our stories less believable. Working now as CEO of People Empowering People (PEP), I hear it in the experiences of others too. Time and again, I see how quickly the country moves on when the victim is not white.
This is why the words shouted at that Sikh woman matter so much. They were not only the words of her attackers. They reflect a wider chorus that tells women like me we are outsiders in our own country. They reveal how fragile our belonging is made to feel, and how conditional public empathy remains.
To break this pattern, we need honesty and courage. We need to name rape compounded by racism for what it is: a hate crime. We need the media to confront its own biases and cover these stories with the urgency and compassion they deserve. We need politicians to speak out when Global Ethnic Majority women are attacked, not stay silent. And we must hold movements like Unite the Kingdom to account for the hypocrisy of claiming to “protect women” while their followers assault them.
What happened in Oldbury is not an isolated horror. It is a mirror, reflecting how racism and misogyny conspire, and how silence deepens the harm.
If you care about women’s safety, then care about all women. Stand with Sikh women. Stand with Asian women. Stand with every woman whose life is diminished by violence and hate. Because until every woman matters equally, no woman is safe.
About the Author
Hameeda Khan is the Founder and CEO of People Empowering People (PEP), an organisation based in Lancashire, committed to supporting and elevating Global Ethnic Majority (GEM) communities. A passionate advocate for race equity, Hameeda focuses on creating long-term change through leadership, representation and lived experience. With over 15 years of experience working across grassroots, public and strategic spaces, she has helped shape better outcomes for GEM women, families and communities. Her latest initiative, Our Voice, is a digital platform driven by lived experience, using storytelling to ensure GEM communities are seen, heard and valued on their own terms.
Hameeda brings insight and challenge into boardrooms and equity, diversity and inclusion strategy work, using her experience to influence from within.
As PEP grows across the North West, the organisation is moving from service delivery to long-term systems change.