Convicted Terrorist’s Council Run Shocks Birmingham, Sparks Public Outcry

Paul Riverbank, 1/30/2026Convicted terrorist Shahid Butt’s council run ignites fierce debate on redemption, trust, and community divides.

Back in 1999, Butt's name was splashed across the headlines in Yemen. Local authorities accused him of plotting bomb attacks on a consulate, a church, even a hotel. The conviction that followed—five years in a Yemeni prison—was wrapped in allegations of forced confessions and planted evidence. Butt, for his part, has never wavered on that point: “I was tortured,” he insisted in interviews, “and they made up the case.” It’s still a sore subject on both sides, and few seem willing to let it drop.

Now, decades later, Butt is vying for a seat on Birmingham’s City Council. His candidacy is stirring up exactly the sort of debate you’d expect in an area where politics rarely runs quiet. The ward he hopes to represent, Sparkhill, is home to a vibrant mix of communities—predominantly of Pakistani heritage—where global affairs bleed directly into local grievances.

Not everyone sees Butt's campaign as a comeback story. Knee-deep in online discussions last autumn, right before Maccabi Tel Aviv’s soccer match against Aston Villa, Butt didn’t hold back. “IDF babykillers,” he wrote, fueling outrage just as tensions over the Gaza conflict peaked. Police, worried about clashes, barred Maccabi’s fans from the stands. That decision still smolders in the local memory, especially among those who wondered if public safety was the only thing at stake.

A video of Butt addressing young people keeps resurfacing as well—a clip where he declares, bluntly, “Muslims are not pacifists. If somebody comes into your face, you knock his teeth out—that’s my message to the youth.” Critics—some loud, others more circumspect—quickly accused him of crossing the line from passionate advocacy to encouraging violence. Butt’s defenders say he was just speaking plain truth, even if it made people uncomfortable.

Emma Schubart’s voice cuts through much of the noise. “Shahid Butt, a convicted terrorist, is standing for election in a ward that is around 80% Muslim,” explains the senior researcher at the Henry Jackson Society. “Events like these suggest a real shakeup coming in Birmingham’s local elections—Labour’s old strongholds now genuinely at risk from candidates who see themselves as champions for the disaffected.”

The Independent Candidates Alliance—led by activists Akhmed Yakoob and Shakeel Afsar—has plans to field dozens of challengers like Butt. Their main rallying cry: solidarity with Gaza, and blunt criticism of what they call “establishment silence.” They’re betting there’s enough disillusionment with traditional parties to make a difference at the ballot box.

Yet, just as this political drama unfolds, the anxieties roiling British society more widely are impossible to escape. Only months ago, news bulletins were dominated by the arrest of a man who dubbed himself the “Anglo Jihadi.” Jordan Richardson, as he’s known to the courts, was stopped before he could carry out a savage attack—one detailed in chilling notes police found at his home. He’d mapped out his plans, hoarded weapons, broadcast his intentions on social media, and shown a fascination with the same strains of violence the police are forever trying to keep at bay. The judge left no room for ambiguity: counter-terror teams, she said, prevented a massacre.

For Birmingham’s voters, the campaign season has become a kind of reckoning. On the one hand, Butt and his supporters insist everyone deserves a shot at redemption. “You can’t judge a man forever for the worst day of his life,” his backers say, meeting every protest with sharp retorts about justice and forgiveness. On the other, for those haunted by the headlines—at home and abroad—trust is fragile, and nobody can agree just when, or if, the past ceases to matter.

The stakes this spring are more than a single seat on a city council. What happens in Sparkhill is bound to echo far beyond the ballot boxes. At a time when divisions run deep and every public word is weighted with history, the question lingers: can a community torn between suspicion and hope find a way to move forward together? Or are these elections just another reminder of the lines that, for now, refuse to fade?

If you ask residents of Birmingham’s Sparkhill neighborhood about Shahid Butt, you’ll hear the whole spectrum—some say he’s living proof that people can move on, others can barely utter his name without wincing. His story, after all, is anything but simple.Back in 1999, Butt's name was splashed across the headlines in Yemen. Local authorities accused him of plotting bomb attacks on a consulate, a church, even a hotel. The conviction that followed—five years in a Yemeni prison—was wrapped in allegations of forced confessions and planted evidence. Butt, for his part, has never wavered on that point: “I was tortured,” he insisted in interviews, “and they made up the case.” It’s still a sore subject on both sides, and few seem willing to let it drop.Now, decades later, Butt is vying for a seat on Birmingham’s City Council. His candidacy is stirring up exactly the sort of debate you’d expect in an area where politics rarely runs quiet. The ward he hopes to represent, Sparkhill, is home to a vibrant mix of communities—predominantly of Pakistani heritage—where global affairs bleed directly into local grievances.Not everyone sees Butt's campaign as a comeback story. Knee-deep in online discussions last autumn, right before Maccabi Tel Aviv’s soccer match against Aston Villa, Butt didn’t hold back. “IDF babykillers,” he wrote, fueling outrage just as tensions over the Gaza conflict peaked. Police, worried about clashes, barred Maccabi’s fans from the stands. That decision still smolders in the local memory, especially among those who wondered if public safety was the only thing at stake.A video of Butt addressing young people keeps resurfacing as well—a clip where he declares, bluntly, “Muslims are not pacifists. If somebody comes into your face, you knock his teeth out—that’s my message to the youth.” Critics—some loud, others more circumspect—quickly accused him of crossing the line from passionate advocacy to encouraging violence. Butt’s defenders say he was just speaking plain truth, even if it made people uncomfortable.Emma Schubart’s voice cuts through much of the noise. “Shahid Butt, a convicted terrorist, is standing for election in a ward that is around 80% Muslim,” explains the senior researcher at the Henry Jackson Society. “Events like these suggest a real shakeup coming in Birmingham’s local elections—Labour’s old strongholds now genuinely at risk from candidates who see themselves as champions for the disaffected.”The Independent Candidates Alliance—led by activists Akhmed Yakoob and Shakeel Afsar—has plans to field dozens of challengers like Butt. Their main rallying cry: solidarity with Gaza, and blunt criticism of what they call “establishment silence.” They’re betting there’s enough disillusionment with traditional parties to make a difference at the ballot box.Yet, just as this political drama unfolds, the anxieties roiling British society more widely are impossible to escape. Only months ago, news bulletins were dominated by the arrest of a man who dubbed himself the “Anglo Jihadi.” Jordan Richardson, as he’s known to the courts, was stopped before he could carry out a savage attack—one detailed in chilling notes police found at his home. He’d mapped out his plans, hoarded weapons, broadcast his intentions on social media, and shown a fascination with the same strains of violence the police are forever trying to keep at bay. The judge left no room for ambiguity: counter-terror teams, she said, prevented a massacre.For Birmingham’s voters, the campaign season has become a kind of reckoning. On the one hand, Butt and his supporters insist everyone deserves a shot at redemption. “You can’t judge a man forever for the worst day of his life,” his backers say, meeting every protest with sharp retorts about justice and forgiveness. On the other, for those haunted by the headlines—at home and abroad—trust is fragile, and nobody can agree just when, or if, the past ceases to matter.The stakes this spring are more than a single seat on a city council. What happens in Sparkhill is bound to echo far beyond the ballot boxes. At a time when divisions run deep and every public word is weighted with history, the question lingers: can a community torn between suspicion and hope find a way to move forward together? Or are these elections just another reminder of the lines that, for now, refuse to fade?